#(or if/when a knife may be plunged into the other's back)

[bullet-prooflove]

Pillow Talk: Alden Parker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @caffeinatedwoman @elefrog25-blog @toheavenwmydrms

Companion piece to:

Left Behind - You come home to find Alden on the run with his ex-wife Viv.

See It (NSFW) - Alden returns to you after being on the run.

The Middle - Alden does not want to be caught in the middle of your case.

Alden’s in a mood, you can tell from the way he huffs as he flips onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. You lie beside him in the darkness, listening to the sound of his breathing.

“You’re pissed I invited her to stay.” You say and Alden sighs.

“No.” He drawls out the word. “I’m pissed you didn’t get her to tell Nick.”

He’s talking about Harper, Nick’s life partner. She’s been receiving gifts from a man calling himself Casanova, horrible intimate gifts. It’s been going on for months, Alden discovered earlier today, months without a word to Nick from neither you or Harper.

“It’s not my place to…” You begin but Alden cuts you off.

“We had dinner with them last week.” He hisses as he tilts his head towards you. “You both sat across from him and said nothing!”

“Alden.” You whisper fiercely so you don’t wake up your guest sleeping on the couch in the other room. “It’s a case, you know I can’t discuss my cases outside my department, the same way you can’t and I can’t force her to tell Nick if she doesn’t want to.”

“Lisa,” He says and you can hear the undertone of agitation in his voice. “How do you think he’s going to feel when he realises his friends, the people he thinks of as his family kept this secret from him?”

Despite what Alden may say he is fiercely protective over Nick Torres. He’d been hurt, paranoid and suspicious after Gibbs had left for Alaska and it had taken Alden months to start building that trust.

“Look I know it’s hard to understand but I get where she’s coming from…”

“Oh you do, do you?” He says cutting you off again. “Is someone sending you diamond earrings and dirty panties that I don’t know about?”

There’s silence then and Alden’s gaze lowers to your hands. You’re playing with your wedding ring, your thumb rubbing lightly over the band.

“Lisa.” He says, propping his head up on his arm. “Do not tell me the same asshole…”

“No.” You say resolutely, your gaze lowering to the peach sapphire residing in the fitting of your ring. “Nothing like that. It’s Kris, he started sending me letters while you were away.”

Kris. Your ex-husband, the one that’s currently in prison for trying to kill you. The fact he decided to contact you when Alden was on the run was no coincidence. He can only imagine what those letters to you must have said.

“How many?” He responds testily. “How many did he send you while I was away?”

“Three.” You say quietly. “You weren’t here so I took care of it myself.”

It feels like you’ve plunged a knife into his heart and twisted. He’s sensitive about the time he’d spent on the lam, about disappearing from your marriage, turning your life upside down and leaving you to deal with the FBI. Those letters they’re just another example of his failure. He wasn’t there to protect you the first time Kris came after you, he wasn’t there this time.

He says nothing as he turns onto his side, his back facing you. He squeezes his eyes shut as he crosses his arms over his chest. He knows why you didn’t tell him, you knew he would have gone to that prison and torn Kris’s fucking head off.

“Alden…” You say softly but he doesn’t want to talk anymore.  

 “I’m tired Lisa.” He says, his voice devoid of emotion. “I need to get some sleep so I can be up to meet Nick off that chopper in the morning.”

“Oh.” You whisper and he can hear the sadness in your voice. “I understand.”

But you don’t, not really because Alden, he’s a shitty a husband. You just haven’t realised it yet.

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[vivwritesfics]

Set The World On Fire

Chapter Twelve

Lando Norris had been incredibly angry when they met. Incredibly angry, but sweet enough to help her. Turns out he just needed somebody to talk to, somebody to be there for him.

He was easy to fall for, and that put her in a world of danger

Warnings: blood, dream violence

Mafia AU

1.3K

Series Masterlist

Lando pressed her against the kitchen counter, his lips against her neck. She whined and moaned as he touched her. Red, bloody stains were left on her cheeks when Lando's fingertips touched her. And then a sharp, stabbing pain erupted in her side.

Lando pulled away from her and her lips chased his. But she couldn't follow him, stuck to the counter. When the fuck did Lando get a knife? And why the hell was that knife covered in blood?

Her hand was covering that stabbing pain in her side. When she pulled her fingers away, they were wet, red with blood. A scream left her lips and she wanted to collapse to the floor, but she couldn't, still stuck to the counter.

Lando shed his shirt, and his entire skin was covered with blood. But it was so clear that the blood wasn't his own. He brandished the knife as he strode into her living room.

It was just the two of them in her apartment. So, who the fuck was Lando walking towards? Her heart pounded in her chest as Lando walked over to the couch, to the person sleeping there. Who the hell was it?

But it didn't matter. Lando plunged his knife into their chest. He didn't stop there, though. He kept going, completely disfiguring them. She couldn't stop screaming as the blood spilled around her apartment, around her safe haven. The wound in her side was forgotten as the blood ran down her body, pooling on the floor.

Hands held her. "I've got you," someone was saying, pulling her close as she woke up with a start. Hands that had just been touching her, leaving blood on her. Even if it was in a dream.

She let out another scream as she fought against him, pushing away and crawling across the bed, away from him. "Stay away from me!" She cried, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Lando didn't reach for her again. He sat on the other side of the bed, watching as she tried to get her breathing back under the control. "You're okay," he said, hand moving across the sheets. But she couldn't even look at him, and Lando's heart snapped in two.

He stood up and walked back to the room. "Wait!" She called, and Lando couldn't stop the way that his heart jumped. "I locked my bedroom door before I went to sleep," she said. "How the hell did you get in?"

Lando had only felt pain like this once before, when his mother died. But the woman he loved, she was trying to keep him out. She'd locked the door to keep him away from her, and Lando wouldn't be surprised if she never trusted him again after breaking in.

He walked out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him. He'd fix this. He'd have to.

Lando didn't get back to sleep that night. How could he when her screams filled the apartment. It was a wonder that the neighbours didn't come knocking. He stared at the ceiling, pillow behind his head as he rested on the sofa.

It was one of the longest nights of his life. When the sun rose, he listened as her door opened and she walked out of her bedroom, looking just as tired as she looked. "Baby," Lando whispered as he sat up and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

She ignored him as she moved to the kitchen and made herself a coffee. Her hands shook as she boiled the kettle. Lando couldn't help but watch as she placed bread into the toaster. The way her hands shook, there was no way she would have been able to butter it on her toast.

Lando stood. He walked over to the counter, coming to stand beside her. "Let me help," he said, taking the butter knife from her hands.

"Lando," she whispered, his hands gentle against her own. His hands may have been gentle, but he was still a murderer. "You... kill people."

His head dropped, curls falling over her eyes. "I know. Baby, trust me I know." She couldn't move as he reached up and pushed her hair behind her ear. "But they were bad people." The lie slipped so easily from his mouth, he couldn't help it. Being in this apartment without her touch was killing him.

"Aren't you a bad person, Lando?" She muttered, but she didn't move away from his touch. Not until her toast popped out of the toaster and she flinched.

Lando took it out of the toaster and buttered it for her. "I am, baby. But I need you to know that I'd never, ever hurt you. You're too precious to me." He kept his hand on her cheek as he leaned in and kissed her.

She didn't pull away, not right away anyway. But, when she did, she shut her eyes. "Lando, I love you," she said quietly. "But I need you to give me space."

"Okay," he said, pulling away and leaving her toast in front of her. "Do you want me to find somewhere else to stay?"

She shook her head as she picked up her toast. "I still want to know you're safe," she said and took a bite. She left Lando standing there in the kitchen while she sat herself down on the sofa and ate the rest of her breakfast.

Lando let out a breath. She loved him, she didn't want him to move out. At that, he could rest easy.

He watched her as she ate. She didn't deserve this, didn't deserve a monster like him in her life. "I'm gonna go and shower," he said as he pushed away from the counter top. "And then maybe we can talk some more."

She shook her head as she stood up and placed her plate on the counter. "Can't," she said and finished her coffee. "I've got work."

Panic flooded Lando. "Baby, you can't."

She let out a huff. "I have to, Lando," she said and walked into her bedroom.

For the entire day that she was at work, Lando was on edge. It took everything in him to not text her every five minutes. But it was just because he wanted to make sure that she was alive.

Unable to do any work, Lando did nothing but lounge around on her sofa. As much as he needed to sleep, he couldn't. He tried cleaning, but Lando had quite literally never cleaned anything in his life, and he only served to spread the mess around.

As Lando sat in her apartment, he couldn't help but picture a little cat curled up beside him. It would have been there cat, one they adopted together after he moved into her apartment. And moving in with her would have been Lando's escape, his way out of the mafia world that he fucking hated.

He hated it more than anything now.

If that was the reason he lost her, Lando would never be able to forgive himself.

Hours later, the door unlocked. Lando brandished the nearest thing to him to use as a weapon. The television remote. It was pitiful, really. But then she walked through the door and he visibly relaxed.

"What do you want for dinner?" She asked instead of saying 'hello'. She placed her bag down onto one of the chairs in her kitchen, rolled up her sleeves and pulled open her fridge.

In an instantly Lando was on his feet and racing towards her. "I've been sat here all day doing nothing," he said as he stood behind her. "Let me sort dinner."

She let out a breath as she pulled out a carton of eggs. "Do you actually know how to cook?" She asked as she began preparing dinner.

She cooked in silence. Every other time she'd made dinner for Lando, he'd gotten in her way, giggles sounding as she danced around him. But there were no giggles now. God, he missed her smile so fucking much.

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[callahanisms]

inquisition companions react to the inquisitor missing half their arm

because bioware didn’t wanna give it to us, i decided i’d just do it myself. (insert thanos meme) even though i am like years late to the hype.

the game is like 9 years old at this point, but spoilers ahead.

do keep in mind this is my own personal interpretation of each character. it may not be accurate to your own interpretations. (also i know leliana is technically not a companion in inquisition but i included her anyways)

cassandra pentaghast

if cassandra could plunge a knife into the heart of solas, she would. she would not let him get away with betraying you and taking the anchor along with your arm. you had basically fallen into her arms when you emerged from the portal and she had to carry you back to halamshiral. for the days you were unconscious, cassandra was anxious and extra prickly. there were many times where cullen would have to talk her down from her anger. even varric did too.

dorian pavus

the first thing he did was crack a joke. the atmosphere was tense and it just slipped out. “i asked you to come back in one piece, not missing one.” safe to say, the other companions did not approve of his joke. dorian was set to return to tevinter after being notified of his new position as a magister, but he delayed the return to his homeland for you. he sat in your room as you lied unconscious, barely breathing, leg anxious bouncing up and down. when you awoke, you were immediately met with a large and tight hug from him. he knocked the air out of your lungs from that.

blackwall

blackwall admires you. in fact, everyone would go so far as to say he adores you. he thinks of you as strong, capable, almost infallible. you closed rifts, you closed the big green tear in the sky, and you defeated corypheus! what couldn’t you do? all your feats proved to him that you were the strongest leader he could ever know. and yet, you were still mortal. you left the eluvians mortally wounded and exhausted beyond belief, your eyelids so heavy and ready to close so you may drift off into the black void of sleep. blackwall would not let you, not until you were taken away to be cared for. you found him sitting besides you, awake and on guard. your mortality was his reminder that you and him were the same, even if your lives appeared to be completely different. and he understood that the world would need a leader like you and that is dangerous.

iron bull

the bull could feel a stronger kinship with you that day. it appears that the both of you lost something. he betrayed the qun for the inquisition, thus losing a part of himself, his people. you lost a literal part of yourself, something you had to come to terms with after having the anchor for two years. to say iron bull was shaken up would be an understatement. he was getting cassandra to hit him with sticks for days on end while you lied unconscious. he wondered what would’ve happened if he was with you, if maybe...he could’ve stopped solas. but reminiscing never did anyone any good.

cole

as much as he wanted to help you, cole couldn’t. he also understood that you wouldn’t accept his help, no matter how much he insisted. so instead, he did the best thing he could do: help tend to your injuries. what was curious was that he could feel very little of your pain. when he felt your pain two years ago after forming the inquisition, it was concentrated in your hand and forearm. with it gone, you felt at peace. the primary source of pain for you had been washed away. perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, he thought.

sera

sera’s immediate reaction is, like dorian, to crack a joke. everyone is used to her eccentricity. but it felt different this time around. while you laid unconscious, recovering from the long battle, she occupied herself. she had to busy her hands and her legs, keep moving, keep her mind busy. because if she sat too still for even a second, then her mind would think about the worst outcome. she would get images of you, dead, because solas had betrayed you, betrayed her, betrayed the inquisition. hell, he betrayed the world! that knob! thinking he knew what was best! sera’s all the more relieved when it’s revealed you survived. she bursts through the door to see you and hug you tightly, complaining about how much you scared her.

varric tethras

in all honesty, varric should’ve been more prepared to expect...well, the unexpected. he had expectations of you coming out unharmed, untouched. obviously, that was not what happened. and he wondered if he was responsible for this. he had been one of the many people to support you as the inquisitor two years ago, suggesting it. he wondered if he made the wrong decision. but also, part of varric was relieved. he lost someone close to him two years ago. he didn’t know if he could handle losing you too.

vivienne de fer

the court would devour tales of the eluvians and how you managed to survive. that was vivienne’s first thought. people would be talking about you for centuries to come, certainly. and yet, she knew in her soul that was not what you would want. she does her best to minimize what rumors spread when you first emerge from the eluvians and help give you privacy. behind closed doors, vivienne checks on your injuries. part of her is amazed that the anchor was removed so cleanly.

josephine montilyet

josephine has seen many things ranging from serious to just plain absurd. when she was alerted that you had returned with many serious injuries, including the loss of half your arm, she sent messages to get the best possible doctors in all of orlais to help attend to you. the woman was definitely stressed beyond belief. but when she wasn’t trying to get everyone from backing off from you or getting people to look at you, josephine was attending to you herself. you awoke to find her wiping some sweat off your face and when she noticed, she muttered about how great andraste was and embraced you tightly.

cullen rutherford

your knight-commander appeared to take the news very well, much to the disapproval of cassandra. but the moment cullen was alone, in private, he flipped a table, causing everything to crash. all he could feel running throughout his body was regret, guilt, and anger. regret and guilt for not having gone with you. he should’ve. because if he did, maybe you would have came back alright. anger directed towards solas because the apostate had betrayed you, the inquisition. and everything you and him had worked towards was going to crumble. all of his hard work, leliana’s, cassandra’s, josephine’s, it’d all be for naught. cullen ends up spending a lot of time alone while you’re unconscious. he prays to andraste and the maker to distract himself from any wandering thoughts going towards lyrium. certainly the new mabari hound he decided to adopt on a whim helps with distractions at least.

leliana

the woman has seen many things in her lifetime, having experienced the fifth blight itself and been part of that fight against the archdemon. still, things aren’t easy when you come back from the eluvians missing half of your arm. even if it goes against all her duties, leliana stays with you until you wake up to make sure you’re alright. you’re the inquisitor after all and it’s vital that you’re still alive.

solas

he’s the one who took it. you think he cares?

in all seriousness, it gave him no pleasure to remove your arm for the anchor. even if his plan was...well, shoddy we should say, the anchor was going to kill you. he had no choice. carrying your hand and forearm around felt heavy. he could carry it just fine but what made it heavy was the burden that came with his plan to tear down the veil and bring doom upon the world in a desperate attempt to bring it back to what it once was. and also, the burden of having harmed you.

[snvffsoda]

some random/silly headcanons for Mason!!

almost every cloth, leather, and blanket, is handmade from pelt from the animals he’s hunted, ranging from bear hide to elk, to any other varmint or critter that he can skin to keep him warm, he favors this more hands-on approach when it comes to having things if it wasn't crafted from his hands in his cabin, its probably not his.

being raised in a religious cult in the mountains far from civilization, was always a bit hard for Mason growing up, even as a teenager he was always a bit enamored with outsiders, the way they walk, and talk, he used to dream of leaving the cult behind and meeting people outside the grassy confines of the mountains, but as he got older he quickly realized that kind of life simply wasn’t for him, the hustle and bustle of the cities were never his style, he now much preferred his quiet mountain far from prying eyes, and loud cars and people.

learned his hunting skills from his mother who died when he was a young man, the coat he wears is one of the last gifts from his passing mother, his father was never around much, being too focused on the cult's needs being a higher figure in the cult than that of his own son. thinking about those memories now, only left a bad taste in Mason's mouth.

his sadistic traits grew as he got older, the more he was revered for his hunting skills by his peers in the cult the more it bolstered his ego he could kill so easily, he knew the animals he hunted like the back of his hand but after some time it all became..a bit stale. the thrill of the hunt, catching his prey, it started to only dull as he kept using his skills on these animals, he needed something fresh, something new to study and hunt, and eventually plunge his knife into. His girlfriend Sandy, was the perfect first candidate,

While he may seem cold and cruel to anybody unfortunate enough to be at the end of his crossbow outside of his hunts Mason is pretty joyful and polite, he loves what he does, and he isn't ashamed of what he does either, and if he likes you, you can sometimes catch him humming a soft tune to himself while he chops wood for fire or tell you a hunting story of his, late night by a warm fire, huddled up against him.

Mason doesn't view what he does as murder or kidnapping, he views it in the same way a wolf will eat a rabbit, he caught you, and now youre his. Whether that be he uses you for his own personal pleasure or to make trinkets from your bones he gets his fun in either way, even if youre begging and pleading for your life the whole way through.

he doesn't understand much about the internet, the most he's ever used it was on his damn near prehistoric laptop he uses to google the occasional questions regarding hunting he doesn't know much about social media, and the like, but he finds it all too confusing to even wrap his head around to even try to understand.

whenever he is sad or angry (in the rare cases he is) he’ll calm himself by going on hikes across the mountains, he's made his own trails not far off from his home, and some days he’ll stand up gruffly announce to the room to anyone listening “Goin’ for a walk..I’ll be back.” and won't return until hours later, it helps him clear his mind. Being a part of the natrue that surrounds him always calmed his head.

late at night when all is silent in the mountains, Mason can sometimes hear the sounds of whispers, indiscernible..they call to him..to a river, he can barely understand the voice or who or what causes it, but he tries to pay it no mind, even if it will leave a cold sweat beading down his head, while he tries to sleep, he was never one for superstition, like the cult that raised him was.

he smells like pine and dried oak, a very natural earthy smell with an underlying hint of his raw musk from his outdoor activities

prefers salty, savory food over sweet, but has a sweet spot for homemade cookies he’ll make for himslef when he craves it, usually after a good hunt to treat himslef after an eventful day.

Mason has an acoustic gutiar he keeps hanging up in his cabin by his window, he handcrafted it himself when he was still a teenager during his time in the cult, sometimes he and Sandy would sneak out at night from their homes while their parents slept and he’d sing Sandy songs, under the stars of a dying fire.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

61 - Scattered Pieces of Truth

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 18.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past traumas, past character death, possessive tendencies, smut, handjobs, p in v, accidental voyeurism,

Notes: You may notice that leading up to a certain accidental incident, that I didn't build up to it with a horribly ill fitting contrast of beheading a toddler. Take notes, Condal. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

To the few in the room, the sight could be seen as a rather strange one. At least in context. To Olly, you had been introduced in his life as a fierce figure commanding an authority which granted him mercy at what he felt like was the end of his path. You offered him empathy and forgiveness but showed none of the same to Ser Alliser Throne and beheaded him the day you had arrived. In a way you were the image of an intimidating Queen to the boy in ways stories only whispered about Targaryean women of the past. But in other ways, you also were the closest thing to a mother he had left.

Counting his blessings, Olly knew that whatever older brother sort of figure he had once seen in Jon, he had ruined the night he shoved a dagger through his heart. But yet somehow you took Olly in regardless, and found a place back in the world for him when many times over he felt as if he lost his. So to him, being allowed to stand at your side in moments like this were odd, a side of you he had only ever seen before in memories of his own mother. Perhaps he was a bit jealous, but after he had done everything to warrant you executing him, you took him in as your own and kept him by your side so that he served someone who understood his complications.

On the other hand, he was not the only traitor in the mix whom you spared. Theon stood with a life so vastly different then the one he once lived, he felt practically a stranger to him. The day Ramsay Snow had sent him into Moat Cailin to negotiate the other Ironborn to surrender, he could remember such a wave of conflict. The way blood was spit into his face and called a woman for trying to say there was honour in a fair defeat. How on one side he could hear himself trying to voice through a shaking in his muscles that he was actually Reek, but then he would also stand there and see you.

In the dungeons of the Dreadfort, sickly, ill, covered in so much sweat, grime, and blood that he almost did not recognize you. The way you had tore your head up from hiding in your arms with tears staining your cheeks as he told you he didn’t actually murder Bran and Rickon. The way you looked at his state, his circumstances and he knew you had forgiven him. How no one had called him Theon Greyjoy but you. When one man had murdered the commander in order to desperately accept Theons terms, he had remembered who he felt like next to you and Robb. Someone who could be better then his worst parts, only to have Ramsay lead his men in and flay them all alive.

Theon had stood silent as Ramsay wrapped an arm around his shoulders insisting that traditions were important, as to why he had done it. But all he could do was stand there. Not even shaking or twitching as he normally would. He wasn’t really Reek then, he was Theon. And afterwards when they had returned to the Dreadfort to prepare the move to Winterfell was when Roose Bolton gave Ramsay his legitimization from King Tommen.

Once Ramsay was no longer a Snow, the less Reek did Theon feel on the inside, and the more he felt determined to not let Ramsay turn you into that either.

Finding the only bravery he had in years, Theon had shot Myranda in the back with arrows to stop her from attacking you. When you had found your only bravery in you, you plunged a kitchen knife so deep into her mouth that you had been covered in her blood for days. All he could do was hear how close you both were to being caught and how frozen in fear you were. How weak as he was Theon managed to find that strength, he had picked you up to jump from the battlements, a height you yourself had once hoped would kill you. He had shaken you out of your daze, and Theon never forgot that what convinced you to stand with him and run wasn’t even the promise that he was taking you to safety or taking you to Jon.

What got you up and standing was Theon offering his hand and promising that he wouldn’t leave you behind. Yet if he looked back then and seeing now, it was night and day. Not a hint of the same person stood there and it was difficult for Theon to put into proper thoughts. The relief of being able to witness you getting to this point, but also the conflict of truth coming this way, quite literally.

Of course, for all of them, Maester Wolkan saw it in the most direct way. He hadn’t met you before, or after escape. Hardly days had passed by the time he was summoned to the dungeons to examine you, since you had awoken to new life. He had seen you at every part of your worst. Once he had walked out in the courtyards here in Winterfell to a scene of Ramsay. Your dress torn off, shivering in a short shift in the snow as Ramsay had knocked you to the ground and threatened to slice the remainder off when he had to interject. Saying that marrying you would not be possible if the boy let you freeze to death.

He had shoved you to the snow even more as he got up to storm away, Wolkan managing to get you gently to your feet and covered to guide you inside but had so little reaction from you. Numb like your skin felt bare in the freezing air. Most of that year he knew you, there was not a hint of life in your eyes, and it was truly a feat he could claim saying you were the saddest girl he’d ever known. Yet here you were now, something nowhere near that sight.

A smile bright and shining on your face as you looked down to little Eddard, toying with his small kicking feet as if to tickle the bottoms of them each time he got to wiley. It had been close to a week passing since arriving home and Maester Wolkan had insisted on seeing the baby again to check both his health and state of growth. Question after question and it seemed the little one had gotten fussy laying there on his own.

Causing you now as Wolkan made his final examination for the day, you had knelt down closer so your eye level was more with where the baby lay. Hands always on him in one way or another, distracting him sometimes long enough that Wolkan could do something that might have otherwise been distressing. Or leaning up closer to his forehead with a kiss and gentle shushes to soothe him or pull out a small babble.

He was much how he was in your womb, a constant trouble maker. Always demanding of your attention, but the more affirmations he was healthy, the better you felt. The less as if you feared you had doomed your son to a difficult, short life simply because you had birthed him for too early. At the very least however, with both Theon and Olly in the room, you would be spared any questions regarding yourself for now. The less you thought about your state of mind, the better.

