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[merakiui]

promising young man.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, one-sided student/teacher relationship, obsession, dark thoughts, jealousy, delusion, brief descriptions of blood/gore, violence, death, murder, brief nsfw note - riddle's perfect world comes crashing down with the arrival of foreign exchange student azul ashengrotto.

He meets him in Intro to Psych.

Azul Ashengrotto struggles to parse English, but he’s dressed like a businessman with his pressed suit and leather Oxfords. The only thing that reveals his status as a student is the black backpack he carries to class. Riddle’s seen him around campus a handful of times. It’s hard to miss him when he seems to throw himself into social circles with practiced grace.

This is the first time he’s ever had class with him, though, and so now he gets to see him in a classroom setting. There isn’t much about him that immediately strikes Riddle as odd. He’s well-dressed and prompt with a polite tongue. Every time he speaks in his thick accent, the one that just commands admiration and attention, that tiny Italian flag pinned to the strap of his bag becomes even more apparent.

Riddle’s not sure what he’s doing in this class. Perhaps he’s aiming to study law as well. He’d hoped to find more people with similar academic hobbies and interests and, while he’s yet to form any lasting bonds, he’s been wondering what sort of person Azul is.

On the first day of class, he introduced himself with confidence: “Buongiorno, amici. I am Azul. I look forward to the year with all of you.”

Though the structure and pronunciation of English proved awkward in his mouth, that didn’t stop him from opening himself to others. He’s friendly and outgoing, always welcoming conversation when it’s thrown his way. Riddle finds it impressive. If he were in Azul’s shoes, he’s certain he’d feel just a little lost attending school in a new country, far from home, surrounded by people who speak a completely different language. But Azul is resourceful, a dab hand at communication despite the barrier in vernacular. Perhaps that’s where his charm comes from.

Riddle thought the two of them might get along.

But then Azul proved academically formidable, and then you began to pick his brain after class, during time that was specifically reserved for Riddle so that he could discuss psychology with you.

So now Riddle sits in his seat, impatiently awaiting his chance.

“The law over in here is fascinating,” Azul says, leaning closer as you show him something on the desktop computer. 

“What’s it like where you’re from?”

“Mm. How to explain… The law is…”

“It follows a civil law tradition,” Riddle pipes up, casually flipping a page in his textbook. He does it for show. He’s aware it probably makes him look like an arrogant know-it-all.

You peek past the screen at him. “Oh! Riddle, you’re still here. Hello!”

He hums, warming under your gaze. “I always am.”

“What was it you were saying about the Italian legal system?”

Azul stares at him. An unhappy frown tightens on his face.

Uplifted with pride, swimming in the clouds, Riddle elaborates: “I’ve only just started researching it, but it’s very interesting. In the realm of criminal law, trials are often led by judges or a select few to form a panel unlike the juries we have here. Of course you’ll find differences everywhere. All countries have justice systems and law enforcement. Still, it’s fascinating to compare and contrast the fine details.”

From across the room, Azul’s stink eye has never been more obvious.

“Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard a few things regarding the way cases are handled over there. From what you know, Azul, would you say the system is harsher here than it is there, or is it the other way around?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Azul says, and that polite mask of his slips for a second. “I’ve never done crime.”

Riddle snaps his book shut and rises from his seat. “Let’s hope not. You’ve a promising career ahead of you.” He smiles sweetly at Azul like he’s particularly stupid.

Azul tracks him as he packs his belongings away and strides towards the door. His brilliant blue eyes are dark. “Ci fai o ci sei?” he mutters, clicking his tongue discreetly. “Rompipalle…”

Riddle will later learn these are slang phrases. He’ll learn a lot of things later—things he thought he’d never need to learn.

Thinking it a joke, you laugh and wave your hand about dismissively. “Aren’t you going to stay, Riddle? I watched the first episode of that podcast you recommended.”

Riddle perks up at that. “You watched it?”

“This past weekend, yes. It’s a riveting series. They really dig deep into the facets of a criminal.”

“Don’t they just?” He hugs his textbook close to his chest, nearly vibrating out of his skin. Finally, the moment he’s been waiting for—an opportunity to speak with you. “I’m amazed at how much time and research goes into each episode, and they always treat each case with tact. It deserves so much praise.”

Azul glances between the two of you. Riddle is sick with satisfaction. Once more, his blue hues land on him.

“You like criminals?”

“Not in that way, of course not.” Riddle shakes his head. What a preposterous assumption. “I find their minds to be exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.”

Azul blinks back at him, owlish. He doesn’t seem to grasp most of what Riddle’s just said.

“In short, I think they’re a fine learning experience.”

“An experience? Non capisco.”

“For those wishing to pursue a career in criminal justice or law. Think of it like watching a tape from a criminal investigation. It’s important to study the interview techniques and tactics utilized by detectives to understand what’s most successful in gathering a proper confession.”

Azul nods along. “Ah, capisco.”

“We’ll cover things like that later in the semester. Don’t feel so overwhelmed, Azul.”

“I’m not. I learn as I go. Grazie, Professor. You’re very kind.”

