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moonlinos · 11 months ago

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Invisible string (pt. II)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: Minho is even more determined to make you see the good in love after falling for you, while you’re too preoccupied with thinking you’re not good enough for him.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, pining

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), hand job, fingering, like two seconds of nipple play, slut shaming, swearing

♡ Word count: 13.2k

♡ A/N: I got such a great response on the first part 🥲 thank you to everyone who left feedback. It means a lot more than you realize. I researched what to do on a trip to Japan so extensively just to write this part that I got sad I’ve never traveled there 🫠

← part I ♡ part III →

The night after you and Minho watched the light show, you stayed awake until four in the morning with your roommates as Eunha cried about her ex-boyfriend. You’ve never been the type to hope for someone’s misery, but that guy is deserving of every terrible thing that could happen to him.

After she calmed down, you fell asleep together on the couch. You only managed to check your phone in the morning, finding it thrown on your bed along with your bag. Minho’s string of messages put a smile on your face. You could use the time away from everything, even if it was only for a weekend.

You agreed to his strange invitation without thinking twice. You did, however, insist on paying for your hotel room. Chan was already being far too generous in offering you his place on a trip he had paid for.

Soon enough, two weeks flew by and the Friday of your trip finally arrived.

You’re already waiting outside of your house when Minho’s car arrives. He greets you with a hug, taking your backpack from your hands and placing it on the backseat. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re settled in your seat, and only then closes the door and walks around the car. It’s something he does every time you go out together and it always makes you smile, even though it’s such a minor detail.

“You know, you’re my first friend who can drive,” you comment as he enters the car. “You shot up a lot of spots on my favorite friends’ list just by saving me from taking the bus.”

Minho chuckles. “And here I foolishly thought you liked me for my personality,” he feigns offense, shaking his head. “I actually only know how to drive because of my mom. I was moving to the countryside, and she got really worried I was gonna be stranded there, so she gave me a car when I graduated.”

You raise your brows. “You lived in the countryside?”

“Yep, I moved to Gurye right after graduating high school,” he explains simply, starting the car.

You nod slowly. Truthfully, you wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to seem intrusive. Minho had never told you a lot about his life before starting university — the only things you know are that he has three cats back home in Gimpo and started college late for some reason. You figure he’s a private person who will hopefully open up to you once he’s ready. You couldn’t blame him either; you also desperately pretended as if your life before university didn’t exist.

As you two sit in the car, moving slowly through the awful Friday night traffic, you feel the familiar thoughts of panic overflow your mind. This trip felt almost romantic; just you and Minho in Japan for an entire weekend. You should be running away from shit like this, should be shutting him out before anything more than friendship blossoms between the two of you.

Your fingers pick on the fabric of your sheer tights, pulling and pinching apprehensively as your mind races. Because, at the end of the day, Minho is still a guy. He’s still capable of breaking your heart in the same ways it was broken before, and maybe even in new ways. He could still cheat on you, fall in love with someone else, treat you like nothing more than an object or a nuisance in his life, wake up one day and simply decide he’s had enough of you.

But he’s also Minho.

Your heart quickly countered every single reason your brain came up with on why you should run away from the situation.

How could Minho, who believes that love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself, cheat on you?

How could Minho, who told you that love makes it so that you can only see the one you love, fall in love with someone else?

How could Minho, who does stupid romance movie shit like opening car doors and pulling out chairs for you, insisting that he should walk on the street side when you’re together, reading classic novels, learning how to cook so his mom doesn’t have to, all while having three fucking cats, possibly break your heart?

Part of you hates how you have to do mental gymnastics to even consider allowing yourself to feel something more for a guy, but a bigger part knows the hurt that inevitably comes with love isn’t worth it.

You hear a soft chuckle beside you, and you lift your gaze to find Minho smiling at you as you stop at a red light.

“Is that a style thing?” He asks, gesturing toward your thighs with a nod. You furrow your brows. The light turns green, and his attention is back on the road, a grin spread across his lips. “Ripping holes in your tights. Is that a style thing?”

You look down toward your legs and grimace as you realize you had mindlessly torn two holes in your tights while overthinking. You mentally curse yourself.

“I’m cold,” you lie with an awkward giggle. “Was trying to warm myself up.”

Minho hums, stepping on the brakes as you encounter another traffic jam. He unbuckles his seat belt, turns his body toward the back seat, and retrieves his jacket before draping it over your thighs. He shoots you a small smile and turns his attention back toward the road.

The side of your brain that was against Minho and anything romantic with him just a few moments ago is completely swallowed up, dissipating as you ultimately admit to yourself that you don’t hate the prospect of this being a romantic trip as long as it’s with him.

God, you really don’t hate it one bit.

You two finally arrive at the airport just in time to board your flight with no issues. You’re not big on flying, but the flight is just a little over two hours, and Minho is such a calming presence next to you. He quietly read you some harlequin romance he picked up at the airport bookstore, and you two laughed a bit too loudly at the over-the-top plot and theatrical writing. The two of you were taken aback as the book turned out to be erotica, but hearing Minho dramatically read to you in a whisper about the hunky love interest and his manhood made you laugh until tears formed in your eyes.

After that, you two somehow end up talking about your lives back home. Minho shares how he always cooks Christmas dinner for his family, and his favorite part of the night is always the praises his grandmother throws his way. He explains that although he started cooking simply to help his mother, he found that he genuinely enjoyed it. He said he missed doing it every day, having stopped because his roommates had begun treating him as nothing more than a personal cook. You listen to his every word with a smile on your face that you can’t hide. It feels like he’s slowly opening up more to you about his life outside of university, and even something as small as this detail about his home life makes you feel closer to him.

The flight is so pleasant that you only realize you’ve landed once you see Minho unbuckling his seat belt.

You two take an Uber to the hotel, arriving in thirty minutes — you insist on paying since you’re basically here for free. You stare out the car window in awe the entire ride, Minho fondly laughing at your amazement.

As you arrive, you struggle with your backpack, pulling it out of the backseat with such force you would have fallen backward had it not been for Minho’s hands holding your shoulders. He asks if you’re okay with a chuckle, and you groan about how heavy your backpack is. Packing light wasn’t your forte.

As you two walk toward the hotel entrance, the weight on your shoulders disappears suddenly. You furrow your brows and look behind you. Minho had nonchalantly picked your backpack up by the handle and lifted it off your shoulders, carrying all the weight in his arms. You bite back a smile, murmuring a thank you. He just nods, like he hasn’t just done yet another thing you thought only happened in books written by women.

You feel that damn pinwheel return to your chest, making you feel a kind of thrill that you haven’t felt in a while. A good kind.

The hotel is relatively small, clearly on the cheap side, although it’s still quite charming. Minho mutters an apology as he catches you looking around the place.

“It was the only place I could afford being a broke college student,” He explains with a sheepish chuckle, and you shake your head.

“It’s lovely. I’m so happy to be here, I think I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Minho is the one who checks you in, speaking in near-perfect Japanese to the front desk clerk. You focus on the wood chipping on the table and bite the inside of your cheek as you inwardly berate yourself for finding it so damn attractive. It was different from your classes or your small study sessions. You had never truly grasped just how good Minho was until right now. You didn’t understand a word he said. All you know is that he sounded too sexy for his own good while saying it.

Minho hands you the key and tells you the room number, and you finally make your way up the stairs. He walks beside you the whole way, and you wonder if his room is on the same floor as yours or if he’s just doing this so he can hold your backpack off your shoulders.

As you reach your room on the third floor, he stops you before you can insert the key into the door.

“Before you go inside…” He trails off, pursing his lips before letting out a sigh. “I — we could only afford to pay for one room, so this is actually our room.”

Your eyes widen for a second before you nod slowly. “Oh. It’s… okay,” you assure him, although there’s very little confidence in your voice. The prospect of sharing a bed with Minho makes you nervous, but not for the reasons you thought it would.

“There are two beds! Of course,” He assures you, and you mentally slap yourself on the forehead for feeling disappointed at this information.

It’s because you’ve exclusively been having sex with Hyunjin for so long, you reason with yourself. Your hormones must be making you stupid, making you want something more with someone else who isn’t him.

Yeah, that’s it.

Minho’s your friend, after all. It wouldn’t make sense for you to want anything more with him.

It’s just your stupid hormones.

You turn the key and open the door, stepping inside the tiny room with Minho. The two beds were so close together due to the room size that they might as well be just one. The only other piece of furniture is a bedside table, which basically connects the two beds.

It’s only once you slide your backpack straps off your shoulders that Minho lets go of the handle, and you toss it on the plain white sheets of the bed to your right by the bathroom door.

Feeling a chill run through your body, you let out a groan. The heater in your room is clearly not the best.

“Tights and a skirt weren’t the right choice for this weather. This shitty heater also isn’t helping,” you grumble.

Minho chuckles behind you, and you hear the sound of the bed springs as he all but throws himself onto the bed. “Poking holes in your tights probably didn’t help either,” he jokes, and you force out a chuckle.

It seems you chose today to act like a complete idiot.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom to change into your warm sleep clothes. The first thing you notice as you walk out into the room again is Minho’s bright orange sweater with a cat knitted on the front. He’s lying down, his back resting on the wall since the beds don’t have a headboard, and the color of his sweater might be a bit offensive to the eyes, but it’s quickly forgiven once you take in the kitten adorning the fabric.

You giggle, and he looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours.

“Your sweater is really cute,” you tell him as you sit down in your bed, crossing your legs in an attempt to warm yourself a bit more.

Minho grins. “I know,” He says smugly, “It reminds me of two of my cats because of the color.”

“You know,” you hummed, “You never showed me any pictures of your cats.”

You watch as his eyes light up at your words. He locks his phone before quickly turning it to face you, showing you his wallpaper. Your lips stretch into a fond smile as you analyze the picture: Minho holding an orange and white cat close to his face with a grin, a butterfly filter cutely adorning his nose.

“This is Soonie, he’s the first cat I got,” He explains, turning his head so he could look at the screen as well, “I was thirteen when I adopted him, and I remember begging my parents for almost three months until they agreed. In the end, they loved him so much they allowed me to adopt another one.”

Minho unlocks his phone and opens his gallery, flipping through his pictures like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You purse your lips. It feels like you’re intruding, even though he’s the one who hasn’t moved the screen an inch. You couldn’t think of one person you’d trust enough to so freely view every single picture you had on your phone like this. Minho really was something else.

Most of his gallery is composed of blurry food pictures mixed with pages and covers of books and computer screens filled with codes. Until he reaches a point — before he started university, you assume — where the only thing you can see is pictures of cats.

He stops scrolling and clicks a picture of the same orange cat, this time wearing glasses and a hat. You snort because, of course he dresses his cats in clothes.

“Soonie is adorable,” you beam. Minho furrows his brows and shakes his head, looking at you like he’s offended.

“This is Doongie,” he states like it’s obvious, “The second cat I adopted.”

Your brows furrow as well. “Minho, that’s the same cat.”

He clicks his tongue, closing the picture and scrolling before opening another one; two orange and white cats lay together on a cat tree. Your lips fall open.

“See? This one is Soonie, he has a white nose. And this one is Doongie, his nose is orange,” He explains, and you nod, knowing full well you’d be dead if your life depended on distinguishing these two cats. “Doongie is the middle child, so he’s more temperamental.”

You stifle a giggle at him talking about his cats like they’re his children, much like you do.

He closes the picture once again and scrolls down further. His fingers hover over a picture for a couple of seconds, like he’s hesitating before he ultimately opens it. The screen fills with the image of a younger Minho smiling while holding a gray cat. His wire-frame glasses were round, unlike his current ones, and his black hair used to be shorter. The picture has clearly been cropped, only half of the cat’s body still visible.

“This is Dori. He’s the last cat I got, and he’s actually the only one I call my son.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “I adopted him with my ex-girlfriend. She wanted a dog, but I fell in love with Dori as soon as I laid eyes on him on the website, so she had no choice but to accept him.”

You watch as he smiles at the picture and the memory. You absentmindedly fiddle with your fingers on your lap, an all too familiar ugly feeling bubbling inside you. Jealousy. Not because Minho mentioned a girlfriend — you wish it was as simple as that. Jealousy consumed you when you were forced to face the reality that people have healthy relationships, where one partner sacrifices their own desires just to please their loved one. Where you make plans to adopt a kitten together just so you can call it your son. You know damn well you were never even close to having something even remotely similar to that.

You shake the feeling off, forcing out a smile. “He’s really cute,” you tell Minho, “And he’s my favorite, ‘cause at least I can tell him apart from the other two.”

Minho chuckles, scrunching his nose as he locks his phone and rests it on his thigh.

You two settle into bed after Minho walked you through the day he and Chan had planned for tomorrow. He had organized everything neatly in a travel planning app — from where you would be going down to an estimate of how much you would be spending. You always preferred roughly planning things out mentally whenever you traveled, mostly enjoying going with the flow.

Among all your coincidentally similar little incidents, you finally found something in which you two are complete opposites.

That should, in theory, annoy you, but you can’t help but find his meticulousness endearing. You can just picture him searching tirelessly online, crunching numbers and jotting everything down. The image is too adorable for you to be mad.

“Guess we finally found somewhere we’re different,” you mention with a smile as you tuck yourself into your sheets. Minho remains sitting on his bed, putting his glasses on their case.

He hums. “Rather than different, maybe we just complement each other in this case? You hate organizing, and I fucking love to do it, as you just saw,” he chuckles, “We’d be a great team. I plan everything, and all you have to do is show up.”

You nod with a smile, going over the places he chose in your head. You were excited for all but one: the very first one on the list, Inokashira Park.

“You know,” you start with a sigh, Minho’s eyes finding yours in the dimly lit room. “I never talk about this, but I weirdly feel like I can tell you anything. Nobody from our friend group knows this but…” you trail off, gripping the scratchy fabric of the comforter. “One of my ex-boyfriends cheated on me during a family trip to Japan when I was seventeen. I found out ‘cause the girl he hooked up with tagged him in pictures on Instagram. They were together in Inokashira Park.”

Minho hums, his eyes studying your face. After a beat of silence, he shrugs.

“We can skip that if you want to. I just—” He purses his lips, shifting on the mattress. “I just don’t think you should deprive yourself of the experience just because of a bad memory. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

You nod, taking in his words. He was right. You were positive none of your exes ever deprived themselves of going back to places where they cheated on you, so why should you? They were the ones in the wrong, the ones who hurt and betrayed you, so why should you be the one to bear the trauma?

Minho rests his back against the wall, playing with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “Is that why you don’t believe in love anymore? Don’t feel like you have to answer! I just… I wondered…” He faltered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I wondered what could have happened to make you feel that way.”

“Well, that was just one of five times when love proved to kind of hate my guts,” you chuckle. You didn’t understand why, but the words you held back for so long were bubbling at your throat, ready to spill out. And you were willing to let them. Even if only to a certain extent, you were ready to talk about this pathetic side of your life. You would rationalize it all later. Right now, you simply wanted to talk.

“I’ve had five boyfriends in my life, and they were all terrible in some way. I know, it’s a lot of relationships considering my age.” You scrunch up your face, cringing when you voice out the number.

Minho chuckles, and you’re ready for him to agree.

“It’s really not. There’s no right or wrong number of people to date during your teenage years or your twenties.” You open your eyes to find him leaning on his side, looking at you dismissively. “Some people date more, some date less, some people don’t even date at all. Either way, it’s fine.”

Your lips open and close, then open again. You had always expected people’s reactions to be the same as the ones you heard during high school. From your classmates to your ex-boyfriends, even your friends at the time, they all seemed to be in unanimous agreement that you were at fault for having dated so much in such a brief period. You never thought that maybe people with different opinions existed. And that, maybe, those people would be the ones who you care the most about.

Thinking about it now, after hearing Minho’s words, you were certain neither Eunha nor Soojung — or any of your friends, for that matter — would ever think badly about you or shame you simply because you’ve had five boyfriends. It seemed silly even to think that way now.

It was sad how much your teenage traumas undeniably affected your perception of reality.

Minho is the one to break the silence, his soft voice pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I promise you, the memories we make on this trip will be good enough that they override this lousy one,” he vows with a small nod. “And, more than ever before, I truly hope I can change your view of love.”

You smile at his words. “I surprisingly feel my thoughts about many things changing. Love is one of them.”

“I’m glad,” he hums, finally slipping under his covers. “Y’know, love isn’t only romantic. You say you’re closed off to love, that’s really a lie,” he states matter-of-factly, a smug grin spreading across his lips. You bite back a smile and raise your eyebrows at him. He continues, “The love you feel for your family and your friends, platonic love, that’s also love. I’ve been around you long enough to know just how much you love your friends.”

To say you loved your friends almost didn’t seem sufficient. After graduating high school, you left behind all the judgmental and toxic friends you had. You are immensely grateful to have found such good people at university. Eunha and Soojung were the housemates of your dreams, the three of you so different that it truthfully shouldn’t work, but it simply did. Hyunjin becoming your best friend was also a surprise; he was younger than you, and you had never been friends with a guy before — in part thanks to your jealous boyfriends — but he carved out a space for himself in your life and refused to leave. And you were so thankful for that.

And then there was Minho, who had come out of the blue into your life and just as suddenly became such an important person to you. From the way you two first met to your little similarities and how well you got along in such a short time, it was as if fate pulled you toward him.

You smile.

“I do love them,” you tell him, fiddling with your fingers under the white comforter. “And I love you, too, Minho. You’re my friend, after all. In a way, you’re already succeeding in changing my view of love just by being you.”

Minho’s eyes blink rapidly as he looks at you, his parted lips making him look like a confused child before they close. He hums, nodding as a small smile spreads on his lips, which quickly grows bigger and bigger until he’s basically giggling. He hides his face behind his hand, clearing his throat. You feel warmth spread across your chest at the sight. You’re sure if the lights were brighter, you’d be able to see his ears turning red.

You shake your head with a chuckle. The mood has suddenly become a bit too emotional, and you still find yourself running away from these things. However, you were proud of your progress tonight. Talking about love and your past — especially regarding your ex-boyfriends — was already a huge step for you.

You hope Minho knows he’s part of the reason you’re able to take this step in the first place.

“Okay, your turn.” You sit up on the bed, the white comforter pooling on your lap. “I’m curious too, y’know. You’re such a love enthusiast,” you tease him with a grin, earning you a chuckle from Minho, who throws his head back. “Tell me about your romantic experiences.”

He mirrors you and sits up on his bed. “Experience. I’ve only had one girlfriend,” he corrects you, “We met on the first day of high school and began dating the year after that, when we were sixteen. We were together until I was just about to turn twenty-one, so…” he trails off with a deep sigh. “Yeah, it was quite the long first relationship.”

“My five relationships combined didn’t last as long as that.” You click your tongue, and Minho lets out a breathy laugh. “Why did you two break up after being together for so long?” You blurt out before you can process the words inside your head. Annoyed with your own self, you scrunch up your face. You really chose today to be an idiot. “If that’s okay for me to ask! Sorry for being nosy, I’m just— I guess I’m curious.”

Minho smiles at you, a fond smile he always shoots your way whenever you are word-vomiting. Much like your other friends, he had quickly adapted to your habit of spilling out words before thinking about them.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Basically, she wanted a quiet and simple life in the countryside, so I did that for her,” he explains, shrugging dismissively. So that was the reason he had moved to Gurye after finishing school. “I began saving up money at eighteen with my job at the convenience store while she gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood, and we moved on her twentieth birthday. I figured I could just do programming jobs from home, anyway, so I completely gave up on my plans to attend university…” Minho trails off, his voice all but a whisper at the end of the sentence. He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips as he continues, “I kind of wanna kick myself in the face for that now. It fucking sucks to have started university so late, but it was my own decision. I guess you say stupid shit when you’re nervous, and I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

You had never met someone who would abandon so much of themselves for the person they loved. It made Minho even more admirable to you. However, even though it was his own decision, he clearly came to regret it. People often say love is all about compromises, and you couldn’t help but feel like Minho had been the only one to give up anything in this scenario.

“Were your parents okay with you two making such a drastic move?” You question, your curiosity bubbling inside your chest.

Minho scoffs. “Of course they weren’t. Especially my dad. But we were nearing our twenties, so there wasn’t much they could do to stop us.”

He drums his fingers on his thighs, and you wonder if this subject brought back sour memories — or maybe even good ones he just didn’t like remembering because they had become part of the past. You want to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer, but he’s continuing his story before you can speak.

“We adopted Dori and left a week later. We were pretty much broke. All we could afford was a small cottage that hadn’t been renovated in over a decade, but we were happy,” Minho’s voice is soft as he speaks, a smile forming on his lips as he stares ahead, almost as if he’s reliving those moments in his head. “We talked about growing old together and raising our kids in that cottage. And we — god, looking back, this was so stupid it’s fucking funny,” He chuckled, shaking his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. “We were actually trying to get pregnant. We barely had money to feed Dori and ourselves, yet it still crushed us every time that test read negative.”

You feel your expression change, a blend of astonishment and admiration washing over you. They must’ve truly been in love. You felt a slight pang of hurt and envy run through your body; it truly was so easy for other people when it came to love.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” you lament, although you’re not sure if you’re talking about the pregnancy or the entire relationship.

Minho shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “Don’t feel bad, it was a blessing in disguise. I can’t imagine how the fuck we would ever manage to raise a baby at that time.”

“It seems like you two had the perfect relationship.” You force out a smile, waging war against your bitter jealousy.

“It was perfect, until it wasn’t,” Minho shrugs dismissively, “We began to fight a lot after a while. Haneul would always get upset at me for not doing things the way she thought I should do them, down to replying in a way that didn’t fit with what she had hoped I would say. And I was the same, always getting frustrated when she disagreed with me, even if it was about something silly like what to have for dinner. We used to be able to talk it out and come to an agreement in the past — it wasn’t for nothing that we were together for so long — but being in that little cottage, just us two all the time, it became suffocating.”

“Is that why you two broke up?”

Minho nods. “We realized we were merely playing house. Neither of us was happy anymore,” he explains, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “It was like we each had a script inside our heads of what the other should say or how they should act. It wasn’t healthy anymore, so we mutually decided to end things before they got worse.”

Your fingers fiddle with a loose thread on the white cover. You had always been envious of this type of relationship, but you never thought to think about the fact that they can also come to an end. It always seemed to you that your relationships never worked because they weren’t perfect, like the relationships you saw in books or movies — like the one Minho had described with his ex-girlfriend.

You never once rationalized that even perfect things can ebb away. That nothing lasts forever, even if it seems utterly ideal.

“I know how terrible breakups are,” you tell him. “I can only imagine how much worse it must’ve been to you two after so many years together.”

Minho shakes his head with a smile. “I never really felt hurt by it. It was such a perfect breakup she even let me keep Dori without going through a custody battle,” he jokes, raising his eyebrows at you.

“How can it not have hurt you?” You let out an incredulous laugh. “You were in love, planning to start a family, and you tell me it didn’t hurt when it ended? That’s bullshit, Minho.”

He looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to find the words to explain to you. He hums. “Well, I loved Haneul. I loved her so very much, with every fiber of my being. She was my first love. My mom once said we were probably a couple in another life as well, and I fucking loved that,” He chuckles, “The idea that someone was destined for me and I was destined for them, that we were fated to find each other and be together across lifetimes.”

“Like soulmates?” You ask.

He nods. “Soulmates, yes. That’s what we were. And, after we broke up, I realized maybe people’s understanding of soulmates is wrong. At least to me,” He shrugs.

You let out a chuckle. He really turned a terrible situation into a chance to reevaluate his beliefs. It was the most Minho thing you had ever heard.

“How are people understanding it wrong, then?” You question him, resting your chin on the palm of your hand and looking at him. Minho mirrors your actions, a grin etched onto his lips.

“Well, for starters, you can have many soulmates in one lifetime.” You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to ask him more questions, but he quickly adds, “For example, Haneul was my soulmate and there’s no doubt about it in my mind. But it ended, because it was time for it to end. I learned everything I had to learn with her, and she did the same. We couldn’t grow together anymore, so there was no point in staying together.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “I never thought of it that way. You ask anyone and they’ll tell you that a soulmate is unique.”

“It may be so to some people, but I find that way of thinking a bit unfair,” he shrugs. “Haneul found someone new. Wouldn’t it be unfair for me to say her new relationship is inferior to ours simply because we were soulmates? We were soulmates, but our time to be together has passed and she’s with the soulmate she’s supposed to be right now.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against your cheek. “I guess it does make sense.”

He shrugs, feigning smugness. “I am quite the smart man.”

“What about you?” You question, smiling at him, “Have you ever found a new soulmate after that relationship?”

Minho clears his throat, his gaze shifting to look at where his sock-clad feet poked out from underneath the comforter. You could swear you see a tiny smile on his lips.

“I think I did,” He answers with a questioning lilt. “There were some signs, and a lot of things that aligned.” His gaze lifts once more to meet your eyes as he continues, “Makes me think maybe I’ve found her.”

As you take in his words, jealousy rears its ugly head, the feeling almost swallowing you whole. You gnaw on your bottom lip. The way Minho made you feel at times was questionable at best, but you chalk it all up to your jealous nature. You’d always gotten jealous when your friends found new friendships or when they started relationships.

However, that feeling was a bit different from the one currently making you want to bite your lip until it bled out of sheer and petty jealousy.

You let out a heavy sigh, pushing all those thoughts into a neat little box inside your head and locking them up.