“I suspect within a fortnight, the little Prince will have caught up in growth to any other infant his age should be.” Glancing up to your side, your hands almost automatically moving around little Eddards grabbing insistence to dress him properly and warm once more. The others had been correct, there had been more then enough people around Winterfell and Winter Town whom wished to bring gifts and clothes to the newborn.

Nodding a bit, you had glanced down every now and again to give a little narrow eyed smirk to the trouble maker before finally giving him what he wanted. Carefully picking up him in your arms and resting him carefully up high on your front, as it seemed your neck and shoulder being his favourite place to hide away. “And you’re certain there is nothing more I could be doing to help with that?”

Shaking his head, Wolkan reached out to very playfully nudge a knuckle against the baby’s cheek whom both gave a small amusing sound but also squirmed closer to you at the same time as if he couldn’t decide. “You and the King have done a tremendous job in the face of a very unfavourable start. I assure you there is nothing more you need do then what you are right now.” Face only falling troubled a small it you clarified in asking if it was normal that at this young he seemed so shy. “Many highborns are surrounded by people all day and night when they are born. Always attended to by many, they get used to it rather quickly as a result. Little Eddard however had a start very reliant on his mother and father alone. It is only natural he will take more time to get used to being around as many as he is living in a castle.”

Glancing down, you could see his little hands mindlessly grasping at strands of your hair that sat closer to your shoulder. Almost holding it close to him as a young one may do with a plush toy, the thought no doubt crossing your mind if what happened had made him too reliant on you. Which was not at all what you wanted, people thinking you were raising your son to depend on his mother rather then grow up learning to be strong and stand on his own. Boys like Joffery, raised without being taught what being a leader entailed and hid behind his mothers skirts at every instance he could not yell and shout into getting his way.

The flash across Wolkans face with the growing concern of doubt on yours had you stand up straighter before the issue could be even slightly brought to your attention from his point of view. “I thank you, Maester Wolkan. I know you have much else on your plate, I won’t keep your time any further.”

Always a man not perturbed by dismissal in your manner, he was nothing but understanding likely of what you avoided. “No thanks needed, your grace. This is exactly what I am here for.” A nod given, before turning and gesturing to Olly to make leave, knowing Theon would follow.

At this point, even if you told him not too. Nevermore were he and Jon on the same page then when it came to watching you like a hawk. If it wasn’t Jon it was Ghost, if it wasn’t Ghost it was Theon. And somehow if it were neither of them, you still could not shake that feeling like eyes kept following you. The wrappings around your healing hands were cause for some concern, but not enough you couldn’t figure out why it felt as if eyes all around were watching you.

The only people who knew so far of the other day were Bran, Jon, and yourself. No one else had any reason to think they should keep an eye on you for that purpose, and yet they still did. It was odd for some to watch you of all people so motherly with such an easy smile attached, as it was odd for you to grasp the idea that it was somehow more complicated and difficult being back here then it had been for months out alone in the far North.

Another pair of eyes though, scoured the letter sent his way. The pile which came before were all of mystery, this one of answer, and yet it all felt as complicated as before.

Everything was complicated. Jon couldn’t condemn you nor Bran for what you were not saying about what occurred yesterday. He wasn’t even so sure Bran understood whatever he had spent over a year doing that far North. These sights, these visions Jon had. They always felt different then the way you’d describe yours. The dreams different too. Jon had walked your dreams, you never did his. Jon had never found himself lost in whatever visions he saw, he was here and saw there. It felt like it matched more of what Bran was experiencing then you, but if Bran didn’t really understand what this all was, Jon knew he had not a chance for himself. Let alone expecting you to explain it to him in ways he could grasp.

Instead, Jon focused on other things. Things which he’d rather not but were right in front of him. Or, the thing, the person. The man with the pin of a mockingbird attached to his cloak wandering his home as if he had a plan that would fall into place. Out of everything Petyr Baelish had done, he was smart enough to lie and cover his tracks to the point he stood in the Stark home as if he were not an enemy.

Both men were well aware Jon did not fall for it, but that made it worse. He already knew to navigate the suspicions of a man whom did not trust him. There was little Jon could prove, and what he could had to be careful. He and Arya had debated it just hours earlier.

Irate and pacing in his study, only Arya felt comfortable enough with Jon to rant and rave and yell the manner which she did. It wasn’t personal, so Jon felt no reason to tell her to calm down. With her, that would certainly not calm her any way. “We know everything he’s done to the point we could write a book about it. How is that not enough?”

Gloved hands braced against the wood of his desk, Jon stood behind it looking at her with a lower, more firm tone. “We can’t just accuse him of anything, you know that. If I drag him into court and throw nothing but accusations I can’t prove at him, he walks out of our walls for good.”

Arya’s face scrunched in frustration, Jon did know the feeling to well. An antsy sensation as if to physically fight back against a man only capable of mastering the art of mind games. Your name coming from her mouth, Jon too could sense the strong anger over it. “What he tried to do to her, and you think it’s safer having him here?”

A pit of something dark sat in Jons stomach. You had gone to take the baby to see Wolkan, he knew where you were and who was with you. He needed to swallow down that swirling void telling him to never let you out of his sight. Saying that to you was one thing, but to control you to that degree was another no matter what a specific part of himself said. Pushing through, a roughness was no doubt evident in his voice. “He almost had her killed when he was a thousand miles away in the Vale. I don’t know who he controls out there, but I know the limit of his reach here.” As soon as Arya tried to argue back, Jon continued on. “And if I accuse him now and can’t prove it, if I banish him from Winterfell or the North, Sansa leaves with him.”

Stopping in her tracks, Jon recognized the hesitation in her eyes attempting to smooth over with indifference. “You don’t know that. She came all the way back here, why would she leave if-”

Cutting her off, Jon felt uncomfortable with the why, but he explained it regardless. Arya needed to understand the gravity of the problem, even if he was hiding it from you. “Haven’t you wondered why even though you two spent your whole childhoods arguing about everything, why is it now it seems Sansa is only interested in fighting with me?”

The hesitation again he knew, she hadn’t quite considered that until then. “She’s just upset about learning she has no claim.” That was more of an excuse of cope and both knew it.

Jon just had to be the one to vocalize it more then he had to you. “Littlefinger knows he can’t manipulate me into giving him what he wants.” Your name coming from his lips, “And he can’t just try to do it with her either, with how much of a past they both know about. He’s smarter then that. His only chance is to use Sansa. And put her against me. And who’s the easiest person to do that with right now?”

Your name came from both of them, Jon in a tense frustration, Arya in a sort of defeat.

Walking around his desk, Jon leaned back to it’s front. Arms crossing in front of him as he watched Arya cease her pacing before he continue. Arya first asking how he was doing that. “I’m a bastard. It’s easy to find things about bastards to look down on.” Demanding more of what specifically, he knew that these sorts of things to Arya of all people, were not what she’d ever consider. Certainly not now. “I’m a bastard, married to a highborn girl. Who before me, was married to my highborn brother. If you’re assuming the worst about me, what does that look like?”

Face twisting into disbelief, Arya tried fighting back. “She knows you better then that, Sansa knows you’d never force anyone into being with you-”

The truth though hurt more then that, far more. “She doesn’t think I forced her into anything. All Littlefinger needs to do, is give Sansa the idea and she let it grow on her own.” It always came back to you, and he hated it. “People look down at me like I’m a liar, like I’m manipulative on purpose. If you tell someone bastards are born from sin, it’s not too hard to convince that person that I seduced her into being with me for my own benefit.”

It did take a good moment for Arya to connect what he was implying, but Jon knew it. The signs all begun to point to it, and now he was sure. The easiest way to keep Sansa from accepting the circumstances of Robb disinheriting her, is to use the one person Sansa always looked up to as an older sister and paint her as a victim of a bastard’s lust and deceit. To convince her that Jon was using you to keep his title and favour amongst his men. And Jon returning to Winterfell with you and a newborn made that look worse.

He and you had joked of it on the ship home from Dragonstone, but it was true. It is far harder to separate a King and a Queen from one another, if the man gifts her a child. And a son and heir no less. “I was always protective of her, but now it’s different..it’s..more intense and to someone looking for the worst in me-”

Finishing for him, again Arya’s tone had been defeat and a tinge of frustration, understandably. “It just looks like you’re controlling her.”

Jon was protective of you, possessive to the point sometimes he wondered if controlling you that way would make things easier for you, so you didn’t have to worry. But he also knew that wasn’t right, that wasn’t the part of him that Ned Stark raised. He struggled already, having to be apart from you during the day when for over six months he had you all to himself every single hour, but this was something else. This was a despising burning feeling in his heart at being apart from you, wanting you to just stay beside him and listen to what he told you for your own good.

He didn’t want to be that way, but a dark part of him always felt now like it would be so much safer for you if you did, even though the man in him knew that wouldn’t be good for you in every other way. He had tried to vocalize it to you in a softer way, and you had tried to dissuade him from such thoughts, but it continued to fester. Those parts of Jon that Sansa was worried for you about, weren’t made from nothing. Because part of Jon was that way, or wanted to be that way with you. She was just wrong about the why.

Being a bastard had nothing to do with this obsessive feeling. Just the blood running through his veins.

Sitting there now, Jon knew he had to still be careful. Sansa was his sister, and she belonged here, in her home with her family, but if Jon made the wrong move or was too bold too early, she might leave and not return. And with what winter storms approached, Jon knew that couldn’t be an option. He had to be careful, he had to stick to not only what he could prove, but what he had the right to prove.

Littlefinger had done many things, but Jon knew if he was using you to manipulate Sansa against him, if Jon could prove to his sister that the man tried to have you killed, that would sway her. Perhaps make her realize the extent of the manipulative things he spoke about Jon. Proving in a trial that Petyr Baelish had orchestrated an attempt on the Queen in the North’s life was as good of something to end this shadow he held on the Stark family, then every other crime he’s committed.

But between Jon and Arya, both knew they had a good chance at finding a conclusive way to do that, he just had to be quick about it, and somehow he needed to get it across to Sansa that even if just for the trial, she needed to trust him. Whatever other problems the two of them would have after, could be dealt with later. Right now, he needed to ensure two things alone.

Making Littlefinger pay for his crimes, and ensuring those crimes would not bring his little sister down with him. So as he wrote a raven to send off, Jon knew this was just one of the many people whom he needed to reach out too. His father would have done this as thoroughly and as properly as he could, and so Jon would do no less then that.

Jon just had to remind himself, he was only like one father. Not the other. He didn’t know how he’d handle being more like one then the other, so if he refused to think about it, maybe it this one problem would just disappear.

If only Jon didn’t spend most of the next hours after that, tense trying to figure out where you were and who you were with, and certainly not summon you to his side like a servant just to appease that darkness. Though as he descended the dark steps down further into the undergrounds, Jon did for once that day, find himself grateful that you were not here.

He knew what his men had informed him of, and for all accounts, she had been acting quite a good prisoner. Her brother in law had not protested any of it, nor did the members of House Ryswell. Jon had laid out very publicly what he was accusing her of, informed them he had the written evidence to back himself up, and his men had taken up in defence when she had suddenly stood from her seat in an aggression.

Having written to Lord Dustin and Lord Ryswell both, he knew the options were there. They were not protesting to her having been in Winterfell's dungeons these months, but he also did not wish for his time spent as her jailer, to be seen as keeping her from everyone else she knew.

Dark eyes peeking from more messy dark hair, Jon could see Barbrey Dustin while physically looked more worse for wear, she did not appear to be in ill health. Fed proper meals twice a day, accommodate her needs within reason, and allow her to be attended too should she need aid in her health. But according to Maege, she had not been much of any fuss. Kept to herself, and didn’t speak to anyone on the matters she was arrested for.

If Jon were honest, he was not expecting any respecting gesture whatsoever, nor would he really blame a prisoner for not doing so. Yet she with an expression twisted into her permanent frowning scowl, stood up with ease, and gave a half effort curtsy. “Your Grace.”

A nod back, Jons response seemed to act as fair permission to sit once more. “My lady.”

Coming closer, circles under her eyes were prominent, but they looked less hateful then the day she glared up at him being accused of a crime. Jon had not spoken to you what they had discussed alone, but just enough to ensure that he got the information he needed. Information, which was to be of use in a different way he ever intended to use it. Her voice came out more in a strained husk as if speaking was more on the side of foreign to her at this point. “It has been many months since I’ve had any sort of visitor. The last I expected of them would be yourself.”

Jumping right into the point, Jon spoke with an even tone and not with much in the way of easing her into his purpose. “Are you aware that for the past week, Lord Petyr Baelish has been in Winterfell?” Past the dim shadows casting onto her with firelight, Jon may have been able to more clearly see her skin pale, her shoulders stiffen. “He returned my sister Sansa, now that it is safe in the North for her.”

Both were patient in the silence, and the flickering away of Barbreys eyes spoke many stories all doused in a degree of fear until a more push for sternness came through. “I called you a fool once, I suspect needing to do so again for thinking that is all his intentions, would be unnecessary?” Only a single nod, and it forced her to find her words. Switching between looking up at him and drawing away in thought as if the fear had only just occurred to her. “So, what? Are you here to feed me to the wolves?” A breath passed between as she tilted her head in almost an amusement for herself. “Or, so to speak.”

Once more, Jon did not bother addressing the worst of whatever she would say to him. Pandering to her ire was not how he got a full and fair confession out of her, and he would not start now. “Lord Baelish has done more to hurt my family then you know, and finally we have him here. Right in front of us. If we were at war, I’d be able to keep him here, in our lands where I could surround him and kill him. But you and I both know he isn’t a man that fights with weapons. He’s smarter then that. Which means if I am going to bring him to justice, then I need to be smart too. Fight things his way.”

Glancing him up and down before turning away, Barbrey inhaled as she leaned her head against the wall facing forward once more. “Every man and women in the North despises him, why not simply drag him into court? Cut his throat and be done with it.”

Quick to respond, Jon held no room for doubt on his meaning. “That isn’t the kind of leader I want to be, and that isn’t who my father raised me to be.” A small lift of her eyebrows in some gesture of her own understanding, Jon pushed passed it. “I can only charge him for crimes connected to the North. To my family. But if I’m going to do that, I need to leave no room for doubt. If I declare him guilty, then I need all of my men to know what I know that led me to that conclusion.”

Muttering, she still did not return to look at him. “So what is it you want from me?”

Thinking for only a moment, Jon crouched down to much more evenly meet her eye level, his voice dropping in tone and volume as if to match. Without the furs adorning him, not standing over her, Jon knew making himself look less intimidating here was the right approach. “You told me the truth, all the truth. And for that I thank you, but right now I need more then honesty. I need your help.” Allowing a moment of quiet before continuing, Jon knew to give her the time to process each stage here. “I’ve written to your father and brother in law. Both have agreed to my terms, that you will be allowed to return either to Barrowton or the Rills for the remainder of your sentence. You’ll be stripped of your title, and to any right of Ladyship you’ve once had, but you can walk in whichever home you choose without chains.”

There was only one plausible caveat to that kind of offer, and her eyes rising up to the ceiling with a deep inhale and exhale from her nose told Jon she had put it together. “The sheer fact that a slimy weasel such as him hasn’t already sent an assassin in to murder me is my only remaining proof the Old Gods even vaguely care about my life. And now you come down here after months, and ask me to step into a public trial and give all of those same details but for him to know I betrayed him over?” A false laugh which did not reach her eyes left. “If this was an attempt at a joke, your grace, I would return back to your depressingly humourless self. Making others laugh does not suit you.”

Little had even hit his skin with such words. “Tell me. Do I look like the kind of man to come down here and make jokes about your safety? Make light of a man who I know tried to have my wife murdered?” Dragging dark eyes over to his, only a spot of guilt did Jon see within her gaze before she once more broke it.

Another laugh that time more of a huff leaving her chest. “Forgive me, but some days I’m not quite sure which wolf’s blood you really came from.” Were Jons blood capable of freezing so suddenly his heart would stop, it would’ve happened all in a laughing breath of Barbrey Dustins words. He made not a single indication as such, but he felt his heart unfreeze from the fires around and beat faster and more painfully then before. “Brandon had no children as far as he knew, but women looked to him like no other man. Were I not to know any better, I’d say you were more likely to be Brandons then Ned’s, given how impossible either of you seem to have been able to take a joke.”

If Barbrey was implying that Ned Stark was funny compared to his Uncle Brandon, Jon crouched there more understanding why many southerners all deemed Northerners as cold and humourless. Either way, the cut was meant more as a jest to entertain herself then force Jons mind to spiral. Stay focused he told himself. “If I hold a trial for Petyr Baelish, and I can’t prove his guilt, then he will leave Winterfell and take my sister with him. If he leaves now, my brother and sister will never see Sansa again and they only just reunited. Winter is coming. You know it, I know it. There isn’t a worse time to allow him the chance at keeping my little sister from her family then now when they all need each other the most.”

Jon had yet to know how he was going to mend that long since broken bridge between he and Sansa, but giving her reasons to distrust him more and leave with the one man who Jon knew had nothing but ill intentions towards her, was not an option. Their father had confessed to a crime he didn’t commit for a chance to try and protect her, and Jon would not let him down now by making him die for that in vain. Sansa could hate and distrust him all she wanted, but she was a Stark, and Jon had to keep what was left of them together now more then ever.

Giving Barbrey no room to even speak before he continued. “You were someone important to my uncle. I don’t want to dishonour that memory by keeping you locked down here for the rest of your life, you deserve to be home. You won’t have any power, but you won’t be down here in chains being fed whatever the guards are kind enough to give you in hopes it’s warm. Do this for me, and you will return home. I swear it.”

It was not a promise made by a heart tree, but Jon was a man who would hold himself to a promise as such regardless. He had to keep his family together, and Jon would be damned by all of the gods if he didn’t do every single thing possible to protect you from the man who tried to murder you.

Still though, as Jon returned to the ground level he couldn’t shake off one thought. No, it was not the blood of Brandon Stark making Jon as intense of a man as he was, it was someone far worse.

It was someone he was struggling day by day, to pretend he was still nothing like.

Tormund Giantsbane loved his people, he really did. But he also would be the first to admit what a bunch of stubborn pains in his ass they all were. It had taken Mance Rayder over twenty years to get them all to stop fighting and work together, and even now it was as if they were incapable in their blood of not getting on his nerves.

Yet if there was one perk of his people, and him having spent so much time around fancy southerners, it was that settling problems was a lot easier. More then once Tormund would simply walk up to a pair ready to rip each other to pieces, and grab at both their collars and yank them apart or throw one off the other with a yell to shut the fuck up.

The free folk worked better with someone leading them, each clan always had one chieftain but as a whole group someone needed to tell them what was what and keep them in order. So from town to town Tormund would travel keeping everyone in check and on track with their purpose out here. The last time he had been in this place, what the southerners called the Gift, felt so far away it was a lifetime ago in comparison to where he was now.

Sure he had climbed the Wall more times then he could count, but none of those times south mattered beyond what ended up being the result of the last major time. The whole lot of them had followed where Orell said he saw something. Arriving at the Fist of the First Men, they had all gathered around the spiral formation of dead horses bloody and scattered. He and Mance had the same thought as the later knelt down with a frustrated disdain looking it over. “Always the artists.”

He knew for a fact who there didn’t quite get what was going on, two for a fact the way they spoke briefly about it. Ygritte had spoken up, “I thought you said there were dead crows.” When Orell confirmed that there had been, it seemed as if it was only Tormund and Mance who understood what was going on.

Well, them and the crow. Back and forth Jon and Mance went about what happened, how many men Mormont brought out here and a silent unnerved understanding in him about what he knew had happened here. Mance noting that Mormont took a big gamble coming out this far, and that the best fighting men had to be dead, and they were far from home. Which was when he said it. “Tormund, climb the Wall.” Telling him to bring the crow with him since he may be useful. “If not, throw him off the Wall.”

Tormund had spent much of that time south really not caring what Orell kept going on about. Jon hadn’t given them any reason to not trust him yet, and Tormund knew what was really getting him worked up. It was pretty pathetic if you asked him, the fact that he felt so threatened by a crow of all men. Orell wanted to fuck Ygritte, she was into the crow. He was mad and made it everyone else’s damn problem. That was, until Orell was right.

“Make the crow kill him. You’re one of us now. Prove it.”

A fight broke out in the rain, and in truth, Tormund had more then his fair share of time to think about after he was thrown in a cell in Castle Black months later. His size, his skill? And he didn’t even try fighting Jon, not once. Instead he all but held Ygritte down to stop her from losing her shit, yelling at her to accept that he was still one of them.

He knew her for a long time, she was one of them, but he’d be damned to say she was unbearable to deal with after that day. All she could do was walk around in a mood, or rant and rave about wanting to kill him. Once telling her as simply as he could, “When you actually do, then tell me all about it. For now, I’d rather talk about anything then your crow.”

Then they attacked the very villages his people lived in now. Tormund now didn’t make excuses for it, he did what he did and couldn’t take it back, but in their own way he and Jon understood each other. Tormund was a solider, did what his leader told him to do and he did it well. Attack the villages near the Wall to draw them out, but that didn’t work so they kept hitting more and more until it was clear they were forcing them to hit them at Castle Black directly.

For Jon, that night was probably as good a win as he could’ve imagined for how few men it turned out he lied about having. A thousand he said, and maybe there were a good two hundred at most, and still he managed to hold them all off on both sides. In his memory though, was Tormund ever angry.

He liked Jon, always did. Came into the tent with attitude, snapping back to his threat by saying all men die the same no matter what size they are. Liked him from then on, and truthfully, of course he saw it coming. Orell kept saying it, little signs kept coming from Jon that told a different story then what he was pretending to say, Tormund knew it was coming and that made him angry the most.

That he saw this coming, and liked the crow anyways. And now he was mad for it. Out of his whole band of men he led, only he was left alive. Surrounded by crows but none wanted to get anywhere near him with his anger. He’d cut anyone down who came close. Only for a deep rasping voice to approach him in a frustrated defeat. “It’s finished, Tormund. Let it end.”

Not his best moment it was, hissing out, “This is how a man ends-” Only for the moment he moved with his blade, did Jon shoot him in the leg with a crossbow and knock his blade out of his hand and sending him to the ground. Not bothering to even stay as he told the other crows to put him in chains for now. Dragging him away, Tormund had shouted spitting that he should’ve thrown Jon from the wall when he had the chance.

But everything after that stayed in his mind. The way Jon spoke about the now dead Ygritte with something clearly angry saying he had no choice in what he did with her, and how Tormund got the clear sign what went on between them wasn’t quite what Ygritte would walk around boasting it was. The way Jon spoke of the woman he really loved already being dead and slaughtered like an animal, and the way he admitted that this King who showed up was the father of the woman Jon loved.

Gods help him there was way more about this Jon Snow for Tormund to think about then he expected in those days. But despite it all, as Tormund walked through the village all but yanking a passing child up by his neck telling him to “Hand it over.” Putting the knife attempted to be stolen back on his person, and the child to his feet telling him to scram, did Tormund know that somehow he still wouldn’t have traded any of where he was now for a better version of how he got here.

That dark eyed crow who walked into the tent that day, and yet now Tormund walked the village wondering when he’d get his ass back. He went off beyond the Wall and took you with him, but the other men around Jons castle weren’t quite the same. Part of him still could laugh, Tormund had not fathomed how insufferably protective of you Jon was going to be out there. He wished some days he could’ve joined this journey just for a chance to see him keep you tied to his side like you were a baby who couldn’t be left alone.

Dalba asked once what if you two were dead, and he never bought into that. Weaker men then Jon had survived out there, and at least he had a real cause motivating him. Still though, waiting to know what was out there, what happened, what would happen and when you two would get back was tedious and aggravating. And Tormund could only push around his daughters husband so much before that stopped amusing him.

Which was why almost on instinct, did Tormund at first swear it was Jon and yourself riding into that village. From a distance he sure as hell looked like him, and he could only see a blur that looked like a darker haired woman on the horse behind him. Though the closer they rode as a crowd gathered, did Tormund not have a single clue who the woman was. Hands tied in front of her, a narrowed brow as she sat in a silence but he did certainly recognize the rider.