“I’m happy to help. If you ever need anything, my office hours are on that sheet I gave you. I had a colleague of mine translate the syllabus for you. If you have any questions or need accommodations of any kind, let me know.”

“I will.” He fixes the strap of his backpack and, after bidding you a final farewell, stalks past Riddle out the door. His footsteps echo down the hall until eventually they’re no more.

“Riddle, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

“Of course. Anything,” he says hastily, his heart stumbling in his ribs. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you help Azul out? I notice he struggles taking notes during lectures. If you’d be willing to share your notes with me so that I can get them translated, that would be great.”

Riddle doesn’t want to share, but this is an opportunity to be praised in spades. “I’d be glad to. I’ll scan and email them after each class.”

“Thanks, Riddle. Your notes have always been so organized. This is a huge help. I’m sure Azul will be just as grateful.”

I’m not doing it for him, he thinks, bitter and envious.

But he just smiles, standing a little taller when you compliment him.

Your notes have always been so organized.

What is he getting so territorial for? He’s had you for four classes in past years. Azul’s only known you for a few measly weeks. That’s nothing compared to the special bond you have with him.

Riddle isn’t worried.

1 September, 20XX.

Dear Diary,

(Name) Rosehearts has quite the lovely ring to it. Far more musical than that of (Name) Ashengrotto. I’m almost certain he sits there in class, silently drooling over Professor. Just last week, he took my seat at the front. The gall to do such a thing! Can you imagine? He must know that seat is the best for getting a perfect view of Professor. It’s childish to bicker over seating arrangements and I refuse to stoop to his level. That said, the seat is mine. Professor’s time is mine.

I’ve deigned to share my notes, but only because Professor put such faith in my abilities by personally asking me. Even though it’s foolish, I’m tempted to sabotage the notes so that Azul will have incorrect study material. But that would be unfair and an infraction upon all that I stand for when it comes to academic fairness. Thus, I’ve refrained from doing anything of that sort. I’m certain Professor would disapprove.

It makes me happy to know Professor listens to the podcast I recommended. I wish we could discuss it at length, but Azul is always there and he takes up so much of what little time there is. It’s infuriating. I wish he would just drop out of the class. That way it will be just Professor and me, as it was intended.

Perhaps he will once the coursework comes knocking.

Sincerely, 

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle slumps forward over his desk and combs his hands through his hair.

“That rotten Azul…” he sneers, his face scrunching into something sour. “He’s always monopolizing your time… Does he not realize how important it is to me—how much I look forward to talking to you? And you smile at him… You look at him with those sweet eyes of yours and he’s completely undeserving of such treatment! It never does anyone any good to be greedy, yet there he is…”

He inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and then exhales.

What am I supposed to do? How can I make this right again?

Azul isn’t breaking any rules. It’s not a crime to seek you out for conversation after each class ends. But therein lies the issue. There is nothing wrong with that. It would be wrong if, say, there was an illicit exchange between the both of you. Like a taboo relationship of sorts…

Riddle startles in his seat, his eyes blown wide.

Azul isn’t having a secret affair with you, is he? Not that it could be considered cheating when you’re not yet married (and Riddle intends to keep it that way). He has a plan. When he graduates, there will be no formal barriers holding him back from starting a relationship with you. He can email you freely without the need to circle back to academics. He can invite you for tea or coffee and the two of you can chat about things that aren’t school, and it won’t be weird or overstepping boundaries. Because he won’t be your student anymore. He’ll be Riddle, your former student. And former students have better odds than current students, do they not?

He’s thought it out carefully. He was raised to be responsible, to do everything right.

And though he’s thought of it in passing—considered what might happen if he were to try to play at being a seductive siren—he’d never truly act on such folly. But Azul… It isn’t too impossible to theorize he might be sleeping with you for a better grade. What if he’s forced you into it? What if he has some sort of wicked blackmail? What if you’re holed up in your office every day, scared for your career, while Azul bends you over the desk and uses that boyish charm of his, that silky-smooth accent, to coax the sweetest of sounds from—

Riddle shakes himself free of that thought. He’s not going to imagine it any further. He doesn’t need to be plagued with graphic imagery, gross as it may be.

Even though he chases the fantasy from his brain, it returns to poke at him. He gazes at his lap, noticing the substantial strain in his pajamas, and groans.

It would be easier if he wasn’t where he is now. Logically, he’s aware he doesn’t have much of a chance. Neither does Azul. Unless he’s sleeping with you in secret. Then he has a chance. But he’s not. He can’t. That’s against the rules.

And even if he was, it wouldn’t be very fair for him to do the very thing Riddle’s abstained from.

His hand closes around his dick. He feels pitiful as he pumps himself to scandalous visions. 

It’s not fair.

He should have a chance. In a perfect world, he’d have you. He’s earned this, hasn’t he? He’s worked so hard. So why isn’t he allowed to have you?

It’s not fair.

Why does Azul get to relish in your attention when Riddle’s left alone in the shadows? Why can’t you look at him like you used to? Why can’t you praise him for knowing all the answers? Why can’t you tell him good work when he does just that? Why must you coddle Azul? Riddle thinks he can speak perfect English. He’s just playing it up to look weak and pathetic—to garner your sympathy!