“You’re really lucky,” you tell him, and Minho cocks an eyebrow. “That’s why you think love can only be good, because your only experience with it was long-lasting and good until the very end. I’d much rather have love fizzle out than have it end in a way that ended me as well. That’s how it’s always been with me, and I guess that’s why I came to hate love a little bit.”

Minho smiles at you, a genuine smile that reaches his brown eyes. “Well, sometimes love lasts forever,” he asserts, “So you shouldn’t think about how it’s going to end.”

You can feel the pinwheel inside your chest spinning, causing your heart to skip a beat and your cheeks to blush pink. Forcing out a chuckle, you lie on your bed and pull the covers up to your nose.

“You’re back to your hopeless romantic ways.”

“I never stopped,” He corrects you. He lies down as well, facing you, his hand reaching out to turn off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. “Even when I thought you had a boyfriend,” Minho continues, “I was still able to be a hopeless romantic.”

You feel your eyes widen at his words, thanking the darkness that covers you both as confusion and shock swim in your eyes. Did Minho subtly admit he liked you? Were you reading too much into things? Why did this not scare you? It should scare you, should make you terrified, as this is the very thing you’ve been running away from.

You were probably over-analyzing his words.

But why did you hope that wasn’t the case?

The two of you wake up early, hitting the streets of Tokyo immediately after getting dressed. Minho’s list definitely made things easier, with you two hopping from place to place before crossing them out one by one on his phone. Your favorite so far had been the cat café you two went to for breakfast, where you spent the entire hour watching Minho petting and playing with the kittens, the smile on your lips so fond that it probably made you look stupid.

But as you walk around Inokashira Park, that quickly drops to second place on your mental list. It was a beautiful place, especially in the late afternoon sun. As soon as you arrived, Minho took your hand in his without a word. It was unexpected, to say the least, but you were even more surprised to find yourself liking the gesture. You squeezed his hand, smiling at him, before lacing your fingers together.

Your heart was racing so fast you were certain that damn pinwheel brought along a friend today.

After walking around for a bit, Minho abruptly stopped, letting go of your hand and moving to stand behind you. You furrowed your brows as his hands came to cover your eyes. With his lips incredibly close to your ears, he whispered, “I have a surprise. It’s a place that wasn’t on the list. A museum I think you’ll like.”

You felt goosebumps rise all over your body at the sound of his low voice coupled with his breath tickling your skin. You silently thanked the cold weather — had you not been wearing long sleeves, Minho would have seen the effect he had on you, and you would’ve had no other choice but to throw yourself in front of a taxi on the way back to the hotel.

The two of you waddled awkwardly, Minho still standing behind you with his hands over your eyes. He giggled the whole way to your destination. You were too immersed in not focusing on how his body brushed up against yours with every step you took to even think about laughing.

His broad chest so warm against your back, his arms wrapped around you, his lips grazing your neck once as he bent down to whisper something about the museum being just around the corner, and his lower body continuously brushing and rubbing against your ass as you two walked. You had to fight the urge to push your body against his every time that happened, wondering if that would be enough to get him hard.

After Minho’s supposed confession last night, your mind had truly thrown every bit of worry and shame you felt about being attracted to him out the window.

It felt almost liberating, being able to say fuck it and simply feel.

So you were attracted to Minho; why should it be a big deal? You shouldn't deprive yourself of these silly experiences just because love scares you.

Maybe being scared was okay sometimes. Maybe it was worth it for the right people.

Just as your mind was running wild with thoughts of Minho’s body pressed up against yours, his voice whispered in your ear again. You had arrived, he announced, removing his hands from your eyes.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you made out the words on a wooden sign before you. Minho had taken you to the Ghibli Museum. Before you could stop yourself, you were throwing your arms around his neck with a gasp.

You could just kiss him at that moment. That was how happy you were.

After walking around the museum with a smile engraved onto your lips, your cheeks hurt in the best way possible. Minho hurried you as you looked through the overly expensive gift shop, reminding you that the swan paddle boats would be closing soon. You whined but ultimately had no choice but to leave the shop as he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Mourning the loss of a Soot Sprite plush perfect for your collection, you grumbled to Minho about how he had no heart as you two ran across the park.

You made it just in time, being the last ones in line on the pier. Minho insisted on paying for your tickets, and you agreed only after he explained it would be your compensation for the loss of your precious plushie.

And now you sit beside him on a swan paddle boat, failing miserably at containing your giggles as Minho adjusts his life jacket.

“You know,” He starts with a dramatic sigh, “You’re not gonna be laughing if we crash and you drown.”

You poke his arm, making him look at you just as a smile spreads across his lips. “I’m only laughing ‘cause you look real cute.”

You begin to paddle, and it is surprisingly easy — especially because Minho is the one guiding the boat with a steering wheel. The scenery is quite dull because of the cold season, with most trees already bare of leaves and the sky a blend of pale blue and white.

“I wish it was spring,” Minho speaks beside you as if he’s read your thoughts. “The cherry blossoms are fucking gorgeous.”

You look over at him, his eyes fixed ahead as he steers the boat around the pond. His glasses reflect the pale sky and obscure his eyes, but you’re sure he’s blinking rapidly like he usually does whenever he’s focused.

“Did you come here with your ex-girlfriend in spring?” You blurt out.

Minho’s lips stretch into a grin as he turns to face you.

“No,” he answers simply. “But I want to come with you.”

It’s only then you realize he had been doing most of the work paddling, as he easily controls the speed at which the boat glides across the water, slowing down until you two are stopped at the edge of the pond.

Your mind races, but not as hard as your heart does.

“With me?”

“With you.”

His eyes are fixed on yours, and his left hand grips the steering wheel tightly. You part your lips, but only silence is stuck in your throat. Drawing yourself out of the impromptu staring contest the two of you had gotten into, your eyes shift down to stare at your purse which lay across your lap.

You softly utter the only two words your mind can conjure up. “Why me?”

“Because I like you,” Minho’s voice is also quiet. You hear him shuffling beside you, turning his body so he fully faces you. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you’re protecting yourself, but I’m—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and your eyes shoot up to find him biting his lip, his brows furrowed. He lets out a sigh. “I like you so much I think I might implode if I do nothing about it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. There is still a part of you that’s screaming out run away, this is terrifying, you’re on your way to another heart-wrenching breakup — but that part has become so minuscule, so insignificant now, it feels like nothing but muffled background noise inside your head. Because a much bigger part of you is begging for you to just say, “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

Minho’s hand leaves the wheel and gingerly touches your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin before he closes the distance between you. It isn’t the first time you kiss Minho, but it is certainly the first time your entire being is fully enveloped in only him; from the way his slightly chapped lips still felt so soft against your own to how his strong hand finds your waist and pulls you closer to him.

And his taste. Minho coaxes your mouth open with his tongue and licks into it, your senses being taken over by the taste of the watermelon candy he’d been eating all day until you’re positively drunk on him. Your heart racing and your hands shaking like a teenager having their first kiss.

You go to grab his shirt, desperate to pull him even closer to you, but your hands collide with the damn life jacket he’s wearing. You whine into the kiss, annoyed, and Minho only chuckles against your lips. He bites your lower lip, pulling softly before releasing it and pressing another kiss to your pout.

“I take back what I said, the life jacket isn’t cute,” you mumble against his lips. His smile grows, and his lips crash against yours again, his hands tangling in your hair.

He groans into the kiss, barely pulling away before whispering, “Don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

You hum. “Well, you can kiss me anytime now.”

Minho’s lips spread into a grin, and he closes the small distance between you for one last kiss before he pulls away, your noses brushing. His eyes are dark yet soft, as if longing and affection had melted together.

“I want to be with you,” He says, “But I want you to think about it before you say anything because I know how scared you are of love. And if by the end of our trip I haven’t given you enough reasons to give me a chance, I’ll let you go and move on with my life. If you want to stay friends, I’ll happily do that. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll also respect that.”

Your heart swells with his words because Minho is the complete antithesis of everything your ex-boyfriends taught you that men were.

And, for the first time in so long, you feel the kind of nervousness that’s nothing but good. The kind that leaves you with trembling hands, a racing heart, and a dizzy head. The kind that only love can provide.

Despite his request, you’re eager to answer him right then and there, but just as you’re about to speak, the sky roars and dark clouds gather above. You jump in your seat at the sound, and Minho’s hands instinctively wrap around your shoulders and squeeze. You smile, simply nodding your head and giving his lips a small kiss.

Minho struggles a bit, but he’s eventually able to turn the paddle boat around, and you two begin to paddle back toward the pier. The light rain quickly becomes heavy raindrops drumming on the roof of the boat, and you dread the walk back to the hotel as neither of you thought to bring an umbrella.

“Y'know,” Minho starts. “There’s a myth here in Japan that says if you ride this boat with a girlfriend, then you’ll break up soon. I kinda always believed that.”

You let out a chuckle. “Really?”

He hums, nodding his head. “So I’m choosing to also believe that if you ride it with someone you like, they will become your girlfriend soon.”

Minho turns to look at you with a smile as you stop at the pier, removing his life jacket and exiting the boat without another word. You bite the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt at holding back a smile. Minho helps you out of the boat, his hand taking yours and pulling you toward him gently.

You two run back to the hotel, Minho holding you close to him with his hand around your waist. The streets are mostly empty as people squeeze under bus stops and shop awnings to shelter from the rain, and it almost feels like you and Minho are the only people in Tokyo that night.

You two giggle the whole way to the hotel. Even when you are struck with the realization that the power has shut off on the entire street upon arriving, you simply turn to each other and laugh even more.

You clumsily manage to take a brief shower in the darkness, changing into your sleep clothes as quickly as you can. You realize with a grimace that if your room was cold before, with the shitty hotel heater on, it’s basically turned into an icebox now.

Wrapping yourself up in your comforter, you shiver with a groan just as Minho walks out of the bathroom.

“Bet you miss that shitty heater now, huh?” He jokes, and you faintly make out his silhouette in the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

You let out another groan. “I'm gonna freeze to death tonight. I've made peace with that. Thaw me with a hairdryer in the morning, please.”

Minho chuckles, sitting on his bed as he checks his phone. You make out his features in the moonlight coming from the window, and he’s wearing another sweater, black with more cats printed on it.

Such a cozy, warm-looking sweater. You curse yourself inwardly for only packing t-shirts to sleep.

As he locks his phone, an idea hits you, and your words are faster than your thoughts — as they always seem to be whenever you’re around Minho.

“Can I lay with you for a bit?” You ask, “Just for a bit, until I get warm? My bed is right under this damn window, and I don’t have any sweaters I can sleep in, and I know I joked about making peace with freezing but—”

Minho cuts you off by calling out your name with a chuckle. “It's okay. You don’t need to make up a thousand excuses. I'm cold, too,” He says simply, scooting to the side to make room for you in his bed. “Come here.”

You smile, ripping the covers from your body quickly like a band-aid and all but jumping from your mattress to his. Minho instructs you to lie on the left side of the bed, facing the wall. You furrow your brows.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s like the sidewalk thing. So I can protect you if a serial killer comes into our room.”

“Oh, so a serial killer’s gonna come into our room?” You ask, a teasing lilt in your voice as you scoot on the bed and slip under the comforter.

“Well, I—” Minho stammers, pausing with a sigh. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table before he continues, “I don’t know, okay? I just… wanna take care of you in every way possible. Even in this weird scenario that my mind made up.”

His words slip out of his lips quickly, much like yours do when you’re nervous and can’t make yourself stop talking. You wonder if your habit is rubbing off on him, and you can’t help but smile.

As Minho settles into bed, you feel your body stiffen up. The two of you lay on your backs next to each other in the cramped bed, and you feel like you can’t move. Hyunjin was the first guy you ever slept next to, and even then, it was after you two had already had sex, so there was no room for feeling awkward. With Minho, everything feels so new. If kissing him had made your hands shake, laying next to him makes your whole body tremble.

You lay like that for a while, watching as the thunder lights up the ceiling until Minho turns to lie on his side.

“Wouldn’t we get warmer if we cuddled?” He trails off in a whisper, clearing his throat after his words leave his mouth.

You open your mouth to answer but know you’ll only end up word-vomiting again with how nervous you feel, so you simply nod, turning so you’re facing Minho as well.

His arms quickly find your waist, pulling you closer to him until your noses are touching, and you feel his breath on your lips as he lets out a sigh. Before you can make sense of what’s happening, Minho presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, making your mind go hazy. You two stare at each other for a beat, your lips agape and eyes wandering through each other’s features until he breaks the silence.

“You make me nervous,” he whispers, taking your hand and guiding it towards his chest. You feel his heart beating quickly through the thick fabric of his sweater. “In the best way possible.”

You smile, whispering back, “You make me nervous, too.”

Clutching at the fabric of his sweater, you pull him closer to you, slotting your lips together once more. Minho’s hands hesitate, his left hand barely touching your back before he changes his mind and grazes your shoulder with his touch, only to settle for cupping your cheek. You smile into the kiss, taking his hand and placing it firmly on your waist. He grips the fabric of your shirt just as you did and brings your body flush against his.

The kiss is hurried, as if you two will be forced apart tomorrow and this is your only chance to feel each other. Minho licks the seam of your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you gasp. His firm grip on your waist, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, and how with every stroke of his tongue, he devours you almost greedily — it’s downright impossible to keep the whine that forms in your throat from slipping out, Minho’s mouth swallowing the muffled sound.

And then he’s pulling away, and you’re left chasing his lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle at that.

“Let’s go to sleep, hm?” He suggests, his voice breathless. You can’t help but wonder if you practically moaning while simply kissing him had made him uncomfortable, and you inwardly berate yourself, mortification washing over you.

So you only nod, turning to face the wall so you can properly cuddle this time. Minho wraps an arm around your waist, and you wait for him to pull you closer, but he never does. You furrow your brows. Was it that bad? You can’t be faulted for reacting like you did, especially with how he kissed you. So you take it into your own hands to shift closer to his body. Your lips part as you feel his hard member pressing against your lower back.

Oh.

So that’s what’s going on.

You bite back a grin, feeling Minho tense up behind you.

“And here I thought you were like a romantic lead in a PG-13 anime,” you joke, smiling as he chuckles, clearly more at ease.

He uses the hand that had been resting against your stomach to pull you even closer to him, pressing his body against yours. “I am romantic,” He whispers, lips close to your ear. You only then realize he’s hovering over you. “But I’m still human.”

You fight back the urge to shudder at how his voice drops an octave, all low and soft, and, god, how his breath grazes your neck.

You search your brain for something to say but come up empty. Being nervous has rendered you speechless for the first time in your life.

“Let’s sleep now, okay?” Minho presses a quick kiss on your cheek. “I’ll lie far—”

“I can help you,” you blurt out, turning to face him. Going to sleep is the last thing you want right now. “If you want.”

His eyes wander across your face as he pulls on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to rush things.”

“There are ways to do this that aren’t… rushing.”

Minho hums, but his eyes are now fixed on your lips. You move to lie on your back, and he slowly climbs on top of you.

“As long as it’s okay with you, I don’t care what we do,” he whispers. You smile, pushing his black hair away from his face with your fingers.

“It’s more than okay with me,” You answer simply, using your hand on his hair to guide him down into yet another kiss.

You can feel him still hesitating, so you grab a fistful of that silly sweater of his and pull him closer to you until your bodies are flush against each other.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, breaking the kiss. Minho nods hastily.

“Yes, please,” he groans, “I’m gonna die if you don’t.”

With a breathy chuckle, you move your hand between your two bodies, cupping him through his sweatpants; he’s even harder now, and you subconsciously bite your lip. He closes his eyes, his left hand resting on your waist before squeezing lightly as he hides his face in the crook of your neck with a shaky sigh. It might simply be because it’s your first time being intimate together, but Minho’s timidness is genuinely endearing to you.

Your palm grinds against him gingerly, and his body trembles under your touch. His hand travels from your waist toward your lower stomach, and you let out a quiet gasp as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. He lifts his head off your neck, his face so close to yours you can feel his unsteady breathing on your lips.

“Can I touch you, too?” He whispers, and you nod a bit too eagerly.

“If you don’t, I think I’ll die too.”

Minho grins, his head dipping lower until his lips are pressed against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You’d be lying if you said finding Minho so hard after only kissing you hadn’t turned you on — kissing him alone also made you more aroused than you were willing to admit. But you were more than ready to go to sleep without doing anything about it after offering to help him, so the fact that he wants to do the same for you makes your head spin. This was not on your bingo card of things that could happen during this trip.

He pulls your shirt up slightly, only enough for him to slip his hand inside your sweatpants. He hesitates twice before cupping you through your underwear. His dark eyes meet yours, whispering against your lips, “You’re fucking soaking through your panties, and you weren’t gonna tell me?”

You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing. Wasn’t he shy just two minutes ago? Your mouth opens to answer him, but your brain is far too cloudy to form any coherent sentence, so you settle on a nod. He hums, pressing a kiss to your agape lips.

Once you feel his thumb tentatively brush against your clit through the thin fabric, you find the courage to slip your hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers immediately brushing against his member. Minho shudders at the touch, his eyes still fixed on yours.

Your brows shoot up at the fact that he had foregone wearing boxers, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

“I never wear underwear to bed, so don’t think I was trying to seduce you,” he jokes.

“Too late,” you hum, “I was seduced the moment I saw your bright orange cat sweater.”

Minho grins, sucking your lower lip as he pushes your panties to the side painfully slowly, his middle finger gliding from your entrance toward your clit and spreading your arousal. With a sigh, you bring one leg to wrap around his waist, and he adjusts himself so he’s properly hovering over you. You take this opportunity to slide his sweatpants down his hips, his hard cock finally free from its confines. He groans low in his throat, his tongue suddenly licking into your open mouth as his right hand intertwines with your left, your fingers locking together. He presses your clasped hands onto the mattress beside your head.

Your hand now glides through his length, the palm of your hand beginning to rub at the head of his cock and Minho sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss, his eyes remaining closed. Pressing your thumb to the slit, you gather as much precum as you can and spread it through his member. You quickly find that it’s not enough, wanting it wetter and messier and—

Minho whines as you stop touching him, eyes shooting open. Bringing your hand to your lips, you lick a stripe on your palm and let a glob of spit fall on it before finding his cock again, wet both with your saliva and his precum as you begin to stroke him gingerly. With a quiet moan, Minho’s hips buck up at the touch and he kisses your lips again. You giggle into the kiss, inwardly thanking Hyunjin for teaching you that guys love sloppy shit like this and, in turn, making you realize you do too.

You avert your eyes from his intense gaze as his finger moves to find your entrance, pushing in slowly before moving at a steady pace.

He squeezes your hand. “Look at me,” his voice is all but a whisper, low and hurried. You turn to lock your eyes on his once more, immediately biting your lips to stop a moan from slipping out of your lips as his thumb begins to rub your clit in circular motions, and he slips another finger inside of your aching cunt. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep yourself from vocally begging him not to stop.

You focus on your own hand as you stroke his cock, your steady pace gradually quickening. Minho’s pace mirrors yours, and soon the small room fills with the noise of his finger swiftly pumping in and out of you mixed with the sound of your hand stroking him.

“What do you like?” Minho asks suddenly, his breath hitching as you tighten your fist around his cock. Your mind is far too clouded by desire and pleasure to fully comprehend, so you hum, your brows furrowing. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours with a quiet moan and curling his fingers inside you, causing your eyes to shut tightly and a whimper to escape your closed lips. “Look at me, baby,” he repeats himself, his voice firm and his shy demeanor having completely shifted. You slowly open your eyes. “What do you like? I — fuck,” He curses as your hand twists on the head of his cock. “Wanna make you feel good, tell me.”

You’re definitely not used to being vocal about what you want or like during sex; your ex-boyfriends always too selfish, and Hyunjin too confident for you to even have had the opportunity to do so. Coupled with just how good you felt, you know you won’t possibly be able to speak a word without moaning the way you’re trying so hard to avoid. You settle for guiding his hand, which was tangled in yours, under your shirt. Minho immediately massages your breast, his thumb caressing your nipple as his eyes find yours once more.

You feel as if his gaze is setting you ablaze, his eyes boring into you. It felt as if all his desire was accumulated in his dark eyes, clearly visible in how he watches you like he’s drinking in every last drop of you through his stare. You’ve never had someone look at you like this before; it makes you feel so wanted, so desired, as if the only thing Minho could ever need in this moment is you. That alone makes your body tremble, your left hand holding onto his shoulder for purchase as you feel you might float away at any second.

If you were told a couple of hours ago that something as simple as having Minho’s fingers inside you would have you so euphoric, you most definitely would have laughed.

Minho groans into your open mouth, his breathing heavy and his brows drawn together tightly. You force your lips shut once more as his thumb rubs your bundle of nerves more hastily. Your hand leaves his shoulder to tangle in his black hair, futilely attempting to tug him even closer to you before you kiss his agape lips that spill out groans and sighs like a mantra.

It’s almost all-consuming. His fingers inside of you, the warmth of his hand on your breast, his cock pulsating beneath your touch, his hot breaths that fill your lungs as he sighs into your kiss, and his eyes — his damn eyes that look at you as if he wants to eat you whole.

You finally allow yourself to moan as you feel your orgasm building up, whimpering his name against his lips as your strokes on his cock turn messy and desperate among the copious amounts of precum. Minho growls, pulling your hand from his hair — his grip on your wrist so firm it stings a little — before he pins you down to the mattress, fingers messily intertwining with yours again.

This time, you’re unable to restrain your whimper at his actions; Minho had always been gentle and sweet, something as simple as him pinning you down to the bed has you clenching around his fingers. This duality of his you just discovered is something that stirs up curiosity inside of you.

“I’m gonna come,” He announces with a sigh, his hand squeezing yours. You can only nod as you melt around his fingers, your whole body trembling. Minho soon follows, his cum spilling into your hand and your shirt, a low guttural sound leaving his throat.

His eyes only leave yours as he leans down to connect your lips again, giving you small kisses before a stifled laugh escapes him. You furrow your brows, and Minho grins.

“Sorry for getting your shirt dirty,” He mumbles against your lips, the two of you unwilling to move for the time being.

You shake your head with a chuckle. Although you cringe slightly as you feel the fabric of your shirt stick to your stomach.

“It’s okay.”

Minho shifts on top of you, and you only then realize his fingers remain inside of you. Your body jolts faintly at the stimulation, his name falling from your lips in the form of a whine. He grins at you again, all lopsided and handsome, before bringing his hand to his lips. You watch with agape lips as his tongue flicks out to lap at his fingers before sucking on them with a hum, his eyes locked onto yours once more.

Once again with this newfound duality of his. He’s pure romance and gentlemanly behavior, but seemingly so alluring and shameless in bed. The way he looks at you alone makes you clench around nothing as if you didn’t come mere minutes ago. And it’s such a simple act — you can’t count on one hand the number of times you watched as Hyunjin licked his fingers clean after being inside of you — but the contrast of his calm and endearing everyday personality and him suddenly pinning you to the bed or licking your cum off his fingers while looking into your eyes makes this entirely different.

You would’ve never expected this from Minho, and it makes your brain stir up with thoughts of what he would be like while eating you out or while fucking you. Would he pin you to the bed again or pull your hair, or maybe—

The sound of him clearing his throat interrupts you from your thoughts, and you only now realize you had been staring at the ceiling while fantasizing about Minho fucking you. Great.

Once your eyes meet, he’s quick to avert his gaze. “I will, uh, pay to wash your shirt when we — when we get back,” Minho stumbles over his words, his eyes now fixed on your shoulder. “If you want. But, like, I got it dirty, so…” He trails off, and you purse your lips to muffle the giggle that bubbled up your throat as it seems all the confidence he had only minutes ago had dissipated into dust and left his body.

He was back to his usual self. You can’t help but smile as you realize you adore any version of Minho.

He pushes himself off of you, muttering that he’ll be back before disappearing into the small bathroom. You remove your soiled shirt, wiping your hand on it, only to blanche at the sight of the logo printed on the fabric. It’s one of Hyunjin’s shirts that you had stolen ages ago. You mumble a string of apologies to him as you pull the covers off your body. After discarding it on your bed, you change into the first t-shirt you fish out of your backpack, worried Minho might come into the room and see your naked chest — as ludicrous as that was, seeing as he was knuckles deep inside of you less than twenty minutes ago.

Minho returns to the bedroom just as you’re closing the zipper on your bag. He silently takes your hand in his and wipes it with a towel, his head lowered as his eyes focus on his actions. You let out a breathy chuckle.

“There’s really nothing there anymore,” you inform him. “I wiped most of your cum on my shirt.” You nod toward the crumpled-up fabric thrown across the bed. Minho’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He lets out a small noise, nodding his head slowly before ultimately pressing his lips together. Under the faint moonlight that lights up the room, you almost miss how his cheeks dust a shade of pink. You smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. Minho hums, smiling back at you and dropping the towel on top of your shirt.

Soon, you find yourself back in bed with him, Minho pulling you into his chest, his hands now offering you pleasure by gingerly massaging your scalp. You are almost asleep — listening to his heartbeat through his sweater, smiling at the soft snores that escape his parted lips — when it dawned on you.

You notice just how different being with Minho had been. How kissing him alone made your hands shake, how even without being fully intimate, the way you felt with him tonight was incomparable.

Minho’s words from months ago about how sex with someone you love eclipses the feeling of sex with any other person linger in your memory. You hum, a smile on your lips as your eyes flutter closed again.

Before they shoot open.

Because holy shit.

If it felt that way with Minho, it can only mean you’ve fallen for him.