It wasn’t Jon, but gods knew Tormund was more then familiar with what black haired Stark just came riding up. Years ago, Tormund would’ve used getting this close to sink a blade deep in his head, but both men approached the other in almost amusement as it was not much meaningful apprehension. “Everyone thought you were long dead.”

A tease on his tone that Tormund could pin as so close to Jons came right back without hesitation. “I’m surprised you didn’t hunt down my corpse and bring me back, just to kill me yourself.” Tormund lamenting that he had thought about it and the silence between could’ve turned the air.

Instead both men shook hands, a strange understanding it seemed of where both were to stand with each other now. “The fuck are you doing all the way out here?”

Gesturing back to the woman on the horse, her eyes tore through the village no doubt putting together that they were not the average Northerners. Benjen Stark at the very least, was always a lot less annoying to listen to then the bloody Halfhand used to be. “Taking this one to Winterfell. She’s Jons prisoner, should be in his dungeons where he’d want to keep an eye on her.” Asking what she did, she finally looked away from them and down with something no doubt of guilt, and Benjen hesitated. Dark eyes twisting behind in what to say before settling on a non answer. “Nothing good.”

“How the hell did you find a prisoner of Jon when hes all the way out north?”

Benjen’s answer was short and rather matter of fact. “He’s not anymore.” Taken back, Tormund only stared at him for an explanation when he elaborated, including you this time. “Both of them have been back for a few days. They found his little brother, my nephew out there. Poor lad can’t walk anymore, so beside bringing him back and a newborn, they had no room for a prisoner going home.”

Out of everything just spoken, Tormund asked one thing in question. “Newborn? What he find an abandoned baby out there?” As if turned out, the truth was even more baffling.

Much like Jon though, Benjen skipped passed any talk not of the matter at hand. “I need to take her to Winterfell, and Jon asked to get you to come with me when I did. Hasn’t had time to do it himself if you can believe that.”

Unable to help himself, Tormund looked to the side where Ryk stood, a mocking tone of strong condescension dripping from his words as he brought up your name. “She’s been married to Snow half the time you have my daughter. How come she already had a baby and you can’t even manage to shoot out one long enough to even flirt with the idea?”

By the time Tormund was up on his horse, his eyes found that of the woman tied up to the back of Benjen's, asking before the man walked up to interject. “What the hell did you do to piss Snow off? Try to kidnap his girl?” The way she said nothing, and the way she looked down to nothing and no one by the time they set off spoke volumes.

Something serious had happened that neither she nor Benjen were yet willing to slightly share. That was fine though, he’d get it out of Jon one way or another.

Knelt down, you had the wooden side pulled down just in front of you. One hand rested soothingly on the baby’s front while the other sat atop his head, your thumb running back and forth as finally you watched his eyes slip closed and the rest of him falling asleep. All day no matter what you were doing he was a fussy little thing, always being mischievous and demanding of your attention it felt.

Not anything close to frustrating but certainly much more tiring then you had been expecting, almost feeling as if you weren’t finding the time to do what other things you should’ve been. Staying knelt there, your hand on his front slowly moving to rest beside him, your chin propping your head up on your forearm and yet the sight before you struggled to match your thoughts.

Taking care of little Eddard wasn’t unpleasant, you adored having him with you and getting to watch him get used to having a real home. But another part of you would then glance to the men always hustling by in the castle, someone going this or that way, the work piled onto Jons desk and how he was always so busy. Filled to the brim his days were, and you had always been there to do what he couldn’t get to, or shouldn’t have too. You were his Queen, and so you acted it.

Now though, it wasn’t so simple. Your day was dedicated to the baby, it had to be. He was a newborn, brought into the world a month early and had to always be watched. That not even mentioning how you did not feel comfortable leaving him alone with people for long periods of time, perhaps your mother was the exception but none else. You didn’t trust that he would be alright being away from you or Jon for so long and he didn’t like it either. But that meant you had begun putting so much on Jons shoulders that you should’ve been lifting.

Slowly pushing up from your thighs to stand, you slowly paced over to his desk. Not messy it was, but not as organized as you knew he preferred it with so much to handle. One thing then the next, you found yourself growing that guilt inside with seeing everything he had to deal with and you had done nothing. You weren’t just his wife, you still were a Queen. And you had not been supporting him as such.

Ink scratching away at each paper, everything strictly organized to what you knew was preferential to Jons way of thinking. How frustrated he must have been you thought. Days now and he worked all alone, doing everything until so late and that was your fault. He would never say it, but it was. You had let yourself off too easy.

Jon worked harder then anyone, what right did you have to not push yourself to the exact same level?

In the back of your head you knew little Eddard was awake, but he had seemed content with staying comfortable in his cradle as you worked away. Brows narrowed almost in a scowl the more you worked, ignoring the strain it felt on your eyes to look only at the sights of paper, ink and candlelight for what must have been well over an hour if not two. Yesterday Jon had even said he wanted you by his side more, but what if the thing he truly meant is he wanted you back in your position as you used to be?

The door behind you both opened and closed without your notice, and yet it was the sudden high pitched yet excited nonsensical noise coming from the baby which drew your gaze to look at least over to him. Sounds of weapons being stored away with a clank indicated where he was in the room, but returning back your narrowed gaze kept writing instead of addressing it. Him arriving was not an excuse to stop.

Jon pulled down the wooden holdings, at the same instance the baby’s hands shot up asking either to grab or be picked up, his babbles a language Jon understood on his own. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you could hear Jon lowly mumble, “I missed you too.” Releasing him a bit more from his swaddle, you could hear the grin in his voice alone as he responded to his son as if an average discussion was being had. “Were you good for her...now we both know that’s not true.”

You hadn’t at all seen Jons gaze try to flicker over to you as if to bring you into his little moment with the baby only to hesitate. A pause in voice and eyes as he took in your demeanour and what you were doing before turning back.

Pressing another kiss to his forehead Jon murmured, “Behave for me, alright? I need time with your mother too.” Whatever babbling noise came from your son, you hardly noticed until a warm figure came to your side. A hand running down the hair at the back of your head while he leaned against the desk beside you, without sacrificing being able to see you. Murmuring your name one, twice before Jon took the liberty to use his grip on your hair to tilt your head to look up at him, disturbing you only when your quill left the paper. “I asked how long have you been at this?”

Opening your mouth to respond, you found yourself closing it just as fast in a question Jon no doubt picked up on. How long had you been here? You thought no more then an hour, but if the light filtering in from Jons window in a tinted golden glow spoke anything it must be treading on multiple hours. Dipping it once more in the ink, you shook his grip off in a dismissal and continued on. “Just finishing up a few things while he was asleep, is all.”

If he believed that or not, Jon yet gave no indication. Leaning down to catch your eyes, Jons face twisted in something more troubled as you did not even seem to realize he wanted your attention more. Instead, his hand moved around to grip your chin, turning you to look back up at him. Gesturing with a nod to the work sitting out, Jon asked a little more firmly, “What’s all this?”

It seemed there was a disconnect between you both, the majority laying in your hands not really picking up that something only started to bother him right then, your tone light and without suspicion of his narrowing eyes. “Nothing that I wouldn’t normally help you with.” Gesturing to one pile and continuing as if everything was fine. “These are all written up, they only need your signature before being sent off-”

Calling your name a little more firmly, Jon leaned forward to invade your personal space, not yet letting go of you. “No, I meant why are you doing all of it?”

Your silence was genuine. Lips parted and unsure as to what was going on when you were doing what you were always supposed to have picked right back up for him. Stammering in a quiet until the correct words slowly and carefully formed as your gaze drifted away. “I’m not sure what you mean, I always handle these things for you. It’s just the-”

Shaking his head to cut off what specifics you had worked on, Jon now looked as confused as he was growing frustrated. “Darling, that’s not what I’m asking.” Genuine in asking what was he asking you then, Jon drifted again to let his hand cup your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw. “Why are you doing all of my work for me?”

It came out as naturally as it did instinctively. “I’m sorry-”

The sigh leaving Jon was followed by his hand dropping from you entirely. A grimace as he exasperatedly pinched the bridge of his nose before his equally as frustrated gaze melted into his voice and tone as if in scolding. “Why are you sorry?” He knew you didn’t have an answer to that, nor did he let you waffle about in silence trying to consider the right answer to placate him. “I didn’t leave all of this here, expecting you to do it for me. It’s my responsibility, not yours.”

Oh there was quite a gap in the air of understanding the more you attempted to find the point he was making. “I..I am aware you didn’t tell me to do it, but I always do things like this for you. It’s my responsibility to help you.”

Jons interjection increased in a tone you were misreading as annoyed with you. “I never asked you to do the work I created for myself, for me. You know that I didn’t.” You tried to defend yourself more confused inside that he didn’t need to order you to know what was expected of you. “What is it you think I expect you to do?”

In your own mind, in the world you knew and understood of women in your position you thought nothing of the way you said it. Jon however, just stared down at you in a disbelief for a good heavy number of seconds as if you had spoken it to him in a foreign language. “To raise your son, to help you rule?”

Standing up, Jon passed by you for merely a few paces. Turning around halfway, your hand gripping the top of the chair with something more wide eyed as he looked back to you, seemingly not at all considering your confusion. “What is this?” You didn’t respond, you didn’t know what he was trying to even ask and he knew it. “Think about what you just said, and tell me when you figure out what the problem with that is.”

Truly he hadn’t said it rude or in any condescending manner, but it clawed at your insides thinking it did while too notably misreading the expression on his face as directed towards you personally. Nothing you said stood out, you didn’t understand. The words spoken were a pure guess and both you and Jon knew that. “I shouldn’t be helping only when possible, I should always be helping you no matter what-”

Cutting yourself off, Jon turned from you pacing even further into the room as he ran his hand down his face. Now much further away, it was even harder to read his real intentions of emotion. Gesturing out to you and motioning to his desk with his eyes growing darker. “And you think this is the way I expect you to do that?” Clarifying that you didn’t say that directly, Jon cut you off almost the moment your mouth finished forming the letters of the end of your sentence. “Since when have I ever expected you to do all this for me?”

Something was wrong, and you felt that unwelcome heat growing behind your face at not knowing why or for what. “Jon, we’ve always shared work this way since before-”

“Since before you gave birth to our son.” Before you even had a chance to let that thought drag you down into it’s depths, Jon elaborated. “I didn’t want you forcing yourself to work into the night when it was just me and you. I certainly don’t expect you to stretch yourself thin when you’re caring for our baby on top of that.”

Taking pity in you, Jon sighed out before holding his hand out to you. Gracefully pulling you to your feet, Jon guided you close enough that both of his hands could settle firmly along your hips. Voice small against what his had been, but still not on the correct path. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-”

That time, Jons sigh was followed by his eyes closing shut. Forehead dropping to rest against yours but his tone was no longer filled with what you thought was annoyance. “I’m not upset, darling. And don’t apologize you didn’t do anything wrong.” Muttering gently that you didn’t feel it was that way, Jon lifted his head. Pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting back against you in a similar fashion as before. “How about you tell me where all this is coming from, because I know you’re not getting it from anything I said to you.”

When you found not an answer right away, Jon shifted both of you. Sitting you down on the furs at the edge of his bed, him now kneeling on the ground in front of you, both hands still by you sides up at your waist now. Grey eyes bright and wide looking up at you, with his hair pulled back making them stand out so perfectly in the hint of golden glow beside him. Your own hands sat in your lap, partially holding at the skirt of your dress in a manner indicating to Jon clearly that you were more on edge then he thought.

Your voice was quiet, trying to find a way to explain it to him without saying the wrong thing again. “I only was trying to say that, I’ve been taking care of the baby so much that I have barley helped you with anything. And last night you said you wanted me by your side more, I thought you meant by your side as in, doing the work with you.”

“With me or for me?”

As it so happened, your answer of apologizing for overstepping was not the right one still. Yet, it was not frustration or anger which came from Jon as a result. His head dropped a bit as a laugh freely left in a bit of a breathy manner. Eyes shining with his smile attached so handsome it was a cruel sight each time you always wanted to keep.

Lifting his head back up, Jon ran a hand that time down the side of your face, cupping your cheek with his grin still beaming with something holding no shred of frustration like before. “It’s a good thing you’re beautiful, because sometimes it is exhausting getting through that thick skull of yours.”

Face dropping flat only drew more of a laugh freely out of him, and smothered in you which he no doubt had caught you trying to hide. Dryly you let your eyes drag to the side of the room away from his grey ones.

Surging upwards, that time Jon caught both of your cheeks, bringing your flat expression to meet his grinning one to press his lips to yours. Nothing needing, but keeping you against him in something more deep then chaste alone, but not guiding you enough into anything to work you up too much with. Just his soft lips against yours taking what breath you had for himself, as you’d always chose to.

Just barley pulling away, you could feel his lips brushing yours with every word. Your hands resting along his shoulders as if trying to dig into the muscle for him. “I’ve never met a woman more stubborn then you.” Asking with a bit more light in your tone, asking if that was an insult or not, Jon just pulled you right back to his lips. “Yes.”

You pulled free that time as your head dropped, a laugh slipping through pulling a softer one from Jon. Running a hand down your hair again, Jon nudged your nose with his to gain your attention. Eyes dark but not angry or annoyed as you previously feared. “You gave birth what? Nearly two weeks ago? And for six months before that I dragged you all through the far North almost your entire pregnancy. I almost lost you twice after you gave birth, and we get home only to realize we still have to watch our backs.”

The tips of your fingers reached out, scratching gentle against the facial hair coarse against his jaw. “Sometimes you say things and I don’t always understand that they mean something different then what I thought. You said you wanted me by your side more, and because we already spent so many hours apart today I thought that you meant you wanted me doing my equal share of the work like we used to.”

Jon only nudged your nose gently again, that time not quite moving away as he kept you there in the near nuzzling like gesture, his breath warm as it draped across your skin. “Right now, you’re duty is to be my wife. To take care of yourself, and help raise our son.��� The hand on the back of your hair gripping you a little firmly as if to grab your attention further. “Not my son, our son. Everything you went through to bring him into this world, darling. I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down by putting your importance here as less then me.”

Only a gentle murmur as your hands still toyed across his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to think I don’t want to help you.” Rather then addressing it, Jon only brought your lips back to his.

Barley managing words through each chase of your lips he pursued when he himself tried to pull back. “Right now, our son needs you more then he needs me. I never had a chance to be with my mother when I was his age, I don’t ever want to take that from him or you.” Nodding, you didn’t say anything further, nor did you need too. As if your lack of protest sometimes spoke better of your understanding then words spoken in the air. “I’m happy dealing with all of this, if it means I know you’re taking care of yourself. But I’ll make myself clear this time, even if you have the baby, I want you in more of my meetings from now on. You take care of him, and I’ll feel better having you by my side. But that’s all I expect right now.”

Not yet any response to him directly, your eyes opened, peeling to the side to the sound of a small sound you were growing familiar with. The fussing of a grumpy wolf pup. “I have two needy wolves vying for my time now, I can’t disappoint either of them, can I?”

Jon chose to go get him, the mumblings spoken to his son as he picked him up and you felt such a shine of sunlight sparkling in your heart at how Jon truly had a son that is just like him. You almost couldn’t wait for a few more years to pass, you wanted so much to see right now how close they would both be the older he got. Sitting back on the bed by your side, Jon only moved an arm enough to tug you closer to him. Your head without thought resting more down against his shoulder, your own hand letting go of your dresses skirt.

Dancing across little Eddard’s front as he right back made those same motions being grabby while a smile came about all three of you. Jons gaze being swapped between you and the baby, the sight more then either of you could’ve ever dreamt of to have with one another. Leaning more into your hair, Jon rasped lowly in your ear enough you were sure he may have been able to feel the slight shiver down your spine. “We have enough going on, don’t add to it by worrying I expect more of you then what you’re already doing.”

Little Eddard toying against the wrapping now fresh once more around your palms, tone a little distant but not so out of the room that you felt disconnected from the present. “And if this starts getting worse again?” You needn’t elaborate, you could all but feel Jons heavy gaze drifting towards the wrappings.

“None of what I said about this changed. Whatever all of this means, it isn’t just you anymore. We take it slowly, but I’m not watching you get worse trying to understand it.” Nodding gently, as the baby begun to settle better with both of you there, so did you turning more to hid away a bit in Jons neck. Feeling him turn his head enough to nuzzle against the top of yours as he whispered gently. “I won’t tell you to stay out of it, but for right now let me handle Littlefinger.”

Another small nod, your voice was apprehensive. “And Sansa?”

But Jon too was firm. “Right now, her problem is with me. I have to be the one to handle it.” Asking gently if he truly thinks Sansa distrusted him the way he suspected, Jon did not waver. “I know she does. But she has to accept just because she doesn’t understand you and me, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. If I could change the way I am with you, I would. But I can’t.” Arguing there was nothing wrong with the way he treated you, you sensed that hesitation. But also, the sense Jon today did not wish to discuss it. Which was fine with you for now, that one was at his pace, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t make him feel more at ease over it.

Murmuring for him to let you take the baby, you watched his eyes drift closed just as you picked him up to lay him back down, the amount the little one needed sleep as active as he had been all day. You turned, and that time prompted Jon to stand. Slinking in behind him, you only just took off enough layers from him that his softer undershirt remainder. Beckoning him to sit right back down, you took an easy spot up on the bed behind.

Just as Jon asked what you thought you were doing, did you reach up to his shoulders, tense as anything. Digging deep into the muscles, within an instant no doubt his head dropped with a grunt leaving from deep in his chest. “I’ll always find ways to take care of you to, you know.” Muttering your name almost in a not very impactful warning, you continued on kneading into his muscles until they relax and massaged the remainder until you moved along his shoulders to more of his back. “We both take care of the baby, you take care of me. Someone has to take care of you, and I’m your wife. Which means, yes, it is my responsibility.”

A small huffing laugh left him, muttering low and a bit slurring together the further into leaning back into your touch he got. “Is there even a point trying to argue this anymore?” Your answer only a short no, and that huff turned far more into a laugh you could feel under your palms. “We’re both too stubborn for own own good.”

Reaching forward, your lips found his cheek almost pressing there gently to his suprise. Moving back to behind him just as you caught sight of Jon intending to turn around to try and kiss you much more urgently, and the frown attached to his face now a symbol of the grumpiness which came from not getting it. Slowly however, you let one of your hands drift up to his shoulder again only to make your own path sinking down into the open top of his shirt.

Grey eyes fluttering closed as he leaned back into you much more noticeably that time, you let your hand drift down his firm torso over to his heart. Your fingertips tracing over the deep wound never to be healed but yet the strong beating underneath it spoke of the most unusual of truths. Reaching behind, you read his ask without needing to be told.

Letting your other stop its work, Jon brought you closer to drape across his back as he tugged your other hand up to his lips. Pressing a kiss firmly to your hand and keeping a hold on it. “Do you really want to do something for me?” Your nod was nothing but genuine and innocent, yet not even did you quite yet register the lower bass vibrating through into your chest as he spoke. Jons other hand reaching up under the end of his shirt to grab at yours, pulling it slowly but with a purpose downwards to his hips.

Glancing back as much as he could, your breathing picked up as they flickered over what he could manage to see of you. Your voice something almost meek or unsure. “You want me to..”

Brows narrowed slightly, Jon almost teased unfairly. “Everything we’ve done, and this makes you nervous?” Your nod again was only innocent, were Jons intentions innocent he may have laughed. Instead the deep exhale only made your blood burn a little hotter. That time, Jon only shifted long enough to rest both of your hands down by his hips, the laces of his breeches toying at the edges of your finger tips. “Come on.”

Biting down on your tongue roughly, you willed yourself to keep the air calm and not doubt what he was asking. Out of anything you had the least understanding of what to do here, but Jon rested both of his own hands against the fur beside him. One lace then the other, any other man would’ve accused you of taking this long to tease or put a show on. But Jon let you go at the slow pace knowing it was simply what you were comfortable with.

Enough room for your hand to slink in, only an exhale left Jon as you did so but otherwise remained steady as he looked over his shoulder at you with a steadily darkening gaze. Wrapping a hand around his cock, already rather hard, a whimper nearly left you much to Jons dismay at you covering it up at the fact that you couldn’t even wrap your whole hand around him. How thick his cock was and you never got used to how intimidating it could be.

But you held at his hip to steady yourself, trying to move gently. Grip loose, and nothing but light strokes inhibited by the clothes in your way but he made you work around it. He didn’t make it easy for you. Just a husk of a voice drawing your senses into something hazy as he muttered, “Tighter. Grip me tighter, darling. You know that.” Jon inhaled deeply as you did, his cock twitching somewhat in your hand as you tried to continue. Barley moving far from the base of his cock, but now tighter in holding him you were still slow and kind, Jons head shaking with a voice any but you would mistaken for annoyed. “Think about how rough I am with you.” Barley did you pick up the pace, and that time an order came out almost in a growl. “You’re nowhere near close to how tight your cunt is around me.”

Again you tried to follow his instructions, and each time he let you stroke up and down his cock until a rising animal inside Jon once more reared its feral head. Telling you to pull him out, both of your hands had to do so. You always were so gentle with his cock as if he didn’t fuck you with it until you would pass out. As if you were incapable of being anything close to rough with him, and it only made Jon throb in your hand thinking about it.

The moment his thick length was out for your eyes widening and audible swallow, Jon sent a hand down to cover yours. His head whipping back to meet your surprised ones almost jumping back, the glare in his eyes took up so much space no grey remained underneath the black as he held your hand so tightly around his cock you could almost feel the blood rushing through him under your palms. “I fucked your ass until you cried for me, and you still do this.” It truly felt like his words did not match the angry looking darkness staring back to you. “I’ve tied you up and left you bruised and you still touch me like I’m the delicate one.”

It wasn’t an accusation but you felt lost for an answer as he started to move your hand with his own. Rougher strokes, faster and not even allowing you to ease the raw feeling by running your hands over where seed leaked from the tip of his cock. “I was too afraid to try and do things like this for you before, now more then ever someone should be gentle with you.” Jon muttered as his cock throbbed in your hand, teeth gritting as he watched his much larger hand almost hide yours completely against his thick length, that he didn’t treat you gently but your words made that growl in his chest come out as his head dropped back a bit. “I want you to do whatever you want when you have me in your bed, you deserve to have that much.”

Jons eyes fluttered shut as you diligently followed the pace he kept your hand moving up and down his cock at. As if he were alone, he was getting you to stroke him the rougher way he would handle himself. Only a fluster rose in your chest at a rather indecent thought, that before your time together now, you had never known just how much he would get himself off each night, and how often it was apparently about you.

Had you both been people that were allowed to be together back then, would Jon have truly stopped that rain filled night where he kissed you. He had you alone, wet from the downpour of rain in the sky and his lips urgently attached to yours pinning you against a tree. How far would he have taken it, had Jon felt the severity of the animalistic instincts he harboured for you now? Even more improper you thought, how far would you have been happy to let him take it with you?

Jon had been too unsure back then together to let you try it, but in another world where he was truly the wolf then as the one in front of you today, what sight would it have been? Shoving you down to your knees, nowhere to go and the sounds of your mouth taking his cock deep smothered by the rain but not hidden from his dark eyes.

But you weren’t the only one with images in your head, yanking your hand from his cock suddenly, Jon turned on you in an instant. Shoving you higher up the bed and roughly forcing you flat on your back. Shoving the skirt of your dress up enough he yanked your thigh high up on his hip, leaning over you stretching you out more and more indecently as if to let his cock run against your core, growing wetter and wetter at the feeling.

His other hand was pressed into the fur beside your head as he looked down at you with such a raw need that his eyes almost looked that of a wild animal. His voice rasping with a scratch against it, a growl asking for release. “And if I want you on your hands and knees?” Your eyes were wide, almost unfairly innocent as your hands reached up to his shoulders, Jon did not blink. “If I flipped you over now, dragged you back on my cock, show you how a wolf breeds his mate, you’d want that?”

Your nod almost did him in. You did not do anything but increase your breathing to match your racing heart blazing inside your torso, but to Jon it was torture. You answered his depravity with such innocence every single time. Voice light and breathy gazing up at him with not even lust, but an adoration against his own lecherous thoughts. “I promise, anything.”