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

He’s the good one. The one with perfect marks. The one with perfect attendance. The one every professor holds in high regard.

Riddle squeezes himself and sucks in a breath through grit teeth.

He’s not funny like Azul. He doesn’t have that awkward charm Azul has. He can’t speak another language fluently. He’s never traveled out of the country. He thinks he knows everything, but he only knows so much.

He can fascinate you with the intricacies of his mind, each fold primed for education, but Azul can do better because he has social experience.

Riddle can’t believe it. He, of all people, is jealous of someone.

Cum oozes from his dick and coats his fingers in a pearly-white. It isn’t satisfying.

Right then, he thinks his world would be better if Azul stayed in Italy.

Or maybe it would be better if Azul wasn’t in his world at all. 

On his way out of class, Riddle stops Azul in an empty corridor.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

He blinks back, oblivious. And then he smiles, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “What I’m doing?”

Riddle won’t say it. He can’t. Because then he’d be admitting the truth Azul’s trying to pry from his heart, whether that’s his intention or not.

“You know very well what you’re doing.”

A silent head tilt is his reply.

His temper is nearing its boiling point. It’s been on a low simmer ever since Azul first bewitched you, and it’s threatening to spill over.

“I see the way you and Professor look at each other during class. You may think it discreet, but I know.” Riddle folds his arms over his chest, feeling very proud of himself for successfully playing Sherlock. “I can tell there’s nothing formal about it. So how long has this been going on? How long have you been flouting the rules?”

Azul stares at him. His shoulders shake with his chuckle. “You’re funny.”

Riddle startles. His accent—

“I’m here to learn just as you are. What I do outside of the classroom is none of your business, so it would please me greatly if you could stop prying.”

His eyes narrow into vicious slits. “If you lay a hand on—”

“Oh, I’ve done more than that.” Azul smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his sweater vest. The same brand of sweater vest that Riddle wears. “But you have no proof. The courts here will want that, won’t they? Or is it harsher here? Will you need to peer inside Professor to see for yourself? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never committed a crime.”

Disgust pools in his stomach. He feels like he could vomit, and it isn’t because he’s appalled by the conspiracy Azul’s proposed. It’s because he should’ve been the one to do it if it was that easy. Instead, he musters a mean glare.

“Who are you, Ashengrotto? What do you want?”

“I’m just a student like you. I want to learn lots from Professor.” He brushes past Riddle, his voice a melodious hum. “And some things can’t be taught in the classroom.”

Riddle opens his mouth to let the angry tirade fall, but he chokes on the words. There’s so much he wants to say, but all of it will come out accusatory. And that’s where Azul has him pinned. It’s all baseless accusation.

He doesn’t want to believe it. Surely you wouldn’t… It’s impossible! An academic and social infringement! It’s wrong!

It should’ve been him.

Later that evening, cooped up in his room, Riddle scrawls furious lines in his diary: He’s a liar. A cheat. An embarrassment to this institution. I should be the one who holds Professor. I should be there in Azul’s place. I’ve worked so hard. I deserve it. I’ve earned it!

He can’t let this madness go on any longer. He won’t tolerate it.

Looking at it logically, Riddle has illustrated the negatives and the positives in his notebook.

If Azul’s insinuations are true, then all Riddle needs is valid evidence. Unfortunately, that would mean you might lose your job given the circumstances. If it’s consensual, both of you are equally at fault. If it’s not, Riddle hopes Azul will burn in a terrible blaze.

But if you do happen to lose your job, it would relieve some of the weight burdening his situation. He could start a real relationship with you. It’s plausible! Perhaps not very realistic, but there’s always a shred of hope to be found in misfortune. 

Riddle wonders if he should just ask you and save himself the headache.

He gazes sidelong at Azul, who has since claimed that seat for his own, and chances a glance at his open notes.

That’s Riddle’s handwriting.

He’s sure of it. That’s his handwriting. He writes his notes in cursive. He writes in a perfect, elegant slant. His letters always connect. There’s no denying it; that’s his handwriting on the page.

A disturbing thought crosses his mind: Has Azul been practicing my handwriting?

It sounds impossibly silly. Who would devote so much time to something so witlessly fraudulent? Riddle wracks his brain for a reasonable explanation. Why would he need to practice someone else’s handwriting? Riddle could understand if Azul struggled to write in English. Most of his work is submitted in his native language. You allow this exception even though Riddle finds it unfair. Maybe it’s because you treat Azul’s work like it’s something special, and you jump through all of these hoops just to get it translated. Why can’t you treat his work with that same amount of care?

Riddle drags his pen along the page, scribbling mindlessly. Why is he doing that? He has nothing to gain from writing like me.

But then Riddle realizes the notebook is the same as his. The same color, in fact. He wonders when Azul purchased a new one. Did he purchase a new one, or has he always had this one?

Riddle looks down at his notebook.

That’s Azul’s handwriting.

He blinks twice and rubs frantically at his eyes. When he looks back at Azul’s notebook, it’s to a page filled with Azul’s stylish scrawl.

Have I…been copying him this entire time?