Awakening to the sound of the heater’s soft hum, you feel Minho’s arm tightly around your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. His gentle breathing brushes against the nape of your neck, and you cautiously turn your head, careful not to wake him, only to be greeted by his tender eyes already gazing at you with a soft smile. Cuddling with Minho is another thing that feels different. You feel safe, adored from how he holds you to the way his eyes look at you.

As he realizes you’re also awake, he suddenly turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as his ears slowly turn a light shade of red. You frown, chuckling a bit at his actions, before settling yourself across his chest.

“The power came back a while after you fell asleep,” he explains.

You giggle as you assume maybe he’s shy because of what happened last night. But your smile fades as your mind begins to overthink, your subconscious screaming that maybe you should feel shy, embarrassed. Weren’t you too easy? Letting him touch you like that after just a few kisses. Does Minho think you came into bed with him for that reason?

You think back to the last boyfriend you had, who berated you for how ‘whorish’ it had been when you asked to have sex with him instead of waiting for him to initiate it. And how your first boyfriend would tell you — every chance he got — that you acted like a slut, touching him as if you knew it would make him have sex with you. How, at the end of your relationship, he told you maybe you acted that way because you knew that sex was all you were good for. How another ex had laughed as he told you that even though you went through so many guys, you still managed to be a terrible fuck, and that was the reason he had to cheat on you.

There were also the murmurs around your school whenever you started a new relationship. Another one? She’s boy hopping so much she’s gonna get through our entire class in less than a year. Some girls just can’t stand to be alone, it’s kind of sad.

At some point, you had detangled yourself from Minho, now lying on your side and looking out the window. You never understood why so many people thought that way. You had five boyfriends from fifteen to eighteen, and in each of these relationships, you were either cheated on or broken up with in a less-than-pleasant way. But you did have the awful habit of jumping into relationships with little thought, often because you felt incomplete without a romantic partner — as romantic as high school relationships can be, anyway. Being single and content for almost four years now, you were proud to have worked on that.

But you still can’t shake off the feeling that maybe you were a bit too… forward. You were single, sure, but you were quick to jump at the opportunity to have Hyunjin as a fuck buddy. Perhaps people were right about that.

“Is everything okay?” Minho’s voice pulls you away from your racing thoughts. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I just zoned out.”

Sitting upright on the bed, you stretch with a sigh. Minho takes your hand before you can realize it, placing it on his chest and gently playing with your fingers, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. You gnaw on your bottom lip, pulling at the skin until it stings.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward last night,” you blurt out. Minho’s gaze shifts to focus on you, confusion swimming in his brown eyes and his hands halting around yours. Oh god, why did you say that?

“Forward?” The question trails off his lips, his eyebrows coming together in a frown.

With a sigh, you grimace at your own words. “Yeah, forward, like I was throwing myself at you. I’m sorry if it came off that way. I swear I’m not…”

“You’re not…?”

“You know what I mean, Minho,” you mumble, but his eyes remain swarmed with confusion.

“I really don’t.”

You roll your eyes in exasperation, annoyed not at him but at yourself for having brought this up in the first place.

“You know, Minho,” you groan, “Forward, like, slutty. Like I asked to come to your bed just so you would fuck me.”

His expression softens, his eyes widening. He sits up as well, his hand still clutching yours.

“Why the fuck would I think that?” He asks matter-of-factly. “What happened last night was completely natural. We made out, we got horny, we took care of it together. You didn’t even ask me to touch you, I did it because I was dying to do it. You weren’t forward — you weren’t slutty.”

You feel the heavy veil of worry lift off your shoulders at his words. It was definitely going to take a while for you to work on that aspect of your trauma. This had never been an issue with Hyunjin since you were pursuing nothing more than a sexual relationship with him — things were different with Minho.

Minho was the complete opposite.

After countless moments of your heart racing and your hands trembling because of him, you finally confess to yourself that your affection for Minho extends well beyond platonic feelings.

With a small smile, you slowly nod your head. “Sorry for bringing this up, I just… didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

Minho smiles, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “That wouldn’t have made me think badly of you. I’m not some Victorian man who thinks women should be burned at the stake for showing their ankles,” he chuckles, and you bite back a laugh. “Even if you had been slutty, so what? I’d like that just as much.”

You playfully hit his shin under the comforter as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Minho was unquestionably different.

“We gotta get to the airport soon,” he says with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head, carrying your hand along the way. “I had to book the earliest flight I could to save up some money.”

With a frown, you retrieve your phone from under your pillow and check for the time: seven-thirty a.m. You feel a pang of guilt as you recall how you are essentially on this trip for free.

“Why didn’t Chan help with the tickets?”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek before his lips stretch into a barely-there grin. “Chan was never coming to this trip,” he blurts out. You feel your lips fall agape.

“What?”

“I… planned this trip by myself. Only for you and me,” he explains. “I wanted to get far away from everything that distracted us so I could concentrate on showing you the good side of love like I’d been trying to do with all those fruitless attempts at taking you on dates.”

You take in his words and find yourself smiling at the gesture — the white lie Minho told pales in comparison to everything else he has done for you, both during this trip and since you met him. Truthfully, you didn’t even realize he had been taking you on dates. You mentally slap yourself in the head for that, believing he simply wanted to spend time with you as a friend.

“I’ll pay you back for my part of the trip as soon as—”

Minho’s voice interrupts you with a drawn-out ‘no.’ He smiles as you stare at him, puzzled.

“This entire trip must’ve been so expensive, Minho.”

But he’s unrelenting, shaking his head with a squeeze of your hand.

“I told you,” he says simply. “I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1 @malunar28replies @jazziwritesthings @finchyyy @bloom-ings @linocz @minhochaos @lastgreatamericandynasty1

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 years ago

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not so little | t. shouto

✮ tags ; gn!reader, minor age-gap (4 years), sfw

✮ wc ; 1.3k

✮ a/n ; this is not the most original idea ever so sorry but i wanted to write my take on it

"Seriously," Touya leans on the door frame of Natsuo's room, self-satisfied smile on his face "You're crushing on...Shouto? Our Shou-chan?"

You cover your face with despair at your predicament. You can't believe you're actually telling either of them. It wasn't like you were planning too. In what universe would you even think to do that deliberately?

But Natsuo is frighteningly good at grilling you about things when you refuse to tell him. Ever since he found out about your crush, he made it his lifes mission to harass you about it. You were careful, damn it. You didn't even actually tell him, he used to his annoying deductive reasoning to figure it out. You tell Natsuo everything.

He knows about every weird medical problem you've ever had, every partner you've ever dated, and every weird fit of crying you've ever cried in your life. He's your confidant. Your best friend. So he knows there's only two sorts of crushes you couldn't tell him about.

If it was on an ex or if it was on one of his siblings. His first guess was Touya - but he figure you wouldn't be this embarrassed about that since you often wolf whistle at him when you're in the house.

Then he guessed Fuyumi, because you're still embarrassed by how pretty she is. When you said it wasn't her - he was briefly stumped before settling in a shocked silence.

"...Are you crushing on Shouto? Seriously?"

Your embarrassment told him he was right, and now you're sitting in his room and hoping the world will swallow you because you're crushing on your best friends little brother of all things.

In your defense, it wasn't always like this. You didn't see much of the youngest Todoroki at all growing up. He was in his dorms for most of highschool and Natsuo spent most of his early adulthood ducking his parents house entirely. You only met him properly when he turned twenty. They're only living together now for Touya.

You kind of wish they weren't - since it'd save you the trouble of being embarrassed twice. You've been seeing Shouto a lot recently, since you've been coming over to hang out with Natsuo.

Shouto is not the 16 year old boy you always made. He's 22 and he's got tall and lean muscle. He's polite but sweet and strangely - much funnier than you could've ever predicted. He's genuinely very kind but most of all - he's been very direct on telling you that he likes you.

You don't think anyones ever pursued you like this in your life. Both of your last relationships ended amicably but neither of them had been this...direct with you ever. Shouto is very direct, actually. Direct in telling you which honorifics to use, and telling you how nice you look, and saying he misses you often. You've been dismissive. Even you're not so desperate as to openly pursue your friends little brother.

But again, he's not so little anymore. He's taller than you now, and he's got lean muscle. He always smells great. He is incredibly pretty in the fairy prince kind of way. This is by far the worst crush you've ever had to endure in your entire life. You've tried to forget.

But just last week he walked you home after patrols, speaking casually and kindly and good god - what is with the broad-shoulders? When did that even happen?

You want to die. You want to disappear into a black hole. You want to scream and cry. Why you're crushing on a boy 4 years younger than you? Why is Todoroki Shouto of all people make your heart flutter?

"Seriously... I mean I knew he was flirting with you pretty brazenly but," Natsuo looks like he's holding back a grimace. If you weren't holding back tears, you'd hit him "...Shouto? Like...really?"

"Didn't know our little angel was such a casanova. Crazy world we live in."

"Neither of you are helping." You say exasperated. Natsuo leans back on his palms, sighing a little. "Do you think I wanted this?"

"It's not the end of the world," Natsuo offers thoughtfully. You give him a meaningful glare from the corner of his bed but he doesn't budge "I mean..I guess if I got to pick who he dated, you're not at the very bottom of the list."

You kick his side. "That's so backhanded."

"He doesn't want to admit you two are a good match," Touya says thoughtfully, unwrapping candy from his pocket. A habit he picked up trying to quit smoking "He'll be lonely if you date Shouto."

"Shut up, Touya."

You ignore both of them for a minute trying to get your bearings.

"You think we're a good match...?"

Touya laughs hard "Is that all you heard? Poor Natsu, already being abandoned."

Natsuo shoots Touya a glare.

"Touyaaaa," You drag, reaching over to tug on the bottom of his shirt "Elaborate."

"And feed your delusions?" He says, clicking his teeth "Fine. Only because it's funny."

Natsuo hmphs, and you look at him apologetically. You two will have to talk about it later. Touya rolls the candy in his mouth, pulling his shirt up to scratch at his abdomen.

"Dunno. You're like... probably one of the only people who's not gonna treat him weird cause he's a good little hero. That brat... it's probably best for him to date someone normal and civilian-esque. Not like being a hero is the most important thing in the world to him."

You flush a little. This is really, really bad. Natsuo gives you a disapproving look. You look back at him a little softer.

"I won't date him if he's off limits." You offer. Touya coos at you both.

"Well aren't you darling."

Natsuo groans, laying flat on the floor.

"Ugh. It's not like I can just say no. It's enough of a miracle that Shouto is showing interest in anyone. And if he misses out on true love, even if it's," He gives you a sideways glance and shakes his head "Even if it's with you then I can't actually stop it."

"I'll reject him if you tell me too."

"What kind of older brother do you take me for?"

"Yeah, what kind of older brother do you take him for?" Touya mocks, laughing to himself "Aren't you just a saint, Natsu?"

"Touya, I'm gonna throw you out of my room."

"Ooh, someone's mad."

Before Natsuo as a chance to come back, the sound of the door opening from the living room downstairs floats up. Shouto calls out. You feel your heart almost fall out of your ass. Touya, delighted, is the first to reply.

"Shou-chan, we're upstairs."

You make a gesture of violence towards Touya who replies by pretending to jerk off then giving you the middle finger. You don't have time to collect yourself before Shouto is upstairs. He's back from patrols and he's a little sweaty. You feel heat creep-up up your neck.

"Touya-nii, do you still—oh," Shouto smiles soft as he realizes "It's you. I didn't realize you were here."

"I came in after class."

"Alone? You should've asked me to walk home with you."

You flush. Touyas' snickering is not helping you at all.

"Isn't that out of your way?"

"It's fine. I do stuff like that a lot," You're almost disappointed until he tacks on "But it's you so it's alright."

You look up at him wide-eyed. He gives you the ghost of a smile. God you're screwed. Before you can reply, Natsuo clears his throat.

"Go wash up. You stink." He chides. Shouto immediately goes back to being a little brother, nodding his head.

"Okay. Then," He looks at you directly. You're so screwed "I'll be right back."

You wait until Shouto is finally down the hall, listening for the bathroom door to thump shut before falling back into Natsuo's bed. Touya breaks out into a fit of laughter as Natsuo sulks in the corner.

But all of it feels like white noise when you compare it to the sound of your heartbeat, thudding hard in your chest.

#todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #todoroki fluff #bnha fluff #writing tag #this idea im sure has been done a million times but i just wanted to write my own version im sorrryfdjd

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bloodibambiidoll · 6 months ago

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pleaseeee write some more rafe x weird!reader 🙏🏻🫶🏻

How about some Weird!girl headcanons?🤭🪞🥀

Weird!girl and Rafe met at the cemetery about a year after Ward died. Rafe was there visiting his grave, boasting to his deceased father about his success when he heard the prettiest little voice. He never expected to find the most beautiful, yet most strange girl he’s ever met sitting by her mother’s grave with a little orange cat.

Weird!girl absolutely adores animals of all kinds. Her family owns one of the most successful dairy companies in the country so she’s spent a lot of time around farm animals. She absolutely adores baby goats and bunnies the most though.

Weird!Girl’s mom died when she was young and her dad was never around so she was raised by her eccentric kook grandma. Everyone in the OBX always thought there was just something a little odd about her entire family.

Weird!Girl is a passenger princess through and through, she tried to get her permit when she was 15 but failed the test twice and honestly just gave up after that. Her grandma always had a driver for her growing up and once she gets with Rafe he happily takes on that position.

Weird!girl loves pretty things, but not in a classic diamond way. She loves random opal rings and pretty lace dresses found at vintage shops. And chunky chokers from flea markets. Rafe can’t stand this. He finds loopholes by buying her custom bat shaped jewelry and expensive platform shoes from her favorite brands.

Weird!girl has never really had a lot of friends. All the other kooks either looked down their noses at her or straight up belittled her. She was written off by Pogues just for being a kook, even if she didn’t feel like one. Rafe is her first real relationship, friendship or otherwise.

Weird!girl has a little white bunny named Lydia who she treats like her actual child.

Weird!girl wasn’t a virgin when she and Rafe met, she lost it to a band geek in high school and has had a few random hook ups as an adult. Rafe likes to pretend those didn’t happen.

Weird!girl smokes cigarettes and weed but she’s really girlie pop about it with her little vintage ashtrays and cute little custom bongs off Etsy. She also loves to hit the pen.

Weird!girl has tons of cute little tattoos. Baby deer, lambs, teddy bears with too many eyes and their stuffing coming out.

Weird!girl collects dolls, some porcelain but mostly Monster High and Bratz dolls. Rafe teases her about this at first but when she gets genuinely upset he realizes how much it means to her and now he’s buying her every single doll she’s ever wanted no matter the price.

Weird!girl absolutely loves horror. Rafe isn’t the biggest fan at first but once he sees how much she loves it and how happy rambling on about it makes her it makes him learn to appreciate it more.

Weird!girl is constantly making Rafe take pictures of her. She will dress up in little costumes or outfits and drag him out to the middle of the woods for an impromptu photoshoot. He’s a well trained Instagram boyfriend at this point.

Weird!girl has Rafe wrapped around her little finger and she doesn’t even really realize to what extent. She says jump and he says how high. He’s very in tune with her needs, before she can even ask him for something he’s already doing it.

Weird!girl is an absolute freak in bed. She’s submissive for the most part but sometimes she straddles Rafe and rides him so hard all he can do is hold onto her hips for dear life and take it. She loves marking him up. Scratches, bite marks, bruises she sucked into his skin. But she wants the same from him, she has a huge ownership kink.

All things Rafe & His weird!girl here

#weird!girl reader #rafe Cameron #rafe concepts #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe headcanons #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #Dolly writes #rafe cameron concepts

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shanastoryteller · 1 year ago

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Happy Holidays! ❄️❄️ more from What They Expect please! I love that AU!

continuation of 1 2 3

It’s been well over a year since she’s seen Mustang. Al’s all aflutter about it, and how puberty has her looking like something other than a twelve year old boy, but she’s really not worried. Mustang is so involved with his own shit that he doesn’t have the time to care about hers. It would be a damning quality if it wasn’t exactly what she needed from him.

She is, sort of, a little bit worried about Riza. Not worried as in she actually thinks something is going to happen, but just that if anyone out of Mustang’s little idiot brigade would figure her out, it would be her.

Maes is a distinct possibility, but also not really. The thing that saves her, always, is that no one’s really looking. She’s loud and flashy and angry and no one thinks she’s too short to be a guy because of how sensitive she is about it and no one notices she’s pretty because they’re too busy dealing with her being mad and scowling and, with these guys, she’s got an extra ace up her sleeve.

They think they already know all her secrets.

They know about human transmutation and binding her brother’s soul to a suit of armor and every questionable and terrible thing she’s done since in her pursuit to fix it.

Why the hell would she be lying about her gender? It’s not even a thought in their heads, and if it ever becomes one, they’ll dismiss it before he even has a chance to.

Eden binds her chest tight extra tight, so her chest is nearly flat, and puts on her baggy tank top and giant red coat that hides the way her hips curve and the giant stompy boots that she really does love, sets her face in a familiar scowl, and goes off to war.

If war was child’s play, that is.

“Where have you been?” Mustang demands, towering over her and nostrils flaring.

Well. Sort of towering over her. She must have had a growth spurt, because he’s really only got a couple inches on her, which is sort of hilarious. She hadn’t noticed that he was short before. “Uh, lots of places. Haven’t you been reading my reports?”

She does not laugh in his face at the way his eyebrow ticks. She spends so much time meticulously writing everything down in dedicated code in her travelogues, she really doesn’t have the energy to spare when she gets to her reports for Mustang. Besides, he doesn’t really care what she’s doing, only that it’s big and flashy enough to distract from whatever he’s doing.

Is she supposed to know that? She can’t remember. But it’s so obvious that it doesn’t feel like something that can be a secret.

Then again, the rest of the brass haven’t caught on, so.

“What were you thinking in Liore?” he snaps.

Eden blinks. “Liore? That was forever ago. Did something happen? Rose didn’t mention anything in her last letter.”

“Yes, Edward, it was forever ago, but since you declined to answer my summons to come here and explain yourself, we’re discussing it now,” he says.

God, she’d forgotten how bitchy he gets. “Okay, well that priest guy was pretty strange-“

“I don’t care about the priest!”

She stares. She had to kill the guy twice and he doesn’t care? Honestly, she thinks it’s sort of memorable.

“What were you thinking messing with that river?”

Ed tilts her head to the side. “You’re upset about the river?”

He glares. “Of course I’m upset about the river!”

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Al’s really worried over nothing.

Mustang is never paying attention to the right things.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #canonwhatsthat #fma

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downtwngrl · 6 months ago

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INTRICATE.

hi so it’s been a WHILE. uhhhh rewatched challengers for the thousandth time and it broke me out of my writers block! i don’t know how im going to continue w this, so feel free to drop any ideas and ill add it to the lore 😈 note: series prob isn’t gonna end with any smut scene bc im incapable of writing one without it sounding stupid asf! but who knows, you might be surprised

cw: 1.4k words,,, art and reader are dating but fighting, set in stanford era, tashi is NOT injured, patashi, hints of reader crushing on tashi but repressing it, fighting, tensiontensionTENSION! basically everyone is friends with one another but they all want each other BAD. lmk what else i should add :)

“it’s complicated.” that’s what you say every time someone asks you what your relationship with art donaldson is. and it’s true— you guys are fiery, but not explosive. complex, but not convoluted. it’s just… strange. intricate. hence, complicated.

you think he’d probably say the same thing, but there’s no real way to know, since you can’t exactly ask. the two of you aren’t on speaking terms right now, and for the same reason you two stopped talking last time, and the time before that.

art donaldson can’t split his time between his girlfriend and his fucking best friend’s girlfriend. and you can recite the argument quite well, maybe even word for word; it’s still fresh in your mind, engraved there.

“c’mon, you can’t just keep ditching me for her. it’s annoying, and it hasn’t just happened once or twice, you know.”

“i know.” art sighed, a hand tangled in his hair as if to ground himself. your name fell from his lips, voice cracking midway. “what do you want me to do? she needed help with her physics homework.”

“she can get one of her fucking groupies to help her! she’s a big girl, she doesn’t need to rely on you.” the way you said it, mocking and condescending, was mean, and you know it. you don’t hate tashi— you can’t even bring yourself to dislike her. but it hurts every single time you text art on your motorola and get hit back with some half-assed variation of ‘helping tashi. sry :( i’ll come later.’ he never actually shows up at ‘later’, which only rubs salt in the wound.

art’s jaw ticked. his eyebrows furrowed and eyes darkened in a way you’d only seen once before, when someone was talking shit about tashi in the cafeteria. you had watched as she calmly reassured art that is was fine, that he needed to relax, but he only shook his head and clenched his fists. in that moment, you wondered if he ever got that angry if he overheard someone talking about you. you now doubt it.

“don’t talk about her like that.” he said it calmly, but your skin still prickled. “she’s an accomplished lady. what about you? what have you done?”

if you sounded condescending before, it was nothing compared to how he sounded then. you scoffed away the sinking feeling in your stomach, blinked back the sting in your eyes. there was a lot you could have said to him then: ‘i might not be half as good at tennis as she is, but that’s less embarrassing than being second-best to her boyfriend.’ or ‘i didn’t compete for her number and lose.’ hell, even a good ‘fuck you’ would have sufficed.

instead, you just stood there, frozen, as he grabbed his stanford sweatshirt and left.

when you tell the story to patrick, he laughs, and doesn’t stop laughing until you jab him with your elbow, effectively knocking the oxygen out of him. his hands raise in mock surrender before speaking. “sorry, it’s just funny to see him get like this, i guess.”

you frown. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i mean that he likes you, but he likes tashi. i know it, tashi knows it, and from what i heard on the walk here—” he gestures vaguely towards the door to your dorm, “—the school knows it, too. i dunno, i guess it’s amusing ‘cause art has never been so disturbed about this kind of shit. usually he just picks the girl he likes best, but he can’t.”

“you mean he can’t because you’re dating her.”

patrick smirks his signature smirk. you have the urge to punch his teeth out; vagueness is beginning to be a pet peeve of yours. “no, i’ve told him that tashi is free reign.”

the way your stomach flutters at that is shameful. you push the feeling away. “like, you guys aren’t..?”

patrick shrugs. “i mean, currently she hates me because i said i’d go to her match yesterday and i missed it.” these guys really need to stop promising us stuff, you think. “but yeah, when she isn’t pissed off, we’re dating, and we talk about it. ‘bout you guys. she doesn’t really care if the two of you make moves on either one of us.”

you don’t say anything, but your ears feel warm, and your heart is about to explode out of your chest. it doesn’t help when patrick takes that as a sign to keep talking and says—

“i don’t care either.” it suddenly hits you, the closeness between you and him. close enough that you can smell his cologne, one typical of a rich frat boy you’d pass by in the halls. but it feels different, with him. patrick’s smirk has shifted into a grin, a big one. you realize he’s been gauging your reaction, and is thoroughly pleased.

“oh,” you breathe. he snickers, repeats it back playfully. you don’t understand how he’s so relaxed, able to make light-hearted jabs in this moment. art likes you and tashi. tashi doesn’t care if he likes her, or if you like her. patrick doesn’t either. but where do you stand in this?

your phone jingles, the sound muffled from the blood roaring in your ears. you don’t know if you should thank or curse out whoever decided to call you at this second, but you excuse yourself to answer. patrick nods begrudgingly, backs up enough for you to have room to finally start to inhale and exhale again. “hello?”

“hey.” it’s art on the phone. impulsively, you look around, as if he’s hiding somewhere in the dorm he marched out of a few days ago.

holy fuck. “hey!” you sound too cheery to your own ears, and hope that over the line it sounds more convincing. you hear a sigh on the other end, and can imagine art physically loosen. “what, uh— i thought you were mad. at me.”

patrick perks up. ‘art?’ he mouths, and you nod. he attempts to come closer, but you swat at him, moving a few steps away. he pulls a face, but doesn’t move closer. still, he’s definitely trying to hear what art is saying.

“i was.” art laughs nervously, the sound tinny over the phone. “but you’re right. i fucked up. tashi… she isn’t my girl. i need to pay more attention to you, and that’s gonna happen starting now.”

she isn’t my girl. “she could be,” you think aloud. you tense. art chokes. patrick stifles a laugh.

“what?” you pray that he didn’t hear it. you had mumbled it, whispered it, there’s a chance it didn’t pick up. art says your name one, two, three times before you respond.

“sorry, i just zoned out a little.”

“no, you said something. baby, what’d you say?”

“i said ‘you should be’. like, you should be paying more attention, dumb joke, i was trying to sound threatening,” you slap your free hand against your lips to stop your word vomit, then your forehead as you reprimand yourself for acting so stupid.

art hums. “oh, okay.” it should relieve some on the tension in your shoulders, but it doesn’t. he usually laughs when you fluster, but he didn’t. is he unconvinced, or are you overthinking? “hey, tomorrow can you come to my practice at noon? we can go to the cafeteria after, i’ve got wayyy too many meal credits.”

you look to patrick for help, but he shrugs, enjoying the moment. “sure.”

art says his goodbyes, goes ‘mwah!’ through the phone (which usually makes you laugh, but now you feel bad), and once you say bye, he hangs up.

“i’ll go to his practice, too.” it’s never a question with patrick (or with tashi); he just lets you know. “tashi’ll be there. she’s always on the court when she’s free.” you find it endearing that he knows her schedule.