Jons breathing was almost in heaves, his muscles tense looking down at you as if seconds away from ripping your clothes off with his bare hands to tear open the fabric for good. Dragging his eyes down your body and back up, tilting his head as if to implore you to make him proceed with caution. Your name much sweeter on his lips then his gaze and touch. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t keep giving me permission to do all of this. I-” That time he swallowed roughly, leaning his forehead down to yours, the hand beside you now cupping your hair at the back of your head to keep you where he needed. Rasp still rough but much more of a whisper against your skin. “I was only born because his men didn’t stop Rhaegar from doing whatever he wanted. You can’t keep letting me act like that with you, you shouldn’t let me treat you this way.”

Nudging up to run your nose brushing against his, a barley there kiss left to his lips as you cupped his cheeks. “This is nothing like that, you know this. You aren’t him just because you feel more passionate about your wife then other men.”

Shaking his head, it was as if he could entirely ignore how hard he still was against you. “One of Eurons men said something to me after they took you. That they were surprised I hadn’t locked you away in a tower so other men wouldn’t touch you.” Just as you had begun assuring him with a soothing comfort that someone else saying it didn’t mean anything, did Jon cut you off with something struggling inside his own self admitting it. “They aren’t wrong.” Pulling back to look you better in the eye, he was as intense as he was bright in his eyes looking down at you. “Sometimes I do want that. Tie you up, lock you away. Anything to stop the world always trying to take you away from me. Hide you away from everyone else because I don’t know how else to protect you.”

The words he said were one thing, yet another was who he was. Had Ramsay spoken such words to you, if Euron ever did now, you’d be filled with that very terror of a past you had only seen in dreams of nonsense. Yet, not a shred of that fear existed in you looking at Jon. Anything that which would terrify you with other men, Jon was the exception. Perhaps it was the wrong way to encourage it, but you were nothing but genuine. Thumb running over his cheek. “And I’d still love you.”

One leg still high on his hip, Jon nearly tore at your dress. The fabric ripping at a seam along it’s edge as he yanked it up, shoving your other leg wide. Both of you nearly on one side of the bed more to the point it almost obscenely hovered in the air with nowhere to go. Jon didn’t bother undressing any further, the hand on your leg moved to your hair only long enough to force you up to his lips in the same moment he pushed deep inside of you.

The kiss hardly gotten off the ground when he pulled back, a snarl growling from him as he sunk as deep as he could inside of you. The stretch had you gasp, but also a bit of pain mixed in. You weren’t nearly as wet as Jon would’ve prepared you to be, and yet that pained burned inside your core with something in need. Twisting and turning like a coil, as if however you were now, was all you truly needed to take such a thick size.

Forcing your leg higher up his side, he left your hair to hold open your other leg wide. Dark eyes stared down at you, barley even blinking as he took no time to build you up. Pulling only halfway out, Jon roughly thrusted back inside of you, drawing a blatant cry from your lips, head falling back against his pillow as he did it again and again.

Your leg hurt from how wide and strained he held it wide, but his cock sunk so deep every instance, and yet your already tight walls clenched more and more around him begging not to leave. The pain bled into your veins, floating across your body in a sting and yet the growing wetness you covered him with masked the part of it which would be too much. Your heart floating inside of you as it raced to seek out breath your lungs did not have.

Jon so roughly pounded inside of you, staring down with dark eyes near black and a grunt trapped in his chest the more and more he went. Harder and harder no doubt tears had welled in your eyes, the sight alone drawing a growl out. “Fuck..”

Pushing your leg on his hip wide against the other side of the bed, Jon let both go as he reached up to your dress. The laces attached to the front hardly making it to halfway undone before Jon roughly grasped at the fabric and just tore it with a hiss. Hovering over you more, his eyes stared down now at your breasts moving as much as he fucked into you with force. Were his own clothes not in the way, the sound would’ve echoed off the walls and out the window for any to hear. Husking out as he dragged his eyes from your breasts to your eyes again, “I know they’re still sensitive right now,” One again Jon grabbed your legs, kneeling up straighter as he shoved them wide again, ignoring any pain the stretch might have put you in because he was so utterly deep inside your soaking cunt. “The way I love you isn’t normal, I know that. It never has been, but I can’t change that and I don’t want to scare you away.”

He could not do this as he dragged against your sensitive walls each slide of his cock deeper and deeper as if you were designed by the gods to fit him in perfection, created after Jon so that you could be made to fit everything about him and only him. That maybe you had always existed for him, it was always him your purpose was supposed to be, and death only intertwined you both together in a way that would never separate that connection again.

Wrapping a hand around to the back of his neck, your eyes hooded, lips parted as small noises of need kept leaving you as the sound of how wet you were each time his cock slid inside of you filled the air beyond your need of sound. “Never,” You had so little air to give and it all drenched into your voice like a siren in his ears. “I belong to you, I’ll always belong to you..”

Truly, it was something of a fight. The man inside of Jon desperate to kiss you and assure you that he’s always belonged to you too, but the animal in him, the predator pounding his cock into your walls which never once even thought to resist him, said something much more possessive. One which spilled from his lips, hardly even noticing to Jon that he said them aloud. “The moment I laid eyes on you, you belonged to me, and I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me. Anyone.” Rambling further, Jon shifted so that he could stay atop you, mounting you as your feet pressed against the furs at each of his sides, arms wrapped around him as he held your face in his neck by a grip on your hair, the other grasping at his headboard, the leverage forcing his cock roughly inside of you to the point Jon would later be able to see his own nails having carved into the wood. “You were born for me, made for me- fuck I’ll never let you go,”

Neither of you really heard what he said, Jon pounding so deep inside of you, the feeling no doubt going to make standing delicate. You knew already you would be able to feel his cock sliding in and out of you so perfectly until he finally would fill you again next. Jon hid in your hair as he held you to hide his neck, your words somehow sweet and soothing as if he had spoken nothing terrifyingly depraved. “I love you.”

Jon could hardly give himself the space to pull you back to look at him before he captured your lips, kissing you so deeply that the second your lips even somewhat gave space he slid his tongue inside of your mouth. Brushing with a greed to taste you as he would anywhere else he wanted to feast, not even able to pull himself from your kiss long enough to say it back as he was so desperate too. He needed your lips more then he needed to tell you how much he loved you back.

Legs at his sides shaking, Jon could sense your end was racing towards you. Not as roughly, but Jons hips fucked into yours faster and faster. Forcing your orgasm sooner and sooner, he needed to feel you cum around his cock. Unable to even move back with his pace, you had no choice. Laying back in his kiss, legs spread wide and just taking it when his cock dragged again and again over such a perfect spot that you nearly tore from his kiss. Jon only pressed your head further into the bed to keep you to him the whine singing into his mouth.

One pound, another and another, rougher then the last if his skin was bare as yours, it would’ve sounded almost on the edge of violent. But sinking deeply, Jon never ceased even as his orgasm came over him during the middle of your own.

An ankle wrapping around his calf as if to beg him closer, you felt Jons cock throbbing with a growl vibrating against your front before you were suddenly filled with a hot feeling. Fucking so steadily in and out now that both of you had so thoroughly soaked your core, Jons seed spilled inside of you with thick spurts one after another as if to fill you as long as he was still hard.

None of it even slightly could escape, his cock so thick inside of you that he knew if he did this every single day, sooner or later your body would be ready to get pregnant again. Jon filled you over and over as your head grew dizzy even in his arms by the time his hips slowed. His cock still deep inside of you as your hearts raced. Jons head dropped, resting against your forehead, as you both barley were coming down.

If the gods were cruel, and they were, they had planned this just to humiliate you. But the guards weren’t at the door, and with it closed, that typically meant that you were likely in there. Guards stayed outside the door to protect the King, you preferred your own leave you be. So slipping in quietly, there was no mistakening what this was, nor the roughness of the scene having been walked in on.

The gasp of shock was enough, the sudden rise Jon moved from your front, but to wrapping an arm around your front to all but shove you to hide your bare form. His eyes formed in a significant glare automatically and hardly found it within him to ease up upon realizing what happened. His voice tore through your ear in a husk, a breathless rasp seeped with something that was much more detectable as anger. “Sansa-”

You hidden in his front, Jon could sense the humiliation within you rise at being caught, as if you had done something wrong. It was not the time nor the place, but Jon certainly didn’t want you feeling embarrassed that people knew he took you as such. He wanted to throw away that guilt women like your septa growing up had taught you to be ashamed of. But moments like this did not help.

Sansa stood still somewhat by the door with eyes wide looking at the fire by the wall. Her voice a clear high pitched embarrassment in a whole other manner but just as stammering of a strong wish to turn the time back a few minutes and knock first. “The door was unlocked,” Jon could feel you practically trying to melt away from this situation, your name being the next thing Sansa said. “I thought she was alone, I was looking for her.”

Looking down to you, and then trying to look to the other side where clearly the baby had been awoken by the sudden shift in the air and raising of voices. Jon knew there really was no hiding what she walked in on, a hand tucking himself back in as the other prompted you to move a bit, Sansa turning around now facing the other direction with a whirlwind of regret for just this once deciding she didn’t care to abide to boundaries.

She had no idea what was worse, walking in on her own brother having sex with his wife, or laying in bed in the Vale forced to endure her aunts insufferable screaming and grunting on her wedding night.

Already knowing Jon was modestly dressed, he mostly tied the laces of his breeches properly with a jaw clenched in tense frustration before grabbing something for you to wear. Turning you to face him as he slid the sleeves down your arms, his eyes sought out yours as he tightened the laces at the front. An apology ripe in his gaze for not locking his door. Though you would’ve argued that he hadn’t come in for that intent.

Turning you once more so your back was to him, Jon gently moved your hair to lay in front of you gathered to one shoulder, now doing the final ties at the back. His voice truly stern in a manner that sounded just like when their father was as frustrated with one of them, also using it as an indication she could turn back around. “What was so important you couldn’t stop to knock?”

Facing you both once more, it was clear now that a bit of the embarrassment had subsided in most parties, save for you Jon knew, considering you had just stood in a silence letting him take charge of the conversation. Once more, there it was, plain as day on his little sisters face a distrust that he hated that it conflicted with his own struggle inside presently. Her throat clearing a bit, Sansa stuck to a more diplomatic route then perhaps she had intended on the walk over, indicating to you. “I wanted to talk to you.”

To you both, Jon spoke for you as there was a large pit in your stomach feeling ill for being walked in on in such a manner that you were too embarrassed to speak, trusting Jon knew your words for you, which he did. To Sansa though, Jon was aware it appeared as if he wasn’t allowing you to speak for yourself. “About what?”

Eyes flickered between both of you, Jon finally finishing your dresses laces. Palms smoothing down your upper arms, an unspoken gesture to calm yourself down, knowing the whiplash of such an intense, unplanned encounter was not clashing well with having to shift to everything being normal without any time to come back down to your head properly. Sansa though, didn’t see it that way even if she chose to address on but glance at you as well. “There were just things on my mind I wanted to talk to her about.” Asking what things in a gruff manner, it did stand out to Sansa how much like their fathers short tone Jon reminded her of. “About Petyr.”

Jon read the lie and she knew it. She wanted to talk to you alone about Jon. But as unfortunate of a time as it was, he may as well get it out there. But not quite yet, or at least, not this specific part. Talking about Jon was too talking about Petyr Baelish but he was going to address one alone before the other together. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes turned to meet as if reading his mind seeking you out.

Leaning down, Jon pressed a lingering, but chaste kiss to the side of your head. “Do me a favour, go find where Arya and Bran are and bring them to Wolkans study.” Your eyes narrowed, the silence a question and his nod the answer, you knew it was not a dismissal. Asking if he wished for you to take the baby, Jon ran his hand up and down your arm more. “I’ve got him.” Hesitating as you were to walk passed, Jon picked it up. Your head was a mess no doubt, he had been rough and spoken rough and sending you away this soon was confusing your ability to reclaim your senses as normal. Pulling you back to him, Jon captured your lips in a small kiss, murmuring finally back, knowing only you’d hear it. “I love you.”

Nudging you to move, he could imagine the uncertain, tight lipped smile you attempted to give Sansa as she watched you walk out of the door. Jon moving towards his sons bed, he reached a hand down, pressing gentle against his front with brighter eyes and a smile hinting on his lips already calming whatever building distress little Eddard had picked up on in the room.

His tone was more commanding of authority then Sansa expected. It felt no doubt, more like she was speaking to the King rather then her older brother as he didn’t even look up from his son to speak. “We do need to talk about him, and you. All of us. But this needs to be brought out into the open.” She didn’t say a word. Jon lifted his head up to meet her eyes with a more serious narrowing then he just had before, prompting her to be the one to say it. “Say it. Whatever it is you’re thinking, Sansa, just say it.”

One could describe it as a stare off, nothing in the air between glares that were not the crackling of the fire and small tender sounds from the baby Jon stood beside. Grey and blue with something that had been brewing for days and days now. Jon had once tried to talk to her about this, but she wanted to argue, so he shut it down before it got out of hand. Then Sansa continued to escalate things by arguing with him publicly in front of his men at every chance. But this was something he wouldn’t ignore.

Jon had his insecurities, he held his fears of turning into the blood father he never wanted, but he knew without any doubt he was not mistreating you the way Sansa was painting him to be. He was certainly not using you to be King in the North.

By the time Sansa found the words to spit it out, both knew this would escalate again, and part of Jon wished he had told you to take little Eddard with you. Knowing he did not like losing his temper around him. But she now alone in the room, found the right time to say it in a very spitting manner. “I wasn’t brought up the same as you and Robb were, but even I know our father didn’t raise you to act like this.” Pressing her on what specifically, Jon almost regretted it considering how quickly he felt his temper flaring up as she said your name. “The way you treat her-”

Already Jons voice raised in an anger. “You mean the way I treat my wife?”

Sansa’s jaw twitched, something he knew what she was trying to not say but he could see it clear as day as she talked around it. “I’ve known her almost as long as you have, you know. You’re not the only one here who cares about her well being.” Jon had interjected, something to the subject of he’s never claimed otherwise but Sansa had other idea. “No, you haven’t. I’m claiming it.” Pressing her again on what, “Claiming you don’t really care about her well being.”

Keep it pushed down, Jon thought. He truly did not want to get this angry at his own sister but bringing you up was always going to be a subject that had Jon a bit touched. Through an even tone of gritting teeth did Jon force himself to not let the worst of his impulsive temper get to him. “No offence, Sansa, but you have no idea the thing’s I’ve done to protect her. To keep her safe, to take care of her.”

Stepping forward, Sansa waved dramatically over to the bed were the fur was clearly still rustled by specific activities as she too raised her own voice. “By what? Pinning her to your bed so she can’t leave like you’re a dog?”

Not to her fault, but Sansa naturally had not a single clue why Jon stared at her in quite an enraged manner that spoke a little more surprisingly to her, that Jon was withholding something quite serious inside. His words low and carefully chosen as he spoke them slowly. Taking his hand from his sons bed, hoping he understood Jon didn’t want that anger near him. “The way I spend time with her, isn’t for you to start speculating over. You walked in on something you shouldn’t have, and you’re the one assuming things without having any idea what you’re talking about.”

Moving closer to meet her more in the middle of the room, nothing of their glares changed, save that Jon held an eerily unblinking stare towards her as she spoke. Now attempting to match his volume at a minimum. “The last time I saw you, you were leaving for the Wall after we both watched her marry Robb. Then I finally come home after Robb’s dead, I find out she’s alive, and you’ve left the Wall to come here, call yourself King, and marry her.” She was smart, leaving the fact of giving you a child was part of her original issue, but pressing that with the baby in question in the room at least to her, felt like an inappropriate part. “And everytime I see you with her, you’re always all over her. Trying to seduce her. What am I supposed to think?”

Breathing deeply in and back out, Jon reminded himself. If their father never spoke to him in that kind of anger, he wasn’t going to start doing it here with his little sister. But Jon also had to be careful what he approached, and how to unweave this web of endless falsehoods that had been placed into her head about him. “The only times you’ve seen me with her in that manner is when you’ve walked in on it, or spied on us when you knew you weren’t supposed to.” It said a lot to Jon that she had no rebuttal to that. “You may not understand my relationship with her, but that doesn’t mean you get to start judging me for it without any context. I can’t tell you what to think, but I will tell you that jumping to the worst conclusion isn’t fair. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to her.”

Motioning to her almost as if he were talking down an animal, Jon continued before giving her a chance. “If you think I don’t know what he’s been saying to you, you’re wrong. I know exactly what he’s been telling you about me.” Asking more on the quiet side how he knew, Jon let some of that anger go. More wide eyes pleading with her to just listen to him about this for once now that they were both adults. “Because people have been saying those things about me for my whole life. I’m a bastard, a walking reminder of sin and lies all because of a birth I had no control over. Highborns get told to look out for people like me, because I’ll just seduce and manipulate someone into giving me what I want. People hear what my surname is, and judge me because they already decided I can’t be trusted.”

If it was guilt sitting on Sansa’s face, he didn’t go out of his way to point it out. Nor how she remained rather quiet in her slow formed attempt at any kind of fair retort. “You’re my brother, I do trust you-”

Jon didn’t yell, if anything his voice lowered to more of an exasperation, something tired and knowing and finished with hearing that over and over. “You don’t. If you trusted me, you wouldn’t be standing here accusing me of using the woman I love for a title I never asked for.” Sansa blinked away multiple times whatever she was considering saying. “I can’t change what happened, or what Robb decided. I can’t even tell you why. I wasn’t there.” Your name came next from his mouth. “But she was. And instead of asking her why she and Robb did what they did about his crown, you’re blaming me. And choosing to accuse me of using her for my benefit, when I’m the one who owes everything to her. Including my life. I’m sorry you’re hurt, and I’m sorry you came back for something you didn’t know was already decided could never be yours.”

Closing the gap between them, part of Jon wondered if his sister had always been this noticeably tall. They almost didn’t even stand eye to eye, in fact she was a breath taller now. Or maybe she always was this tall, but too he wouldn’t have known that. Before this past week, Jon wouldn’t have been able to even say the last time he and Sansa spoke just the two of them. Jon felt like he didn’t even know her, but he had no way to even try as long as she was ready to paint him out to be something he wasn’t.

In truth, it was likely the most honest Sansa had been since that night she sought you out by the glass gardens, even if it seemed not even Jon knew of that night. You had kept it to yourself as long as she wanted it to be just between you. But here of all places, Sansa let herself just say what was truly on her mind. “Sometimes I don’t now if I really came home. Or if I’m still just a liar doing whatever Petyr tells me because I don’t know what else do to anymore.”

Head shaking the slightest, Jon stepped closer as his tone lowered. Were he to ask in that moment, Sansa could’ve pinned exactly who Jons demeanour reminded her of so vividly it took her off guard.

“If it must be done, I will do it myself.”

The exasperation and defeat once the anger had simmered out, realizing that nothing was as simple as he had thought it would be, and how no matter what being said or done would hurt her, her father never stood forth to kill Lady because he wanted to. He did it because allowing an outsider to so strongly dictate what happened in his family was not something he’d allow. She had rarely considered how much of their father Jon was like, but in that moment, it was like looking at a darker haired version of Ned Stark.

Speaking softer, but still with that heavy weight behind of something bigger then just this argument weighing him down came through. Jon only hoping some of this was sinking in over the words of people like Littlefinger. “I know you’ve been through too much, you, Arya, Bran, all of you lost your chance to still be children after father died. But you’re still a Stark, and you’re my sister. Winter is coming and something more dangerous is coming with it then fighting over who gets to be crowned what. But I can’t even try to protect you from that, or anyone if you keep doing this. He’s not helping you because he wants whats best for you. He wants you to think I’m using her, to hide the fact that he’s using you.”

Eyes wider, something more human in them then he’d seen in days, or perhaps years in her. The voice speaking nothing like the woman who came back, but much more the naive girl who left years ago. “I don’t know if I’ve ever trusted him, but I had no choice.”

Jon was firm, but still that familiar comfort she recalled in their father as Jon held her arms to focus her to look at him properly. “I won’t tell you what to do, but before you decide what you really want, you need to hear the truth. The full truth about who he really is. He’s a dangerous man-”

“I already know.” Looking up to Jons confusion, he could see something much like what he felt just then. A truth that she hadn’t seen coming, but this time he was the unknown party. “I know he’s dangerous. And I know why.”

As it turned out, Sansa’s why was not anywhere near close to yours and Jon why.

Sitting at the head of the table, Sansa had relayed the story. Arya, Bran and Jon all taking it in with the same understanding between them, and the same questions of why. The day Joffery had been poisoned, Ser Dontos whisking her away to something he called safety. Only to get to the ominous ship and slowly put together the truth of what Petyr Baelish had done and the lengths he went to frame it otherwise. Maester Wolkan helped direct the discussion, he and Jon both sharing the same glances of trying to piece together where this all fit into what they already knew. “He had me keep the poison without knowing it, and already knowing he was helping me escape he must have known too they’d blame me.”

Arya leaned forward with numerous questions of her own, the present one being the same on her brothers minds as well. “But if they arrested Tyrion Lannister right away, then he would’ve also assumed they’d blame him, since you running makes him look more guilty.”

“Like he was covering for her to escape.” Jon added of his own, his own eyes you felt glancing to you at the other end away from everyone else. Your pacing had gotten to the point you needed someone to take the baby for you because now you were the one who couldn’t settle. Something was eating at you this entire story.

You could believe Petyr Baelish had the resources to kill Joffery, and you knew why. It was the same why to the question of his betrayal of you and Ned Stark that day in the throne room. A man with seemingly no motive is a man they never expect. Until you thought darkly, until he plays that card too many times.

If your time with the Seaworths had taught you anything about gambling, and gods know Ser Davos’s eldest son Allard certainly spent much time teaching you to gamble when out at sea, you knew the best cards could only ever be played once. Otherwise the pattern be recognized too often. How many times now had Petyr Baelish played that card of feigning ignorance of his own betrayal. First yourself and Ned Stark, tricking Catelyn into betraying Robb, betraying Sansa herself by lying about his involvement in the attempt on your life.

But there was one element that kept picking at your brain. One person that came up again and again in Littlefingers lies and something stood out to you without knowing what. Your palms under the wrappings almost felt as if they were bleeding again, the feeling of the blade Catelyn fought against to save Brans life. The events played after were ones no one was left alive here to know but you, you and-

The moment the thought came to you, your head rose up slowly. Something washing through your veins in a realization so stunning you hadn’t even felt it’s cold take over the room and direct attention to you.

Your lips parted the moment it you regained your senses to focus on it, and yet the very second your eyes looked to Brans, to neither of your controlling, did yours and his both turn white.

[rottiens]

GONER | GOJŌ SATORU

✮ wc. . 2.3K

✮ tags. . angst, fem reader, major character death, manga spoilers. divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ about. . a sequence of events that begin with you ending your relationship make you reflect on the effect your decisions have on the future.

How long is "forever"? For a child who is left in line at a supermarket while their mother goes back to get something else to put in the cart probably a long time, for someone who is sick it probably feels like an eternity.

For someone to whom you tell for a whole year that you love them, and that you will always be together probably the phrase ceases to carry the same weight as when it was first said, after a few months, one of you may say the words because they sound nice rather than because you really mean it.

Looking back you're not sure you remember it very well. The scene is a blur in your head, just like those old VHS's where you start in one scene and if it wasn't cautiously recorded it ends up jumping to a totally different one. You're not sure exactly what you said or how it sounded, nor what he responded to hearing you say it, you struggle to remember because it's important now.

You can't quote the exact words that came out of your mouth but you have etched in your memory his flushed cheeks, the way the gentle breeze ruffled his hair naturally. Everything felt like slow motion or at least that's how it's saved in your head, you think the detail of his blush was stored so clearly in your memories because you've never seen him so red before.

His face was just like a painter's canvas that had had a big red stain spilled down the center.

"Come on. Let's go home before it rains," Satoru suggests, ignoring the knife you casually plunge into his chest.

You clutch the black bag hanging from your shoulder tightly to your body and avoid his blue eyes at all costs, after all, the oval sunglasses do little to hide them and you don't know if you'd rather he was wearing the blindfold today. You glance down at his high-soled loafers, as shiny and shimmering as the rest of his outfit. You divert your eyes to his briefly to stall for time and refocus on your shoes.

He calls your name, reaches out his hand breaking the infinite distance between you and you pull back adding more space. You think you hear his heart break.