No, surely not! He would never plagiarize. That’s one of the biggest sins of academia. He couldn’t live with himself if he did that!

Besides, he’s not the copycat. It’s Azul in his sweater vest, boasting the same writing implements as Riddle, using the same brand of notebook. Riddle’s not copying him. It’s Azul. It must be.

It can’t be Riddle. He’d never do such a thing.

After class, you call Riddle up to your desk. He hesitates, his heart thrumming wildly, and shuffles over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Riddle, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.” You withdraw last week’s assignment from a folder and set it down. “You wrote this, did you not?”

Riddle scans the typed document. “I did, yes.”

“May I ask if the Italian was intentional?”

“The Italian?” he parrots, confused. “I don’t understand what—”

In between brilliantly articulated paragraphs, he’s sprinkled in Italian words and phrases.

He coughs out a rattled laugh. “I must have been studying it for another assignment before I did yours. I…can’t believe this happened. It was fully unintentional. I’m very sorry.”

His face is flushed cherry-red. He’s never felt more humiliated.

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask. It definitely confused me.” You take the paper from him, smiling that understanding smile he loves so much. But then, rather intrusively, he wonders how many times those soft-looking lips have been on Azul, wrapped around him, sending him to cloud nine… “I actually asked Azul to translate it for me. He said all of it was written correctly. You must be very adept in your Italian.”

“I… I suppose I am,” he answers after a tense minute.

His brain is swirling like sediment stirred up on the ocean floor. When did I pick up Italian? I’m not taking any language courses this semester. I don’t even own an Italian dictionary… Just what in the world is happening?

“Ah, you don’t have to look so pale! It’s not going to affect your grade. I only wanted to fulfill this nagging curiosity of mine. Thank you for all the good work you do.”

Riddle nods mechanically. When you ask if he has time to stick around and discuss more psychology podcasts, he shakes his head and mumbles a feeble excuse.

He tears through his desk and all of the drawers in his room in search of it. If it’s not there, he can relax. If it’s not there, he can chalk it up to stress. If it’s not there—

It’s tucked away in his bookshelf. A little pocket dictionary. English to Italian. And it’s been bookmarked and annotated.

Riddle pulls it from the shelf in a baffled daze. When did he get his hands on this? More importantly, when did he read through it? In a hurry, he empties the contents of his backpack and flips a few pages in his notebook.

His notes from class. Dated for today. Written in Azul’s script. And at the top of the page, an exact copy of his signature, a name that isn’t Riddle’s: Azul Ashengrotto.

Riddle peers at his trembling hands. He flexes his fingers, curls them into a fist and then unfurls them.

He seizes his psychology textbook next and skims the chapter index in search of an answer. He lands on it. Page 371. Dissociation.

Two minutes into a phone call with Trey, he’s asked a simple question: “Are you speaking with an accent?”

Riddle bristles. “Of course I’m not. Of…course I am not,” he says, sounding the words out. His brow furrows. Why does my tongue feel so clumsy in my mouth? “I’ve always spoken this way, have I not?”

“I can’t say. I mean, come on, Riddle. You’ve gotta be pulling my leg.”

“You know very well I don’t pull legs, Trey.”

“You told me buongiorno when I picked up.”

“I did not!” he snaps, scandalized. “I said good morning as I always do.” And then he pauses. “I… I did say good morning, didn’t I?”

Trey’s silence is answer enough.

Riddle sucks in a sharp breath. Neither of them says anything.

Eventually, Trey speaks. “Do you want me to come up there? I could bring you a tart or…something. You sound…tired.” He chooses his words carefully. “Silly question, I know, but I’ve gotta ask. You’re not overworking yourself?”

“No, not at all.”

“And you’re getting enough sleep? What about food?”

Riddle frowns even though Trey isn’t there to see it. “I’m fine, Trey. Midterms are coming up. I’ve got to focus. I refuse to fail.”

Again, the other end is quiet. A minute later, Trey says, “Do you have time this weekend?”

“This weekend?” Riddle flips his planner open to this week. “I do.”

“All right. Is it cool if I visit?”

Riddle almost declines, so it surprises both him and Trey when he replies with, “Please.”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, and the call ends before Riddle can say grazie.

Trey brings six strawberry tarts. Riddle shares three with him over tea at the campus café.

“So what’s up?” Trey points his fork at Riddle. “You sound like yourself, but you don’t seem…fine.”

Riddle chews thoughtfully. He can’t confide in Trey because Trey wouldn’t understand. Because he’d apply Trey Logic to everything, and Trey Logic is almost always sensible. Riddle doesn’t want to hear it.

“I submitted an assignment in Italian,” he says instead, casually, as if it’s not a big deal.

Trey looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. “Since when do you know Italian?”

“I dabble.”

Trey laughs. Upon seeing Riddle’s serious expression, the humor sticks in his throat. “Oh, you meant that. Well. That’s…good then? If it’s for a foreign language course—”

“It was for psychology.”

“You…wrote in Italian…for a psychology assignment?” he reiterates, attempting to parse it. He drags his fork through his cut of tart, but he doesn’t bring it to his lips. “Why?”