“tashi.” you like the way her name rolls off your tongue, but you’d rather die than admit it.

before you can say anything else, patrick walks over, swings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. “don’t forget about what i said.” his breath smells like spearmint gum, the type art is always chewing. maybe he gave him a piece. “just think on it, yeah?”

you nod, and he pats your cheek before walking out the door, leaving you feeling dazed. after a few moments of just laying on your bed, soaking in the conversation you just had, your phone dings.

we’ll see u tmrw :-) -pat (&tash)

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #challengers x reader #challengers #came to me in a dream 😋#not proofread we ball

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msmk11 · 6 months ago

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James and His Damned Owl

James Potter x gn!muggle!reader

Word count: 1.5k

CW: Mentions of food/eating, mentions of alcohol, ornithophobia

Summary: Having a wizard boyfriend is strange to say the least. While it certainly has its perks, it also has its quirks… In particular, you’re not very much a fan of the magic world’s choice in pets.

Author’s Note: So you know how this type of fanfic is called self-insert, well this is the most self-insert fic I’ve ever written. Reader is me, I am a reader. BIRDS ARE SCARY, okay?! Anyways, this fic is the silliest one I’ve written so far and I had so much fun doing it! I hope you enjoy :)

Having a boyfriend who is a wizard is strange in a number of ways. Truthfully, when James first confessed his secret to you a few weeks ago, you laughed right in his face. It wasn’t until he pulled out his wand and literally started doing magic in front of you that you believed him. It’s safe to say you were in shock, and you’re not quite sure that feeling has faded yet. After James gave you a day or two to process the news, his magic usage around you went from 0 to 100. More times than you’d like to count, your mischievous boyfriend has scared the ever-loving shit out of you by randomly appearing in your home or on the street out of thin air. Now too, instead of walking or driving to your house like a normal person, James will randomly tumble out of your fireplace in a burst of green flames. Not only did you nearly die on the spot the first time it happened, but you’ve since bitched to James many times about how the soot he tracks in is ruining your very nice rug.

The moving pictures he has gives you the creeps, you find it laughable that he prefers using a quill and ink to a pen, and your head swarms every time James mentions some spell, potion, or magical creature whose name sounds like complete and utter gibberish.

But, despite your groans and whining, you do really think that James being a wizard is super cool. Like a child seeing a magician, you’re constantly begging your boyfriend to do different things with his magic so you can ooh and aah over them. When you found out James is an ani- animungal? Anamatronic?- the thing where you can turn into an animal, you were even more ecstatic. Admittedly, you may have once or twice begged James to assume his deer form so that you could ride on his back through the woods like some Disney princess probably would.

Magic has its perks too outside of your own personal entertainment. For example, now, instead of having to do dishes when one of the two of you cook dinner, a flick of James’ wand has them cleaning themselves. Other chores are now taken care of similarly, leaving you with a lot more free time to be with your lovely boyfriend.

This evening is one perfect example. After getting off work, you were surprised to find James waiting outside your office, a bouquet of pretty pink flowers in hand. The evening sun rested lovingly on his peaceful face so that his brown skin seemed to actually glow. It was a wonderful surprise and your trip back to his flat was much more pleasant than usual- defined by clasped hands swinging between you and teasing conversation.

The night only seemed to get better when you arrived at James’ place and were met with the delicious smell of garlic and pasta. The table was set nicely, and your two plates were already prepared, kept warm by the wonders of magic.

Things were perfect. Maybe a little too much so.

******

When you and James finish dinner, he stands and grabs your plates. Usually, you would protest- claiming that whoever didn’t cook has to do dishes- but you know magic will take care of it all. James then kisses you quick before taking a trip to the bathroom.

As you’re sitting at the kitchen table still, reveling in your full belly and nursing your glass of wine, your peace is rudely disrupted. With it being pleasantly warm out this evening, James had left the windows open. This seemed like a great idea until now- when a big brown owl comes swooping into the kitchen.

While anyone would surely be startled by the bird’s random appearance, you are especially so because you’re terrified of birds. The bloodcurdling scream you let out is akin to someone who is dying- but in your mind is appropriate for the situation at hand. A string of curses leave your mouth as you jump up and hesitantly back away from the owl perched on one of the kitchen chairs. You grope for the counter behind you, never taking your eye off the owl as you maneuver around the island to hide behind it.

Of course, your scream has resulted in a panicked James and shouts of your name. He comes barreling into the kitchen in only his shirt and boxers, wand at the ready. He whips his head around, looking for you and the supposed threat that caused you to scream. He calls your name again and your head pops up from behind the counter.

“Lovey? What is it?” He asks anxiously.

You whimper a little and, with a shaky hand, point at the big bird across the room. When James sees what you’re pointing at, he visibly relaxes and lowers his wand.

“Oh, him? That’s just Hootie,” he tells you casually, “Probably should’ve mentioned I have a pet owl.”

You stare at him in complete and utter shock then shrilly squeal, “How’d you forget to mention that you have a pet owl?!!”

James shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and places his wand on the counter, walking towards you, “Well, I guess I didn’t really think too much about it. It’s very common in the magic world to have one, so I didn’t consider that it’d be abnormal. It’s just like having a dog in the muggle world.”

You don’t respond with any English, instead sputtering anxiously.

James crouches beside you, “So are you going to come out now? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You shake your head no aggressively and shrink into his side, “No way, Jamie. Birds are terrifying- with their big beaks and beady eyes. And who knows what diseases they carry- no offense.”

Your boyfriend wraps his arm around you and soothingly rubs your side, “Awe, sweetheart, I didn’t know you’re afraid of birds.”

“Oh yes, very. Have been since I was five and a bird pooped on me at the zoo.”

You don’t miss the chuckle and small smirk on James’ face and huff, pulling away.

“It’s not funny Jamie! It’s a real fear!”

He puts his hands up in surrender, “I know, I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is a real fear. But it’s an irrational one, you know.”

You huff again and roll your eyes, grumbling under your breath. James then stands and stretches out his hands, “Here, why don’t you come meet Hootie and see birds aren’t all so bad.”

You hesitantly take his hand and stand. You slowly walk out from behind the counter and only make it a few steps before the damned bird shifts, ruffling its feathers.

You squeal again and let go of James’ hand, this time hiding behind his broad frame, “I don’t think I can do this Jamie.”

He turns around and looks at you softly before pulling you into a tight hug. You relax a little against his chest, but your eyes never leave the owl over his shoulder, “I believe in you, lovey. Why don’t you let me go first, to show you that Hootie won’t hurt you, and then we can try together, yeah?”

You hesitantly reply with an okay.

James lets go of you and turns around. He walks over to the brown owl easily and coos a little, petting its back softly as it nuzzles into his touch. The owl then juts its head out, seeming to be waiting for something. James, apparently, knows what this means, and reaches behind him to grab some sort of pellet out of the cabinet and feed it to the bird.

“Okay, sweetheart. Now why don’t you come over and give Hootie a pet.”

He walks over and grabs your hand. Your smaller one fits into his nicely and you grip onto it with a death-grip. The two of you slowly make your way over to the owl and stand beside it. You sort of half stand behind James while still holding his hand. Fingers intertwined, James slowly starts moving your joint arms out, “Ready?

You very slightly shake your head and then your palm makes connection with the soft feathers of Hootie. The bird stares at you with its big eyes and, like it did for James, nuzzles into your touch.

Some of the tension in your shoulders eases a little and you decide that maybe birds aren’t so bad.

As you pull away, James squeezes your hand gently, “See? You did it. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

Just as you’re beginning to feel proud of yourself too, the owl shuffles a little and rotates its head 180, so it’s no longer staring at you. The range of motion it has terrifies you and you scream again, running down the hall away from James and his damned owl.

#marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #james potter x reader #james potter x you #the maruaders #james potter fluff

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thebeesareback · 9 months ago

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I just finished the audio book for Donna Tartt's novel The Secret History, so naturally I had to have a lil scroll to see what everyone thought on Tumblr. To add to the discourse: (spoilers, obviously)

Also trigger warning: incest, abuse, murder, alcoholism

Why is Tumblr so in love with Henry Winter?! He murders the farmer, Bunny, and possibly tries to kill Charles. He's manipulative and may well try to make Richard take the fall (har har) for Bunny's death. In the garden scene, he admits to being a psychopath/sociopath. Oh, and he's unbelievably pretentious

Also, why are there so many cute pictures of the twins hanging out? Their relationship was strained, incestuous, co-dependent, abusive. The whole uwu thing baffles me

Richard has a very obvious foot fetish and nobody is talking about it

The novel is quite funny, and I wish more people picked up on that. Most of the humour comes from Francis - the pinz nez stays ON during sex; no, Bunny's parents weren't very upset when one of their grandchildren ruined Francis' scarf, they were preoccupied by their missing son; and there's a throwaway line where the art students eat sushi with paintbrushes instead of chopsticks. I also liked when the twins panicked after Bunny's murder and decided to start repotting tulips

The farmer is referred to by name twice. Once in a newspaper, once by Bunny. Strange to think that he's the person in the squad who might actually have a conscience. Incidentally, Milo, the golden retriever who finds Bunny's body, has his name mentioned more frequently.

Richard is a smelly, badly dressed misanthrope. As is Henry, and Charles towards the end. Francis, Camilla and Hampden itself provide the (admittedly gorgeous) dark academia aesthetic, but if you want to end that dream, remember how terrible everything would have smelled. I guess the difference between appearance and reality is a pretty big theme

Julian is very creepy, obviously, but I was surprised that he wasn't more involved in the plot. He seems like exactly the sort of person to start a cult. I'd also like to know if he and Henry were in a sexual relationship, because we see them kiss once and then it's never mentioned again

Foreshadowing is done EXCELLENTLY through the book. There were a few characters who were described as ghostly at the start, and I THINK they're the ones who survive. Also, Tartt loves her pathetic fallacy (not phallusy).

Time is very strange. If you bothered to plot out all of the events, I don't think it quite makes sense. Term starts in September, say Richard joins Julian's classes in early October? That means all the picnics, the Sunday walks with Bunny, the trips to Francis' house, all happen over about five weeks, leading to the 12th November when Charles, Henry and Francis kill the farmer. Unreliable narrator, I guess

A lot of things about Richard's character make more sense when you realise the abuse he grew up experiencing and witnessing. Poor Ms Papen. Odd that Richard's parents don't visit him when he's in hospital

Funny that everyone is surprised when the twins' incest comes out. Like, they had an orgy at the start of the baccanal. Call me a prude, but I wouldn't attend an orgy with a family member

I would go for girls' night with Judy Poovey

Also, the book was published in 1992. Does anyone know when Prince Charles and Camila Parker Bowles went public with their relationship? Seems like an unbelievable coincidence otherwise

If anyone has an actual criteria for identifying alcohol abuse/alcoholism, please lmk if any of the main six characters AREN'T alcoholics. I'm pretty sure I got liver cirrhosis and lung cancer just from reading this book

#donna tartt #the secret history #richard papen #henry winter #charles macaulay #camila macaulay #francis abernathy #julian morrow #dark literature #dark academia #the macaulay twins

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totowlff · 2 months ago

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chapter twenty — enough for us

➝ in the middle of the storm, toto reveal a new layer of himself to cassie

➝ word count: 3,4k

➝ warnings: mentions of childbirth and medical terms

➝ author’s note: the missing hours are over!

29 WEEKS Baby is running out of room in there, but you should still feel him squirming and moving regularly. If you haven't already, you should start doing daily kick counts once or even twice a day. On the symptoms front, varicose veins may be visible and your nails may be growing faster than usual.

Just a year ago, Cassie never saw herself having any reason to attend any sort of antenatal class, but here she was, sitting in one of the chairs arranged in a half-circle in a primary school classroom, eyes fixed on a table next to an easel.

There were a few things on the table, including a scale, measuring tape, an assortment of baby items — most of which she had her own of, sitting in the nearly-finished nursery at Toto’s house — and a doll the approximate weight and size of a newborn, used by the instructor in lieu of an actual baby.

The idea to attend the classes had come from Cassie's obstetrician, who had recommended that both she and Toto attend childbirth classes to prepare for Cassie’s delivery and for the first few weeks after the baby arrived. Cassie had mentioned that she was becoming increasingly anxious at one of her appointments, and her anxiety was growing as Ingrid’s due date hurtled closer.

She ended up choosing Bump & Baby Club, a sort of organization that taught parenting and prenatal classes across the UK. “They have a very modern approach to childbirth and newborn care,” her doctor said, “and they’re doing a lot of really good work”. When Cassie proposed the idea of attending the classes to Toto, he seemed excited about the idea — enthusiastic, even. So, she registered them for the October session, intended for couples with babies due in December.

What neither of them remembered was that Toto would only be at home for a single week in October. The rest of the time, he would be away for the North American and Asian races. Cassie found the realization rather upsetting, even to the point of crying about how she was an idiot for forgetting something so important.

— Please don’t say that, Cassie. I forgot as well, it’s an honest mistake. We both have a lot going on, it can happen to anyone. I’ll just miss the first two classes, and I will absolutely be there for the rest of them — Toto said, enveloping Cassie in a comforting hug and kissing her delicately on the forehead.

As such, Cassie felt strange going to the first class by herself. It was held in a primary school in Wood Farm, and there were many other couples there, each having a different background and coming from all walks of life.

There were couples who had planned to have a child for years and others whose pregnancy had been a complete surprise. There were couples who were expecting their first baby, while others already had children. There was even a lesbian couple who had gotten pregnant through the IVF process, however, she was the only one that had come alone.

“Not alone”, Cassie corrected herself, “Just not here with my partner”. She felt Ingrid move, almost like the baby felt like her presence was needed and that her mum needed some support. “Thank you, my love”, she thought, rubbing her belly with her hand.

The first night was an introduction to the doula, a woman with curly hair named Vicki. She explained how the classes would work, and then announced that it was time for everyone present to do a sort of introduction. They went around the circle, each couple introducing themselves in turn. As Cassie's turn approached, the more tense she felt, especially as she listened to the adorable stories of the other couples there.

— Cassandra, it's your turn — the woman leading the meeting said, with a gentle smile.

How would she explain the entire situation with her and Toto?

— Well, good evening — she said, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice — My name is Cassandra, but you can call me Cassie. I'm 29 weeks pregnant with my first baby and her name will be Ingrid.

— Was she planned? — Vicki asked. She was a very sweet woman.

— In a way — she replied, forcing a smile.

— Tell us more, Cassie.

She would rather the ground open up and swallow her hole.

— Well, I... We actually wanted to have a child for some time and resorted to a round of IVF, but after our first failed attempt, we ended up conceiving naturally.

— Did you resort to fertilization due to problems with natural conception?

— Yeah… So to speak — Cassie replied.

— And how is your partner dealing with this? Actually, tell us more about him.

As strange as it might seem, asking to talk about Toto didn’t bother her in the least. Actually, she could talk about him all day. As she began to speak, her body felt light, and she could feel that she was grinning unconsciously.

— His name is Torger. He would love to be here, but he is on a business trip in Japan at the moment. He's very happy, excited about fatherhood and — Cassie paused for a few seconds, a tightness rising in her throat — I can't wait to see this side of him blossom.

— That's wonderful, Cassie — Vicki said, smiling — Many men and, in our case here, non-pregnant partners, feel disconnected from the women during pregnancy, largely because they don't have as active a role at this stage as who is actually carrying the baby. However, they are essential right now and we will talk more about this during our classes.

Cassie stopped listening to the doula a few seconds later, more focused on taking deep breaths and trying not to cry. The past few months had been the most beautiful of her life, and it wasn't just because she felt like a dream of hers that she’d long dared to not even consider was being fulfilled.

It was also about seeing Toto’s transformation up close.

He was not a young man by any means, and had dealt with a lot in his life, both personally and professionally. He had his own joys and sorrows, stories of overcoming and failure that had shaped his personality and character into something Cassie admired. However, nothing she already knew of him compared to seeing him change little by little from a normal man and into a father.

It was exciting to find Toto inside the nursery, which wasn't quite ready, looking at the things with a silly smile on his lips. It was also comforting to receive messages from him with articles about pregnancy and questions about how she was feeling - physically, or mentally. He did his best to do whatever he could for her when she was in pain, or feeling the emotional effects of the torrent of hormones, like bringing her pastries from halfway across the continent just because she had a craving.

However, the best part for Cassie was hearing him talk to her bump. The way he laid his head on her lap and talked about the most banal subjects in the direction of her bulging abdomen made her feel a crushing sensation in her chest. Sometimes, in those moments, Cassie was unable to resist the urge to reach into his hair and play with the dark strands. They were just crumbs of intimacy, but ones she held on to.

He was able to come to the next class after he got back from Japan, and seemed incredibly eager about the entire thing.

— Cassie, what is hypnobirthing?

Cassie looked over to him where he was sitting in the chair next to her, completely focused on one of the leaflets she’d brought home from her antenatal class. He was devouring its contents, trying to catch up on what had previously been discussed in class.

— It's a concentration method that can be used in labor — Cassie replied.

— Does it help with the pain?

— They say so.

— Are you going to try it?

— I don't know, actually. I haven't stopped to make the birth plan yet.

He stared at her for a few seconds.

— What is a birth plan?

Cassie was about to explain until Vicki went to the easel, requesting the attention of everyone present.

— Good evening, how is everyone this evening? — the woman said, with a smile on her face — It's great to see you all here! I hope the last week has been good for everyone. Today we're going to talk about life after childbirth, or as I like to call it, the fourth trimester.

Vicki approached the easel and flipped back the first sheet of the enormous paper pad, displaying a kind of infographic with four frames. Then, picking up a black marker, she turned to the couples again.

— You must be wondering what the hell this fourth trimester is, if the obstetrician made a mistake in the calculations or if you forgot to pay attention at some point in our classes, but don't worry — she continued — The fourth trimester is an term created by Harvey Karp, a pediatrician, to describe a baby's first three months outside the womb.

Cassie felt a touch on her arm. When looking to the side, she noticed that Toto was bringing his face closer to hers.

— Have you ever heard of that?

— No, not yet.

— That’s good — he said, smiling — I thought I was late on that too.

She smiled, looking back at Vicki.

— He created the theory that babies are born three months earlier than ideal, from a developmental point of view. However, if they are not born within nine months, they may not be able to pass through the birth canal in the case of a natural or normal birth. So they need to be born a little ahead of time, so to speak.

— When does the fourth trimester begin? — one of the other mothers-to-be asked.

— As soon as they are born, Georgia. And it is nothing more than this three-month period in which the baby is adjusting to the world outside, finishing growing and developing. However, this is also the time when pregnant women are recovering from childbirth, no matter whether the baby is born vaginally or by cesarean.

Vicki flipped the paper over again, showing the silhouette of a woman drawn on white paper in red marker.

— In these three months, you need to keep in mind that, in addition to taking care of a new life that is not really ready to face this world, you will also be, or be taking care of, a person whose body is recovering from one of the most transformative experiences that she can go through — she said, while scribbling on the paper — The woman is dealing with a huge load of hormones, organs returning to their previous places, milk production, postpartum bleeding, and what I like to call “war wounds”, which can be a cut from the c-section or in the perineum, which can be incidental or intentional.

— Sounds scary — Toto muttered next to Cassie.

— I think so too — she replied.

— And you say you're not brave — he said. Cassie smiled. There was something powerful about hearing Toto say that she was the bravest woman he knew. It made her feel truly brave, even when she was scared.

— During this time period,your partner's support is essential, but we'll talk about that later. Now, let's talk about your little one — Vicki said, flipping over another page, revealing a drawing of a baby — Think that, if everything is new for you, it's even newer for them. Everything is very different, very challenging after leaving such a warm and comfortable environment. So, the first few days will basically involve intense adaptation. They will basically eat, sleep and soil diapers, so be prepared for that.

— I don't remember that in the contract I signed — one of the men commented, making the rest of the couples laugh. Vicki giggled too.

— Of course it doesn't seem very exciting, but seeing them develop, day after day, is something really special. They will gradually stop being that tiny that you took home. They will gain weight, more muscle control and strength, in addition to learning to identify you with their eyes and not just your voice, and they will even be able to respond to stimuli made by you with smiles.

The thought of Ingrid smiling at Toto made something warm fill Cassie's chest. If their relationship at that moment was already strong, she couldn't imagine what it would be like when she was really with them. “She's probably going to be the most spoiled girl in the world”, Cassie said to herself, placing a hand on her belly.

— However, don't think that, after these 12 weeks, things will have returned to normal and everything will be perfect. Adapting to life with a baby is a gradual process that takes a lot longer. And fatherhood, as Heidi and Brad can tell us, changes us completely, doesn't it?

— Yes — Brad said, smiling.

— You become a completely different person, but, over time, you manage to reconnect with that person you used to be. But honestly, I don't miss the Heidi I used to have. I feel that Charlie came to add to our lives, and now, with our little boy arriving, we're going to learn even more.

Vicki smiled before moving on to the next topic, which talked about how to prepare the environment for your baby to feel more comfortable during the fourth trimester. During the explanation, she answered some of Toto's questions, regarding terms that had been discussed at other times, such as Kegels, meconium, fontanelle and jaundice. She didn't mind explaining quickly, but at some point in class, Cassie noticed that he didn't seem as comfortable as he had been before.

The class continued with more lessons on caring for newborns, who, according to Vicki, would have difficulty differentiating between days and nights. However, there was a practical portion of the class, when they had to put swaddling and wrapping techniques into practice using a doll. Seeing Toto with their “daughter” placed firmly against his chest made her smile. That glimpse of the rest of her life was probably the most beautiful thing she had seen.

— Is this right? — he asked, looking up at Cassie with an uncertain expression.

— It has to be in a sitting position, with the knees above the butt — she explained while adjusting the doll's legs, which were positioned incorrectly — The chin is very close to the chest, you have to move it away so it does not suffocate.

Watching her adjust the doll’s posture, Toto pursed his lips.

— Is the position of the body good, at least?

She evaluated it for a few seconds.

— It's lower than it should be, you have to be able to kiss the baby's head easily — Cassie found out, lifting the fabric so that the doll was positioned closer to Toto's face. A few seconds later, he tilted his head slightly, confirming that he could touch his lips to the plastic head, which made her smile.

At the end of the class, the two of them spoke to some couples for a few minutes before leaving. The way back to his house was filled only with the sound of the car's engine, until, at a red light, Cassie spoke up.

— What did you think of the class?

Toto's fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

— It was good — he replied, with his eyes fixed on the traffic light.

— I hope I was able to answer your questions, it's a little complicated to do this during class, but...

— It's okay — Toto murmured, shortly.

The way he said it made Cassie feel uncomfortable. She began reviewing her actions, trying to find anything she could have said or done that would have made him upset with her. “Was it because I corrected the doll’s position?”, she asked herself, looking at her own hands, which were on her belly.

Toto crossed the intersection as soon as the light turned green. However, after a few meters, he turned the steering wheel to the left and stopped the car close to the curb, turning it off a few seconds later. Then, he turned on the indoor light, meeting Cassie's confused gaze.

— Do you think I'll be a good father?

She remained silent for a few seconds.

— Why are you asking…

He snorted, cutting Cassie off.

— When you told me about your intention to become a mother, I was thinking about what it would be like for this child to grow up without the presence of a father figure, like I did. That's what motivated me to offer myself to participate in this endeavor, you know? — Toto said, running a nervous hand through his hair — But now, with Ingrid on the way, things are getting real, I realize that I won't be able to avoid this.

— Avoid what?

— Her growing up without her father around.

It felt like Cassie had been punched.

— But you'll be around — she stammered.

— How? I don't know any of the terms they said today. I don't know how to do any of the techniques, I can’t even hold a stupid doll properly! — Toto exclaimed — And all because I can't be there and I won't be able to be there when Ingrid is here.

— Toto, please…

— I didn't want that for her, Cassie. Ingrid deserves more than that — he continued, his eyes wet — She deserves to have a better father than I had.

Toto lowered his head, allowing the tears to stream down his face. At that point, Cassie was also doing her best to hold back on crying herself, but it was difficult. They had discussed the unique peculiarities of each of their childhoods, especially regarding the absence of their parents in both their lives. However, he had never spoken about being afraid of being like his father as openly as he did at that moment.

Bringing her hands up to Toto's cheeks, Cassie made him look up. There was a fragility there that she had never seen from Toto ; as open as he was about his own emotional and mental issues, it was as if she was able to see a new side of him. For a few seconds, she just looked into his eyes, while she fought against the tightness in her throat to say what seemed obvious to her.

— You’re going to be a better father than you had, I know it.

He glanced at her skeptically.

— How do you know that?

— Because you’re you. That's enough, both for me and for Ingrid.

Toto closed his eyes, more tears streaming down his face.

— I knew, from the beginning, that you would have to be away for work a lot. I accepted your offer knowing that — Cassie explained, her voice breaking — However, distance and time zones mean nothing when you show yourself present in other ways. Your care for me, the way you’ve taken care of me, even when you’re not here, has been clear. You are always with me, and that is what matters.

— I don't want her to grow up without me, Cassie...

— Ingrid won't grow up without you. Next thing you know, she'll be asking to sit in your lap, not mine. She will be asking for your hugs, your goodnight kisses and not mine. I'm sure she'll love you as much as — she continued, hesitating to finish the sentence. She couldn’t bear to do it.

Toto leaned toward her, and for a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. And in that second, Cassie realized how much she wanted to kiss him. However, the team principal simply placed his forehead against hers, letting out a sigh. A few seconds later, she continued.

— You know that being present means nothing if you don’t love your child. My father was always around during my childhood and he was never affectionate with me — Cassie whispered, her thumbs caressing his cheeks — I don't think I ever heard him say he loved me, and I know that Ingrid will never go through that, because you've loved her since before she existed. You've loved her since the day she was just an idea.