"You can't be serious." His hand returns to his side in submission, his throat rising and falling swallowing saliva. "Are you serious?"

"I want to focus on other things."

"I'm unfocusing you?" Satoru laughs dryly, briefly bringing a hand to his chest pointing to himself before lowering it.

"I'm not sure if we're compatible, I think we're only together because we're both lonely."

His lower lip trembles because what you said was a low blow, it's not fair for you to mention the things he's secretly told you while you were snuggled under the covers of his bed for a situation like this. Concern flashes fleetingly across his face along with a lightning bolt that breaks the sky. The parking lot is practically empty, there are couple of cars scattered around as if it had been put there specifically as part of the scenery, you lose yourself in satoru's porsche behind him, gray as the cotton clouds that suffocate the sky, the flash of the kisses you have shared, the laughter, the secrets that stay stranded in it stick in your chest like a sharp arrow but you quickly disguise it by blinking fast and pretending to smooth out the non-existent wrinkles in your clothing.

The silence is heavy. Satoru stares at you so intently that you think he has forgotten to blink.

Satoru opens his mouth but the sudden torrent of water that flows over your head startles you. Satoru gets wet in seconds which makes you wonder why he doesn't activate his infinity and take refuge in his technique, why he stands next to you as if made of stone, still contemplating you.

"You're tearing me apart!" he shouts through the sound of the rain collapsing against the pavement, the water making his shirt cling to his chest, his white skin glistening through the fabric.

"I'm so sorry."

You need to run from there, the rain is everywhere just like the pain that covers your body from head to toe. You feel it all over, crushing your bones, squeezing your lungs and stealing your breath. You are ready to run and flee by his side, but his long fingers stop you, catch your wrists and pull you to him.

Leaving you no escape he pulls you into a forced kiss full of hunger and resentment, his fingers squeeze your cheeks tightly almost as if he's forcing you to stay close but it doesn't matter if he hadn't, you wouldn't have pulled away anyway. He brushes your tongue with his, you let him taste you one last time as he tastes the trace of the drink you were given at the event you attended only minutes before.

The perfect couple, he strongest next to the best sorceress, everyone was talking about the children they would have together, about the future of both clans and the great family they would form, all without asking you first about how you felt. You immerse yourself in a lot of expectations that you have to live up to when all you want is to survive at the end of the day, with so much pressure from your family and the higher ups it is only logical that the band that keeps your appearance of the perfect woman stretches and torn.

You hate yourself for doing this to him before he leaves on a week long mission away from you but you think it's the perfect time for him to detox from you.

As you pull away to breathe he still holds your cheeks possessively, gazing at you just like the most valuable object on display. You can't know what those pretty eyes that hide a sea in them are saying, but you wouldn't blame him for hating you.

"Let me take you home," he asks in a raspy voice and you shake your head.

You can't be near him alone again, not in his car, not in your apartment.

Then Satoru releases your cheeks and they immediately burn from the absence of his fingers and embarrassment, he takes the longest backward step he can and lets you run away from him, literally and metaphorically.

That was the last time you saw him, after leaving him soaking wet in the rain.

It's not like you were desperate to see him again but you weren't sure that would be the last time you'd see his face either. With everything that happened after that day you purposely decided to avoid him, you took missions as far away from Tokyo as you could, avoided going to school on the days he would be working as a teacher and ran away from every social activity you know he would be involved in… little by little the big strong couple fell apart until people accepted that it wasn't a rumor and that you two were really over.

Then he was called to Shibuya along with the other sorcerers who were available. Conveniently you were in Latin America, too far from home to do anything more than hope that all your friends made it out alive from the massacre that was happening there while all you could do was wait and find a plane ticket as fast as you could. You had your phone taped to your chest all night at the airport and all day until you got off the plane until Yaga personally called you to tell you the details.

Satoru Gojo was locked up in the prison realm, I have a death sentence on my head… You'd be lying if you said you heard anything else after that. The phone rolled free from your hand to the ground, crashing to the concrete of the street in a muffled sound.

On your way back you found Tokyo in a mess. Shibuya seemed to have been crushed by a large black hole that consumed and destroyed everything in its path, that it had been a phenomenon fallen from space would have been easier to deal with than admitting that the monster that had created that was still there, hiding in Itadori's body lurking like a predator ready to strike at the precise moment and you could do nothing but wait for it. Guilt digs into your chest as deep as a knife, you refuse to cry and swallow the pain like a hard pill, you should have been there.

Since then you did everything you could to rescue Satoru as you know he's the only one who can take on a now free Sukuna, you can't do it without his help or a logical plan. And after everything that happened between you you feel you owe it to him, as a silent pact that you must keep your word to.

So this is the first time you see him after that afternoon. He looks different from the last time you saw him, maybe it's your fuzzy memories that didn't store the information correctly but he looks bigger even, his hair has grown and his shoulders are broader.

"I knew you'd be here," he jokes in his usual tone.

Here, away from the show his students prepared to welcome him as the celebrity he is. Your belly was in knots and you didn't want to see him, you weren't ready.

You want to slap him for being the first thing he says after months of not seeing each other, for treating you like the sweet friend you always were to him because you feel you don't deserve it, but instead and against all odds you pounce on him. Your arms wrap around his waist embracing an infinite cold emptiness that then materializes in the warm body of your partner.

You hadn't realized how much you missed him until now, until his fingers melt into your hair massaging your skull and pulling you further into him, until you hear him unabashedly sniff your hair and say between giggles how much he missed the smell of your shampoo, you soak his black t-shirt in your tears while his chest burns. You feel safe, you feel at home, and you realize that everything you did was a mistake.

As you lift your clouded eyes to him, you see everything blurred by the raindrops threatening to overflow like that day yet at the same time, you have never seen so clearly in your life.

I love you so much, I'm so sorry - It's at least what you would have liked to say before he interrupted you, his lips make you weep when they touch your forehead so soft, so delicate, you want to stay here forever, you want to tell him to quit, you don't have to save anyone else, you want to tell him to run away with you, that you're ready to start a family and grow old together but you know what he's going to say. Instead, his words make you keep silent:

"You can tell me all that when I get back, I have a lot to tell you too."

You hit the cold table hard where half of Satoru's body rests and the whole room shudders as your cursed energy emanates from you in great waves.

"You promised you'd come back so get up off that fucking table," you sniffle through your nose without letting a single tear fall. Shoko next to you says your name as low as if she doesn't want to be heard, her fingers squeezing your shoulder feels like she's doing it with pity, like she's comforting you, why is she doing it? Perhaps it's her way of telling you that that's it . "Tell me you can do something." You look her straight in the eyes but she keeps quiet, like everyone else, no one dares to speak or scream, why is everyone acting like this is part of the plan? Why are you the only one sinking into a deep salty sea? "Shoko, fuck!"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

Your knees fail you and you have to lie down on his legs, hiding your face in the white sheet covering what's left of him, your heart dropping to your stomach as something sour and bitter rises up your esophagus.

"Leave me alone." That's all you ask, you don't get up to see if she's heard you over your voice drowned out by the white cloth.

The smell of the hospital and medication, unused gloves and alcohol makes your gut knot, it's all too much. You can barely breathe, your throat burns and it would be so much easier to feel a curse tearing you from the inside out.

"You promised…" you sob again hugging the corpse of the one you recognize today as the love of your life. "I'm so sorry," you mumble with a mouthful of saliva.

When you broke up with satoru you missed him every day, every hour, everything reminded you of him because you didn't just lose a boyfriend, you lost a friend. You missed him but you knew you were going to see him again someday, when the symptoms of grief would subside for both of you, maybe you could even get back the friend you lost because of your relationship but now, missing Satoru is a feeling of anguish that won't go away, because you can't call him anymore, you can't show him the pictures you took in the day, you won't be able to hear his voice again, you won't be able to hold his hand again….. It is a loop of a feeling of emptiness that cannot be filled with anything because he is now gone forever, a black hole that no matter how hard you try to fill it with things and people it will not fill, because nothing and no one will be able to take his place.

And for a person who has lost a loved one who told them that he would be there with them until they grow old, forever is a long time.

notes. . ngl this is really a catharsis for me. i miss a person who is no longer with me irl and what better than to open my heart and let out some of the pain through one of the characters i adore the most <3

thanks for reading! Reblogs are appreciated. And don't forget to spend time with your loved ones and remind them how much you love them whenever you can.

[foxdrawsz]

Maxley Mafia AU (yes there will be art for this too dw)

Max

Lives just below the poverty line - with his dad getting fired and being forced to go back to college, they're struggling for money big time

Max gets a job at a large company (bradley's fathers company to be precise) and starts embezzling funds to help support his father

Its not a lot, only a few hundred here and there - enough to get them by but not too much to be caught

Little does he know that the company he works for is the literal fucking MAFIA

Bradley

Is employed at his fathers business

His father runs the most successful business in the country, and naturally with a man as powerful as his father they have *lots* of ties to *a lot* of important people (he basically runs an underground mafia to keep other competitors at bay/out of his way)

When they hire Max and Bradley finds out he's annoyed that he has to deal with him both at college and at his fathers work

He absolutely makes it his mission to annoy Max as much as possible

The company itself def know abt Max's embezzlement but its not a large amount so its not a huge concern

Regardless they set Bradley up to "take care of him" (unalive lol), seeing as they're classmates and Bradley already knows him

So with max now on his hitlist he has to get close enough to Max to take him out (on a date? with a sniper? who knows)

Bradley ends up falling in love with him instead

The plot to eliminate Max is essentially getting Bradley to lure him away and dispose of him, but he keeps fucking up - max catches him off guard by being, well- max

Slipping a drug into Max's drink while taking him out to coffee, only for him to "spill" Max's drink last second, as Max tells him about his struggles for money, how everything he does is for his father.

Hiding a knife up his sleeve as he and Max walk through a secluded area of town, preparing to plunge the blade into his back, only for Max to turn around and grin at him, so happy and content to just be there with him, with Bradley, that he fumbles. That kindness, being directed at him of all people- it’s not something he's ever had before.

Bradley feels bad for trying to kill him but tells himself it wont happen again (it does. a lot.)

Eventually the evil plots become less evil and turn into genuine requests to hang out and spend time with Max. Max is clueless to the entire thing, and just thinks Bradley's being nice, albeit a little insistent, by inviting him out so often.

They find themselves star gazing in a field, and Bradley cant help but reach out for Max's hand- he's so close, Max's body mere inches away from his own. Max glances over, his eyes reflecting the stars above and gods he may as well be the galaxy because Bradley can't stop staring.

They don't talk about what happened that night, but they both know that something changed

After that, Max starts to notice things about Bradley - the faint freckles on his face, the way his hair falls in front of his eyes when he reads, the way he tenses up at the mention of his family, how passionate he is when talking about literature and poetry, how he likes rainy weather and hates the boiling hot summers- he notices everything.

And then he notices something he shouldn't.

A paper- multiple papers in fact -fallen out of Bradley's books after they were tossed haphazardly onto a desk. papers detailing his embezzlement and notes about-

his murder.

Bradley was trying to kill him?

[the-kr8tor]

Star anise for Peter in a ❣️ bottle. Where reader is the antagonist in the script and Peter is the main character. Silly goofiness commences once the director yells cut. Please!

*kicking my feet* hehehe actor! Peter 🥴 thank you! I hope you like your potion, bestie! ❤️

Pairing: Actor! Peter Parker x GN! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood mention, CW violence mention (both are fake though), FLUFF!

Katy's one year celebration 🎉

The knife in your hand trembles as sheer anger permeates through your body. There's crimson coating your hands and face, he swallows thickly at your deranged appearance, neck bobbing up and down, skin nicked by the sharp edge of your knife.

“Please don't,” he pleads, his own hands around your wrist, trying to stop the weapon from plunging into his soft skin. “You don't have to do this.” A single tear slides down his cheek, you inhale sharply at his attempt.

“Don't you see?” You seethe, teeth and jaw clenched. “It's already done.” Before the knife strikes him, you hear a loud whistle.

“Cut!” The director yells above the sound of fog machines. “Take a breather you two, until we set up the next scene!” The rest of the cast and crew scamper away towards the doors to be first in line for the catering truck. You and Peter stay on set, watching while everyone else leaves.

Peter snorts, giggling even though you're still above him with the fake knife aimed at his throat. “So menacing.”

You can't help but laugh as his hands fall limp at his side, with you mock stabbing him even making the iconic screeching sound from your favorite slasher movie. Peter acts dead from under you, tongue lolling out from the side of his mouth. When you tap him awake, he cracks one eye open with a growing smile on his lips. His brown hair is messed up for the scene, but he makes it work, adding to his charm.

“You were so convincing.”

“Yeah?” Peter tilts his head, hand snaking along your thighs up to your waist, holding you in place. “Did I look terrified?”

You whistle out, “Very, super scared of little old me.” Holding his hands above your waist, you squeeze and smear the fake sticky blood all over his hands. Peter lets out a disgusted sound, but he doesn't pull away.

“Careful now, you're starting to sound like your character.” You chuckle at his teasing, taking his hands off your waist to hold them properly. “Besides, I've got a great scene partner that's why I'm very convincing.” Peter responds by kneading your palms, a welcome comfort since you've been making stabbing motions for hours now.

“Oh? Who is this great scene partner so I may meet them.”

“You dork.” He says with endearment that oozes out from how he pecks each of your knuckles.

You lean down, lips puckered to meet his own lips halfway.

“Guys, come on!” The director cuts you both off, leaving you and Peter flustered, caught like a bunch of teenagers making out behind the school. “At least act like you hate each other.”

You look at Peter while he does the same, glancing at you with an amused raised brow. “Never!” You both say at the same time to the sighing director. Meanwhile he mumbles about how the audience will see the romantic tension between your characters instead of the opposite. His words fall on deaf ears as you and Peter look at each other warmly.

Peter makes his point across the moment the director turns his back. He pushes you gently downwards, warm hand upon the small of your back, lips smiling mischievously. You follow, hands braced on his chest, leaning down to press a sweetened kiss that has been made sweeter by the fake yet edible blood coating your lips.

Maybe they shouldn't hire real life partners to play on opposing sides.

[writingwarden]

Hiiiiiii!! Logan's been taking over my brain alot lately.

I was thinking what if reader is the one to save him from Rorke?

[A/N]- YEP. Took this one and R A N across the field with it. Enjoy!

Logan Walker x Reader

Cracks in the Glass

TW- being stabbed, torture, physically fighting to blow off steam, blood, minor and Major character death (not Reader or Walker brothers), Canon typical violence, revenge, verbal fighting, let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count- 6.5k

Callsign-COBRA

Sand and blood cake onto any uncovered skin it can reach. A series of explosions rouses you from your sleep, pain blooming from your lower abdomen. From the ground where you lay flat on your stomach, gear digging uncomfortably into your skin, you raise your head enough to see through blurred eyes three figures. Two sitting against a rock and one walking towards where they sat.

Where were you?

Oh fuck right, Rorke. Checkmate. Hesh and Logan!

Slowly and painfully you force your limbs to move, crawling to the figures who were sitting down. A coughing fit wrecks through your body, blood splattering the sand beneath you. What the fuck? Dragging your body up onto its knees, arms barely holding the weight. A slow glance down reveals a deep stab wound, the knife still embedded in your body, right above the hip bone. Muscle and skin shredded from the serrated blade Rorke had plunged into you in the struggle that had occurred after he shot Hesh and tried to go after Logan.

Blood congealed with the sand, hardening into a crude sludge around the blade, at least you wouldn’t bleed out as fast. Another yell rings out from in front of you.

“Cobra!” Hesh’s voice reaches your ears. Looking up, Hesh was trying to sit up further against the rock, the gunshot wound preventing him from running to you or Logan. The third figure was getting closer. The closer they got, the more pronounced their limp was. Was that… fuck!

Pointing past Hesh to where Logan lay sprawled on the sand, “Hesh look!” you call out. Hesh looks over just in time to see Rorke knock the knife out of Logan’s hand, his boot pinning the other man’s arm into the sand. Hesh makes a frantic scurry to get Rorke off of Logan, but Rorke kicks him away.

More explosions shake the ground. You can see Rorke’s mouth moving, see him getting in Logan’s face. Another surge of adrenaline courses through your veins. With the last of your energy, you pull the knife from your stomach. Arms shaking and vision blurring once again, you throw the knife, Logan's name escaping your mouth. There was just enough force in the throw to graze Rorke’s arm, he stops talking and whips his head around to stare directly into your eyes. You swear there was amusement written across his features as he stands and begins shuffling towards you.

“Well would you look at that! The snake still has fangs!” He stands over you, “You may be as promising one day as Logan.” The sing-song tone when he says Logan's name makes your blood run cold. You wish you had a gun or anything to wound the monster in front of you. But you wouldn’t get the chance, a heavy kick to your stomach has you falling back down, screams ripping from your throat. Laughter from above you as your vision clouds with black spots. You knew you were going to pass out.

Words were being spoken to you but they were hard to make out over the pounding in your head. “...ever again, Cobra.” Another kick and your consciousness fades away, the sounds of Hesh screaming for his brother the last thing you hear.

– — —-

You were met with a screaming match as you entered the war room.

It has been a week since Logan was taken and you and Hesh had been rescued from the beach. This was the first time out of the medical wing since then. They had been forced to lock both of you in a private hospital room with guards posted outside of the door. You had fought the nurses as they tried to help you, your mind having not been in the right state. All you knew was that your Logan had been taken by the very man that was supposed to have died on that train. They had been forced to sedate you before they could help fix the various injuries you had acquired in your adrenaline fueled revenge.

The nurse told you the extent of your injuries after you had calmed down. The grand total was two broken ribs, the stab wound, and a concussion. She had said how lucky you were to have only gotten those injuries multiple times, but you sure as hell didn’t feel lucky.

Coming back into the land of the living you had been surprised to see Hesh in the same room. What was even more of a surprise was that you had both been handcuffed to your beds! Soon you learned they had to do almost the same thing to contain him. Except this time Merrick had to tackle him back onto the stretcher, while you only required being held down.

Man, had Merrick and Keegan ripped you both a new one. For your reckless actions to your fighting the nurses. Every conversation since had everyone either walking on eggshells or ready to tear each other apart.

He had tried to leave right after that but had been stopped by the two soldiers that had been tasked with being your “guards”. All they did was stand in front of the door and occasionally helped the nurses.

Hesh was the more defiant of you two. He wouldn’t settle, the only thought on his mind was once again Rorke and rescuing his brother. Finding Rorke, Killing Rorke, Burning Rorke’s body after dumping an entire magazine into the body, never letting Logan out of either of your sights. He was restless. They eventually had to cuff him again to the bed to stop him from aggravating his gunshot wound further, you were behaving enough that they didn’t feel you needed to join him in his “imprisonment”.

“It’s bullshit, Cobra.” He kept saying. Loathing the fact they weren’t letting either of you out, “We should be out there looking for him!” or “We’ll get him back.” Words spit with venom and promise. The terms bull-headed and impulsive were thrown back at him several times.

Your own anger had been barely contained. You shoved it into a glass box, not hiding it or burying it, but putting it on display. Crystal clear glass revealing the hatred inside of it like an art museum would display a delicate artefact. You knew that one of you had to appear level headed or they would never let you out to search for him. They would deem you both unstable and unfit for any further duty. And you couldn’t have that; Not yet. After you had rescued Logan and ensured his safety, they could all go to hell for any matter. But only after you healed and Logan was safe with you and Hesh.

And reality was that neither of you were in any shape to fight. While medical technology had improved drastically, there was only so much they could do for a stab wound and gunshot. And Merrick had told you they were doing their best to find him with the extremely limited information they had. The federation had been scattered in the wind after the last attack. Information had become even less reliable than before.

Hesh had picked the locks on his handcuffs if the bent paper clip and missing man were anything to go off of when you woke up from your nap.

Which was what brought you limping to the doorway of the war room.

“We need to be out there and looking for him!” Hesh was standing, a crutch supporting him, in front of Merrick, who looked ready to explode.

Merrick clenched his fist where it sat against the table full of maps and files. The radio in the middle of the table, quiet but full of chatter. Location markers and notes had been scribbled all over. Keegan sat at the table, typing furiously at the tablet in his hands. They both looked like you felt.

Looking around the rest of the room you saw that Kick was nowhere to be found. But that was not uncommon, he really liked his solitude. He was probably on the other side of the base.

Looking back over at Keegan, you found him staring at you. Shooting a questioning look at him, hoping to get some answer out of him. His response is an exasperated look and a shrug of the shoulders. Well, that’s always a good sign, You thought frustratedly.

The arguing continued as you walked further into the room, finally standing opposite of the two who remained going back and forth and had yet to notice you. Keegan clears his throat pointedly and they look over, meeting your gaze. Taking advantage of the moment you began, “Care to explain?” You already knew what Hesh was trying to accomplish and you knew exactly what Merrick was trying to reason. You know that both sides had their points, guess it's time to be the mediator. But you knew Hesh was always stubborn, usually to the point that it always ended with a punch being thrown. Which it might. From where you stand, that is what it looks like.

Hesh has a pleading look in his eye as he turns to you, “Cobra you gotta help, we need to be out there! Looking for him!”

Looking from him to Merrick, you motion for him to say his part, “What do you got?”

Merrick sighs loudly; clearly annoyed, “We have a possible lead on one of the Federation colonels who might know where Rorke is hiding. But we don’t know for sure and we can’t just rush in half-cocked!” He shoots a glaring look at Hesh. “We need more time.”

Hesh throws his free hand up, “We don’t have more time to waste!” He opens his mouth to say more when Merrick holds in hand up in a way that told you there would be no room for arguing anymore.

“We have people on the ground, searching,” he says slowly but firmly, like he is trying to drive to point in with a hammer (and you two are the nails), “You two are in no condition to be back in the field.” Hesh moves like he is about to interrupt but Merrick fixes him with a stare. You can see a decision being made behind his eyes. “With your injuries, if we do find him before you are healed you could pose a hindrance to the operation and very well get Logan killed and let Rorke get away. Again.”

Silence overtakes the room. A deathly silence, one only used when mourning the dead or for prayer before the final strike. The radio had faded into nothing behind the previously reigned in rage that was suffocating you. Cracks were forming in the glass, that feral and primal anger rearing its ugly head, bashing it into the material holding it captive.

You know he’s right, this is the rational and secure way to do things. But if you were any more of a suicidal person, you’d be bashing his skull into the edge of the table. Small tremors shake your body where you stand and your fists clench. He was right and you were still acting irrationally. So why did you itch to bury one of your knives into his throat?

In the corner of your eye you see Keegan moving slowly, the tablet on the table and his hand ready to grab the gun from his hip. You needed to defuse this before Hesh gets you both thrown into jail, if the way his shoulders were tensing and his fist was clenching were anything to go off of.

“Hesh… Merrick’s right.” The look Hesh shot in your direction, you could have sworn you had just personally stabbed him. Ignoring the look of betrayal you take a shaky breath in, “We need to be fully functional for any of this to go right. Rorke will get his, but do you think Logan would want us to be killed trying to find him because we wouldn’t listen to orders?” A low blow to bring up Logan in that way again, but hey, when they go low, you grab a shovel and dig a hole in hell.

A moment passes, Hesh now looks like he wants to hit you instead. Let him feel angry at me. You think to yourself, you two could deal with this later. Hell, maybe even brawl to settle it out like old times. The air remains tense but Keegan sits back down, just as carefully as he had stood.

You stare ahead at Merrick as Hesh shoulders forcefully past you and out of the room. You take the shove with grace, not bothering to look back or follow him. You knew exactly where he would be going anyways. Let him have time to cool down before you approach him again.

You stand there staring ahead as Merrick sits down in the chair next to him. He rubs both hands over his face before addressing you, “Need something, Cobra?”

You hesitate before speaking, trying to find the right questions. “What do we have so far?” is what you settle on. Keegan slides the tablet over to you. The screen shows a list of names and locations. Federation higher ups and high value targets that should be in disarray now. You place the tablet on the table and begin to look over the maps. A talent of yours that made you a great interrogator was your empathy. “If I was a homicidal, revenge led Ghost killer, where would I brainwash the youngest kid of my ex brother-in-arms?” You wonder out loud, missing the weird glance the two men shared. “Somewhere remote,” you think about the habits and patterns Rorke showed, “Somewhere sedimental. I’d want it to bring back memories of betrayal.”