“I couldn’t say. It perplexed me to no end when I realized it. My professor thought it was curious.”

“It is. I mean, you don’t find that just a little…unusual?”

Riddle stares at him over the rim of his teacup. 

Trey tries again. “Was the Italian correct, at least? It wasn’t all nonsense?”

He nods. “It was as if I was translating and switching between words. Like using the Italian word in place of an English word.”

“Huh…”

“It’s not very impressive. I can do much better than that.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities. I’m just…trying to understand why.”

Riddle smiles. “Why not? I think it’s very good to study another language. It opens more doors for opportunity, and it’s a challenge that proves rewarding in the end.”

“Is that it?”

“Precisely.”

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt there. Trey changes the subject. They chat the afternoon away.

Later, Riddle returns to his diary.

He writes an entire entry in perfect Italian. Workbooks pile up on his desk; he’s not sure when they got there. He’s filling them out so fast his hand gains new calluses. 

Azul visits your office around the same time Riddle used to. Now it’s Riddle who trails after him, hoping to catch him in the middle of a nefarious scheme. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever he might learn, but he swallows his rage and carries on.

Azul turns just as Riddle ducks around the corner, perfectly out of sight. He waits until he hears the tell-tale click of those pristine Oxfords against linoleum before continuing. Azul walks right past your office and then he’s gone. Looking both ways, Riddle creeps further down the hall.

Where is he?

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls around, startled, and is about to unleash verbal tyranny when he stops short. You stand there, looking positively puzzled. 

“Are you looking for something, Riddle?”

“No… I—” He cuts himself off. “Actually, I was hoping I might discuss something with you. The final project.”

“Oh, of course! Did you come earlier? I stepped out of my office for a second. Sorry if my absence had you looking all over.”

Riddle falls into step with you. “It’s quite all right.”

He’s not sure what he hopes to find by sitting in front of your desk, gazing at the familiar interior of your office. He manages to get through all of the questions you ask him regarding the final project.

“I have too many ideas,” he lies, “and I’d like assistance in narrowing the topics down to one.”

He glances slyly at the floor. Would Azul be bold enough to hide a voice recorder or a camera somewhere? Or is there something of Azul’s left in here? A cheeky means of marking his territory, maybe?

Riddle turns up empty.

He stalls the conversation expertly for ten more minutes. During that time, he can’t locate anything from his semi-thorough observations.

Maybe it’s hidden in your desk. Maybe there’s nothing at all.

No. No, there has to be something.

He thanks you for your help and, shouldering his backpack, leaves.

Just as he turns down the hall, Azul steps into his path.

“Your mind is exceedingly, bewilderingly captivating.” He snickers like a devil. Riddle wants to punch him. “So many ideas. Where do you have the space for all of that?”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, is that so?” Azul taps at his phone and then turns the screen towards Riddle. There’s a picture of him in the hall, looking awfully disoriented. “It’s not very polite to stalk now, is it, amico?”

Riddle narrows his eyes. “How easily that accent comes. Almost like flipping a switch.”

“Non capisco.”

“You should know you’re going to ruin your life and Professor’s.”

“I’m not.” He smiles cryptically. “You’re going to ruin it for me.”

Fed up with his attempt at mind chess, Riddle stalks past him in a huff.

You walk into class five minutes late, disheveled and breathless. You’re babbling about a meeting that ran late, but Riddle can’t trust that.

Meetings don’t end in frazzled hair and crooked ties.

What’s even more damning, perhaps, is when Azul Never-Late-to-Class Ashengrotto walks in fifteen minutes after you. He sits in the seat beside Riddle. There’s not a hair out of place on his person. Except there is. The glass face of his luxury wristwatch is smudged with a fingerprint.

Riddle wonders what forensics would have to say about that.

He phases in and out of focus during the lecture. He can’t stop searching you for fine details. He can’t stop questioning Azul’s presence beside him.

How dare you? he thinks. How dare you defile my professor? What makes you think you have the right to do such a thing when I’ve been working hard all this time? When I’ve been nothing but perfect…

He glances at his notebook. A single phrase has been scrawled over and over, so manically that the lines loop and overlap in angry criss-crosses. Lo voglio morto.

At the end of class, Riddle catches Azul in the hall.

“I would like to review with you for our upcoming midterm.”

“What an honor.”

Riddle hums. “Let’s compare our notes tonight. You can stop by my room after dinner.”

Azul grins like he can read through Riddle. Like he’s in on a joke Riddle’s not privy to.

“I would be happy to study alongside you,” he says, his accent thick.

Riddle imagines a rope around his neck. A rope of thorns and barbed wire, pressing into his jugular until, inevitably, it severs his head clean off.

Azul arrives on time. He really does feel like an echo of Riddle. Same school supplies. Same notebooks. Same fashion style. Same manner of writing.

Riddle shuts and locks the door behind him. He doesn’t waste time waltzing around the subject.

“You’re the reason Professor was late today.”

“You’re mistaken. I simply lost track of the time.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is? I had nothing to do with Professor’s tardiness. If it bothers you so much, why not tell Professor to be more conscious of the time?”