Her voice broke, her eyes filling with tears as she remembered the way Toto whispered, after the transfer, that she already loved that baby without even knowing him. The embryo ended up not being successful, but, in a way, it ended up being the catalyst for Ingrid to be conceived, almost seven months earlier.

After a few more beats of silence, Toto finally spoke up.

— Promise me something?

— Anything — Cassie replied.

— I'm going to do everything I can to be a better father than mine or yours. But please promise me you'll tell me if I'm failing our little girl. Promise me that you will ask me for help, that you will fight with me if necessary. Promise me we won't be like our parents.

A small smile appeared on her face, her nose lightly brushing his.

— I promise, Toto.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #f1 x oc #etlwlff #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fluff #formula one fic #formula one fanfic

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salty-an-disco · 25 days ago

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since I like all the questions in @pink-november's askgame, and really just want to get to them all eventually, I decided I might as well treat the game like a school questionnaire and answer them all in order. So– here it is!!

(will also answer the ones I already did in asks again just for the sake of having them all in one place)

1. (Explore) What's your favorite Chapter?

Stranger OK, OK, just so I won't repeat myself too much, and also to make it more interesting, I decided to make it more specific and go for 'favorite lead-up Chapter (3 or 4)'. And that'd probably be Empty Cup and Princess and the Dragon, for different reasons.

I love how chaotic and honestly hilarious Razor is, and to me, The Empty Cup is the most satisfying conclusion to her chapter. You cannot change much about how things play out in this chapter. The princess is so relentless and unyielding that she'll always make things play out how she wants it to. But something as simple as leaving the blade upstairs in Chapter 2 completely changes how your final battle go. Instead of meeting her where she is, you manage to go even, unraveling her in the 'Nothingness' you have embraced and truly getting to her heart (cough cough Cabin ending parallel cough). Also– the visual of the Sleeping Mound holding out Razor's Heart is one of the most beautiful visuals in this game. I love how it looks like a flower of hands coming out of a heart. To me, it truly sums up what the vessels are to the Shifting Mound, y'know? A center from which something beautiful can flourish from.

And Princess and the Dragon– gosh. I love how we get to this chapter. Twice now, we refused to see the Princess as an actual person deserving of freedom and tried to kill her despite it also hurting us in the chapter lead up. And that is honestly more frustrating than anything to the Princess. What did she do to deserve this? Why do you keep insisting on killing her? And so, she just wishes you could understand her. See things from her perspective. And so, that's what happens–

It's interesting to me that this chapter isn't exactly an evolution of how WE see the princess (it still is, in some ways, but not quite). It's entirely her. Before, chapter 2 would end there; there was nothing else for us to see of her that we didn't already. Makes all the more compelling to me that to lead to a new chapter, BTG had to give the Princess the reigns. Because she, for sure, has a LOT to show us.

And that chapter…… gosh, so many things get to me. How the princess name the chapter herself (I hc the voices saw their own title screen with a different name entirely, but that doesn't matter, this is HER chapter and SHE gets to name it), the casual thump, thump, thump… as LQ's body come in. How her appearance itself goes back to something more like how she becomes as a final heart rather than something we may have seen her as. How SHE throws away the knife. Basically saying, "Enough of this violence. I'm getting my happy ending one way or another–"

Just– I love this chapter so much.

2. (Explore) If you have a least favorite Chapter, then how would you go about changing it?

Simply by merit of 'something has to be at the bottom', it's probably Drowned Grey. Which is honestly impressive because I love so many things about The Drowned Grey and wouldn't really change anything as I think it's already satisfying as it is. It's just not quite as engaging and interesting as other chapters, so it stays at the bottom.

3. (Explore) Who's your favorite Vessel?

STRANGER. Babygirls <3333 I love them so much <333333 The very concept of how they came to be is fascinating to me and I LOOOOOVE the little we see of them in Strange Beginnings. System of all time <333 Love all the facets so much I gave each of them their own pronouns set, personality, and role in the system. No one can stop me, Stranger, you will always be famous to me 😌✨

4. (Explore) If you have a least favorite Vessel, then what do you think would make you like her?

As much as I grew fond of her and really like her chapter expansions, Tower is still prolly at the bottom. She's fascinating in her own way, but some uncomfortable similarities to things I experienced makes it hard for me to really love her. Wouldn't change her though, she's perfect as it is for the story she has to tell.

5. (Explore) Who's your favorite Voice?

My silly lil guy, my beloved clown, the hyperactive hummingbird, Contrarian, I love you so much <3333 I'm already a sucker for characters who refuse to engage with their work's genre (in this case: horror), and his dynamic with Hero in Stranger was just so engaging, and seeing he's actually a softie deep down with terrible self-esteem and sense of worth??? Yep, there's no going back to me. This clown is all I can think about.

6. (Explore) If you have a least favorite Voice, then what do you think could make you like him?

After thinking about it some more, it's still Broken. I like the development they got in PC, and gained a new appreciation for them, but still on the bottom of the tier for me. The fact they remind me a lot of an ex-friend doesn't help at all, but the only thing I'd change is giving them more chapters where we can see the good side of them, and PC already did that, so *shrugs*

7. (Explore) What line from The Shifting Mound do you like the most?

"I am solitary lights on an empty city. What are you?"

OUUUUUUUUGH. SHIFTY I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU.

8. (Explore) What line from the player character/ The Long Quiet do you like the most?

"I always just wanted to leave with you." (or smth like that. I don't have Quiet lines memorized like I do Shifty LOL)

9. (Explore) What line from The Narrator do you like the most?

[insert the entirety of the MOC lead-up poem here]

But, for a single line, gotta go with "You stab yourself, and you die. Nice knowing you." It's just so incredibly petty, I love it lol

10. (Explore) What's your favorite Vessel-Voice dynamic?

Gotta go with Stubborn and Adversary. They're just. so good. Even without ever meeting face to face, they manage to have SUUUUCH a good dynamic and chemistry, I want these two to lovingly brawl for as much as they want, they deserve it.

11. (Explore) Any non-canon Vessel-Voice you think is fun to see?

Many–

Damsel and Contrarian, Prisoner and Cold (D Grey not counting), Spectre and Skeptic, Thorn and Paranoid, Wraith and Smitten, Nightmare and Broken, and I could probably keep going lol

12. (Explore) What's your favorite Voices dynamic?

ContraHero Once again, just not to repeat myself too much– Dark Comedy (Cold and Contra) has my entire heart <3 Them as besties who just GET each other on a level no one else does is everything to me.

13. (Explore) Any Vessel-Vessel you want to see interact?

Many. Most of which involves Nightmare, because sHE DESERVES FRIIIIIEEENNDS WHO'LL UNDERSTAND HER ON A PERSONAL LEVEL!! But just to name a few–

Thorn and Beast!Wounded Wild, Witch and Wraith, Witch and Beast, Den and Damsel, Prisoner and Spectre, Adversary and Razor, Tower and Nightmare, and once again, I could keep going lol

14. (Explore) What's your favorite ship/s?

OwO

ContraHero: My BOYS, my lil guys, my dearest birbs– out of all the voices, they're the ones that get the most character character development within the game, and their dynamic in Stranger is EVERYTHING to me. The way they represent agency and individuality and how that connects together to open up even more choices– OUUUUUUUUUUUGH. THEY MAKE ME SO UNWELL.

ParaCold: Mainly beamed into my brain by Kit, but goddamn, if these two didn't manage to claw their way in there and make a spot for themselves lol. Just. Smth about this paranoid and anxious person with the most 'idgaf' guy in the construct is already inherently interesting to me, but their DYNAMIC, how they actually balance out each other's weaknesses– Cold can offer such a pragmatic view on things in such a non-judgmental and detached way that Paranoid can't help but listen (as opposed to when Skeptic does it, specifically in Cage, where it feels like he doesn't take her seriously and it just frustrates her), and Paranoid, similarly, can remind Cold that there are good reasons to care of yourself and look after others despite how 'boring' it may be. Just. OUUUUUUGH.

SpecWitch: Listen to me– Put the most understanding and patient vessel besides the skittish and untrusting kitty, DO IT. They'd be such a good duo too, with how playful and witty both of them can be, and Spectre could help Witch loosen up and actually relax for once while Witch reminds Spectre to not take shit from anyone and makes a job out of clawing at anyone who tries. PUT THE GHOSTIE AND THE WITCHY KITTY TOGETHER, IT'S LITERALLY THE HALLOWEEN DUO!!!

Skeptunist: Guy who wants to uncover every little thing there is to know about everything, and guy who hides behind countless masks in hopes he doesn't have to deal with what's actually behind them. They'd either make each other worse, or better, or both in that order and then make out about it. I rest my case.

15. (Explore) What’s your least favorite ship/

This feels mean to say on an ask game Pink did, but I just can't get behind Burned Bridges (ColdSmit) 😭. As a low empathy person, some of the things Smitten says to Cold in Burned Grey cuts a bit too deep in me, so the ship's just kinda already soured on me.

This is the only one that actively makes me feel bad and I gotta avoid it (that's a ME thing and smth I gotta look out for myself, and not a reason for anyone else to avoid talking about the ship they like just because One Person doesn't like it), but I also filter out many other ships cuz I'm too OTP-brained to be able to bear multishipping. Oh, and also Broken/Tower, and honestly most ships involving Broken cuz I just think that guy would benefit more from meaningful friendships than trying to get into a romantic relationship.

16. (Explore) If you were a Voice in The Long Quiet's head, what would you be?

Voice of the Daydreamer!! Too busy daydreaming to pay attention to anything else :]

17. (Explore) You're a princess locked in the basement of a cabin, what kind of princess would you be?

Hmmmmmm. Maybe something like 'The Scattered' or maybe 'The Shadow'

Not sure about the lead up, but it'd be a princess who doesn't really know who they're supposed to be, and so remains in shadows, or scattered about the place, where they can try being many things at once without having to choose.

18. (Explore) You are an Echo of a man long gone, how would you deal with the events of the game?

Same way Parrator (Stanley Parable Narrator) does in my Displaced Narrator AU. Much more invested in the narrative as a whole as opposed to any stakes there might be. If I'm gonna be stuck here without being able to even keep memories of what happened, might as well enjoy a good story while I can!!

19. (Explore) Do you have any unpopular opinion regarding the game?

Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh– Damsel was never shallow, Nightmare was always inherently tragic, and simply hating her (this includes Moment of Clarity) for what she is undermines the themes of her chapter, Prisoner isn't indifferent or 'rude' she just got RBF and autism flat effect, Cold is not an 'evil person' who actually likes killing, y'all just don't understand low-empathy people, and Smitten was only doing what YOU asked for in HEA, and didn't even want to stay before you insisted on that choice, and blaming him for everything there is just an easy way to abstain from guilt, Skeptic isn't an unfeeling asshole, that is ONE chapter where he's incredibly stressed and overwhelmed, and despite all of Paranoid's MVP moment, he's still the guy you get by refusing to see the princess as a person deserving of freedom, and ignoring that is a disservice to his character.

20. (Explore) What's your favorite ending and why?

"And? What Happens Next?" Strange Beginnings variant, my beloved <3

21. (Explore) What’s your least favorite ending and why?

Probably Your New World, and just because all the other endings have a lot more to offer in terms of narrative for me. Still appreciate this ending and what it adds to the game though.

22. (Explore) Do you have any headcanons for [Character]?

Decided to do a thing where I choose a character I don't talk about a lot to add some variety here, and the character of the moment is Stubborn. Yay!

He's only so resilient because of construct logic, and in the real world, would have a lot of chronic pain and struggle with fatigue, which annoys him to no end. Has a soft spot for little guys, namely Hunted, Broken, and Paranoid (the three 'little guys' of my designs). No depth perception duo to missing an eye, and since Hunted is similar due to having Prey Eyes, they help each other figure out ways to fight this way. Has color-blindness, specifically, deuteranomaly and tritanopia, which means he can't really distinguish between blue and green, purple and red, and pink and yellow at all. Ironically, makes the world outside still very similar to the construct for him.

23. (Explore) Any first impressions regarding [Character]? How about now?

Gonna talk about Wraith for this one. Mainly because my first and current impressions on her are so different.

At first, I didn't really find her chapter all that interesting. Her design was really cool, but I thought her story wasn't all that compelling compared to others. Oooohh, how that changed– the more I thought about her, and the more I saw the different variantions of her character, the more I realized how fucking sad and tragic her story is– this ghost was denied freedom and basic respect over and over and over– of COURSE she becomes a vengeful ghost that won't let you get one over her again. Honestly, she's entirely entitled to possessing our body and making us walk on a broken ankle, it's NOTHING compared to what we did to her.

24. (Explore) What’s a moment in the game that disturbed/ freaked you out the most?

Nothing can top Drowned Grey's bloated corpse for me. Single most frightening image in this game.

25. (Explore) What’s a moment in the game that emotionally destroyed you?

Pre-PC, it was The Moment of Clarity, post-PC, Happily Ever After– funny how both these routes involving showing your heart to someone else.

26. (Explore) What’s your favorite CG in the game?

Already mentioned how Shifty holding Razor's Heart is very beautiful to me, but also that image in the lead-up to Wild from Witch, where the roots close in on both of you, and for a moment, they pick Witch up much like Shifty might've done. Also, Den being free and happy, and just a kitty. She deserves everything.

27. (Explore) How did you come across this game?

Through RTGame's VOD channel. Haven't been the same ever since.

28. (Explore) What was your first playthrough like?

After already seeing basically everything the game has to offer, there wasn't much surprises to get from playing the game myself, but the experience was still incredible, especially with my decision to roleplay the routes Quiet went through in my Heathens AU.

First playthrough went like this: Eye of the Needle (with Skeptic) – Connected Wild (from Witch, with Cheated) – Empty Cup – Spectre – Happily Ever After (with Para, chose to keep the lights burning)

29. (Explore) Can you share an idea/WIP of a fic/fanart/fanedit/AU you have in the works right now?

Here's Loop's design for my ISAT-STP crossover I'm playing with–

Had the idea that 'wishes' are actually made out of parts of both Shifty and LQ, and so Loop got traits from both of them in their new body.

30. (Explore) Can you recommend a writer/artist whose works you really like?

Anything by @birdmitosis, here's their Ao3, they got some of my fave works in this fandom. This fic, by harmless_spider has forever changed my brain chemistry anD I NEED EVERYONE TO READ IT. And all my friends who are awesome artists and/or writers, like @remaking-machine, @itsonlypolite, @minotaur-asterion, @mrpristineblade, @anmionatheblue (hasn't posted much yet, but I RP with her, and know firsthand what an awesome artist she is), @wysteriaisapenguin, @wynn-ing, @modeus-the-misanthrope, @bubblybloob, and @pink-november, of course!!! And many many more. Everyone in this fandom who creates stuff is awesome and deserves the world. I would kiss you all on the forehead if I wasn't touch-averse.

#shamelessly using the last question to prop up my friends #GET LOVED IDIOTS #slay the princess #sal rambles #ask game

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shdo-xplosion · 2 years ago

Note

Hi Dove❤️ welcome to tumblr!! For your event, I’d love to read aizawa and prompt 7🖤

eeeeeeek thank you! this is one of my favorite prompts with one of my favorite characters! and i got VERY carried away with it. oopsie!

7. 🖤 MONSTERFUCKING • s. aizawa

alien!aizawa, size difference, humanoid features but still monsterfucking, womb-fucking, belly bulge, oviposition, drugs (his alien spit has a sedative in it or something)

When you’d agreed to be part of the research group, this is not what you had in mind. Blood tests? Sure. New drugs to be a guinea pig for? Why not. Spreading your legs for an alien specimen, though? How the hell did this even happen?

You’d been promised a lot of money, is how it happened. A lot of money and a photo of a not entirely horrible looking creature from a world or two away. Aizawa.

He doesn’t speak, which is fine, just towers over you with blacked out eyes, inhuman tongue slithering out of his mouth every once in a while to dab at your pulse point, only emphasizing how fast your heart is beating with him on top of you.

You’re safe. You think. You’re being supervised through a window, not entirely alone. It would bother some people, but your standards for sex went out the window way before this. You’d prefer this metal lab table to the gravel behind the bar from your college town.

Smooth, thick digits are buried inside your cunt, feel more like your silicone toys than any human finger or dick you’ve ever taken, but it’s not bad. His hands are huge, fingers impossibly long, and the way he’s touching you makes you feel like he’s the one doing the research here. Impossible to tell what he’s thinking, though.

His body is mostly human-like in terms of shape. A head, a torso, two arms, two legs, et cetera, but there’s no denying he’s anything but. For one, he’s enormous, at least twice the size of an actual human. His flesh is… cold and dense, rigid, muscle packed into different groups to ensure he can move in ways you’ve never seen before. The black mop on top of his head is impossible to describe. Hair? Sensors? A million antennae? You don’t know for sure, but you’ve mostly stopped worrying about that in favor of focusing on what’s hanging between his legs.

That is 100% an alien cock. In size and shape and… function. There’s no use comparing to what you’ve seen before because the only thing that’s similar about it is that it’s vaguely shaped with the purpose of sliding into some kind of hole. In this case, your pussy. Even with his fingers doing a strange, meticulous job of stretching you out, you don’t know how he’ll fit.

Then it sort of clicks into place when he leans up and slips his long tongue into your mouth, secreting something sweet from it that makes you feel boneless.

Oh. So this might be a problem.

He moves his fingers a little more aggressively inside of your body, adding another and another. You can feel your body stretching, feel the sting that comes with, but you don’t mind for some reason, like even if you were scared or angry, all you’re capable of feeling in the moment is contentment.

The initial press of his cockhead to your entrance almost jolts you from whatever high state you’re in, but Aizawa rests a hand on the side of your face and softly pushes a finger into your mouth, and you find yourself sucking at it, tasting the same sweet sedative he had given you before.

You can’t make a sound as he pushes into you, leaning his hips forward as his huge cock bullies your walls open. You suck in a deep breath, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, but it doesn’t hurt. You know it’s supposed to. You know it will. But it doesn’t. It’s almost like the tears and air are being pushed from your body in a feeble attempt to make more room for him. All you’ve taken is his tip and you already feel like you’re going to burst.

You also feel like you’re going to run out of fluid with how wet you are, pouring slick all over his length where you lay spread for him. You can’t read any facial expressions or even the look in his eyes, but something about the way his head lifts and those endless eyes reflect your sweaty face… you think he might be satisfied with the effect he’s having on your body.

Aizawa starts thrusting shallowly, slowly working you open, stretching your cunt so that he can fit more and more of his cock inside of you. Human bodies were obviously not mean to accommodate a creature of this size, so why exactly are people researching it?

His cockhead finds your cervix, landing uncomfortable but soft kisses to it for a few moments before Aizawa starts pushing in more. Your chest tightens, blood going cold because no no this isn’t how bodies work, he can’t just—but he kisses you with his addictive, euphoric alien tongue, and your body just parts for him, and suddenly there is something deep inside of you—deeper than anything has ever been.

You can feel how wide your eyes are, how far your jaw has dropped, and how wet your pussy is. You don’t understand it, but it’s all happening. He’s touching every millimeter of your insides, massaging your g-spot just by being there. A smooth finger pinches and toys with your engorged clit, and you cry out when it makes you cum. Your muscles try to clench with each pulse of your orgasm, but it’s impossible to tighten around the huge cock inside of you. All you can do is stay stretched around it as juices leak from you.

Something of a grunt catches in Aizawa’s throat, his head down as if he’s looking at yoir cunt, where the two of you connect. He touches your sensitive bud again, another noise leaving him when you jerk beneath him, and then he begins rubbing it in time with his now faster thrusts. He must have liked seeing you cum.

You don’t know what you like anymore. You don’t know anything.

You’re covered in a sheen of sweat, face wet with drool and tears, but you’re not in pain exactly, just overwhelmed, can’t really breathe, can’t focus on anything other than how full your poor body is. When you look down, you whimper at the sight of your stomach bulging and moving with every push and pull of Aizawa’s cock. He’s so deep, sliding against your insides, pounding into your guts—your womb—and you don’t know how long he’s there or how many times you cum. All you know is you’re trembling and breathing quickly and sobbing when he throws his head back and climaxes.

The feeling is indescribable. It’s not like with a human when you can feel warm cum dripping from your pussy. You don’t feel anything dripping from you. You just feel something filling you, something being added to your body, a tightness forming in your belly that shouldn’t be there.

Aizawa pulls out, leaving you so cold and so, so empty, but he places a hand on your swollen tummy. Swollen even without him inside of it.

There’s still a pressure deep inside you, a pressure, and then a pinch, and then—

You scream, back arching, legs spreading even further than before as you bear down on the table. Another orgasm crashes into you from out of nowhere, and the force of it pushes whatever is inside of you out of you.

Eggs. You don’t know how many. You just know they fall from your gaping hole like a grotesque slime, oddly pleasurable as they breech your entrance and only prolonging your orgasm. Both your brain and body are confused at everything that’s happened since being locked in this lab, and once you’re finished expelling all of the eggs, all you can do is curl up on the table and shake.

Aizawa is very still for a while. You think he might be confused. He reaches down and scoops up some of his wasted contribution, considering it and then you, then drops it back to the ground.

“S-sorry. My body’s not… the right fit for you,” you tell him breathlessly, surprisingly sheepish.

Silence. A few more glances. Then he’s reaching for you and pulling you from your fetal position, tugging you until your ass is on the edge of the table and your legs dangle on either side of him.

Leaning in close to your face, he speaks for the very first time. It should be comforting that he knows your language, but it only sends a chill down your spine.

“You’re the perfect fit for me.”

event masterlist ✿

#doves welcome event ✿#aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #bnha x reader #tw monsterfucking #I WROTE THIS AT 6AM LOL WHATS WRONG WIF MEEEE

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panic-in-the-multiverse · 2 years ago

Text

Harry Potter’s Twin

Pairings: Harry Potter x twin!reader

Requested by: @insomniacwreck Could you do like Harry x twin! Reader? Like how he’d act, at the Dursley’s and Hogwarts maybe?

Warnings: idk, child neglect? the Dursley family treatment of Harry, the word murder is like once or twice other than that idk, not proofread

A/N sorry for not posting anything in a while, but I had to take a pause bc ✨depression✨, it just hit extra hard this time, but hey at least a bit of my creativity is back, but I’ve mostly been drawing, anyway here’s a headcanon bc why not

Did I know what I was writing half of the time, no the answer is no

I see a lot of fics where Harry and his twin sleeps together under the staircase, but if I’m honest I don’t think two people would fit to sleep there, even if they are small, so I’d say the Dursley’s would give the smallest room, that could be used as a actual room to the potter twins. Of course there’s be minimal decoration, two small beds that used to be Dudley’s, along with an really old wardrobe and nightstand, probably a really small desk if they could fit it, just so that they could actually do schoolwork (thank Petunia)

Both Harry and his twin would do most of the chores, except the few times Petunia does them, washing, making breakfast, dishing, cleaning, you get what I mean

Beating each others only friend growing up, until you started hogwarts that is

I’d think as you are both each other only way of affection you’d probably have a habit of falling asleep in each others beds cuddled up together

As cliché as it might be I do love the fics where the twin is like a replica of James (in looks and personality) and as Harry has his mother’s eyes his twin has his fathers eyes, but I wanted to say was every family needs a rebel, and if the twin acts like James they sure as hell would be classified as a rebel in the Dursley household

Getting in a lot of trouble, like a lot (some by accident some not by accident)

“Stealing” things from Dudley making him question his sanity as he knew he put it down just moments before (he usually blames you though)

Standing up for eachother whenever you get scolded or yelled at

“Stealing” food at night when you weren’t allowed any

Thinking you were both crazy the first time you both used magic by accident

Sharing clothes is a pain but you make it work

Being each others happiness, especially on your birthday as you smile at each other and say “happy birthday Harry” “Happy birthday Y/N” at the same time

Having twin powers, you know finishing each other sentences, knowing when something bad happens to the other, knowing what you’re both thinking (I swear twin powers are somewhat real, I’m a triplet and we have the same power)

Grabbing a letter from the floor instead of the one’s flying (I had to okay, Harry was really dumb that time)

Laughing hysterically when Harry accidentally makes aunt marge into a ballon

Time for the fun part starting Hogwarts

You’d probably be attached to the hip at the beginning, while you’re wandering Diagon Alley with all the knew strange people, you both got your own owls btw, even when on the train you’d be right by each other trying to calm down your nervousness, and anxiety over starting a new school with magic in which you know nothing about, let’s not forget you are both famous for some unknown reason to the both of you

Neither of you cared what house you got in, hoping it was the same house but if it wasn’t you’d be fine with that to, maybe a bit hard to sleep the first night, bc you usually sleep next to each other or at least the same room, personally I would love for Harry’s twin to be a Hufflepuff I don’t know why I just love the idea

A few weeks into the first school year you’d separate a bit, getting friends of your own, but you’d probably be friends with Hermione and Ron too, you could always go to Hermione if you needed help with anything, as she could always go to you with anything, Ron if I’m honest don’t go to him with everything we all know how he is with Harry and the triwizard tournament. But hey anything food related, Ron is your guy.

Yes I do love it when Fred and George are your best friends, and if I’m honest I can see the two older twins taking you under their wing and teaching you all they know, you knew about the map two years before Harry did.