– — —-

The knife split the man's throat open like a hot knife through butter. He had finally given you Rorke's exact location and a pure feral feeling was coursing through your blood. Finally after two months of your Logan being gone, did you have a location.

After being cleared for light work (aka being back in the killing field) after the fight, you had set your heart and soul on gathering information and taking out several high ranking Federation soldiers. Each had crack eventually under your carefully sharpened knives. Interrogation had been a skill that had come naturally to you. It was an art, one that you had perfected quickly.

It was the skill that had landed you a spot on Ghost Team. Elias had chosen you along with the brothers. He cited your skills and bond you had from a childhood growing up with the brothers as his reason for bringing you along. He claimed you kept them levelled and that the damn near telepathic bond you had with Logan made you valuable on Ops. Which was true; your parents had been close friends of Elias, which made you best friends with the Walker boys by default.

Hesh was the most outgoing of the trio. Always talking to new people and preferring to hang out at the more crowded skate parks. He’d drag you and Logan everywhere and who were you two to deny him? He was a guardian to you until you had physically outgrown him by becoming a full two inches taller than him. Something he still had yet to “forgive” you for.

But it was Logan that you had really clicked with. The boy was of very few words; a selective mute. But that did not hinder your ability to communicate, a mix of sign language and your own secret nonverbal language. Which mainly consisted of micro expressions and body language. You two could hold an entire conversation with just your eyes. It had always confused the hell out of the rest of your squads.

And so what if you had come to have feelings for the youngest Walker? It feels as natural as an ocean wave crashing onto a sandy beach. You had planned on never telling him, or hell, maybe you would have in due time. But now that he had been taken before you could confess, you were damned sure that the moment he was safe and healing was the moment you’d tell him. You would get to tell him, damn it all, even if you had to drag his ass back into the land of the living with your bare hands.

A hand on your shoulder pulled you back into the present. “Cobra, we need to get going.” Hesh said quietly. Suddenly aware that you had been staring holes into the dead body you shrug his hand off your shoulder and turn on your heel. You two still haven’t talked, instead opting to push yourselves further into training, into becoming stronger. He threw himself and sometimes Riley into working out. Often you would find him running the track in the middle of the night. Some nights you’d join him. Others you’d slink off into the range. Forcing yourself to become better with both gun and knife. The conversation had yet to be had and it was eroding at the years of being a perfect pair- trio. There were three of you and you’d be dead before you’d let that change.

Shaking those thoughts from your head, you look up to see the rest of the team waiting for you by the doors of the old house you had dragged the Federation soldier into.

Looking to where Merrick stood, his stance told you he expected you to say something. “So I was right. You know for such a violent brainwashed bastard he sure is sedimental.”

You had been right in your guess. He would hold Logan at the old jungle compound where the Federation had broken Rorke and twisted him into their own personal ghost hunter. But that place had been raided and every one of the enemy personnel had either been killed or thrown into prison. As far as anyone knew, it was abandoned. It was too little of a possible reward to venture that far into the jungle. Oh what fools you were to hope otherwise.

A groan and nod were Merrick’s answer. I was really hoping you weren't.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “I mean, they torched the place after. I can’t imagine much of it still stands. Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah…” You let the implications of everything you had just learned sink in. Eyes meet with Hesh’s, no words are spoken but an agreement is made. That barely closed glass box of rage continues to crack. Just got to hold it together, just a little while longer. One foot in front of the other, Cobra.

– — —

The foliage is thick as you creep closer to your designated position. The sounds of the forest and chatter of Federation soldiers deafened by the leafy canopies above your heads. Keegan leads the way, revenge and relief are now so close at hand. But you have to start the plan before anything else can happen. Two months of searching, you can Not fuck this up, Logan’s life depends on it. Depends on You and Hesh to keep your cool long enough to complete your tasks and locate the pit he would no doubt be in.

Keegan holds his hand up, telling you to halt. Flexing your fingers where they lay on your rifle, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The moment passes before he’s motioning to keep moving.

As you resume your walk, Hesh slides up next to you, footsteps falling in time with your own. “We still in agreement on what happens when we find him?” His voice is low, still as tense as it had been since the beach.

You glance up at Keegan, who you know is listening, before you respond just as quietly. “I get first blows while you secure Logan. Then you get the killing blow while Keegan keeps overwatch. I haven't forgotten, David.” The words come out harsher than they were meant to but again, that's how most of the words from your mouth had sounded recently.

Hesh doesn't respond, usually his first name gets a rise out of him. A true testament to how he's feeling right now. Silence takes over again as your group keeps marching on.

The next few minutes are a blur as Ghost team and Marines descend on the compound. Body after body falls as you push in. Sinking into your mind further and further as bullets zip past you. One even grazing your ear but it only serves to piss you off more. That glass box has burst open, red rage flowing out, drowning anything in its path.

You'd imagine Hesh is feeling the same, watching him sink a knife into a federation soldier as your group rounds a corner.

Finally you come to it, the courtyard with a single hole dug in the earth. Logan was in it. Your shoulder aches from the recoil of your rifle, fingers numb. But it doesn't matter.

Your team makes quick work of the enemies that attempt to stop you. Clearing the surrounding areas, your Marines holding position in each entrance. Looking up to the exposed second floor you see Keegan’s team.

Your radio crackles as Keegan’s voice comes through, “Eyes on Logan, proceed with caution. Rorke's got a gun to his head.”

Your eyes lock with Hesh's. Then you're moving, rushing forward to the hole, fingers on the trigger. Skidding to a stop above it, the sight inside damn near breaks you right there.

Logan on his back, caked in blood, dirt, and who knows what else as Rorke stands with his foot planted on his chest, pistol pointing at Logan's head. The sick motherfucker has a smile on his face, his eyes trained on you and Hesh.

A low growl comes from the man next to you. “It's over Rorke! No escape from here, you son of a bitch.” Hesh calls down. Part of you thinks he's about to abandon the entire plan for dumping all of his ammunition into Rorke. But he doesn't.

“You know,” the monster below you begins to drawl, like this was a normal conversation, “I didn't expect you to make it; the snake, sure. But you,” He points a finger at Hesh, “I expected you to die just like your da-”

A shot rings out, then another as Rorke's hands cease to be connected to his body; Keegan and his partner’s bullets hitting their marks. That was the cue for you two to get on with it.

Jumping into the pit you plant your feet firmly into Rorke's chest, rolling forward off of him as he hits the ground. Turning around you lunge forward on top of Rorke. Rearing your fist back then bringing it down onto his face. Over and over; blow after blow lands on the man who made your life hell. The monster who killed the man that saved you after ODIN, the monster that took and tortured your Logan.

His attempts to fight back are futile, the full front of your rage holding him there. His face becomes unrecognisable by the time Hesh grabs your shoulder. The signal to switch with him. One last punch and you're standing up, swaying on your feet.

Hesh takes your place as you rush over to Logan. Your hands frantically search over his body, cataloguing the visible injuries. Bruises mottle the skin not covered in blood or dirt. His name and promises to help him fall like prayers from your lips.

Finally you place your hands on either side of his face, willing him to look at you. His eyes are swollen and cloudy, no doubt from whatever they drugged him with. It was strange, the way his face was almost completely untouched. But you don't get much time to dwell on it as sharp movements in your peripheral.

Logan’s blood covered hands shoot quickly to your face. Panic in his suddenly clear eyes, the word “Go!” and “Run.” were being silently screamed at you. His mouth moves but only raspy gibberish comes out. You grab his hands as they hold your head, fingers tangling in your hair forcing you to stay looking at him. “Logan! Logan it’s us! We’ve got you, he’s dead. He’s dead!” You are sure that he couldn’t hear you as hysteria begins to creep in.

But the recognition was undeniable, just for a split second before they're rolling back into his head. His body begins convulsing violently as his hands slip from yours. Screams for a medic, for somebody, rip from your throat. One of the medics lands on their knees next to you but you can't move your limbs. All you can do is stare as the seizure happens.

Then hands are pulling you away from him. You fight against them before another pair is wrapping under your arms and pulling more. Someone is screaming your name but it sounds miles away. The only input reaching your mind is the sight of Logan, being surrounded by medics as you are taken further away from where he lies.

The glass box was gone, only shards and small puddles remain. Your mind clears enough to realise that it’s Hesh whose arms are wrapped around your torso, holding you back. Turning around in his grip you shove your entire being to his in a constrictor like hug.

Blood spatters cover every bit of armour and skin he has, the Ghost paint smeared with red. His eyes are wide, feral as he watches the scene now behind you.

Rorke's battered corpse lying behind, riddled with bullet holes from Hesh dumping his entire mag into him was all you could focus on.

Keegan stands over it, looking at his ex brother in arms, eyes blank. Merrick jumps down next to him and delivers a swift kick to the corpse.

– — —

Life continues as normal on base. The only shifts in the routine now were four Ghosts, taking their turns watching over their youngest in the hospital bed he lays.

In the beginning, it was you and Hesh refusing to leave Logan's bedside. Only leaving in shifts to deal with the bare minimum of your duties and body's needs. Eating and sleeping next to him. The hospital staff had dragged in another chair when it was clear neither of you would be leaving.

It was once again Merrick that forced you both away to deal with yourselves. The other three Ghosts had made a deal that there would always be one of them watching over him if you or Hesh couldn't.

And they stayed true to that promise. A knock drags you out of your thoughts. Keegan stands in the doorway, “Come on, it's my turn.” He enters further into the room, a knowing look in his eyes as he takes in your hand holding onto Logan's.

“You did good, kid. He's here and he's not going anywhere till he's better.” His words were meant to sooth but tears sting your eyes. It seems like since you've gotten back that you just can't stop crying.

Reluctantly you let go of Logan's hand and stand up, but your feet don't move. Not until Keegan places his hand on your arm with a promise to get you if anything happens. Then you're walking out the door and down the hallway.

It’s late, nearing midnight as you approach the smaller gym rooms knowing exactly who’s in there at this hour. Ignoring the Private Session sign on the door you enter quietly. Hesh is on the other side, fists slamming into the sandbag. The only greeting you get is a falter in his punches before he's back at it.

Looking over to the benches you see Riley curled up underneath. The dog huffs a greeting as you walk over and sit down. Hands sliding across his fur.

This has been both of your normal nights since Logan was taken and you just couldn't let it go even though he was home safe. The routine is comforting though your body aches from pushing past your limits.

It started with Hesh showing up at your door during the night, dressed in his gym clothes with Riley at his heels. No words were spoken as you invited him in and changed into your own gym attire. The cold air countering the heated anger as you ran around the city.

Then it was that someone had pissed you off enough that you had dragged your body to the gym, intent to hit and throw things until you felt better. But that plan had been ruined by Hesh, who was already there, doing just that.

That's when the first screaming match had happened. And the screaming led to blows being exchanged. The feeling of beating on each other was cathartic.

So it became the routine, if one couldn't sleep then they were to drag the other (who likely wasn't sleeping) from their rooms then either run or spar. No one has stopped this so far, only looked at you with a knowing (disappointed?) look and move on.

The thudding stops and a loud sigh comes from across the room. Looking up just as he crosses the room and slumps on the bench next to you. Exhaustion visibly pulls at him the same way it does on you.

“Feel up for it.” He motions to the mats in the middle of the room. You take note that his hands are bare and bleeding as you shake your head. Instead opting to slide down on the floor and lay flat looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah that's fair. We can do floor time.”

He slides down onto the ground and lays his head next to yours, body laying the other way. Such as most nights, no words are shared. At least for the first hour.

Then he's speaking, “Did I tell you the time he managed to steal one of the neighbours dogs and no one noticed for hours?” You did this often, recounting stories of Logan. Funny, sad, plain boring; it didn't matter. He loved to tell the more calm ones while you opted to spill the hijinks the pair of you committed.

“I don't think I remember that one.” You did but you liked to humour him. He launches into the story, talking with his hands in the air, you laugh and make comments.

“You should have seen the proud look dad had while Logan apologised. I swear the lady's head was gonna explode, she was so red!” he laughs through the words.

You look up at him, “Yeah, that tracks. You and your dad were always enabling our bullshit.”

He lets out a slow sigh and lets the buzz of the overhead lights and occasional footsteps fill the space. You were content to let them do so but there was eating at your thoughts.

“I love him.” You had told him before in a fit. He had barely understood you the first time you said it, had been borderline hysterical, expecting him to hate you. “I know” he had said. Called you right stupid for not saying it sooner.

His hand appears in the air above your face and you're too tired to care as he brings it down and palms your entire face, like something straight out of Alien. He shakes your head back and forth before he lets go. “I know, you know you're going to have to tell him eventually, right?”

It was your turn to sigh, “I know, dude. I know.”

– — —

It’s one of those nights where you and Hesh are on watch at the same time. It was rare but it does happen. Logan has been in a medically induced coma for a month now. It's Hesh's turn to go get you both dinner, so you get to take up watch over Logan.

(The eldest brother opted to leave Riley with you. The dog takes up his usual post at the door, ever the guardian.)

Grabbing his hand, something that had become a habit. You start recounting the day's events, another thing you both had taken up. Talking to the sleeping man, telling him the base gossip and telling him how the day went, how Riley and the team are, everything you could think of you talked about.

“Then he made them run laps. He's shaping up nicely for that Captain role he's heading for.” You laugh, explaining how Hesh oversaw today's training. “He gets that promotion and we're set to get away with so much shit, Lo.”

He made no movements, the only sound to respond was the steady beat of the vitals monitor. You let loose a breath and place your head down on the bed next to his hand. “Wake up soon, please.” You plead into dead air, “He needs you. I need you.”

Time passes slowly, Hesh taking his sweet time getting that food. Must be Chilli Night in the mess. That always caused the place to be packed. Your mind wanders all over the place, what was it that one sergeant had said? When was Merrick going to send you back into the field, you were already on borrowed time. A thousand things plague your thoughts; it was beginning to give you a migraine.

The hand in yours twitches. You sit up so fast your back twinges. Ignoring that you stare down at your hand, did you imagine that? “Logan?” You murmur, looking up at his sleeping form and you gasp. His eyes were fluttering open. Standing up you lean over him hopefully, “Logan? You with me?”

Your heart starts racing as those same eyes open and land on you. Reaching up to hold his face but you're interrupted by a harsh grip on your arm. “Lo?” You ask shakily, staring at the place he has in his grasp.

“R-run!” The word was urgent, the beeping of the heart monitor became louder, quicker. Fear shines brightly through his eyes as they dart around the room, underlined with confusion.

You grip over his hand, “No no no, Logan you're safe! We're home!” His fingers dig into your skin as he starts shaking. With fear that he is going to start having another seizure you turn your head around to call for help. But you're met with the frozen forms of Hesh and Merrick standing in the doorway.

Quickly you call to him, “Get help!” Your voice was high, panic beginning to creep in. The trays fall out of his hands as he steps back out and starts shouting for help. Merrick starts for the bedside but you wave him off, not wanting to overwhelm the already panicking man.

Directing your attention back to Logan you can almost see the dots beginning to connect as he stares past you, to where Hesh just stood. You should for Hesh, yelling his voice as loud as you can.

The tall man comes running full tilt back to the room, almost skidding past the door. “Logan!” He shouts and you have to stop yourself because it was the same scared scream from the beach. He sprints over to the bed, grabbing Logan's other hand, trying to soothe the man into the present.

Logan's mouth is moving, repeating “Not real” as he flickers his eyes from you to Hesh.

You both start speaking at the same time, trying to tell him it is real, that this is real. Someone else enters the room. But you don't look away from Logan as his grip on your arm begins to loosen. Slowly and suspiciously (?) he starts to lay back into the bed.

It's only when he's retracted his arm away fully and is now sitting reclined in the bed that you breathe a full breath. Nurses flutter around you checking his vitals and tweaking his pain meds. Your eyes never leave his except to look over at Hesh, who sits there determined to not leave unless absolutely necessary.

Eventually the buzz dies down, Merrick having stepped out to make a few calls. Either way, you were glad for the privacy. Neither of you had let go of his hands, afraid that it would be a dream.

His fingers entwined with yours had those emotions stirring violently in your chest.

Hesh had been catching him up to speed on everything, thankfully omitting the violent way the two of you coped. You had just been nodding along and speaking up occasionally to add in if Hesh forgot something.

Logan, he just sat there, taking everything in. He had been quiet since the nurses left, not asking questions or only speaking in clipped words. Your eyes flit down to his throat, a ring of rope burn now healed.

His eyes catch yours, a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. Oh, how you missed that smile.

Hesh clears his throat, catching your attention. He waits for you both to look at him before speaking, “I dropped our dinner. I'm going to run to the corner store and grab us something.” He stands from his chair and walks over, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. A whisper of “Tell him.” and then Hesh is gone, Riley at his heels.

Turning back to Logan, you place your head against your hands. You needed to tell him, the confession trapped behind your teeth. You look back up at him and let go of his hands reluctantly, doubt tugging at the forefront of your mind. You had just gotten him back, what if you lose him now? There would be no way to cope with that, but he would be alive to hate you and you were fine with that.

“I-” You start, “I love you, Logan.” The words themselves are not strangers to you. They were said so regularly throughout your life, so the look you got from him was no surprise.

He drums his fingers against the hospital bed and hums, “Love you too.”

A stressed sigh leaves your mouth and you find yourself staring into his eyes again. “No Lo, I love you.” The words emphasised, “I'm sorry for not telling you before and I'm sorry if you don't feel the same but I was going to be damned before I let you leave before telling you.” The confession is quick as you look away from him.

An amused huff answers you and then a hand was grabbing your face again. This time is so much more gentle. Nothing like the harsh grip that had come to plague your dreams. Letting him pull you to look at his face. There's fondness in place of the rejection you had feared.

He pulls you closer and you let him. Your face now hovering over his. And then his lips are on yours. And then you're melting against him, careful not to put weight on his injuries.

In that moment there's nothing else in the world. No war, no cold hospital room, just two scar riddled childhood friends who were becoming something more.

[pandorxxx]

Tell him…

Lo’ak (20) x fem omatikayan reader (20)

Supporting character: Neteyam sully (with his fine ass🤦🏾‍♀️)

Warnings: SMUT THE HOUSE, rough sex, hair pulling, p in v, squirting, knife play, praise kink

🔞Minors, do not interact🔞

For as long as you can remember, lo’ak and Neteyam have had a crush on you. Always competing for your attention, your love. Fighting with each other to settle who would be with you in the end. Although you did make a choice at some point , you couldn’t get the other one out of your mind.

You and lo’ak were working towards a relationship, while Neteyam scoffed from the sidelines. You made it clear to Neteyam that Lo’ak was the one you wanted, but he didn’t believe you. Neteyam knew that he could do so much more for you, be the man that you needed. His baby brother couldn’t handle you the way he could, and apart of you knew that. Neteyam was older, more mature, manly, and that’s what you so desperately desired. However, no one could compare to lo’ak. You two had a bond that no one could break. Everything about him made you melt. The way he talked to you, the way he held you, the way he fucked you.

“Oh great mother, yesss!” You screamed, bouncing on lo’ak, chasing your third orgasm of the night. He watched you ride him with lustful eyes.

“Mhmm don’t stop, baby!” Lo’ak shouted, bucking his hips upward to meet yours. He gripped your ass, plunging you down onto him to match his strokes. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You like when I fuck you senseless? Huh?” He growled, pulling you down to him by your neck, as he thrusted into you hard and fast. You bit your lip, feeling your high approaching you quickly.

“mhmmmm!!” You nodded frantically, looking into his eyes.

“You wanna cum on this dick?” He whispered in your ear, before licking it. Those words sent you spiraling. Your mouth dropped as you felt him hit your sweetspot with every thrust. You nodded, looking into his eyes.

“Go ahead, let it go, baby!” He grunted, throwing his head back as you clenched around him. Your legs started to shake, as your eyes rolled back. He watched you reach your peek, as this was the most intense orgasm you’d ever had with him. He was almost proud that he was able to make you feel like this, but he didn’t know who was on your mind at the time. Your eyes were closed, as you thought about Neteyam. You whole body shook violently, as you threw your head back, and before you knew it:

“Mmm yes NETEYAM!!” You screamed to the top of your lungs, collapsing into lo’ak chest. Lo’aks orgasm was quickly ripped away when he heard those words fly out of your mouth. He completely froze as you held him tight. So may thoughts ran through his mind.

Neteyam? NETEYAM?! Was she always thinking about Neteyam when i fucked her? Have they fucked before? Am I not good enough?

He threw you to the side, standing in-front of you. You had just realized what you’d done. Calling his brothers name while you reached your climax. You looked at him with sad eyes, tears threatening to leave.

“Lo’ak I-“ he shook his head to signal for you to stop talking.

“Neteyam?…” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Your ears went flat, tail wrapping around your legs. He looked at you with pure disgust as he shook his head.

“Y/n…have you been fucking my brother?” He asked, surprisingly calm, as he clenched his jaw. The memories of you and Neteyam sneaking around with each other flooded your mind. You threw your head down, looking into your lap.

“Yes…” you whimpered in disappointment. You shook your head, knowing that you just broke lo’aks heart. He chuckled before pacing the room.

“I should’ve known. The way he looks at you? The way you look at him? I thought we were working on building our relationship?” He stopped, putting his hands on his hips as he glared into your puffy eyes.

“Is he better than me?” He whispered, trailing your naked body, then meeting your eyes again. You shook your head frantically.

“No, baby! He’s not even close, I promise!” You cried, getting off the bed. You got on your knees infront of him, looking up at him with your doughy eyes.

“Lo’ak, I am so sorry! It was a mistake! I promise, baby! Please don’t leave me!” You plead, grabbing his hand, bringing it to your tear stained cheek. He looked down at you, and then to the ceiling, clenching his jaw.

“Tell Neteyam…” lo’ak commanded, looking back down at you. You looked up at him, confused about his command.

“I do not understand.” You confess, shaking your head. He bit his lip, before bending down to your level.

“Tell him that I fuck you better.” He stated, grabbing your neck, bringing your forehead to his. He could see the hesitation in your face, making him angrier.

“Unless you don’t mean it! And you’re just telling me what I want to fucking hear! Is that it?!” He huffed, shaking your neck harshly. You grabbed the hand that was connected to your neck, caressing it to calm him down.

“NO! NO! I will tell him!” You stated nervously, shaking your head in agreement. He looked you up and down, before smirking to himself.

“How about you show him?” He licked his lips, glaring at you with nothing about lust. You shook your head in confusion. He let you go, before walking towards his neck piece on the table. He turned around to you slowly, pressing the button.

“NETEYAM!” He yelled, still staring at you.

“W- what is wrong?” A half sleep Neteyam answered.

“Brother! Come quick! Something is wrong with y/n!” Lo’ak shouted with fake emotion, as he glared at you with a straight face.

“Y/n?! I’ll be right there!” Neteyam muttered urgently. Lo’ak shook his head at his brothers sudden surge of energy when he heard your name. Lo’ak threw the head piece back on the table. He walked towards you, picking you up and placing you on the cot.

“Are you gonna show him who you belong to?” He asked, playing with your hair. You nodded hesitantly, before hanging your head down. He turned around, putting his loincloth back on. His ears perked up when he heard loud footsteps approaching the hut. The door flew opened to reveal an out of breath Neteyam.

“I-i got over here as fast as I cou-“ he was cut off by the scene infront of him. You completely naked, hiding yourself from him. Lo’ak tying his loincloth back, glaring at him.

“What is the matter?” Neteyam asked, closing the door behind him. Lo’ak smirked, crossing his arms.

“You tell me, brother.” Lo’ak chuckled, looking between you and Neteyam. Neteyam’s eyes widened in realization. Still playing it off, neteyam shook his head in confusion.

“W-what are you talking about?” Neteyam asked, scratching the back of his head.

“She was SCREAMING your fucking name on top of me a few minutes ago! Stop fucking lying to me!” Lo’ak gestured angrily, shouting as his breathing became rapid. Neteyam looked into your frightened eyes. You shook your head at him, signaling for him to stop lying. Neteyam sighed loudly, resting his hands on his hips.