Riddle grits his teeth. He’s sick of this. Sick of these mind games. Sick of all this mental chess.

Sick of the fact that he gets to have you when you should have been Riddle’s from the start!

“You’re a liar! Do you know the gravity of your actions—the severe consequences that’ll undoubtedly befall Professor? Do you know you’re jeopardizing a brilliant mind all for your own immature fun?”

Azul holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Those are harsh accusations. They could ruin my life, you know.”

“Oh, like that’s such an issue.” Riddle scowls.

“Your room is quite nice, I must say.” Azul looks around, his hands in his pockets. He spies the many Italian workbooks lining Riddle’s shelf, and a slimy smirk pulls at his lips. “Imitatore,” he marvels, his eyes bright with an eerie sort of joy. As if he’s just discovered a particularly filthy secret and can’t wait to tell someone.

“If it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.”

“And what makes you think Professor would ever entertain you?” Azul rounds on him, still smiling. “Professor loves me most. There was never any room for you.”

Riddle hears the distant crackle of something fraying. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? All I did was take your best characteristics and make them even better. Italian lovers are a romanticized ideal abroad. You were never an option, let alone a consideration.”

How dare you. How dare you. How dare you!

Azul steps towards the door. “Addio. Le mie condoglianze.”

That something inside Riddle finally snaps, and with it goes his restraint. He grabs Azul’s wrist and yanks him to the floor. There’s a struggle for survival. During the scuffle, Azul claws at Riddle’s arm and face. Riddle kicks him down. And then his fingers wrap around his psychology textbook—all 800-something pages, a hardcover—and he brings it down, brutal like a guillotine.

“How dare you walk away in the middle of a conversation!” he berates, lips curled in a monstrous sneer. “How dare you touch what isn’t yours—what you didn’t earn!”

He thinks he sees a real smile on Azul’s face, but in the midst of blind rage he can’t tell.

He sees red. He feels red. It splatters his room in a mess of broken bone and pulpy gore. It flecks his face, warm and thick and soupy.

It all ends with Intro to Psych.

Riddle is bathed in blue light, afloat on a chaotic sea.

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he can hear his mother in hysterics: What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve just done—the future you’ve so carelessly thrown away?! All of my hard work?! Do you realize what you’ve done?!

And he does.

If there’s anything Riddle has ever been one-hundred-percent certain of in his life, it’s this. He sits on the steps to his dormitory, battered and bloodied, and bites into the strawberry tart clutched between crimson-stained fingers.

Despite the crisp autumn air, he feels warm.

An officer approaches him just as he’s licking his fingers clean of strawberry and blood.

He holds his arms out before the woman can say anything. He already knows what comes next.

Riddle has always wondered what criminals think and feel in the aftermath of grisly crimes. He can’t feel much of anything other than hollow relief. Maybe that’s just the adrenaline snuffing logical thought and remorse. He thinks everything and nothing all at once. He’s sure he’ll feel it all come crashing down when he’s sat in the station for questioning and then the reality of his actions will seep in, awakening him from a vile, murderous dream.

Right now, he isn’t concerned with that.

You lived filthy and you died just the same, Riddle thinks as he’s led to a police car. And now there’s no part of you Professor will ever want.

[scorpioriesling]

Hiya! If like to order a Ridoc, Bodhi, and Liam, with a side of 10 and if it is in-stock, a 73? Cheers friend!

Good Things Come in Groups of Three

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Liam x Bodhi x Ridoc x reader

Warnings: mdni, 18+, heavy smut, p in v, oral, threesome… this is quite graphic lol

Summary: After a long day with your trainer, the last thing you need is his friend mouthing off to you -- especially when it's a topic he has no business "educating" you about. Ready to rinse off the day and finally catch a few hours of sleep, you're not expecting company; but, you come to realize maybe it's not all that unwelcome.

SR’s Note: So... this is my first time? Writing? Smut involving more than just two consenting parties? So like... please don't tear me to shreds. <3 I really, really tried, and I apologize for the wait time, I have so many WIPs and I wanted to do my best on this for you; I appreciate your patience! This uses prompts #10 and #73 from my Prompt Request Masterlist. Enjoy (:

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Come on Y/L/N -- harder!"

Sweat runs down the back of your neck as you draw back, raising your gloved fists in defense for what felt like the hudredth time that evening. Bodhi stood before you, his left brow raised tauntingly as he motioned for you to move with a curl of his fingers.

"Do it again, but do it harder this time," he instructs, repeating the forward motion with his fingers. You huff in frustration, awareness creeping in of how late it had gotten. The moon was now hanging above the clouds, barely anyone was left in the gym... and you had Bodhi, your trainer, keeping you here late.

You lunged forward, throwing your weight into him. He stumbled, back, but you weren't strong enough to knock him off of his feet. You thrust your clenched fist out, aiming to at least leave him doubled over -- again, you were too slow. He caught your wrist, twisting your arm behind your back and shoving you to the ground. Your hipbone connected roughly with the mat, surely to leave a bruise; but that paled in comparison to your strangled breaths as the wind was completely knocked from your lungs.