Friends: Fred and George like stated before, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Luna later on when you meet her we all gotta have that one friend (me I’m that friend), obviously Harry as he’s your twin, probably Cedric somehow, it would be fun if you were more friendly to Draco too, oh I gotta as Oliver Wood love that guy, If I’m honest I don’t remember the names of any Ravenclaw s but you’re probably friends with some of them too , as well as Slytherins, we do not follow stereotypes here

Teasing Ginny about her crush on Harry

Detentions

Snape “hating” you

Everyone looking at you like you lit the stars in the sky because you survived the killing curse

It would be fun if you were somewhat oblivious to Harry’s shenanigans being to occupied with your pranks with the Weasley twins. But Harry does fill you in on things so you aren’t completely in the dark, you just couldn’t care less if someone was out to murder you again

Loving Fluffy and Buckbeak because they’re adorable 🥰

Defeating Quirrell/Voldemort together in your first year

You’d probably be able to speak with snakes too though, and in your second year you did it to scare people of who thought you was the one who opened the chamber of secrets

Getting paralyzed with Hermione by the basilisk

Fast forward to Sirius escaping, I’m going with Sirius being Harry’s godfather, and Remus being your godfather, because I cannot leave Remus out my boy doesn’t deserve that

Remus tells you a lot of stories about your parents

Remus doesn’t even want to know how many detentions you’ve gotten by know nor how many times you’ve been in the hospital wing

Getting Fred and George to try and find Sirius Black with you because you want answers and Draco might of let a few things slip when the two of you talked

You did not to your knowledge succeed in finding Sirius but you did find a dog who you brought food a lot of times

Remus and Sirius being proud of both you and Harry for being on the Quidditch team, two of the best players, you being chaser

Knowing Remus is a werewolf bc he told you, but you never told Harry because you wanted to have a secret with your godfather that Harry didn’t know, and if you’re ere honest you could never know how people would react to someone just casually saying “btw our teacher is a werewolf”

A lot of time is spent talking to Remus about your problems and everything else in your life the other time is spent with the Weasley twins

Not getting selected for the triwizard tournament but still somehow ending up at the graveyard with Harry and Cedric

Pranking umbridge a lot, did not end well for your hands, as they are littered with scars from the pen she made you use

I don’t want to cry today so we will just say that you saved Sirius, Remus, Tonks and Fred’s life so no tears today

Yeah that’s about it I think, a lot of chaos ensures after Dumbledore’s death, and eventually Voldemort is finally defeated and you live the rest of your life happily, probably becoming an Auror,

Bonus: would be fun if you published a book, “ the twins who lived” written by Y/N Potter, bestselling book and used in history of magic in the future when referencing to the events of the war with Voldemort

#x reader #x teen #x teen!reader #x you #harry potter x teen!reader #Harry Potter x reader #Harry Potter x twin!reader #harry potter x sister!reader #Harry Potter x sibling!reader #Harry Potter x brother!reader #Harry Potter x platonic!reader

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rise-my-angel · 11 months ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

36 - Wolves of the Past and Back

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

Length: 18k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, graphic descriptions of gore and violence, references to past rape, sexual trauma, smut, past character death

Notes: I'm basing my description of the Others off of the books, but it's perfectly fine if you envision them as the White Walkers from the show. It's just my own stylistic preference. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Nothing of the orders seemed as if it would lead to anything different. Black dyed fur sat warm around their persons as the same colour matched all the rest they wore, but it wouldn't be warm for long, not as they travelled. All sat atop a horse each as the jarring loud rise of the gate blared before them. The tunnel as it always was, stood dark, long and shivering in the air even despite the North beyond. As if the wind trapped inside as the gate opened never allowed it any warmth.

Finally as the men all waited for the second gate to rise, Will could only wonder how long this time would take. Some rangers would come back with whispers of strange happenings, some didn't even think twice of it, and it was always difficult to tell who was spinning stories from fear, and who was fearful from the things they truly had seen. As the three men had begun to move along the woods, nothing was out of the ordinary. Just snow and cold, and nothing within sight for far too long in far too chill of air.

But it was then which him alone which saw it, a plume of smoke. Nothing was around it, no signs of life or attack and there was not much in these closer parts that they could hide so well in. But climbing off the horse, Will saw nothing strange, but still approached as careful as he knew to be.

As he slowly descended on the small cliff side, he braced himself for whatever was waiting and yet, it wasn't them. Well, it was the wildlings, but not the way Will thought they would be spotted.

The bodies were frozen solid, many parts cut and severed brutally as they all sat formed on the ground which each body part stripped bare to the cold. Sat in the middle formed a large circle, with bodies straight down the middle of it and beyond with more body parts scattered across the end of it. Multiple spots on specific edges sat heads perched onto spikes whereas torsos, legs, and arms sat on the snow alone.

Whatever shock came from that sight, was tenfold to the sight of a young girl with large orange curls pinned dead and frozen to a tree, and it was what startled Will to run back to his horse.

Ser Waymar Royce hadn't actually worked to deserve the authority he was given, or the attitude he spoke with. He had only been at the Wall half a year. The youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs and he was dressed fancier, spoke fancier and looked down at both there, as Will returned to him and Gared to speak of what he had seen. “What'd you expect? They’re savages. One lot steals a goat from another lot and before you know it, they’re ripping each other to pieces.”

The thicker accent which spoke back looked at him with an ingidnance, and a searing startle that made him come off more angry then perhaps intended. “I've never seen wildlings do a thing like this. I’ve never seen a thing like this, not ever in my life.” Asking how close Will had gotten, he looked at Royce as if that was a ridiculous question. “Close as any man would.”

Gared spoke up next, “We should head back to the wall. It'll be night soon.”

But Royce only raised an eyebrow with a glint in his eye as mocking as his tone. “Yes, it does that everyday around this time. Don't tell me, do the dead frighten you?”

Gared was a brother who had spent forty years at the wall, he was not a man accepting to be made light of, but there was something else. A nervous tension coming close to fear that was felt not only in one man alone. There was an edge to the cold and darkness falling upon them, the cold blowing from far North had grown strong and stronger so with each passing hour out here.

The elder man though, tried to hold firm in his certainty. “Mormont's orders were for us to track the wildlings. We tracked them. Won't trouble us no more.”

But that was not going to stand with this present commander, not in his arrogant youth which hadn't learned a single lesson in his time. He was a highborn with a Ser attached to his name and spent many years of his life being handed things the moment he pulled such arrogance out. He cared more, Will suspected, for how it would look if he were to return, not the integrity of the task given. “You don't think he'll ask us how he died? Get back on your horse.”

Will only tried one last plea. “Whatever did it to them could do it to us. They even killed the children.”

Royce, once more, looked but entirely condescending. “It’s a good thing we’re not children. You want to run away south, run away. Of course, they will behead you as a deserter. If I don’t catch you first. Get back on your horse. I won’t say it again.”

They had moved as Will returned, his other two bothers at his backs. Moved perhaps, on their own or of something else. But there were no men left to show them, and thus, Royce had the three of them look the area, seek out where they could've gone.

But it felt dark, too dark and too cold. It felt wrong. The wind rustled and the trees blew so freezing it drew attention between all three, but just as Royce looked to Gared asking why he seemed to fearful of such wind, did it stand. The wind blew and so did the trees rustle, but Royce never heard a thing.

The Others made no sound.

Only when Will could see what happened from where he stood, and the wind blow so cold it almost froze him to the spot, did he see her. The little girl stood in a clearing, skin pale and deathly, but her eyes a glowing blue and so like Gared who ran for his own, Will did as well. Ran and ran and if something, or somethings chased after the two men, they did not know. Even though it felt as if many things were behind them.

Going until Will came across Gared who was as terrified across the way. It was so cold.

It came from behind Gared, standing taller then any man he'd ever met. It looked somehow gaunt and yet it's skin was also smooth as if a soft ice, and pale as milk in flesh. In the freezing winds, it's armour seemed to change colour with every step it took, looking like the sky rippling across water but in the trees and dark to match around it.

On silent feet it moved forward, the blade it rose looked as if it was made of moonlight. A shard of crystal ice that almost vanished if looking at it from the edged blade alone. Like the Others itself, its blade seemed to almost glow a tint of blue that made it stand out.

The one, two, three, five of them all emerged around the woods, as the one behind Gared rose the glowing ice and sliced through his neck with such an elegant stroke it looked as if not a shred of effort had been made. But then the one holding his head looked at Will, and as more of them came closer to did the ranger feel shock and numb, falling to his knees. Slamming him into the cold to whatever fate held, such terror was strong.

The Other opened its mouth to speak as freezing and dark came around, but it spoke in a language he did not know. It's voice sounding like the crackling of ice on a winter lake.

Only as they approached, did he look back up at them and the hand of milk white reached out to grasp, kill, take, whatever intended, did it stop. Glowing blue eyes like something of another world peered into Will's as if searching beyond the eyes looking, and it found them.

Pulling back, he and all the Others yelled out in a loud crackling of ice.

As the eyes of a shaggy haired boy, barley in his teen years watched, he knew that the men, Gared and Ser Waymar Royce had seen a ranger named Will.

The boy however, wasn't like them, not anymore. He could see the eyes behind Will. He was learning how to do it, move as if travelling alongside whatever gazing into the past the boy was doing.

But he also realized, the Others could see the person behind Will too. Despite approaching the man with intent, the boy watcher to the side knew that they only backed off, left him alive, beacuse they too, could see the dark hair, green eyed Baratheon girl behind them.

The Others didn't harm you, but the boy watching it all, didn't know why.

Bright the surroundings of the North looked as snow blanketed everywhere you went now. It was always beautiful, but not quite easy to see in summer, as the land didn't look as light and colourful as much against the dim sunlight it received. But against snow and ice, the sun now radiated off the brightness of the winter and lit the air around for all to see perfect in that morning hour.

When he found you, Jon knew your eyes looking around weren't where you and him stood. Your mind was elsewhere, and the white that covered them looked almost what he knew now, was what one looks like when warging. But you weren't a warg at all, and yet you still stood there eyes white and mind stolen elsewhere. But if your physical person were before him? Why did you look so much colder then even the air around you both?

Freezing air leaving your lips with a shiver as many would once the far North winds blew, but it was odd as nothing else but just your skin felt it. Each time before, you were able to be pulled out of it either by touch or a voice close to you in the present world but this time, neither party present could do it. Ghost was in front of you, barking and growling when he had tracked you. The direwolf would turn to look aggressively in defence elsewhere but not find anything which was a threat.

Jon had tried calling your name, but you didn't react. By the time you had stopped, it was like you were still as a statue as the expression on your face with white eyes, looked terrified. Grabbing you by the arms was when he realized you were almost so cold your lips tinted blue. Moving so he could pull you back into his chest, while Ghost had whined and stepped up closer to your front and as if protecting you from something.

You grew colder and colder by terrifyingly quick seconds passed, until you blinked.

Your eyes focused on the world before you, tilting your head down to see Ghost before you started to properly shiver, being turned to face that which was behind you. Gloved hands grasped your cheeks and tilted you up, your eyes meeting Jons wide, grey ones full of a concern and filtering in fear. His eyes scoured you over, almost debating if asking about you being alright, but he knew the answer was no.

Instead, he ran a hand down your hair and pulled you in so he could almost hide you when wrapping more of the fur around him, to drape across you. Your hands found his waist as you spoke none, you rarely did for a few minutes when coming back.

Ghost looked around the area to find none of what he previously sensed before too walking up to the side of you both. His great size meaning as he moved to nuzzle his head into your side, his own fur was tall and warm enough it helped sooth you. You had something warm loose on you before and you didn't know when you lost it.

Likely you thought, eyes slipped closed as you leaned into Jons comforting and warm embrace, it fell from you when you, or whomever your eyes watched through, began to run. Running from the crystal blue glowing eyes. First it was fire, then you would see this, that, them, her, and now you were seeing what your dreams showed you, only now it was so much more real before your vision.

Jon's visions were nothing like this. You knew that, he was seeing both sights at once. He could see the world and he would see you and never be confused or lost as to who or where he was. You, were utterly gone from your mind when this happened. And your reactions were only growing more vivid.

Your voice muffled against his warm chest when you finally found a voice. “I don't suppose saying this is only stress, would be an acceptable explanation would it?”

Jon both tensed, and then sighed out a mixture of frustration and an on edge level of amusement. He tucked your face more into his neck, and you wondered if this was to comfort you, help warm you, or what you suspected Jon wasn't saying, was that maybe his reactions to this were getting more concerned.

Jon was trying to not tell you how much this was scaring him.

Maybe it was the sights you saw this time especially, and you wished you could be scared of your own mind. But you weren't. What scared you, was the black charred bones of a small Ghiscari girl named Hazzea, and the tall, looming nightmare that moved to crowd you as a group of five of those things came for you. Came, and yet, as it reached out to grasp you, it pulled back.

Pulled back and almost let out what their voices of a yell could sound like, which was as if someone cracked a shattering of ice inside your eardrums directly. They pulled back from you all suddenly at that, and just as you sighed out almost so terrified you had no feelings left in your heart, you were in a very different snowy woods.

The rangers out there were tracking wildlings. Wildlings which were no longer North, and out there on the orders of a Lord Commander that had been dead for years. You couldn't help but wonder, if the visions showing you the silver haired Targaryean were too in the past. But that wasn't possible. Any dream or vision you or Jon once held, always was based in the now. You saw things as they occurred even if you didn't then realize. You had seen each other that way, two visions accidentally finding each other and you somehow saw the other.

But this was far in the past, these now dead rangers. Or, at least, two. What happened to the one you saw through, Will, once they left you did not know. But if that fear in your heart now was shared with him, you wondered if he had found it in himself to try and run. If you were him then, you might try and desert that cause as well. Looking into their eyes as if they were truly right in front of you?

Part of you could feel the edge of Longclaws pommel, and you could only think to yourself that Jon was truly a man made of something entirely different. To have fought one, survived one, and killed one and yet he so determined led the true fight against them without letting that terror over take him. Beacuse it felt like it wanted to strangle you.

Pulling back, you shivered still, the cold of the winter air now seeping into your skin. Some of your body was warm, but you knew Jon was looking at the tints of blue still sat upon your lips you were so cold. His hands ran up and down your upper arms as he looked the rest of you over. Quiet for a good moment, he likely was keeping it inside until his voice could speak as steady as it did when he finally grasped the words to let out. “If you aren't with me, or with your guard, I'm having Ghost stay by your side from now on.”

Tilting your head, the ease of a protest slipped your lips, “Jon I can't ask-”

But he shook his head, a gloved hand rising up up cup your cheek and let the leather covering his thumb run along your cold lips. His brows furrowed as his voice dropped so you knew the frustration was there. “I know you didn't ask. This is a command. I don't want you alone anymore while this keeps getting worse.” You swallowed your words right back down your throat instead of arguing. The brightness in his eyes was not endearing, it was full of blatant worry. “You had almost gotten two miles away before Ghost caught up with you. I won't order you to stay only inside the castle walls, but I don't want you out here on your own right now.”

Nodding, you found no strength in you to protest. Nor did you really want to, it was his command and that was the end of it. Your cold, ungloved hands reached up, just enough that your shaking fingertips trailed over the direwolf etched into the dark leather across his torso. His eyes curious as they watched you as your voice came out hesitant, but affectionately soft in muttering. “You're still wearing the sigil.”

Not looking, you missed the way Jons face twitched almost to smother the conflict only as it passed for a second, but much more comfortingly landed on a softness, as he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes with the thumb already at the side of your face. “House Stark is still my fathers house.” Your heart wanted to melt down into the snow at your feet at the ease he spoke. More of a whisper, he treaded the water that he had been avoiding before. “You told me the truth, and I took this all out on you for it. You didn't deserve that.”

The words of sorry were about to come from his mouth when you shook your head, letting one cold hand of yours run along the facial hair covering part of his jaw as you whispered back. “You were upset, that isn't your fault.” Jon trying to say different, that he had yelled at you but you took him off guard, your lips half finding a gentle smirk. “This is, what? Only the second time we've ever had any sort of fight, in nearly two decades of knowing one another? Not anything worth demanding a sorry for, not with you.”

Jon that time sighed out almost pretending to be more frustrated then he really was. Both hands now moving to cup your cheeks as he leaned down, his lips brushing over your blueish slowly warming ones. “Why do you make apologizing so difficult?” His lips were gentle, just a warm press that almost seemed to intent to bring the pink tones back to your lips proper.

You were both dancing around what happened just now, and that was how you knew for sure it was Jon which was scared the most. He would protect you, but maybe he wasn't ready to ask more about it. So you let him keep your lips pressed to his, until you felt shimmers of warm seep back into your bones.

A good while passed before he left one more kiss to your lips. “Come on, before the rest of them wake up and start searching for us both.”

Sam sat in a disbeleif, eyes looking back over to Jon before returning to the fire they sat around as the morning was still early and quite bright. “I mean I knew he hated you, but this is different.” Jon had to tell Sam the truth, but at the least you could tell it was easier to swallow after spending a number of hours sleeping on the truth of what happened.

Jon had you sitting right by his side, but this time your distant mind wasn't that which was distracted. A drift of your gaze over to where Beric Dondarrian and Thoros of Myr were tied and kept. What Jon did with the others he had not told you, said it was best if you left it for him to handle as he prompted you away the night before. Nor did you know how he came to the conclusion to take those two with him, but you never once questioned or doubted his intentions.

All he had said for now, was that they had more to offer then nothing at all, but it didn't mean Jon was going to be kind about it. Already knowing there were to be two cells which would make home for them until he had the time to deal with it. But it was the way in which Thoros kept looking at you.

Your eyes would meet and you'd narrow them and peel back glaring towards the fire only to find Gendry's with more spite in the same intention. You didn't blame him.

Jon beside you spoke low even in the mostly private space in the packing up camp. “Said it was for the Watch. What all of them said. Think he wanted to do it for a while, I just gave him an excuse.” You knew both men flickered their gaze to you, but you ignored them as your eyes found the fire once more. You still felt unusually cold.

They had been dancing around the subject of how he was alive, likely sensing that Jon didn't want to talk about it as much as you didn't. “I imagine he probably couldn't believe he was going to die before someone like me.” Jon tilted his head at Sam, almost imploring him not to find a reason to run back down that route of insecurity. It was difficult not to when discussing Thorne. “What about..”

Sam's voice trailing off as you knew he was asking about anyone else who did it. For only a moment, did you know Jon felt you stiffen beside him. Your own gaze flickering up to meet where Theon was standing not too far off before swallowing. Turning back to the fire intently.

Jon luckily, was skilled at laying it out as diplomatically as he could while also holding a deep, rough tone as he started with the blatant truth. “I hanged Yarwick and Marsh.” You glanced up to see a bit of taken back surprise in Sams head as it jolted a bit. “They were the only two other then Thorne to help actually shove a knife in my chest.”

You hadn't blinked, eyes stinging a bit at keeping that certain information out of it. Theon, then Olly? And now you couldn't help but wonder, were you not there, what would Jon have felt compelled to do with the Brotherhood. Perhaps death truly had made you soft. Or weak. You supposed that distinction depended on who you asked. It was hard to tell if you made Jon worse for it too.

Once more your eyes found that similar to Gendry's. Only that time, both men were watching back. Perhaps not at him, but certainly at you, and you felt an unpleasant shake creeping down your spine before you looked away again. Finding Gendry's, you knew he felt frustrated that they were even coming along despite their position as prisoners. A small shake of your head as you almost looked a bit narrow eyed trying to implore him to let it go for now.

There was enough problems around, none wanted the return to Winterfell to be full of more strife then was about to exist anyways. Sam's voice caught both your attentions back, fighting between focus and something in your mind desperate for things to just slow down or stop. Too much kept happening all at once and you were struggling to keep up. “I suppose its easier to get more people to listen to you if your a King then Lord Commander.”

There was a small huff in Jon beside you, as if a doubting laugh almost poked through. “Believe me, Sam. Doesn't make it any easier. No one thinks we're telling the truth in the first place.” Sam pointing out that Stannis had believed them, but Jons tone only grew deeper and more frustrated. “I'm starting to think he's the only one who will.”

Your voice was more of a quiet mutter, your arms slinking more into the cloak around you trying to hide from the cold that existed only in you still. “Most of us in the South don't even think The Long Night happened.” Eyes all turning to you, but you only shrugged as your voice didn't raise any further. “There isn't any proof it happened, so most of us grew up thinking Northerners are superstitious for even believing in it.”

The hope in Sams eyes however, was what surprised you. “But we do have proof.” Your brows narrowed as did Jons, prompting him to explain himself. “Well, not proof, but as close as I could find. It's..it's why I was coming back North. I know you sent me there to replace Maester Aemon one day-”

No one but Jon knew it, but as Sam continued, he felt something almost painful stir in his chest. A feeling Jon never once had to confront, it didn't mean the same thing then. He didn't think about it, what that line traced back to who. He didn't want to, he didn't want to look at them the way Jon did the Starks, they didn't deserve it. But maybe there was one who did deserve his memory.

Those people weren't Jons family, but Jon thought to himself, he and Maester Aemon still served together in the Nights Watch. And those men are still his family, his brothers. It was all confusing in his head, and for once he almost missed everything Sam had been saying. Ironically, you had to be the one to listen and respond for him as his mind drifted, when lately that was Jons job for your sake.

It was your responding voice that pulled him back to the present, you sensing Jon suddenly shifting beside you despite the past few minutes him being still as stone. “Why keep them a secret?”

Sitting up straighter on the wood you were all perched on around the fire, the slow creeping feeling of a gloved hand trailing along your back fell upon you. Jons hand reaching around you to rest against the wood at the side of your hip, for a single moment you almost tried to move away.

All of this speak of Robb so strongly the night before, and it was likely your mind had ever so briefly associated Jons touch with something kept for the secret or dark. Neither Theon nor Gendry noticed, or cared. But you did see Sams eyes glance down and almost look back between you with eyes just a bit brighter that you tried to ignore.

His voice a mock whisper, leaning forward a bit to you. “I mean, our ancestors weren't very nice to theirs, were they?” His head nodding a bit towards Jon. “Makes sense they would lock it away, if they think the First Men were all wild and superstitious. And like you said, most of us all think it's just stories. So there's no need to look at them if they aren't real.”

Almost in a tinge of amusement, Jon spoke much more dry as his face twisted up in a playful jest. “You do remember I sent you there to learn to be a Maester. Did you do any learning in between all this?” Sam and Jon both shared an easy look, the more you were around them both the more that it really did feel as if Sam was as good as a true brother to Jon. It felt good, seeing someone that so naturally brought out some of Jon's lightness with ease.

Protesting in his own mocking offence, “I did, spent my day busy with my tasks. It just meant I had to do a lot of sneaking around and reading at night.” Relenting to more serious but still within a memory that acted to entertain. “If we thought being stewards was messy work..” Shaking his head with a flash of something minorly disgusted in his eye. “Try being assigned latrine duty for a whole wing full of sick people. Made being at the wall feel like a privilege.”

A laugh shared between them, but you guided it, perhaps a bit stilted, back to the question in your mind. “So is that why you came here? You found these old texts and what they say?”

Multiple eyes turned to Sam, as he thought carefully his choice of words likely due to the number of people simply around. “I haven't been through a lot of it, mostly I just figured out a way to translate it but it takes time and, if we don't have much time before..” Before they come, was what you knew he wanted to say. “Then I can't spend only a few hours every night looking them over in secret. If the answers are in those runes-”

Jon finished for him, stern and focused back in his eyes. “Then we need to know what they say as soon as we can.” Sam nodded as Jon begun already to make plans in his head. “When we get back, I can find you a place to work in the castle, our Maester will help you.”

Sam almost grimaced, catching Jons questioning gaze. Sighing out, the man spoke a bit on the side of down trodden. “Don't know if he'll believe the things I tell him. I tried asking the Archmaester if there was anything on the Long Night in the library, and he only told me it would do me good to be a bit more skeptical about what Northerners say.”

In opposite stances, Jon was much more certain and sure of his own words. “Maester Wolkan's smart, you can trust him. And believe me, he's seen enough not to doubt that what we're up against is real.” Silent in you own words, but you knew the scar under yourself was the first in that line of abnormal things.

Just to the side, it was Gendry who leaned over to Theon with a whisper, “Am I the only person here who has no idea what they're talking about?”

Pushing up from where he leaned against a tree, he came more around to sit somewhat next to him with a quiet but much more casual air of his tone. “The Long Night was real, winter is coming and we're all going to die.”

Raising an eyebrow at him with a incredulous look that notably reminded Theon of the exact same kind of look you would give him when annoyed. “Okay, now can I hear the version that's not for children?”

It shouldn't have surprised any, how quickly you found yourself moving right back into things almost the second your feet were on the ground. You didn't want any decorum upon riding through the Winterfell gates and there was far too much to do. But it did strike some, the natural way you and Jon worked around each other in harmony, as if little needed to be said to be on the same page.

You once more avoided the look in Maege Mormont's eyes, you had the entire journey back. There had been no indication when you reunited that there was a thing between yourself and Jon, then once more you leave to Dragonstone and the eve of your return, you and him marry. Many were happy, and none vocalized any discontent, but you knew she had questions upon questions. None of which you were ready to answer.

You could talk to Jon and Theon about Robb, but talking about him to the rest of the very people he fought side by side with was another. Theon said no one cares what you and Jon do together, but it didn't stop the swirling pit of doubt fester in your stomach over it.

Lady Stoneheart had accused you of just being a whore there to warm Jons bed. And maybe, you were terrified, that those were not the words of a vengeful creature with no humanity. You were terrified, those were words spat out by what of Catelyn Stark had remained. She was a mother to you, you loved her son, you didn't want what was left of her to doubt that. Nor the rest of your people. Not wanting those words to match another dead voice tormenting your new life. Not wanting her voice to watch what Ramsay had said to you, what he made you believe.