“Wow…” lo’ak started, glaring at his older brother in disappointment.

“So really have just been FUCKING my girlfriend, and pretending that everything is all good? Right?” Lo’ak pursed his lips, waiting for an answer.

“She’s not your girlfriend lo’ak. I wouldn’t have done this if you two were mated.” Neteyam explained, pointing to you.

“THATS NOT THE FUCKING POINT!” Lo’ak shouted, rubbing his hands through his loose braids in frustration. You whimper at his anger, buring your head in your lap. Neteyam shot his head at you, and then back at lo’ak.

“Lo’ak, you are scaring her. Let’s talk about this outside.” Neteyam commanded, pointing towards the hut door. Lo’ak shook his head, walking towards Neteyam.

“No! We’re going to talk about it right now! She is MINE. NOT YOURS!” Lo’ak growled, pushing Neteyam back by his shoulders. Neteyam stumbled back, before regaining his balance. He walked up to his brother, clenching his fists before looking back at you. The fear in your eyes made his heart sink. Neteyam shook his head, backing away from lo’ak slowly.

“I’m leaving, we’ll talk about this later.” Neteyam growled, turning towards the door, but lo’ak stopped him in his tracks.

“NO! You’re going to stay! The only way for you to get it is if I fuck her in-front of you!” Neteyam’s eyes widened, turning around to look at lo’ak. Neteyam glared at him with pure disgust.

“I’m not playing your sick game. You can fucking have her.” Neteyam spoke, barely above a whisper.

“If you leave, I’ll fucking kill her.” Lo’ak whispered, waiting for a response. Neteyam’s eyes grew angry, grabbing his brothers arm.

“Watch your fucking mouth. You wouldn’t dare.” Neteyam growled through gritted teeth, releasing his brothers arm harshly.

“Try me.” Lo’ak back up to the table, grabbing his knife and running towards you. He hopped behind your back, holding the knife to your jugular. You screeched in fear, tears starting to well in your eyes. Neteyam started walking over when lo’ak stopped him by pushing the knife closer to your neck.

“Don’t come any fucking closer!” He yelled before bending down to your ear.

“Just play along, y/n. You know I would never hurt you.” Lo’ak whispered, before kissing your ear and looking back at Neteyam with a sadistic grin. Neteyam was torn. He didn’t want lo’ak to hurt you, but he could NOT watch his lo’ak have his way with you. He hissed in frustration.

“Have a seat, in the corner, this might take a while.” Lo’ak nudged his head to the corner of the room. Neteyam shook his head in disappointment. Eyes flickering between you and his insane baby brother.

“You are SICK!” Neteyam yelled before backing into the corner, sliding down the wall. He pulled his knees to his chest, burying his head in his lap.

“Just, follow my lead, ok?” Lo’ak whispered softly, rubbing your back with the knife still to your throat. You nod nervously, watching Neteyam rock back and forth in the corner.

“Ohhh neteyammm, look up before I slit her fucking throat!” Lo’ak sung, pushing your head onto the cot, pulling your hips up towards his pelvis. Neteyam looked up angrily, tears threatening to fall from his glossy eyes.

“Get this shit over with!” Neteyam growled, glaring at lo’ak as he untied his loincloth behind you.

“Nope, I’m gonna take my sweet time with her! That’ll show you who she belongs to.” Lo’ak grunted, sliding his hard cock into your dripping cunt. You bit your lip to suppress the moans that threatened to slip out. You got a glance of Neteyam in the corner, shaking in anger as tears fell down his face.

Lo’ak pulled you up by your hair, pressing the knife to your throat as he thrusted into you slowly. The mix of fear and pleasure was becoming overwhelming for you. You threw your head back onto lo’aks chest, gripping the arm that was threatening to slit your throat with the slightest move.

“Talk to me baby, what is it?” Lo’ak whispered, fangs grazing your neck as he glared at Neteyam. Neteyam was completely heart broken as he watched you melt into his brothers arms.

“Mmmm, please!” You moaned, shaking your head from the overwhelming pleasure. Lo’ak wrapped his strong arm around your torso, knife still to your throat.

“Please what, baby?” He asked innocently, speeding up the pace. Your mouth dropped, as you threw your head down towards the cot. Lo’ak growled as he grabbed your jaw, pushing it to meet neteyams sad gaze.

“Tell Neteyam what’s wrong. Whats happening to you right now?” Lo’ak shot an all-knowing grin at Neteyam. You started clenching around lo’ak, feeling your high approaching you quickly. You shook your head, not wanting to upset Neteyam with your orgasm. Lo’ak help the knife up to your throat tighter.

“TELL HIM!” He shouted making you whimper. You started shaking uncontrollably, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Cumminggg!!!” You screamed, convulsing on lo’ak. Neteyam pursed his lips, burying his head in his hands, not being able to take anymore of this sick, and twisted game.

“Yes baby thats what the fuck I’m talking about!” Lo’ak moaned, slowing down the pace to let you ride out your high. He slapped your ass one good time before picking you up by your hair, and dragging you infront of Neteyam. You laid on your stomach, tears falling from your face as you watched Neteyam weep. You crawled towards him drunkenly, holding onto his ankle.

“I-I’m sorry, teyam. I did not mean for this to happen.” Your voice strained, as you panted.

He looked at you briefly with disappointment, before burying his head back into his hands.

Lo’ak straddled your back, pinning your arms. He lifted you by your hair, placing the knife to your throat.

“Tell him what you told me! TELL HIM!” Lo’ak growled glaring at Neteyam who was now visibly frustrated as he watched you struggle.

“Why are you doing this? YOU’RE FUCKING HURTING HER!” Neteyam shouted, flexing his muscles as he gestured angrily.

“I’m not hurting her…” lo’ak grinned as he lined his cock up with your cunt once more. He slid in slowly, making you moan unintentionally.

“I’m hurting you…” lo’ak said calmly, tilting his head at Neteyam, shooting him a devilish smile as he thrusted into you hard and deep. Neteyam shook his head as he watched you fall into lo’aks trap.

“‘mmm lo’aaaakk!” you whine, throwing your head down in pleasure. Lo’ak let your arms go, placing them gently on the floor. He trailed the knife down your back softly, sending chills down your spine, causing you to twitch briefly.

“You like that,huh? Such a fucking freak.” He chuckled before looking at Neteyam. Neteyam refused to watch you like this. He rocked back and forth as his head was turned towards the hut door.

“Look at her, coming undone for ME! No one else. Y/n is MINE!” Lo’ak grunted, slamming into you with so much force, hitting your sweetspot with every thrust.

“You wanna tell him what we talked about, babygirl?” lo’ak whispered in your ear, still glaring at Neteyam. You were an absolute mess. Lo’ak was sending you into a frenzy, thrusting into you and filling you up just right. Your jaw dropped when he rolled his hips into you, massaging your sweetspot with his tip.

“Be a good girl, and tell him y/n…” he patted your back to keep you calm, as he thrusted into you with no remorse.

“Mmm net-Neteyam, I- I’m sorry!” You moaned feeling you high approaching you. Lo’ak slapped your ass hard causing you to yelp in pain.

“That’s not what the fuck we talked about! Tell him, NOW!!” Lo’ak growled, speeding up his pace.

“LO’AK FUCKS ME BETTER!” You screamed in an attempt to get lo’ak to ease up on you. Neteyam’s ears perked up, shooting his head at you in disbelief. You couldn’t take the embarrassment of looking him in the eyes, so you threw your head down in shame.

“You are making her say that! You are holding a knife to her neck!” Neteyam growled at lo’ak, tears threatening to roll down his face in anger.

“Look at her…she’s loving this shit.” Lo’ak laughed before pulling out of you. He picked you up to face him. He tapped your thighs signaling for you to jump, and you obliged, wrapping your legs around his hips.

“You are fucking sick.” neteyam whispered, watching his brother slide into you slowly.

“You fucked my girlfriend, and came around me like nothing happened, but IM SICK?” Lo’ak snarled, thrusting into you slowly, making your head go limp from the overwhelming pleasure.

“You listened to me go on and on about how much I loved her, while you were FUCKING HER BEHIND MY BACK, AND IM SICK?” He grunted, speeding up the pace, causing you to moan louder than before as you chased your orgasm.

“Mmmm lo’aaaakkk!” You whined as your hips met his thrusts. He patted your head, kissing your forehead.

“I know, I know. I’m almost done, baby.” Lo’ak shushed you as he glared at an angry Neteyam.

“No I’m not sick…I’m getting EVEN! You’re gonna watch her cum for me so we can settle this shit once and for all!” Lo’ak grunted, feeling his high slowly approaching him.

“Lo’ak! Im sooo c- close!” You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I know, baby. Just let go for me!” Lo’ak grunted, biting his lip as he watched you fall back into his arms, revealing your breast and stomach to him. He took the knife, sliding it down your entire torso, sending you over the edge. Neteyam watched in disgust. He couldn’t believe that his brother was doing this.

“Tell Neteyam you’re sorry for the misunderstanding, and that it won’t happen again.” Lo’ak commanded, tapping the blade on your stomach.

“Ahh, Neteyam Im s-sorry for the misunderstanding, and i-it -fuck! it won’t happen again!” Lo’ak smiled, pulling you up to be face to face with him.

“You’re such a good girl!” He chuckled, gripping your neck.

“I’m s-sorry, lo’ak! You’re the best I’ve ever had!” You cried, staring deep into his eyes, as you nodded for confirmation. He bit his lip, sinking his cock into you deeper. Neteyam’s ears go flat at your sudden confession, as he watched your legs shake around his baby brothers torso.

“I forgive you baby. I know you’re sorry! Now cum for me! Show him who you belong to!” Lo’ak nodded, staring deep into your teary eyes.

“Fuck! Cummingggg!!!” You screamed, squirting all over lo’aks stomach. Lo’ak watched you twitch as you came down from your high, only triggering his.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby? I want you to be mine forever.” He grunted before cumming deep inside of you, thrusting into you slowly to ensure that you got every last drop of him. You held onto him tightly, burying your head in the crook of his neck. With every slow thrust, you whimpered out of sensitivity. Neteyam watched the scene unfold in shock, contorting his face in anger.

“I cannot believe you would do this!” Neteyam shook his head, laying against the wall behind him. Lo’ak walked over to Neteyam slowly, kneeling infront of him, with your twitching body still clinging onto him.

“Well…” lo’ak started, as he caressed your back with his fingertips.

“Seeing is believing…”

Damnnn hollon now! Not lo’ak being completely unhinged, I literally love that for him😩. Anywaysss, as always….I love y’all so much🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 and I’ll see yall tomorrow!!!

Outtie ❤️🖖🏾,

Pandorxx

[madomens]

The people have spoken… Here’s part one of my apocalypse mini series🫶🏼🫶🏼

word count: idk it’s a long one

TW: Death, Typical zombie apocalypse gore

MDNI‼️‼️ 18+

You knew when the world went to shit that all hope was gone. After all, who can you call during a zombie apocalypse when there’s no reception and the closest person to you is 45 minutes away? They’re probably all dead anyways.

With a deep sigh, you grab your backpack with only the essentials (water, food, medicine, bandages, and of course weapons), and leave out of your shelter in the only place not crowded with those.. things. For a couple weeks now, you’ve been staying in an abandoned cabin free from zombies, other people, and animals. Minus the occasional mice. Plus it had a fireplace and a few old books to read. This is honestly the longest time you’ve actually gotten to spend in one place without being ran off by fucked up dead people trying to eat you or assholes trying to steal your shit.

Throwing your (hair color) hair up into a tight bun, so nothing and no one can get a chance to grab it and pull you down, you get the final touches in making sure everything is secure before walking out the door to either hunt or find another place not already torn apart by other survivors.

In the few weeks of you being here, you’ve searched every few days to try to keep up with supplies, but the farther out you have to travel, the more dead things there are and after all, there is only one of you. The nearest grocery store to the cabin is around a thirty minute walk and you and whoever else has found it, has pretty much cleared it out. The craziest part about it, no one wanted the dasani water even in an apocalypse. You took it anyway.

After twenty minutes of wandering in the woods and killing a few stray zombies in the way, you finally find the road. Making sure to grip your knife in your cloth covered hand tightly, you look both ways and continue straight until you come across a store you haven’t seen yet. The outside is covered in vines and from the looks of it, the gas pumps exploded sometime during all this, somehow not destroying the entire store with them.

You walk up to the boarded up door and bang on it one time to make sure nothing jumps out at you and after not hearing any rustling, you cautiously enter the gas station. You think you would get used to the smell of rotting bodies after four years of being around them but no, you still gag every time you come in contact with the horrid scent. Covering your nose but still holding on to the knife in your other hand, you slowly start making your way around the place, making sure to check every single shelf on the way to the back.

“Great,” you mumble to yourself, throwing a box of crackers that were obviously eaten by rats or other small animals. Making your way to the back, you spot a few packs of cigarettes that are completely unopened. During the apocalypse, no one is judging you for picking up a hobby that may kill you eventually. Hell, you risk dying every time you close your eyes so who really cares?

Finally coming into view, the cause of the awful decaying smell shows itself in the form of a half eaten wolf and a rotting corpse. Approaching the corpse slowly and shoving its head with your foot, it startles you as it tries lunging for you but ultimately failing due to only having the upper half of a body. You jump back slightly but manage to plunge the knife into its head, sending it to its final resting place.

No one really knows how this whole thing started, but it started quickly, killing over half the population in just a weeks time. Somehow you survived, but you like to think that having to survive all those years as a child in a toxic household really helped. All you really had to do was learn how to work a knife, and of course have a stomach to be able to stab someone in the head. You know they aren’t people anymore but.. they still look like people for the most part.

Searching through the back of the store looking for overlooked supplies or weapons, theres a sudden thump back at the front. Quickly dropping low enough to crawl behind the counter to get a good look at who or what could have made the sudden noise. At this point, you’d take a dead person as opposed to a living one. At least the dead one’s dont have the conscience that normal people do. It’s just their nature to want to kill you.

“Dude. I told you to watch your step,” a harsh whisper sounds from near the entrance to the store.

“Sorry,” another slightly higher pitched voice rings out.

You don’t dare move from your spot, not knowing these people or what they want, most of the time it’s definitely nothing good. You can hear their footsteps lightly crunching the glass beneath their feet as they walk around, probably doing the same as you and scavenging. Haha sorry guys there’s nothing here.

“Folio,” the first voice sounds out quietly, “check the back.”

With that, you grip your knife tighter than before and sit back against the clerks counter, heart beating a million times a minute. Why couldn’t they have just been a dead one?

As the guy, Folio you assume, rounds the corner and makes direct eye contact with you, he pulls a pistol and seeing how you’re actually alive, puts it up like he has a gun on HIM.

“Woah woah woah, we aren’t going to hurt you,” he says. “See? Look.” He puts his gun on the counter just as the other guy walks around to see what the commotion is about.

You don’t know these guys and you can’t trust them as far as you can throw them. He probably has another weapon in his pocket ready to come out as soon as you put your knife down. You stare him in the eyes, and slowly look over the other, taller guy who has another gun pointed directly at you.

“Who are you?” You ask. You’ve been living around here for a few weeks now and haven’t run into as much as one person yet.

“I’m Nick. This is Noa-”

“Shut up dude what the fuck,” the other guy interupts.

Nick was much shorter than the other guy, but you can’t deny they are both handsome in their own ways. Both wearing all black and sporting the same type of pistol, you could bet they don’t stay far from here. Where is all their gear? Why aren’t they covered in dirt and blood like you are? Did they have a place?

“No, shut up. Who knows what these guys want.” You think to yourself.

“Who are you?” The taller one asks slowly, walking around to stand next to his friend. “Where did you come from?”

He is not letting up on getting that damn gun out of your face.

“Why don’t you put the gun down and I’ll tell you,” you reply, heart still going crazy.

He lets out a deep chuckle and holds his hands up like Nick did when he first dropped his gun. “You gonna take both of us down with a knife, princess?”

You let out a sigh of defeat, knowing they could take you out in a matter of seconds, and place your knife back in its holster.

“Y/N.” You respond dryly, trying to slowly back away. “Look I don’t have anything and I’ve already checked the place so if you can just leave me alone, that would be great.”

Nick looks at the other guy with a confused expression and back to you. “No, we don't want to take your shit. We just weren’t expecting another living person to be in this dump,” he motions around the store.

The taller guy has yet to unsquint his eyes, as if trying his best to intimidate you.

You smirk at him and look towards Nick, him with a small smile on his face. Kind of makes it hard not to trust him right?

Feeling a bit more confident now that they haven’t tried anything, you speak up again.

“You gonna tell me your name now pretty boy? Or you just gonna keep staring at me like I’m a threat to you?”

“Noah.” He states dryly. Jesus, who pissed in this guys cheerios?

“Well, Noah, care to tell me where you guys are coming from? And why it looks like you’ve just showered?” You raise an eyebrow.

You suddenly feel a bit uneasy not having showered in weeks, just bathing in the creek nearest the cabin every so often. These guys have something you want. “Play nice,” you think to yourself.

It’s his turn to smirk now as he looks you up and down, taking in your bloodied and overall dirty appearance. “Close,” is all he musters.

You sigh and look at Nick again, tired of the short, dry answers Noah keeps giving you.

“Care to tell me where you’re from?” You ask him and he looks at Noah for permission. Noah shakes his head no and Nick looks back down at the floor. “Great. I see who's in charge here,” you cross your arms.

A loud bang rings throughout the store and all three of you quickly grab your weapons and kneel down behind the counter, peaking out to see what the sound is.

“Stay here,” Noah says, slowly creeping out from behind the counter as you and Nick are locked and loaded, ready for whatever.

A short minute passes and Noah comes back behind the counter with a scared look on his face. Much different than the brooding look he’s had for the last twenty minutes.

“What is it?” You start to panic a bit.

“Theres a horde of them outside the door. What direction did you come from?” He looks at you and whispers.

Fuck. Please tell me I’m not stuck here with these two guys.

“Um- I uh- east. You?”

“East. They must have come from a different direction,” he sighs looking at Folio, who hasn’t stopped shaking since he heard the word “horde”.

“How many?” Nick finally speaks up.

“Too many. We would all three die if we tried to go out there right now.”

You couldn’t help but mentally kick yourself for stopping at this run down ass gas station. You should have kept walking but no, a few packs of cigarettes and half a box of rat infested saltines is all it takes apparently.

The slight bumps into the front and side of the building are more than enough confirmation of the horde outside. Slight moans can be heard periodically as you, Nick, and Noah try your best to be quiet.

“This is a really bad time I know but I have to pee,” Nick whispers.

“For fucks sake can you wait?” You whisper back to him. Noah sits to the left of you gripping a knife you didn’t notice he had until now.

Nick nods a quick yes and the three of you go back to watching and waiting for this dreadful horde to pass.

A few strays make their way into a broken part of the window on the far side and you quickly take all three of them out by yourself and return to your spot between the two guys you just met.

After an hour, and many quiet trips to the back so Nick can pee, the noises of the horde finally dissipate and Noah once again, goes to peek out of the front door.

He comes back, looking a bit more relieved and nods ‘yes’ letting Nick know it’s finally passed the gas station.

You and Nick both let out a sigh of relief as you pull a water bottle out of your backpack. Noticing Nick’s gaze at your freshly opened water, you hand it to him and pull out another to offer Noah, who hastily grabs it and sips it.

“You guys don’t bring supplies with you when you go somewhere?” You ask, taking the water from Noah and drinking some of it.

“We didn’t need to today, I told you we stay close,” Noah replies.

“Maybe you could come back with us. You have some pretty sick knife skills the way you handled those three dead guys,” Nick says between sips of his water.

You glance at Noah who seems to be waiting for an answer from you, surprisingly not declining Nick’s offer to you.

“Is it just you two?” You squint, thinking about the terrible things they could possibly want to do to you if you come back with them.

“There’s three more of us. Don’t worry, they aren’t going to hurt you if you don’t try to hurt them,” Noah says as if reading your mind.

Please let the other three be women. It would be so stupid of you to say yes to them. Remember what happened the last time you trusted someone enough to go back to shelter with them.

“On one condition. You tell me where we’re going, and we have to stop at the cabin I’ve been staying in.” You finally agree against your better judgment.

“That’s two conditions. But fine. The mall just down the road is where we stay.” Noah responds.

The mall? You were there not even a week ago and it was overrun with those things. How the hell are they coming in and out?

“That place is overrun, there’s no way that’s where you stay,” you say, now more suspicious as ever.

“Not anymore. We had a pretty large group and we cleared most of it out. That’s why we’re down to five of us now. It isn’t completely clear but we have living quarters along with food and water, oh and electricity in some spots.” Nick added.

“Wait so you guys can shower?” You start to get excited about the thought of having running water and shit to do.

Noah nods his head yes and looks out the door to make sure it’s clear and says “we should really get going. It’ll be dark in about an hour and I am not trying to be out past dark again.”

“Right,” you say as the three of you grab the things you brought and head out to shelter.

“We can come back to the cabin you’re staying at tomorrow but I’m not risking it right now.”

Noah slowly exits the gas station with you and Nick following suit.

“Well obviously.”

Divider from hereeeee

chapter 2 hereee

lmk if yall want to see more of apocalyptic bad omens 👀

i didn’t really proof read it so don’t mind any mistakes 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[simplyluunaa]

˙⊹ ੈ✰[Stopping them from killing]✰ ੈ⊹˙

-ˏˋ. rules + masterlist ˊˎ-

Fandom: Danganronpa 

Characters: Gundham Tanaka, Nagito Komaeda, Teruteru Hanamura

Warnings: !!NOT SPOILER FREE!! This one especially has many many spoilers from SDR2. This one refers to Nagito’s plan in the first chapter, not the fifth

Tags: Mentions of death, plotting murders, kinda ambiguous ending?

A/N: This one has been marinating in my brain for a while, so I finally put it into words. Also, I apologize if posting has been a little slow or the posts haven’t been quality, I had some personal stuff going on but it’s all getting resolved, so I may start posting more frequently!!

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢Gundham Tanaka

It had been two days in the funhouse when Gundham hatched his plan. He’d go to the final dead room, figure out the secret of the funhouse, and use his knowledge and perhaps a few weapons to fight Nekomaru, and one of them would be the sacrifice needed to free all the others

The two of you had been spending a lot of time together, both from him wanting to protect you and him wanting to spend his final days with you

He would be sad to leave you, but he would never forgive himself if he let everyone else idle around and die from starvation

You had been sleeping in your own room most nights, but for some reason, this night you had a feeling of dread you couldn’t shake

So, you head over to Gundham’s room, asking to spend the night with him

He knows his plan is ruined if he lets you, but he doesn’t have the heart to refuse you

So, he lets you stay with him

Cuddling in his bed, he starts to hatch a new plan

One that doesn’t involve him leaving you alone

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢Nagito Komaeda

Nagito had everything planned out perfectly

The knife was under the table, the AC and irons were set up, and the lamp

All he had to do was wait

Unfortunately, he didn’t plan on one thing

That was you

When the lights went out before he could lean down and follow the lamp cord, he grabbed onto him, spooked by the sudden blackout

He knew he couldn’t push you off, that would be suspicious, and that would make the trail far too easy

So, he stayed still

Obviously, this was a result of his luck, but he couldn’t tell if it was good or bad

On one hand, it could be seen as good, saving a life

On the other, it meant that hope wouldn’t be able to blossom

He had a lot to think about the next day

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡⟢Teruteru Hanamura

He didn’t want to kill anyone

But he also didn’t want Nagito to kill anyone, and with Nagito having revealed his plan to kill someone during the party…Teruteru knew he had to do something

He felt as if he didn’t have a choice

He had to protect them from Nagito’s twisted plan

He had it all planned out, during the blackout he could go under the building, and stab Nagito when he tried to grab the knife

He was the only one in the kitchen, so it would be easy for him to slip away

At least, it would've been

Instead, halfway through the party, you came to the kitchen, deciding to keep him company

The plan slipped his mind at that moment, and he allowed you to sit and watch him do his thing

When the blackout hit, he realized

He couldn’t just leave, and if you did leave you would probably ask where he was going, or maybe ask to come with him…

He had to stay with you

When the lights came back on, an announcement played on the monitors, stating a body had been discovered

Rushing to the dining room, Teruteru’s worst fear was now a reality

Hajime Hinata, dead on the ground, a knife plunged into his chest

[annmarcus63]

Coën tells Vesemir that he saw something remotely large flying over the old stronghold to the west. Everyone but Geralt is thrilled. Apparently, they've been waiting for an opportunity like this, a chance to take Ciri with them to fight her very first beast as a witcher trainee. 