"B...Bod...hi.." You writhed beneath him as he pinned you, his form pressed completely atop you to keep you from rising. A pleading cough was all you could get out before his warm breath ticked against the shell of your ear.

"Tapping out?" He rasped, the rough patches on his worn leather gloves rubbing your wrists raw. You nodded frantically, and he sighed, smacking the mat before releasing you. The air was a welcome relief as it flodded your lungs, each breath drawn in greedily as you rolled onto your back against the mat.

Bodhi leaned back on his heels, the slight shake of his head sending a soft ruffle through his dampened curls. He peered down at you with a disappointed look.

"Y/N, you know when you tap out during the real thing-"

"Bodhi, you were practically fuckin' killing me on that last one!" You squeaked, your head resting pathetically against the worn training mat. He tsks at you, cracking his knuckles and continuing to stare.

"You need to know how to hold your own. Especially against guys," he elaborates. You roll your eyes, but he continues. "Guys don't give a shit if you're small, or you're a girl, or you physically can't take them." He gives you a pointed look, and before he can say more, you hear the even more irritating sound of your fellow squadmate approaching.

"Hah, yeah, in fact," Ridoc chuckles, bending at the waist to peer over you. "Some twisted fucks try to get paired with girls on purpose, just because they know it's a different type of fight, and it's one they could win." He looks pitifully at you, the waves in his black hair falling over his forehead. You scoff, pushing onto your elbows and wincing at the pain blooming near your hip.

"You're annoying," you throw a pointed glance at your fellow first year, your eyes sliding to the trainer you were assigned by your absolutely-wonderful-and-charming wingleader next. "And so are you; running me into the ground, working me harder than anyone else here," you gesture around the gym, and laugh sarcastically as you notice it has emptied out.

"Oh! Wait. There is no one else here." You frown, and Bodhi only glowers at you.

"You'll be thanking me when it comes time for challenges and you can actually take down your opponents." He says nonchalantly, and you shake your head in disbelief.

Ridoc opens his mouth again from your right. "It's probably for the best anyway-"

"Ugh, Gods Ridoc, do you ever SHUT UP?" Your anger bubbles over, and he immediately stops talking. "I'm so tired, I'm worn out, I've been here all night sweating my ass off with him," you jerk your thumb toward his annoying upper-classman friend. "Now, I have to listen to you run your mouth, too?" You sigh frustratedly, glaring at the moon through the open window.

You push to your feet then, sending one final angry look at the two friends.

"All on a fucking school night, too!"

You turn on your heel, making way for the locker rooms. You cross your arms, feeling the smallest victory won as you approach the locker room door.

It's short lived when you hear their mocking laughter from the training room behind you.

You slam the door shut, grumbling and growling as you stomp by the grayed-out stalls. What the hell is their deal, anyway? Surely you could handle your own. Not every guy here is looking for a girl to go after, anyhow.

Approaching the mirrors, you sigh heavily, bracing your hands against the cool ceramic of the sink.

So what if you were paired with a man. You would be able to hold your own -- they were just afraid of looking weak. That had to be it.

You stared at your reflection for a moment, taking in the bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep. Your ponytail was nearly undone, so many hairs had fallen in the hours you'd been forced to train here.

Screw Bodhi for making you stay so late. You shook your head, thinking about him pinning you to the mat. He didn't care how tired you were -- he did it anyway. And Ridoc, he never knew when to stop running those full lips of his...

Screw them both, honestly.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the sound of a locker closing rang out, causing you to jump. Your heartbeat quickened; surely, no one else would be in here. The gym was empty when you walked out.

"Hello?" You called. Your feet felt frozen in place, your mind swimming with all of the possibilities. After a few moments of silence, you shrugged it off. It was late; perhaps with the lack of sleep, you were simply imagining things.

Of the four shower stalls available, you weighed your options before stepping into the one in the corner. Two were missing a shower curtain, and the other had a sign that read "Out of Order" in front of it. Not to mention the lack of a lightbulb in there; you went with the fully funtional option.

You peeled your clothes off, discarding them at the bench near the sinks before stepping in. You had just closed the curtain quietly, the room so eerily quiet when your mind began to wander. You could have sworn the locker rooms had six showers -- not four.

Again, you rolled your shoulders, chalking it up to be pure exhaustion that had you thinking these rediculous things. With a soft sigh, you reached for the shower handle.

✧･ﾟ: *

It seemed as though fifty things happened at once.

You had just let your eyes drift shut, your hand bracing the cool steel of the shower faucet as you awaited the feeling of the warm water to rain down on you.

In that same second, the curtain was abruptly shoved open, and you heard (definitely heard, not imagined) a male voice, asking, "Uhhh, what are you doing in here?"

Also, in that same second, you screamed. At the top of your lungs. Wide-eyed, shrill, screaming. Because why the fuck, was Liam Mairi, of all people, staring back at you, naked in the girl's locker room?

While he was also... naked... in the girl's locker room?

"Liam!" You screetched, reaching for the shower curtain in the same second he did. You pulled it toward yourself in an attempt to conceal what had already been exposed, but it seemed he had the same idea. It was as though tug-of-war was happening with the damned curtain, and in the end, his barely covered dick was pressed against your barely covered vagina. You braced a forearm across your chest in an attempt to hide your top half.