Not too long in your return, did you feel Jons hand brushing against your lower back as he led you inside the castle from the hustling noise of people upon your return. Most here knew what was expected of them, and whatever reunions were to occur around, would be done without you for now.

“You have never seen them do that, why start now or..whenever I-” Your hands dropped from their position, landing with a thud on the drawers below you as you took a steady breathe until the words found themselves without a stutter. Moving back as you did, trying to slowly work through the now wet strands of your hair before they dried. “They want people like us for their army, why let one ranger go free after hunting them all?”

Jon had been quiet while you told him what you had seen. Silently letting you make your way through the whole tale as he had ensured your skin and hair were scrubbed gentle and clean from the days you had been gone. His voice only speaking in low murmurs in your ear when he had directed you out of the water. Telling you to stay put, quickly throwing something on for himself before moving to grab something warm for you to wear.

Naturally, you had thrown on a shift to hide the sight, and stubbornly made your way to the small mirror and worked to handle your hair before it became too much of a hassle. Mostly thinking out loud trying to work out what in the vision you saw made little sense to you. It was only as you suddenly felt Jons warmth envelop your back, his hands pulling your hair from where you had it in your own hands. Collecting it himself without second thought as he took over for you instead.

You both glanced to the reflection to see the other trying to avoid a smirk at how both of you were too stubborn for your own good, before you let him just do it. His voice low as he concentrated behind you. “If it was in the past, could be long ago enough that they were still working slow. The free folk said things only started to get worse years ago.”

Nails finding your lip to tap along in thought, unsure if you could even gauge what these things could possible have wanted anyways. “Or none of it was real, and I am simply losing my mind.”

You felt Jons hands pause before continuing to run a comb through the locks, “You're not losing your mind.” Raising an eyebrow with an ask of how he would know that, Jon exhaled almost with a tone with a tinge of nerves behind them. “When Ghost found you, it was like he was trying to look for something. As if he could sense something was there, when it wasn't. And the only times I've seen him like that..”

Slipping your eyes closed with a sharp exhale, you felt yourself digging your nails into your lips, moving them off by force only to have nothing to occupy them with. Falling lamely against the wooden surface before you. “So, he what? Could sense what I was seeing, wherever I even was?”

Jon's face grimaced in an unsure thought, setting the comb aside as you felt him moving the strands around for whatever style he saw fit to look at on you which he liked. Noting silently in his own mind, that he loved how often you simply let him choose for you. “He was the only reason I was there to kill the wight that night in Castle Black. He knew something was wrong right away, and it was the same this time. Only, he couldn't figure out why he thought you were in danger.”

You wanted to avoid the worried softness in his voice, but he wouldn't let you, almost standing a bit closer then before as one hand dropped down to your waist. Sliding gently along to pull you back into him as the other draped your hair along the other shoulder. Keeping that hand closer to the back of your neck as if somewhat massaging the tense muscles there.

Your hands finally found their place, pushing up his sleeve just enough you could gently wrap your hands around his wrist and forearm comfortingly. His voice lulling near your ear. “If it was all in your head, you shouldn't have been freezing like that when we found you.” Only in the halls of Winterfell did you start to feel any warmth returning to you, like it was a cold that seeped deep inside. “You were cold like you were right there with them.”

Leaning back, you both felt the heavy air between at the uncertainty. First fire, then ice, and in between a scattering of your own memories flying through you to haunt. “It felt like I was right there. I had no idea I was- I didn't even feel myself. It was like I was just seeing and thinking through this persons mind without any idea who I was anymore.”

“Maybe you weren't yourself.” Brows furrowing in confusion, Jon moved the hand on your neck down to your waist. Running up and down, dragging around the shift that was currently your only covering in the airy breeze of his room. You felt not much of it against his warmth. “Your eyes were white until you came back.”

Neither needed to elaborate. You both knew from two what that seemed to mean. Only, you weren't doing that at all. You weren't really in control, you were just this person until you weren't. The silence though, it almost felt on the edge of too overwhelming the longer it went on. If Jon could hear your heart racing, or the growing unsettled illness in your chest, it only made his grip tighter.

Swallowing harshly, you tried finding the strain of a voice, “Jon..” But he shook his head, the hand around your front moved up. Tilting you by your jaw to the side so Jon could more rest you against the side of his, keeping the hand there gently running along what his thumb could reach.

Something more was trying to get out, but you just stood there with him. Patient for it to find it's way into the air between you. When it did, his voice was but a rasping whisper as he could barley find it in him to pull away long enough to meet your eyes. Ending up only shifting slightly as if just nuzzling closer instead.

“We need to stop doing this.” You hummed in confusion, but Jon just let the hand on your waist take over what his other did. Wrapping around your front and pulling you back into him more as he spoke. “Ever since I came back, it's like we can't go a week before something gets between us. I- I'm constantly terrified I'm going to lose you again, but I can't do any of this without you.”

One of your hands reached behind, gently running through his own still somewhat damp curls as if to keep him just as close. “I'm-”

“Don't.” Taking you off guard, like Jon wanted to be stern but it only came off in somewhat of a crack before he just let that vulnerability open up. “Don't say sorry, none of this was your fault.”

Your whisper would have been missed were he not as close as he was. “I think you're wrong.” If you thought he was going to let you pull away, you were mistaken. His grip strong and knowingly holding you right in place when you attempted to step away from him. He wanted you to explain yourself while in his embrace, which was as clever as it was unfair. “Every step of the way we've either stopped talking or been separated, has been beacuse I did something, or I screwed up. All I do is cause you stress, and force you to worry about me, when you have so many more important things to focus on.”

Heart going from racing to stopping in an instant, Jon said something you didn't at all expect. “Maybe it's me. You never had problems like this when it was Robb you were with.”

Your head fall back as much as he could allow, leaning as much into him as you could despite his tight grip. Voice a quiet tone despite the tear in your heart. Maybe you and Jon were experiencing similar insecurities without the other realizing, you wondered. The fact that he even remotely could think to compare himself to Robb, you never wanted that. You didn't want either of them comparing to the other. “What did I tell you in White Harbour?”

He was silent, and so you continued, but you knew he remembered it. “I told you, there are no conditions to loving you. That was true then, and it is now. And I don't want you trying to compare this, to what I had with Robb. You aren't him, I'm not with you to feel like I'm back with Robb. I'm with you beacuse I love you. And before you say it, yes I am aware of how hypocritical this sounds.”

The chuckle behind you started deep, and only increased as Jon almost playfully let his face drop in between your shoulder and neck to laugh. Only pulling back to press a kiss there, feeling the smile on his lips. “It's very hypocritical of you.” You and Jon both relaxing in his amused tone.

Finally though, he let you turn to face him. Your palms finding his chest flat, the shirt on him only managed it seemed to get on but not at all done up. Sliding them down to his scars did for once, your face not twist in a pain looking at them. It felt weird to think, but you almost missed them. Sliding them over his heart and one closer to the scar near his hip, your eyes shined bright as you looked up to his grey ones, finally looking warm and full.

Drifting up, one hand danced with the ends of his curls as the other draped along his shoulder under his shirt fabric. “We came back different then we used to be..I think maybe we need time to get used to being with the other like this.”

His large hands on your waist now before he cupped your cheek to lean in more, nose nudging gently against yours playfully. “You mean how now I'm the stern one and you're the emotional one?” He grinned as you almost laughed. Eyes fading to the side before rolling up to meet his with a faux look of offence that meant nothing. “I promised to take care of you, and I haven't been doing that. But I will from now on, no matter what. You're my wife now, I'm here to protect you. Even from me.”

Leaning up, you nudged his nose gently that time. Prompting him to tilt you to let him trace down the length of yours as you whispered. “You already take care of me, I should take care of you.” A bit of a pause, you added, “I don't want you to be perfect or think you have to live up to what I had with Robb. I was his, but now I'm yours. For good.”

It must have been more days apart then you thought, as Jon leaned in you both almost felt the kind of nerves that used to exist between you both so early on. But, this time you both closed the small gap. His hand on your cheek tight as yours at his shoulders were, his lips already will of a soft need as he pressed you gently into the drawers still behind you.

There was much to do, and far too many people to meet with but for now, you and Jon stayed right there. One of your hands moved to wrap around the back of his neck and returning to his curls. His kiss deepened, but was never with greed nor hunger. Just a steady coaxing for your lips to dance with his as long as you had the breathe to last.

And once that ran out, Jon gently pulled from your lips. Only a tinge of greed as he stole one more before pulling you into him, keeping you in a tight embrace. Your face tucked safe in his neck and his buried comfortingly in your hair. Neither of you knew how long you stayed like that, but you also didn't care.

Sometimes, it was going to have to just be about you two from this point on. You both sacrificed so much to get here, and what was that meaning or purpose if you let the other slip through your fingers time and time again?

It didn't fix the noise in your head, nor Jons, but at least your noises now hummed in mutual harmony.

Strangely, you had never actually been down here for this sort of purpose. You had been in here when it was empty many years ago. It was in your first visit to Winterfell, and by then it was been a number of months and you were beginning to feel quite well adjusted. Which meant that a certain Stark had begun his quest to teach you the ancient tradition of sneaking around and getting into trouble.

Robb had asked if you ever have seen a dungeon before, and while you had on Dragonstone you admitted these ones were spookier. The Winterfell ones had not much light beyond torches hung along the walls, whereas the ones in your home still had light shining from the windows near sea level. He had begun to tell you stories, scary ones he'd heard from Old Nan until he watched you walk into an empty cell curious, and startled you into a shriek by slamming the gate shut.

As it turned out, he hadn't realized it would lock right away. It was the first time you'd ever heard Eddard Stark laugh, and certainly laugh that hard when he came down with Robb when he left to go get him to help. The sight of you sitting cross legged in the middle of a cell with an extremely Robert like scowl before he let you out.

Least to say, he had laughed even harder when you walked out and shoved Robb so hard he almost fell over. You had taken his seat at supper next to Jon that night, just to force him to sit in your further away spot alone. It took another two days for you to forgive him, when he had asked the bakers to make you a special batch of blueberry tarts and left them in a basket on your bed with but a note that said “Please talk to me again.”

Now though, you had intentions to speak to your newest guests. Part of you wished you could do so alone, but if you weren't going to convince Jon on it, you certainly weren't going to convince Theon. At least your pattern of finding yourself in dire situations had bonded them over something at the least, Theon already organizing a rotation of at least two guard with you, him being your primary captain of the guard when his time permits.

You had given him a look, asking “And what sort of guard is to be with the King exactly?”

But Theon shrugged with a knowing glint in his eye that he was purposely not telling the full truth just to annoy you. “Don't know. I'm captain of your guard, not his.” Only a roll of your eyes followed as he gestured you to continue forward. At least someone had maintained their sense of humour all this time.

Sat on separate walls not too distant from the other, Thoros and Beric had made themselves as comfortable as could be down here. Both eyes watching you closely as you made your way to the outside of the cell, arms crossed along your front with a flat look on yourself. Choosing to cut right to the chase you looked between them. “I presume you both understand why you're being kept here.”

Once more Thoros looked more curious, Beric more knowing as the later was the one who spoke. “Your life was put at risk, we can understand that.”

Your eyes narrowed, and for a few moments silent sat between you and them. Only your voice returned was quiet even in the empty dungeon. “You let good, innocent people die just to serve out a purpose that woman you follow, demanded. That does not make you ghosts who hide in the shadows to protect the common people. It only makes you murderers.”

His tone wasn't condescending, but you disliked it all the same. “What does waging war make you then, your grace? Because those same common people would say it makes you as bad as any murderer we've brought to justice.” The tense feeling swimming in you veins flooded only as you looked at Beric with a silent gaze that spoke little of your true irritation.

Your voice gave even less away in tone. “We did not go to war thinking it would be better for the realm during so. We did it because sitting back and letting the Lannisters rule would far more cruel for far longer then the years we spent forced to fight against it. Robb Stark never claimed he was a good man for declaring war, and neither do I.” Watching closely, you knew there was likely more he wasn't saying but he was good at keeping it tucked away. “Justice can be cruel, my lord. But only when you start enjoying that cruelty, do I think is a line which shouldn't be crossed. And the men you sent enjoyed killing those innocent people. My people.”

Thoros spoke up, quieter then you expected, but also much more calm and coherent then you many times knew before. “Suppose you would need to hang me first, make sure he can't come back.” You only rose an eyebrow, forcing one of them to elaborate in the silence you insisted on them. “Those men were hired under the behest of the Lady Stoneheart. It was not our choosing to send them to hunt you down like that-”

Your voice cut through louder then likely they had expected. “How did you know? Where to find me, how did they know I was in Barrowton? No one knew I was there.” They stared at the other, and you knelt down to meet their eye level through the bars as your voice felt more strained as did the blood flowing fast in your veins. “I would suggest telling me the truth, because the King in the North will not be anywhere near as kind or patient about it.”

If there was any sort of silver lining, it was that there was tone of regret found in Thoros which matched his unwillingness to look you in the eye. “I can't say from whom, I don't know, but the lady was being given information by an unknown source regarding yourself. They seemed to have an interest in you being in the North and I presume they knew she would want to know as well.” Asking who would even want to know where you were or where you had been going, Thoros gave an answer you felt a cold wave in your lungs hit as you heard. “Someone with enough watchful eyes in the North. Someone who would take issue with your involvement with your new King.”

That answer made much sense and yet very little. You knew spies were littered about Westeros and the North included but none led back to any who would have a single reason to guide a creature of vengeful blood thirst to your doors. Neither the North nor Jon meant anything to those you could think of, but looking between the men, it was as much as they knew as well.

There were dots you were missing, and eyes in your lands that didn't belong to the North. Neither you nor Jon had time to let spies watch and report to play into anothers distant games. “And you have no idea who would have known she was alive, or who would be able to get into contact with her?” Still the answer was no, and you had no inkling these two at least were lying over it.

Standing properly, you hadn't even turned away yet before it was Thoros who brought it up. “How did you bring him back? Your King.”

The stares between you both were something that left you feeling those same shivers even in the warmth from the underground. This time, no impatience or contempt was felt as you whispered in complete honesty. “I don't know.”

But the way Thoros looked, again you felt as if it was understanding. There was something that could be seen as kind behind his eyes as he spoke. “Do you know how I first came to discover the Lord of Light had chosen me to work through? That I could pray to raise him back?” Gesturing to Beric, who could only watch carefully.

Shaking your head, you stepped back a bit closer as he looked away lost in memory. “I was a priest in Myr. Sent to Westeros to spread the Lords reach. But I was terrible at it, I always was a terrible priest, and it only got worse here. Drank too much rum, and fucked every whore there was in Kings Landing and by the end of it all, I didn't even believe in him anymore. That he, that all the gods, were stories we told the children to make them behave. So I wore the robes and every now and then I'd recite the prayers, but it was just for show. A spectacle for the locals.”

It wasn't quite the same, but you knew of such a feeling. Not that they didn't exist, but you knew how it felt to be alone. Like whatever gods you prayed to had left you abandoned and no longer mattered to the world. A lot felt like that in the Dreadfort, and it only got worse with Ramsay. A demon sent to torture you, true genuine hell would be a mercy compared to what he did to you.

But Thoros looked to Beric, and there was an affection that was difficult to ascertain. Like there was something about whatever their dynamic was, that found of great importance as he continued. “Then The Mountain shoved a lance through this one's heart. I knelt beside his cold body and said the old words. Not because I believed in them, but he was my friend and he was dead. And they were the only words I knew. And for the first time in my life, the Lord replied. Then he did so, five times after.”

Your eyes had glazed over almost, much death flashing by your vision and none of it as he spoke. And yet he knew that, pointing to you from where he sat against the wall with a curiosity. “But you, your grace. You spoke no words, you performed no ceremony or ritual, but the Lord of Light gave you the power none should hold like that, and brought him back from your doing. He chose you to serve him.”

Heart pounding in your chest you could both feel the necklace sat under your dress, and the feeling against your palms of a phantom cold and tracing over what then was still fresh scars. Your voice was held back as your eyes stung. “I don't serve the Lord of Light. I serve the North, and I serve my King. That is all there is for me.”

But you hadn't gotten far, gesturing for the men with you to leave first but you were caught turning back to face him as Thoros somewhat yelled to you. “It won't get easier. That feeling inside of you. It never gets any better, no matter how much time passes.” Your body slowly turned back to face him, but the red in your eyes and the sting went away none.

Beric spoke low, the sympathy spoke of something you felt in waves in capture of the Boltons. “Death changes us all. Everytime you come back, you're a bit less. Pieces of you get chipped away.” It was sympathy beacuse that was exactly it. Part of you was missing, and you would never return to what was lost that night bleeding at Robb's side. “But to be the one to bring another back? It gives you purpose.”

“How can you deny you have a true purpose here?”

“Could be why you came back. You couldn't stay dead because you needed to be here to bring him back.”

Your throat closed, the weight in it too strong as Thoros had one final thing to say. “I've asked the Lord to bring him back six times, beacuse that is why I am here. What it means only he knows, but my purpose is to guide this man from the darkness each time it tries pulling him right back. And that changes you. Bringing a soul from death changes you. They become your purpose. The Lord needs you to keep them alive, so they can fulfill their own purpose.”

None dared said a word about it as you left the dungeons, but the glance you had just before stepping out into the corridors with Theon? Well, he had said just that didn't he? Only a tilt of your head in knowing, he didn't rub it in. Too much blood it took to get here, and saying he was right the whole time wouldn't make that any better.

The only solace, was that they respected where they shouldn't go. The guards with you now were aware their place was not the crypts and they let you walk in alone. Jon had told you to come meet with him here when you were finished speaking to the two of them, but as you walked up to the only ones of the Starks you knew, he wasn't anywhere to be seen.

You thought, your eyes would find Eddard Stark, but they didn't. The only statue you stopped in front of when you realized Jon wasn't here, was her. You had never stopped here before, never seen her, but now? It was a growing urge to tell her you were sorry, that you should've done better for her son by now. Maybe you would have said it, if that creeping feeling at the back of your neck didn't suddenly shout and forcing you to whip around.

As it turned out, her intention didn't quite work as planned. She startled you just as you startled her, and suddenly you stood in the crypts beneath Winterfell only feet from Arya Stark in silence.

Your eyes were wide, you knew she was here but it didn't feel like that was true until this very second. Somehow she both looked exactly the same, but completely different, but maybe that was true for all of you who remained now. But you knew the last you saw her, and the guilt that came with.

But she spoke first at least. “The Lannisters arrested you..who helped you escape?”

Gods, it felt like..well it was a lifetime ago. The one you barley recognized by now. Her voice was quiet, held back, and if possible yours was even moreso. Barley a whisper heard over the quiet crackling of torch fire. “Ser Barristan Selmy. Went through the tunnels under Kings Landing and got on a ship.” The silence continued, but as soon as you tried to let out that guilt in apology she stopped you. “Arya, I shouldn't have left-”

As if she wanted to step to you, but hesitated as you were as on edge as you ever had been with her, but that was just the way you were now it seemed. Nothing like who the Starks used to know. “They would have executed you if you stayed. Probably drag you up just like my father that day and..”

Head tilting to the side somewhat, you knew that painful sting in yours was there in hers. A strain in your voice as there was a painful floating feeling in your chest. “Please don't tell me you saw that..”

But she shook her head. Trying to send away that wave of emotion. Unbeknownst to you, but Arya stood there hating that she didn't know how to do this. She had known you her entire life, you were like a sister to her before even in marriage. Reuniting with Jon was so easy, but she hated that it was difficult with you and not knowing quite why.

“I was there..but I didn't see. Yoren made sure of that.” But you knew, the sound would haunt her all the same. When blood wasn't haunting you, the sound of a string of music did in it's place. “He was in the Nights Watch..tried to protect me, bring me home to Winterfell...obviously that didn't work.”

The gold cloaks, then Lannister guards then death and led all the way to Harrenhal. You knew the story, Gendry had told you as much, but it didn't make knowing she saw the things she would've seen any better. She didn't deserve to have the rest of her childhood stolen.

“But I was there that night.”

Eye widening just as your heart stopped, then raced all at the same instance you knew exactly what night she meant, and suddenly little stopped how watering her eyes looked as horror was yours. But you had to ask anyways, little breath left in your voice. “What do you mean you were there?”

Looking around, Arya found nothing to distract and landed on the ground between you both. “I was trying to get back to you all. I knew you, Robb and my mother were at The Twins for a wedding and..but when I got there...it- they had already...”

It already happened. The fire and muffled yelling, you knew little of it but was what you once thought was beyond death. Words failed you though, nothing could make that alright, nothing could hide what a massacre inside and out she had found. “Arya..”

But her voice raised, and the crack in tone only served to shatter more of that illusion she was holding herself together. “I saw you, I saw your body and..I still don't know if I've ever seen that much blood..” If how you woke up was any state, you had lost likely what was left in your body and somehow life was breathed back into that with no reason or possibility. The scar under your dress burned even now. “And I- I saw what they did...to Robb...”

You had never said it, never once not even coming close. You spoke none of it and you suddenly felt lightheaded, dizzy, ill and everything clawing at your heart in between. A sight so horrific that nothing would ever come close to making that nightmare go away and yet she saw that. The one thing you had spent a year and a half trying to bury. The tears fell on you then, and as soon as Arya saw yours, so did hers let free.

Her voice only a whisper as well. “We'll never be able to bring him home, will we?”

Head shaking a slow no, and without any more seconds passing, you both went to the other without care. Tall enough now you didn't need to lean down as much, but her strength was as tight as yours. Your arms wrapping one around her back and the other gently in her hair at the back of her head as you both just stood there, buried in the other's embrace as the pain was shared too much to bare.

The Young Wolf was what they called Robb, and they forced him to die just like that. If you both moved a few feet, you would see the place where he deserved to rest but never would. The Freys would have left nothing of him anymore. He was lost in the Riverlands, and in this place, only you and Arya would understand why.

Robb deserved to be here, but no one deserved to know his final memory was what it was. You felt just as ill as she did, and neither would part until the silent tears passing were gone enough to wipe away, despite the other knowing they fell freely.

Arya had been closer that night then you ever thought, and it was the only time you wished she hadn't.

By the time either of you had been seen by him, the cold of late afternoon had fallen over the sky and you and Arya had found yourselves tucked close to the others side sat on the steps just outside in one of the main courtyards. His focus was supposed to be entirely elsewhere, but then he saw you both.

Strange the feeling in Jons chest. Still being able to walk in his home and know you were there with the very freedom to stay, that you were his was already odd. You had been his best friend for years and yet still you could make his heart skip just with a smile sent his way.

But seeing you in the distance, sat so normal looking on the steps next to his baby sister, it made him feel overwhelmed. He never thought he'd see Arya, didn't even know she was alive, no one did. But now she was here, she was the only one of them other then Jon who made it back alive and here she sat with you, the love of his life, and no one around to hide his affections from.

Arya still made you smile and laugh easily, more easily then he still could. She had told him she wanted to be alone when she properly saw you again, and he could tell she was holding back something painfully emotional she wanted to save for you alone. But whatever it was, it didn't keep a distance between, she would lean into you with no doubt something far too clever for her own good coming out of her mouth and you would respond with a laugh that shined brighter then the sun just beginning to set.

She had always thought of you like a sister, and Jon's heart was warm and heavy still seeing that time had not changed that. It hadn't changed how much he adored Arya, and it hadn't in turn changed how much Arya adored you.

What little family Jon had left, he was glad it was you two who were in it. And for the first time in days, Jon never once felt that strange pull of conflict over the truth thinking in terms of his family.

“What is he like?”

If she had been expected a real answer, she was sorely mistaken. Glancing flatly at Arya to your side you almost rolled your eyes while doing so. “I'm not sure if I am the proper one to answer that question, beacuse I would say he's insufferable. But we also hate each other so, I could be biased.”

Sighing deeply, Arya leaned forward to wrap her arms around her knees. “What does he look like?” Turning to her in question, she elaborated. “Aegon, what does he look like? No one's seen him since he was a baby, how would they even know it was him?”

A shoulder shrugging, you thought little of it. “None of us at least can be sure, but in truth it doesn't really matter. As long as he believes it, that's the only truth that he needs to claim it.” Her eyes wide and curious still as she looked at you. “If he thinks he is truly Aegon, then that is all the power he needs to try and take the throne.”

You knew it was possible it was a lie, then you would recall the almost insecure way he stammered when claiming the baby that died that day wasn't him. Like the idea that the Aegon there was real, made him uncomfortable. It had been hard to tell, but you still wondered, if anyone had ever pressed him on the matter before.

“Still didn't answer my question, what he looks like.”

Her tone as flat, but you picked up the jesting nature with ease. Leaning back, you gloved hands fat flat on the stone behind you, fingertips tapping in your thought. “Well, he's rather tall. About the same as my father, who towers over me even still. He has blue eyes, and when I met him, he had been dying his hair blue matching. Likely I suspect, for the years he spent trying to hide his identity. Meaning I can only assume his hair is silver under it all.” Not much else you could think of stood out, and it didn't strike you that not once did you associate this conversation with the one person also in the courtyard that reasonably would be a point of comparison. “I'm not the best authority on the matter, not quite good at describing people, really.”

But Arya's eyes glanced to Jon, and running through that short list, so far nothing matched. And she was thankful for it. She didn't want any of it to match, Aegon had no right being thought of as his brother. His brothers are..well as she thought of it, his brothers are dead. Or lost somewhere far North in Brans case.