Lambert, Cöen, Geralt, Ciri and Yen are getting ready to take off the very next morning when Geralt asks Jaskier if he wants to come too. Jaskier tries to hide his surprise under a nonchalant facade, but he can't fool the witcher. The bard accepts the offer not a second later. It seems that his strategy is working after all, Geralt never asked if he wanted to come on a hunt before. It seems, Jaskier thinks with a lump on his throat, that he was in fact the problem after all. 

It's a short walk to the stronghold. Ciri observes the witchers track the beast, she's a fast learner. Jaskier watches too from an unobtrusive safe distance. Until all goes to hell. A royal archgriffin followed by its mate lands on the field taking everyone by surprise. Someone starts shouting orders, one archgriffin traps Lambert under its claws. It's a complete chaos. Suddenly the earth starts shaking, a roar swipes the air, Jaskier's blood goes cold when he sees a big ugly horned creature bolting from the trees. A chort. The new arrival takes everyone by surprise. Ciri ends up cornered by the chort, she has nowhere to go. Geralt is too far away; Yennefer is helping Lambert and Cöen; Ciri has lost her sword and the beast is about to bolt towards her. He acts without thinking. Nothing can't happen to her, he won't let it, even if it feels like he's running to his death. Geralt won't care, but he will if it's Ciri, he'd blame himself. It'd be Renfri all over again.  He won't let it happen. Jaskier shouts with all his might while grabbing Ciri's sword from the grass where she dropped it. He grabs the sword with both hands and plunges it into the beast's rear. Not used to handling swords, his hands slip through the blade, he feels the skin of his palms opening, like butter under a hot knife, followed by a river of blood. Someone it's shouting his name; he thinks it may be Ciri. The chort roars annoyed and turns to the bleeding bard. 

It happens in an instant. He is thrown through the air; a flash of pain explodes in his chest and grows to a cruel entity. He wishes for death.

 

-

He wakes up with a gasp followed by a groan of pain. It seems he's back at Kaer Morhen.

Not dead, then, he thinks with a hint of remorse. 

Triss is there in an instant. The witchers summoned her to help heal him, apparently, he was (is) in a very horrifying shape. He asks her for Ciri and the others, she says everyone is well, just a few bumps and bruises. Jaskier feels relieved.

"You were dead for a couple of minutes" Jaskier doesn't know what to say so he settles for thanking her for saving him. He has two broken ribs and a few more cracked, breathing is an utterly painful experience, but Triss' concoctions help a little. His hands are bandaged, Triss says they need a lot more healing, but she reassures him that he'll be able to play again. In time, at least. 

"I've never seen Geralt like that" she says suddenly "He- he said he couldn't feel you." Jaskier doesn't reply, he's rather immersed in the movement of her hands changing his chest bandages. 

"I didn't know you two were..." 

"No one knows." Says Jaskier feeling tired, body and soul. 

As if sensing the sadness in Jaskier's heart, Triss adds “He was scared.” 

"He would be fine."

"You're his soulmate, Jaskier. I don't think that he’d be fine.” 

"I have never been his soulmate." The bard flinches at his own bitterness. "I've only been a friend. A traveling companion." He corrects. 

“Jaskier…”

"He was never meant for me. Destiny must have got it all wrong, the mark on Geralt's arm should be Yennefer's not mine." He doesn't know why he's saying that to her. Maybe it’s the shock or it’s the pain, but he wants to tell someone, anyone, about another kind of pain he's been carrying all these years. He is crying, Triss hands him a tissue and smiles in a reassuring way.

Jaskier cries silently with intervals of gasps of pain, while Triss finishes his bandages and hands him a cup of fresh water. Jaskier thanks her in a quiet whisper. 

"I couldn't make him happy anyway" he wipes the tears from his eyes and finds that his hands are shaking "She does. She really does." 

"I never take you for the self-sacrificing type" says Triss holding one of his hands and squeezing. He wants to hug her, but refrains from doing so due to her broken ribs.

"I'm not" he clarifies "I'm just realistic. How could Geralt want someone like me when he has her?" 

After a few seconds of silence she says "You are enough, Jaskier." 

He wants to laugh, to disagree but refrains from it. He's only a bard, after all.

There's a knock at the door. They turn at the same time. It's Geralt, he's holding a bowl of stew in one hand and a single yellow flower on the other, and looking at Jaskier with an expression the bard can't quite decipher. 

Jaskier feels his cheeks blushing. Fucking idiot, he must have heard his pathetic monologue. 

"Can I talk to him?" He says to Triss. She stands and says "Of course." She leaves hurriedly, leaving the two staring at each other. Something heavy lies between them.

This is it, Jaskier thinks, this is where my heart will break for good.

Previous here

Next and final

As promised to dear @youknowwhoiam3490-blog (excited for your positive aggressive reading)

@mordoriscalling @dustbunnyprophet @chispy-rar-v2 @strangerzaiah

@help-help-i-need-an-adultlt

@janjan-the-ninth (not a 20 chapter fic but well…)

[bullet-prooflove]

The Fall: Sam Abrams x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @secretsquirrelinc @caffeinatedwoman @maryelizabeth13 @toasted-stiletto

Divorce!Series:

Part One: The Fight Before Christmas - You and Sam get into a fight after he discovers you've been keeping a secret from him.

Part Two: Should Have - There's a lot of things Sam should have done.

Part Three: Fraught - Sam makes a decision regarding your relationship.

Part Four: Sign Here - Sam serves you with divorce papers.

Part Five: Don't Look Back - After running into you at the hospital Sam tries to convince himself not to look back.

Part Six: Lost - You and Sam reaquaint the day the divorce comes through.

Part Seven: Martial Affairs - There's debate regarding yours and Sam's status.

Sam has been mindful of your boundaries since the divorce. He tries to make sure not to overstep or to pressure you. He checks in frequently to make sure you’re on board with the progression of the relationship.

May I see you again? He murmurs after the first time you sleep together again because it was him who made the mistake of leaving and not the other way around.

Would you like me to stay the night? He whispers when things get heated on the doorstep because he doesn’t want to make an assumption.

“When are you going to come home Sam?” You ask him as you lie tangled up in each other one night. His fingertips brush through your hair as he cradles you close, his nose trailing along the length of yours.

“Is that what you want?” He asks you. “For me to move back in with you?”

“This is our home…” You say softly and his heart breaks because you may have forgiven him but he certainly hasn’t forgiven himself. He’ll never forget the look in your eyes when he asked you for a divorce, the expression on your face when he handed you that pen and told you to sign.

“I left you.” He reminds you, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “I walked away, I divorced you.”

“Sam…” You whisper, your palm coming to rest upon the space where his heart resides in his chest. “You were hurting so badly.”

He shuts down then because he doesn’t like going back there, he doesn’t want to think about the desolation he felt, the darkness. You’ve skirted around the topic since it happened but neither of you have faced it, not directly.

You feel the moment he withdraws and it’s like he’s plunged a knife straight into your chest all over again because he’s still doing it, still closing himself off, still not letting you in.

You slip out from underneath the sheets, snatching up your robe and Sam knows that the fall is coming, he has for a while.  

“I can’t do this again.” You say quietly as you pull the robe closed, concealing your nakedness. “I can’t be with this version of you, the one that won’t deal with that happened, the one that won’t talk to me.”

“Alright.” He says gruffly, tucking the sheets around his waist as he searches for his clothes. “You don’t have to be.”

You lock yourself in the bathroom after that, turn the shower on to hide the sound of your crying. He listens to you through the wooden door, his head in his hands as he sits on the edge of the bed.

You’re right, he thinks. The two of you can’t go on like this.

It’s make or break.

If he leaves you’re done, he knows it, he feels it in his heart.

When you come out of the bathroom, the beds been made and your clothes are neatly folded in the chair. You feel the numbness fill you up because you’re alone now, there’s no you and Sam, there’s just you, Elle Abrams, ex-wife to America’s leading neurologist.

You’re surprised when you step into the kitchen to find him sitting at the table. His hands are clasped around a mug of steaming hot tea, there’s another one  in the space where you usually sit, Earl Grey to be precise.

“You wanted to talk,” He says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. “So let’s talk.”

Love Sam? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[thunder-threnodies]

The metallic clash of their swords echoed in the Square of Lofty Words as Hiram and Morgan dueled. Hiram's steps burned sigils on the pavement, whilst Morgan's froze them. They were fighting and also arguing: each step an affirmation to attack and challenge the other.

[ALL THINGS EXIST] shouted Hiram with an elegant twirl and a deadly plunge.

{ALL THINGS SHALL DIE} yelled back Morgan parrying and tiptoeing away from the tip of the rapier.

[EVEN THE SUN BURNS] insisted Hiram, slashing through the blazing air, in the Rose Giveth.

{EVEN THE SUN WILL GROW COLD} retorted Morgan with a bold step of the Totentanz.

[THE DANCE OF A THOUSAND HEARTS MAKES YOUR BLOOD BURN] a flaming trail lighting the tip of the elegant sword Hiram always used.

{THE DREAMS OF A THOUSAND DEATHS MAKES YOUR SOUL FREEZE} a shimmering trail of ice crystal forming a veil in front of Morgan, that parried yet another incoming attack.

[A SINGLE ROSE LIVES ETERNALLY IF GIVEN] Hiram's sword drew an arabesque trying to get past Morgan's guard. Steam forming whenever the two weapons collided.

{EVERY ROSE LIVES JUST A DAY IF TAKEN}

Morgan caught Hiram's rhythm and blade, sending him twirling on himself away from them.

{A LIFE IS BORROWED. A DREAM IS BESTOWED. ON A SLOW RIVER YOU'LL SOON FLOAT} Morgan pressed Hiram, extinguishing and erasing the Correspondence glyphs he left emblazoned in the cobblestones.

[A HEART IS STOLEN. BLOOD IS DUE. IN A FIELD OF ROSES YOU'LL SOON REST] the rapier moved so fast the onlookers could not quote follow its movements, keeping the Captain at bay.

{NO FIRE CAN STOP THE COMING OF WINTER} close pushed Morgan, sidestepping each of the deadly blows Hiram was delivering.

[NOR COLD, NOR DEATH CAN QUELL THE FIRE OF EXISTENCE] Hiram patience was growing short. It was about time to end this.

[A ROSE GIVETH, A HEART STOLEN, A FIRE ABLAZE. LOVE ONLY THROUGH ACTION. SUN INTO FIRE. FIRE INTO BLOOD. BLOOD INTO LOVE.] a clanging noise, a wide side swing and a quick kiss.

Peligin eyes growing larger. A fugitive sigh. A drop of blood. The taste of poison.

The heartbeat of Light in the blade in Hiram's hand.

{TO DIE BY YOUR HAND AND COME BACK TO YOU JUST TO BE POISONED AGAIN. OH A THOUSAND MORE TIMES I WILL DREAM OF YOU.} whispers Morgan right into Hiram's ear. The eyes close, lose focus. A chill in the air and Morgan wakes up on the Stolen River in the company of the Boatman again.

Hiram picks up Morgan's sword. He'll leave it on the Requiem as usual.

"I fuckin hate them when they steal the victory like this" he says "fucking cheater." there's cold in his words but a fiery flame raging within.

It's the Rose Giveth he says to himself nothing more. It's just that, yes, the Rose Giveth. And perhaps he's right.

On the Boat, the Captains smirks. They may have lost the duel, but won the battle.

Oh, Hiram will be FURIOUS his little "hidden-posioned-knife-trick" didn't work as intended.

Francis Morgan Dargor moves their Knight on the chessboard. Not a checkmate. Not yet. They fix their eyes on London, faraway yet closer as they take the Boatman's Bishop.

Soon I'll be back, Hiram.

[angelasscribbles]

What Once Was

Fandom: Vying for Versailles (Romance Club)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: none

Summary: Renee married someone else. But what happens when Alexandre comes back into her life?

“Madame, you have a visitor.”

Renée looked up from her writing desk curiously. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. “Who is it, Beatrice?”

Beatrice had served Renee since she had first set foot in Versailles all those years ago. She had risen from lady’s maid to maîtresse d'hôtel. Her duties now involved overseeing all the other household servants at Chateau de Marly.

“It’s Monsieur Bontemps, Madame.”

The door to the study swung wide as the mistress of house backed away, revealing Alexandre, his fingers twisting nervously at the hat clasped in his hands.

Renee rose from her desk with surprised delight and swept across the room to greet him with a hug. “Alexandre! This is a pleasant surprise! Wait….” She drew back with a worried crease across her brow, “Is all well? The king—”

“The king is fine, Madame.”

Her good mood faltered as her eyes tracked his face noting the agitation in his stance. Very little rattled the king’s spymaster. “Then why are you here?”

“I was hoping we could have a private conversation.” His eyes darted around the room. “May I come in?”

“Certainly, but I think we would be more comfortable in the small sitting room.” She stepped out of the study and led him down the hallway to the smallest of the sitting rooms. It was cozy, plush, and private.

She gave Beatrice instructions to send a maid in with tea service then she shut the door. Turning back to him, she crossed her arms and studied him closely.

He was fidgety, clearly wound up about something, which was completely out of character for him. She couldn’t help the smile that crawled across her face as she took in his agitation. “Do I still make you nervous, Alexandre?”

“You do have a way of knocking my equilibrium off balance, Madame.” He gave her a small smile.

The affection and heat in his gaze sent butterflies exploding through her stomach. “That is good to know, Monsieur.”

He arched an eyebrow skeptically, “You think me indifferent to you?”

“Perhaps.”

“I could never be indifferent to you.” The pure, undisguised longing on his face sent shivers cascading down her spine.

There was a brief lull in their conversation as the tea was served. Renee watched the maid retreat as she stirred her tea. With her eyes focused on the cup in her hand, she softly said, “You should have stayed.”

“Renee…I couldn’t stay in close proximity to you knowing I could never touch you again.”

She glanced up at him and her tone was sharp as she told him, “Those were the choices you made.”

He sighed as he carefully sat his cup on the table. It was the same argument they’d had before he had left for Geneva to serve the king’s interest in Switzerland. “You didn’t choose me.”

“I did. I simply didn’t choose only you,” she reminded him. “And it’s not like you were ever going to marry me anyway.”

“A spymaster—”

“I know. Believe me, I remember all your excuses.”

“They weren’t excuses.”

“Weren’t they?”

He didn’t answer. He had told her that they could never be a couple. He hadn’t had a noble title back then and his work made it almost impossible to conduct a love affair. But when she had accepted a proposal from the Prince du Sang, it had felt like a knife plunged into his heart.

He drew in a deep breath and decided to tell her the truth. “There’s something you don’t know, Renee. I did approach Louis about a possible match. The king had been offering to ennoble me for years. I thought, maybe…”

Renee jerked in surprise, nearly spilling her tea in the process, “What?”

“My request was rejected out of hand and when Philippe got down on one knee in front of the entire court a mere day later, I understood why.”

Louis loved him like a brother. But Philippe was his brother. And he had probably asked first. The prince was a better match for her anyway. He knew that.

Renee quickly sat her cup down and tried to quell the shaking in her hands. “Alexandre…why didn’t you tell me?”

“After witnessing firsthand your pure joy at accepting another man’s proposal? What would have been the point?” He had, instead, determined to keep his distance from her.

And yet when their paths crossed, he had found that he still could not resist her. “Do you remember that night in Paris, right before your wedding?”

Madame de France, princess, duchess, and marquise did not blush easily, but her cheeks colored at the reminder. “Of course I do. But why are you bringing that up? Why are you bringing any of it up now?”

“Pardon?”

“Why discuss these things now? After all this time?”

“Ah, yes.” And here was the reason for his visit. “Do you remember when you told me that you would recognize me anywhere?”

“Yes. And you said the same. What does that have to do with why you’re here?”

“Only that I by chance saw you last time I was in Paris on the king’s business. I only saw your profile as you climbed into your carriage, but I knew it was you.”

“And you didn’t think to say hello?”

“I started to but then I saw your son.”

“Louis-Philippe?”

“Yes. One of the servants handed him up into the carriage to you and I got a clear view of his face, Renee.”

Her heart stopped. “And?”

“And he favors neither the prince nor a certain count that you are overly fond of.”

She ignored his reference to Armand as her heart started to thump even harder. She knew exactly who the child favored but she wasn’t going to make this easy on him. Her hands and her voice were steady as she looked him directly in the eye. “What are you asking me, Alexandre?”

“Is he….is he mine?”

She jumped up from her seat and stalked across the room to stare out the window. After a long pause, she replied, “You are not a father in the way that Philippe is. You do not tuck him into bed at night nor ease his fears when the thunder booms. He does not know you.”

He stood and followed her across the room, resting a hand on her shoulder. “That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it.”

Without turning to look at him, she whispered, “Yes, he was conceived that night in Paris.”

Alexandre’s world tilted on its axis. He had known, of course, the moment he had seen the child’s face. But to have confirmation…. He dropped his hand and stepped away from her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anger flared through her as she spun to face him and flung his own words back at him. “What would have been the point? You ran away from me fast enough the moment you didn’t like my choices.”

“But a child, Renee!”

“By the time I knew I was with child, I was already married! What would you have had me do? Put it in a letter so your enemies could use it against us both? You well know how easy it is to intercept correspondence.”

He nodded in acquiescence. He could not fault her logic. “And the Prince du Sang... does he….”

“Philippe knows. He does not care.”

“I find that hard to believe, Madame.”

“Did you think we were cuckolding him every time we were together?”

“Well…”

“I told you, before he even proposed, what our arrangement was!”

“Yes, but I—”

“You what? You thought I was lying?” She stepped closer. So close she could smell the vanilla and cardamom scent that always clung to him. So close that she could feel the heat radiating from him, sense the tension in his body, “I may lie to everyone else in service to my king and my country, but I have never lied to you nor him! I do not lie to the people that I love.”

Alexandre froze, shock, pleasure, and disbelief coursing through him at her words. She loved him?

Oblivious to his reaction to her unintentional confession, she plowed on. “And your assertation that I would have divided loyalties was preposterous! My loyalty to my husband would never put me at cross purposes with you, Alexandre and you know it! Philippe loves his brother and is loyal to him. Furthermore, I do not tell him everything that I know or that I do. He understands and respects the need for discretion when it comes to my duties as a spymaster! He would never ask me to betray—”

“Alright! Alright!” He held both hands up in surrender with a bemused chuckle.

“It’s not funny, Alexandre!” She stood in the middle of the room, just inches from him, cheeks red and chest heaving with emotion.

He was struck nearly speechless by her beauty. She was even more breathtaking when she was angry. How was that possible? He took an involuntary step toward her.

She froze, her eyes trained on him, but she didn’t back away.

He took another step toward her, this one purposeful.

They stood, unmoving, staring into each other’s eyes; two hearts pounding in anticipation. He lifted a hand and reached out for her just as the sitting room door banged open.

“There you are, my love! I—oh! I didn’t realize we had company.” The prince stopped short, causing the chevalier who had been hot on his heels to collide into his backside.

Alexandre jerked his hand back and stepped away awkwardly. “My prince! I…” he executed a low bow. “So lovely to see you again.”

Philippe’s eyes took in the valet’s flushed and guilty expression and then his wife’s stoic demeanor. Renee had not backed away when he entered the room. She had stood her ground. Her ire was evident and he smothered a smile. He understood everything. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Alexandre, but let’s not pretend you came here for me.”

“I….” For the first time in his life, Alexandre was struck completely speechless.

Renee finally moved, closing the distance to greet her husband with a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. She murmured in his ear, “He knows about Louie.”

“Hm,” he hugged her back, but his gaze was trained on his brother’s spymaster.

Renee moved around her husband to greet the chevalier with the same hug and kiss she had just given her husband. “How was grouse hunting?”

“As usual, we didn’t find a single grouse but at least we didn’t end up drunk in a fountain again.” The chevalier laughed at his own joke as he returned her hug. Not a day passed that he didn’t count his blessings.

There had been a time when the king had been adamant that Philippe make a political marriage, likely to some English noblewoman who would expect fidelity from him. He would forever be grateful that Louis had allowed the prince to marry Renee and that Renee had never blinked at the relationship between the two men. Now he practically lived at Chateau de Marly and was both a godfather and cherished uncle to their son. They functioned very well as a threesome and while his whole heart belonged to the prince, he wasn’t completely indifferent to Renee.

He also liked the life they had built together very much so he glared suspiciously at the intruder. “Why are you here, Monsieur Bontemps?”

Finally recovering, Alexander stiffly replied, “I had some…business to discuss with the duchess.”

Renee snorted. “Business? Is that what this is, Alexandre?”

He flushed scarlet which caused the other two men in the room to laugh.

The prince spoke first. “Let’s drop the pretense, shall we? Renee and I have no secrets from each other nor do I keep secrets from the chevalier. His discretion is not in question. You may speak freely. Everyone in this room knows that Louis is your son. So why are you really here?”

“Do you wish to challenge me to a duel, Monsieur?” Alexandre asked carefully.

Philippe looked at him askance. “Why would I do that?”

Alexandre shook his head slowly. “Most men in your position would.” It was dawning on him that Renee had been telling the full truth of the matter. Philippe showed no signs of rage or jealousy.

Of course, it was an open secret at court that his affair with the chevalier never ended, but for most men indulging their own desires did not mean they were tolerant of their wives doing the same.

Philippe’s face broke into a wide smile. “When have you ever known me to be like most men? Come now, stay for dinner and we can discuss everything.”

“As tempting as that sounds…I have some urgent business matters I must attend to tonight. However….”

“Yes?”

“With your leave, I would like to visit the child. As a family friend, of course. I would never disclose the true nature of our relationship to him.”

“You want a relationship with our son?” Renee asked so quietly he almost missed it.

Turning to face her with beseeching eyes he answered her. “If it pleases you, then yes.”

Renee closed her eyes briefly as she fought against the onslaught of conflicting emotions that collided inside her at the thought. When she opened them again, she blinked up at him. “I think I would like that very much.”

Profound relief swirled through him at her answer. He had not known what to expect when he knocked on her door, but things had gone better than he could have imagined. Turning his attention back to Philippe, he asked, “And this is alright with you?”

“It is. You’ll find Louie is a capricious and wild little hellion who delights in his friendships with children and adults alike. I think he’ll be good for you.”

Alexandre barked out a surprised laugh. “He’ll be good for me?”

“Yes….” Philippe drawled out with a mischievous grin. “I think you need to loosen up and he’s just the person to help you do it.”

The king’s valet turned to go but an idea had taken root in his mind and he could not let it go. Turning back he asked, “And your wife?”

“What about her?”

“May I have permission to resume our….friendship?”

“Oh, he wants to court your wife!” The chevalier chortled out loud.

“Monsieur,” Philippe shook his head. “You disappoint me. I thought you understood. You do not need my permission. You need hers.”

Alexandre turned slowly, his heart thudding in his chest. “Madame. I would be most grateful if you would agree to indulge me in a conversation soon. I think we have many things to discuss.”

“For how long?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How long will these discussions go on? When do you leave again?”

He nodded in understanding. “Given today's revelations, and assuming you will continue to welcome me as a visitor in your home, I will start making the preparations to return to my house in Paris immediately and permanently.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and then she nodded. “I would like you to get to know our son and I would be open to you and I having a conversation about where we go from there.”

He couldn’t help the smile that crawled across his face. He left the chateau with a spring in his step.

The truth was, he had not been happy since he’d left court shortly after her wedding. He hadn’t thought he could share her, open relationship with her husband or not. But an even larger concern had been his fear of openly loving her, thereby making her a target for his enemies, which were many.

He would never be comfortable being physically affectionate with her in front of others, he was more private than that, but if there was still a relationship to be had with her, there couldn’t be a more perfect cover than her marriage. No one ever had to know what she meant to him, or that he had a child. They could therefore never be used against him.

The thought of rekindling what they once had made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time….happiness.

It was entirely possible that things had worked out for him after all.