She hated that a lot. Bran was only a year younger then her, but they may as well have been twins the way they were. Bran looked a bit more like their mother, but they still looked so similar to the other in that age too. In her memory growing up, what Robb was to Jon, Bran was to Arya. The one that was a constant figure, her closest companion.

Sure, she was really closest to Jon, but they were simply so far apart in age that the dynamic was different then it was with Bran. She got to run around with Bran, play with him, annoy the other constantly knowing they never meant it. The day they came back with the direwolves, the boys had all been in the training yard trying to help Bran practice archery.

She still remembered hearing the shots from where she sat in her lessons. Having to listen to Septa Mordane compliment Sansa next to her, and all but ignoring whatever she had been stitching. To this day, she could still recall when she mentioned it to you, in the Kings visit you had so easily said to her, “That's beacuse you're left handed.”

Arya who had been sitting up on a landing whipped her neck to look at you, as you laughed. You had moved to sit down next to her, uncaring in the moment of how childish it would look to be sitting up there like that with her, legs dangling in the air both of you.

You had reached over casually to grab her left hand and held it up almost in display, “You write with this hand, you eat with this hand, do everything with this hand.” Your eyebrow raised, before dramatically tossing it to the proper side of her before yanking her right hand up with a mock sternness. “Use your proper hand like a lady, none of the other girls are trying to do it wrong.”

Arya had chuckled, nudging into you as she did so, telling her that you used to be terrible at embroidery beacuse your own septa made you use your right hand as well.

But then, she didn't know that. So she sat hearing the arrows flying and her brothers all laughing as she sat annoyed that her lessons always had to be with Sansa and her friends. So she snuck away, quietly finding herself in the training yard before she picked up a bow from behind her brothers. Truth be told, she hadn't expected to hit the middle, it was just a rather funny stroke of luck.

Bran had instantly moved to chase her, as she cold hear Jon and Robb behind them yelling jokes about it. But now? It wasn't just Bran not being able to use his legs, it was also that what was ever the likelihood he was coming back?

Jon had told her why the wildlings were here, and Arya hated that if all of them were in the North, that meant Bran and whoever he was with, were alone out there. Just Bran, ice, and snow. If beyond the Wall wasn't even larger and vaster then the North, Arya wouldn't hesitate to go find him. But if Jon knew he wouldn't be able to find Bran, Arya had even less of a chance.

Still however, Arya sat next to you as her own eyes kept looking at Jon, and thinking of the drawings in books of every Targaryean she'd read the daring feats of and realize, she didn't want him to be like any of that. He still looked like himself, he still looked like her even. But he also wasn't like the Targaryeans she used to read about, he was better then that, he was a Stark . But still, Arya felt an unusual fear that maybe one day Jon would learn he was more like Aegon then her, and decide she wasn't good enough as a sibling anymore.

That was stupid she knew, Jon wasn't like that. But still, as she asked you about Aegon she kept feeling relieved everytime it wasn't anything like her own brother. “Was he at least a good fighter?”

You had shrugged, thinking not much of it as if such details weren't plaguing you as it did her, which likely it wasn't. Arya needed to remember to ask Jon in private later if he was planning on telling you the truth too. “He's strong, I will give Aegon that. Almost got me a few times, but I think that was his first proper duel like that. So I can't say for sure if he's truly any good.”

It was quiet for a little while between you both. Just enjoying the ease at seeing the other again, despite both your minds running fast through too much to think on. By the time Arya found something else to say, you couldn't tell if you wished she didn't. The shock in your system of anxiety heightened in a single second to the height which you felt the muscles in your neck almost shaking from strain to keep still. “I still can't believe you two got married.”

Wishing you could be coy about it, but instead you found nothing to fall back on. Only the rumblings in your head that made you almost flinch.

“Fucking all those big, strong wolves made you a fighter, hasn't it?”

Don't think of it, you had made so much progress keeping from your mind you hated that he was spilling back into it now. But you kept hearing him until you felt him and the utter shame he hammered into your mind as if that was your only use ever to him, to the Starks.

Until at least, she elaborated as she called your name. But your eyes were kept open and set sternly forward with a hum in your throat to respond. So she sighed, and tried again. “Whatever you're thinking I'm thinking, you're wrong.”

Only one side of your lips half smirked for a second before fading. “Would you like to try that sentence again?”

You couldn't see her head tilt or the flat bemused look, but you heard as she clearly leaned more into your side with an earnest low tone. “You're worried I think badly of you for being with Jon now. But I don't, I'm happy you two are together.”

Eyes only flickering to the side, you didn't really still see her gaze nor did you know beyond the nervous anxiety in your heart, if you wanted too. Jaw clenching, the nod you gave was indiscernible were she not looking so intently.

It was no misunderstanding why you kept clamming up at the subject, how it looked to most outside of the North would be exactly what you feared. And you were still too much of a Southerner in your blood to see past that bias, when in truth the North all around you saw no issue. It was only you, and the many voices in your head talking down to you.

It was on the tip of Aryas tongue, but with your attention being called to elsewhere there was no time for it. Looking back to her, Arya hesitated wanting you to leave just yet, but you only spoke low with something hopefully comforting to placate that expression on her. “We'll talk later.” Arya nodded, and with your leave, she was left on the steps.

Eyes once more looking across the yard, and it almost was enough to make Arya grin. How so quickly once Jon glanced over to see you weren't there, he almost on instinct appeared to then turn his head trying to see where you had gone. At least she thought, now her brother could obsess over you but in public finally.

Trying to make sure before she too found herself useful elsewhere, Arya took one last look. Still looked just as much of a Stark as he ever has. If only one thing about that truth brought Arya comfort, it was that he still had the same amount of blood like Arya's own that they thought he did before.

Part of her hoped Aegon wasn't really who he said he was. At least she thought, then the only thing left of the Last Dragon then would be someone no one knew had any ties to him, and was the most Northern, the least anything like a dragon, and the most Stark a person could get. Just to rub it in.

But, Arya couldn't dwell on it. She had things to do, and around a list of eight hundred questions she was about to all but interrogate Gendry with, trying to figure out how in seven hells he and you even know each other.

Leaned back comfortably, the sheets and fur underneath you both keeping warm, as was the fire to the side, and the chest you were pulled back against.

One hand of Jons laid more lazily at your side, resting at your waist, while his other arm was draped around your shoulder, crossed your collarbones and let his palm sit at your other shoulder comfortingly. One of your own moved across your stomach where Jon had spared no time grabbing it. Whatever fingers he could wrap his around from that angle kept warm while your other reached up to run your thumb along his forearm.

You envied how he could lay behind you, only one layer covering his chest and even at that, the laces undone from top to bottom exposing should you look, the scars on his chest. Uncaring with you that they were visible. Having you sat between his own legs, both of you toying with entangling them just as much. You had a dark shift on under, but a long, slightly warmer dress, equally as undone at the front. Which Jon had been the one to insist you keep it that way. Coming up to you from behind and grabbing your hands as he murmured in your ear “Leave it, it looks beautiful on you like that.”

Only grinning at you in an almost charmingly boyish manner, when you raised an eyebrow, turning partially to try and see him as you responded, “I'd be curious if there was anything I could wear that you wouldn't think that about.”

Murmuring low in your ear, “Wouldn't be much.”

You had been trying to describe what you saw in the snow. How the first real thing you could recall was whatever symbol the bodies had been placed in. Jon had been quiet, his voice distant in thought as he asked you what it looked like.

Trying to think clearly, you hadn't been at an angle to see the whole thing but the organization separately was still clear. “Most of it was in a large circle. Arms, legs, torsos, all of them stripped down and laying there. Then there was a line right down the middle of it and another horizontally by the bottom.” Your face twisted trying to come up with the right way to describe it.

“Sort of like the basic hilt of a sword right down the middle of a circle. And..” You could partially see Jon lean over your shoulder a bit at your pause, giving enough comfort to your mind you continued. “At random places on the outside, heads were all on spikes. Not high up or anything just, specifically the heads were propped up on purpose.”

Jons hand on your shoulder almost rubbed gently like a caress as he was in thought, before he spoke low and a bit unsettled himself. “The first time I went north of the Wall, we reached the Fist of the First Men when I went with a Qhorin Halfhand, to go sneak up on a group of wildlings.”

He hadn't ever really said much about how it all happened, how she even came into his life, but Jon wasn't yet sure if here in the comfort of his bed, and you soft in his arms was the right time or place to say it. So he pushed onward, a rough clearing in his throat that you both knew you caught onto despite your silence.

“The Lord Commander and about three hundred of the rest stayed behind. I don't know when it happened, but at some point..they showed up.” The shiver down your spine was felt in Jons chest behind you. “Two hundred of my brothers that day died fighting them. And I didn't know about it until I was already inside Mance Rayders army.” Your own hand by your waist tightened on whatever grip you had, and Jon returned it in an instant. “When we got there, the ones that were left had gone. But the only thing still there was something in the snow. The horses we had, they cut them in pieces and laid them out.”

Describing the way it was, it clearly wasn't the same manner, but there felt between you was it couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

Almost shaking his head trying to comprehend it, Jon muttered. “There was something Mance said when we found it. Always the artists. Almost like he'd seen it many times before. It can't be a coincidence, both things happening wherever the Others attacked..I just..don't know what it's supposed to mean..”

Leaning back more to rest against him, you could feel the tense sensation in Jon's muscles loosen almost right away. Your voice trying to be kept soft as you could hear in his tone, the gears trying to form an answer in his head. “It has to have something to do with raising the dead. They kill a group of wildings, form that symbol in the snow. They attack your men, and you find another symbol just like it.”

Humming deep in his chest, Jon shifted to keep his hold on you a little more gentle. “Maybe there's an answer somewhere in one of those books Sam brought with him.” Turning back slightly, you couldn't really see him but the lightness in your tone said it all, as you emphasized the word brought with a question. Chuckling easy behind you, it brought more of you closer to a smile. “Alright, stole. The books he stole.”

Shaking your head slightly, “Is the King really going to let such a crime go unpunished?”

Muttering deep, you knew without looking his face had twisted into an expression amusingly doubtful, “I'm King in the North, not of Oldtown. When the Citadel finds itself moved all the way up here, maybe I'll have the ability to do something about Sam stealing old books no one was reading anyways.” You both laughed a bit at that one.

For a while, all you could hear was the crackling of the fire. Just long enough you almost felt the pull to fall asleep before Jon rasped in your ear. The hand on your shoulder tilting your head just enough so he could rest part of his head against yours. He finally decided on it. “She was there that day.” The hand on your waist drifting to pull you more into him by your stomach as you hummed. “When I went with Qhorin Halfhand to track the wildlings. Ygritte was one of them.”

Both your hands moved, the hand across your stomach, grabbing it with both you gently started to open his palm, your fingers gently toying with his now, or running your fingertips across the skin there, occasionally Jon would shift his own fingers to dance back with yours, as if to provide something to ground him.

He was quiet, his other hand slipping to your neck, just letting his thumb run over what he barley reached as his voice broke with something rough, something otherwise to be pushed down. “She was the last one alive, so the others left me to deal with it myself. I killed a wight before that, but..”

The softness of your own voice seemed to put him a little more at ease. “You had never actually killed a living person before..” Nodding against you, he was quiet for a moment before you slid from his grasp, but he followed. Turning with you, Jon gently guided you to lay with your back comfortably against the bed while he rested on his side somewhat hovering over your top half. His free arm not keeping him up reached over so he could gently run his fingertips along your cheek, caging you in.

His eyes were distant, a fog in them which spoke volumes of pain you knew he had purposely kept the worst of such out of your knowledge. “I don't know if she kept trying to get close to me because she thought she had the right, or if she was trying to make me uncomfortable. But I ended up having to have Ghost sleep in between us at night beacuse I didn't trust her not to do anything.”

Resting your hands gently on his waist, you simply looked up to his eyes with a brightness that was keeping him tethered to the earth as he spoke. You knew he needed to get it out without interruption or he would never go back to it.

“By the time I was in Mance's camp, the Halfhand had me kill him so I could convince them I wanted to be one of them. He knew I had a better chance at living and getting inside his army, but that wasn't enough for them. They wanted me to prove myself, and to them there was only one way to do that was..”

His eyes drifted away, causing you to run a hand gently along his own cheek, cupping it tenderly without forcing him to look back. His jaw clenched and even though he still didn't look at you, you could see something painful in his eyes you knew he didn't want to turn into anything close to tears. Even though you both knew you would never judge him for it.

“I had to send Ghost away. She made me send him away, beacuse we both knew he never would let her do anything if he were there to protect me..” He inhaled shaking, but dropped his gaze down to nothing on the bed just beside you. “But I did it, beacuse I had to. They would've killed me if I didn't, beacuse then they'd know I wasn't really one of them. And she spent every moment after that acting like she had any right to...I wanted all of that with you and she took it away from me.” Jons voice was so strained you could feel under your hand at his waist his muscles were tensing up at the feeling. Letting it drift up to his stomach and running over whatever scar you could find, it almost seemed to bring his focus back.

But no judgment was in your eyes, no pity. Just the same love he always gave you, and an understanding of the kind if pain such things left on a person. “And you still came out the other side a better man then most could dream of being in a lifetime.” He tried looking at you in a doubt but you once more ran your thumb over his cheek. “Trust me, most people are worse off for good after things like that. You're nothing to scoff at.”

Shaking his head, “What Ramsay put you through was so much worse-”

Interrupting him so abruptly almost took him back, but your brows narrowed at the very idea. “Jon, I'm not going to lay here and let you downplay your pain beacuse of me. What Ramsay did to me, what Ygritte did to you, it doesn't matter how different they were. What matters is that it happened to you, it matters that it still hurts. I don't care what I've been through when you're telling me about your pain.”

Your only looked at one another for a moment before he rasped quietly, “What you suffered through was far worse, but you're right. I know I shouldn't be keeping all of this to myself. I just don't like upsetting you.”

But you only smiled, and the brightening in his grey eyes almost made your heart lift. “You don't expect me to be better yet, and so I don't expect it from you either. We heal however long it takes to heal, but we do it together.”

Jon took his time just looking at you before he spoke, his eyes full of a teetering affection but his expression was serious despite his words. “You really did come back the emotional one, didn't you?”

Your face fell entirely flat, Jon breathing out a light chuckle instantly. Rolling your eyes in jest, “Sorry, do you want to be married to someone more like my father?” If such a thing was possible, Jons eyes rolled even harder then yours. His face twisting sour as he leaned down, his breath hitting your skin as he spoke.

“Do me a favour, never mention your father when we're in bed ever again.” You laughed, and Jon captured the sound with a greedy kiss.

Hovering more over you, your hands drifted up to his shoulders and back of his neck as he cupped the side of your face to tilt you over to him to perfectly fit his lips. Just a gentle brushing of his lips, never quite broaching into demand as he would deepen it. Each time he even slightly was separate from your lips he seemed to press you into the soft bed even more.

Running a hand in his hair so your nails could scratch along his scalp, your other hand just caressed flat against his neck and shoulders as if unable to decide where to stay.

Losing yourself in his lips, you felt just the slightest brush of his tongue along your bottom lip, only as you parted them slightly to let his tongue meet yours gently, his hand drifted down your face, neck, side of your waist until his palm landed flat against your thigh. Ever so slightly, did he begin dragging up the material did you react.

Quickly for only a second did your nails dig into his skin as you almost flinched from him. Pulling back in an instant, Jon looked down at you with a worried narrow eyes. “What's wrong?” But you looked up at him, lips parted and your mind a little confused at that as well.

So you shook your head, and pulled him down to meet your lips as you rose to meet him halfway.

Sliding your hands both down along his collarbones until you reached the edges of his shirt, Jon shifted from your lips, kneeling up over you slightly as he took over pulling it off and letting it toss somewhere behind him. You moved, sitting up somewhat so your palms could run all across from his stomach up to his neck. One arm wrapping around behind his neck again as the other grasped his waist as you somewhat kept his lips pressed to yours.

Jons hands both as you moved flat against the bed pressed at each side of your head as he coaxed you to ease up with how urgent you kissed him, only to slowly take over in deepening it. Growing more greedy as he almost without thought moved, so he could shove one of your bent legs wider to fit him in between. Then the strange unpleasant feeling returned.

Something that made your heart pick up that wasn't from Jons touch. But you didn't want him to realize it, didn't want him to pick up on it again. Instead letting your nails scratch at his scalp as your other leg almost rested along his hip, prompting him to grasp at your thigh. Wrapping an arm around it, and keeping you secure right there.

Running his rough hand along the skin until he reached the edge of your shift, you this time just kept it to yourself at the feeling of him pushing it up. Jon not bothering to undress you properly yet, he ran his other hand do do the same to the opposite side until he could blindly grasp at your underwear. His lips nibbling into your bottom lip only to just barley tease you with running his tongue along yours, Jon begun dragging the material down.

You wanted to be fine, just stay calm you told yourself. Just fall into it and let Jon do what he liked, or what made him happy. He had a rough time as well these past days. Tearing himself from your lips, Jon hovered over you, his own parted and eyes black as he breathed heavily. Not looking away from your own eyes peering more innocently back up at him, he yanked the material off your legs and reached right for the layers covering you.

The dress first easy to come off, and almost impatient as his own breathing increased he tossed away your shift even with less care. Peering down at what he could see, you ran your hands down his chest to the laces on his own pants.

Jon only grasped your hands, and moved to shove them up beside your head, interlocking your fingers together as he moved to grind into your now bare core. Lips capturing yours. The feeling of his covered cock was at the perfect angle, hard as he could be, and almost selfless grind which just so happened to feel as good for him, as he wanted you to.

But even though your lips and hands worked, the rest of you didn't. You didn't feel good.

The more he hovered over you like this, the more your heart raced, the more your chest hurt. Your hands flexed in his, and Jon only tightened his hold with what you knew was something deeply loving in honesty. But you felt trapped.

If you opened your eyes, you knew the world would be spinning and you could feel it even as you lay there at his gentle mercy. Brushing against your lips as he rasped deeply, “I spent way too long without you,” Unable to stop himself from another biting kiss as he never left making his way to your neck, “Let me make you feel good,” Kissing and biting more down your neck, you knew it felt as good as normal, yet you couldn't help but wanting him to stop, but you kept quiet as he pressed a more gentle kiss to your jaw muttering, “Is that alright?”

Jon felt you nod, and that was enough. You kept your eyes closed, and your hands didn't even move when he released them. Kissing a path to your breasts, you were desperate if he could tell how fast your heart was racing, he'd think it was good. What you didn't realize, was that you weren't convincing of a physical lie.

So much of your energy was being spent trying to be good for him, you didn't think to spend part of that on pretending you enjoyed it. As Jons lips would normally have greedily kissed and marked up your breasts, but he found something before he could start, when he let one hand move down between your legs.

Your legs tensed around him but he almost didn't need to notice that, since as soon as he even slightly went to brush two fingers down along your core, he stopped. Dark eyes suddenly accompanied by a furrowed brow as he looked up at you, no longer touching you with his lips. The hand between your legs moving instead of press against the bed beside your hip.

But, you didn't know what he was looking at you like. You couldn't tell what that glint in his eyes said and you interrupted whatever he was about to say, shaking your head. “I'm alright, I can take it-”

Jon however, didn't buy it. He pushed up more to hover over you more instead as you leaned up on your elbows. His head tilted at you in doubt, “Darling, you're not even close to ready..” Kneeling up more, he no longer was touching you beyond a gentle hand resting on one of your thighs. You swallowed nervously, and that weightful sick feeling only made you feel dizzy and far more guilty as he looked at you.

Shaking your head, you tried pushing yourself up to go to him, but Jons other hand reached out. Pressing gently against your sternum to keep you in place as he looked over you. Your voice was not as confident as your face was trying to look. Not realizing you likely said the one thing that would not convince him, in fact, you said the one thing that instantly rung the bells too loudly in his head.

“We don't have to do this whole part, if you just want to get to it. It'll be fine, it won't hurt much.”

The way he looked at you though, your head started to hurt at that look. Something instead of being frustrated, or annoyed, just looked at you with those bright eyes shining as his heart broke.

You wanted to shrink in on yourself, you couldn't even pretend to be fine for one night for him.

You wished Jon would just do what he wanted, you'd get over it. You liked when he felt good, and suddenly you felt an upsetting frustration inside your own heart, not understanding why he wouldn't just take what he wanted, when you were already bare for him.

The way he deeply said your name, the narrowed expression as if he was trying to figure you out, and you felt something in your muscles trying to react.

“This would be a whole lot easier if you just pretended you enjoyed it, my bride. But, if you insist on making noise-”

By the time your eyes found his again, not realizing you drifted away somewhere, Jon was leaned much more into you. His hands hovering by your cheeks as if unsure if he should touch you. Only then did you feel that tears had silently fallen already down your skin. Whatever he was trying to figure out as he looked over you, you made it all the worse for yourself. You were good at that. Theon had said you had been making it worse for yourself, right?

But the painful race of your heart couldn't seem to grasp with the logic of your mind, that this wasn't Ramsay. And for a second, you could only wonder how much more boring and frustrating you were compared to a pretty hair of red.

Jon though, finally cupped one of your cheeks gently, tilting you up to look at him as he murmured your name more softly then Ramsay ever had spat it out. Your nails were digging so much into the sheets beneath you it almost tore the material as you looked up at him. You didn't know why you felt like this, you had been with Jon many times now what was wrong with you?

Shaking your head you tried to whisper, “I'm sorry..”

In truth, though? It only made Jon feel just as sick, he knew exactly by now what was going on. Running his nose gently along the length of yours, he felt you slightly ease up as your eyes fluttered closed. Rasping to you gently, you could feel his breathe along your skin, and this time it was soothing. “Will you let me hold you?”

You only nodded, something burning in you that flooded you in a deep self hatred. You couldn't even please your husband after what you had just put him through for days. Your voice was much more wavering this time. “I- I, I'm so sorry..I don't...”

Jon tilted you down just a bit as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, muttering into your hair before shifting. Pulling you up to perch right in his lap where he could get both his arms around you properly. “Don't be sorry.” Kissing another he muffled, “We don't have to do anything.”

Why did that make the growing panic worse? Why did that make you feel even more selfish?

So you shook your head,trying to move to press your lips to anywhere on him, and it took a good few tries for Jon to get you to look back at the call of your name. “Stop,” Tilting his head back, Jon gently cupped the back of your head, mostly so you couldn't as easily distract him, his own face sat in a frown. “Darling, if you don't want to do anything tonight, I'm not making you, not at all. I want you to feel good, not make you do things for my sake.”

But he could tell you looked as confused as you felt. Your mouth opening and closing a number of times before sighing out. Looking back up at Jon, who had nothing but a concerned patience in his eyes. “I- everything I've made you suffer these past days, what you just told me, I shouldn't- I should be..”

He watched you for a moment, before capturing your lips in one more, far more gentle kiss, barley pulling from you to mumble into you. “There's a lot going on inside that beautiful head of yours, it's allowed to feel upset or confused sometimes.” You almost sighed out a laugh, instead choosing to meet him back in another kiss. “Do you want to talk about it right now, or would you rather we lay down and I hold you for a while?”

Your hands on his shoulders eased in their tensity, looking up to meet his eyes you nodded your head and trusted, rightfully, he knew what answer that chose.

It took some time, but slowly you both laid down. Jon kept you in his chest, running a hand tucked behind your head along your hair while the other ran soothingly up and down from waist to hip. Your voice muffled as you kept your hands by his shoulders and around the back of his neck. “I assume if I were to apologize again for ruining things, you wouldn't want to hear it.”

A smile found its way onto his face that you could feel in your hair. “There's my smart girl.”

Rolling your eyes as you mumbled a shut up, Jon just chuckled deeply. Pulling you more into his chest, deciding he'd only move to pull the fur up over you both when you settled a bit, or were nice and asleep. For now, he hoped his own body heat was enough for you in the cold air.

At some point, you started to drift off, only having enough sense to press a kiss to the scar over his heart before nuzzling more into his chest with an, “I love you.” And falling asleep just before hearing him gently rasp it back to you in your ear.

Jon held you for a long time after you fell asleep, telling himself not to get upset on his own. He knew you were thinking about Ramsay, and he knew you would be insecure enough to wonder if he'd be angry you weren't ready for him at any moment. But Jon's need stopped the second he realized you weren't even slightly wet for him, when normally he'd have you already soaked. Instead, just keeping you safe in his arms, truthfully, was the thing which was making Jon feel just as safe.

You were upset, and what Jon needed right now, was for you to do just this. Not shove him away, let him take care of you no matter what.

Jon struggled to see what he was forced to do, as anywhere near as bad as what Ramsay did to you, but if you were going to be insistent that he not hide that pain as he insisted on you, that honesty was the least he could do. But if he were to tell you in that very moment, what was close to pulling tears from Jon still, even as you slept soundly against his chest, was how far you disappeared for a moment.

It terrified him that you had sunk so far into something scared that for a second, he knew you weren't seeing him as him. You were seeing Jon as if he was about to treat you exactly like Ramsay would. The Bolton had been dead for months, but he still haunted you as strongly as he did when Jon finally reunited with you in Castle Black.

But, Jon had to tell himself, had to remember that you were always going to push your issues away in favour of caring for Jon, tending to and healing his wounds inside and out. You would put priority on the looming horror coming from the North before wanting Jon to ever prioritize your pain.

He wasn't going to let that happen. Jon wasn't about to let the looming threat of the winter storms, take any more importance then the life he was building with you, here and now.

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