"Y/N, what the Hell-" he began, his cheeks reddening as he looked anywhere other than in your direction.

"Ohhh no," you roared. "What the fuck," you puncuated. "Are you doing. In the girls. Locker room!" You demanded. He let out a sarcastic laugh, his eyes drifting from the ceiling finally to meet yours.

"Are... are you serious right now?" He asked. Your eyebrows rose so high on your forehead, you thought they'd recede right into your hairline.

"Yes? It's, what, nearly midnight?" You seethe. He chuckles, his seaglass eyes roving across your face. You narrow your brows at him.

"It is midnight now, yes," he confirms. "I just got back from riding with Deigh, and since the shower in my dorm is taken..." he explains, his piercing gaze trailing over your mouth and drifting lower. "...I opted to use the ones down here. In the boys, locker room, I might add." He smirks, his pupils widening as he unashamedly takes in the cleavage you still have pressed against him.

Your cheeks burn, the embarassment of the entire situation, and now you've only gotten in worse with this compromising position you're in-

"H-hey," you say, your breaths quickening as you realize he is still quite literally oogling you. His gaze flicks up, the cool blue of his irises now darkened with lust as he's gone completely quiet. "My eyes are up here."

He chuckles, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth as his hand gently reaches around the curtain, the pads of his fingertips connecting with the curve of your exposed waist. You suck in a sharp breath, the steam from the shower providing no warmth under his icy gaze.

Sure, you could admit you had thought about your handsome squadmate in... rather unsavory positions before. Would you ever act on those? Probably not. You were only ever cordial before this, anyway -- but the way he was practically devouring you with his eyes right now had you feeling the need to rub your thighs together.

"You think she's still in here?"

Whatever trance Liam had you in was severed the moment you heard that taunting voice, your eyes widening with the realization.

"Probably, she never came back out."

You grabbed Liam by the shoulder, tugging him into the running water with you -- curtain be damned. You slid it shut, concealing yourself from the approaching males. Turning to face him, you see his face etched in concern. You pull him close to whisper.

"I think Ridoc and Bodhi are in here," you explain, and Liam's lips press into a line. You brace your hands on your hips, anxious now that they'll come looking for you, watching as you went right into the wrong locker room.

You turn your back to Liam, your flushed cheeks indication that you are aware the both of you are still fully nude together... only now, you're in the shower together. No barriers, no curtains between you two.

He steps toward you, his fingers cupping under the curve of your ass as he pulls you back to him. You hiss quietly, turning your neck to look up at him. He's already leaning over to say something, his lips trailing along the column of your neck.

"They can... still see your feet, you know."

You look down. You hadn't even considered the few inches between curtain and floor -- they'd surely know it was you. Not many other males in the Riders quadrant had pink toenails with flowers painted on them.

Liam's hands snake around your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can instantly feel his length pressed against your ass, and as his fingers continue to trail across your dewy skin, he twitches against you.

"Fuck..." he groans, low and gutteral against your throat before placing a wet kiss against your skin. You can hear Bodhi and Ridoc poking around, their voices becoming ever so closer.

"L-Liam... please," you pant, his hands travelling up to cup your breasts in his palms. He pinches your nipples hard between his fingers, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle your cry.

"Liam, please, you have to h-help me," you plead, and he chuckles lowly in your ear. You hadn't realized that you had begun moving your ass against him, his cock now pressed more firmly against your bum.

"Oh, I'll help you," he offers, his hands grabbing your hips and turning you around to face him. His lips merely ghost over yours as he speaks, staring directly down into your wide eyes.

"But you're gonna help me too." His hands slide underneath your butt, gripping the flesh as he lifts you off of your feet. He pulls you against his chest and you wrap your legs around his waist, the feel of his erection strong against your throbbing core. He backs you up until you're pressed against the stone wall, one of his hands moving underneath you as his eyes bore into yours.

"There -- now no one can see you." He grins, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. The muscles of his shoulders flex, and you watch as his hand moves in time beneath you; realizing he is stroking himself below your entrance. The epiphany sends another wave of heat through you, and he leans in close as his tip prods at your entrance.

"Now, be a good girl for me and keep quiet?" He smirks, and you all but nod before he slowly pushes himself inside of you, each inch stretching your aching pussy deliciously.

"Mmmm," You squeeze your eyes shut, trying your best to stifle your moans as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt, only pulling out a few inches before roughly shoving back in.

Your eyes fly open, your mouth wide as you stare up at him. He simply smirks at you, one hand palming your ass and the other bracing against the stone wall. He continues fucking himself into you, slowly at first, drinking in every quiet whimper you let out for him.

"So tight," he rasps, his gaze focusing on your breasts pressed against him once more. You fight to keep any noises at bay, worried that Gods forbid another person pulls back the shower curtain-

"Ohhhh! Looks like Y/N came in here on purpose, huh!" Ridoc's taunting voice bellows, a blast of cool air flooding the warm shower as he yanks open the shower curtain. Your nipples harden at the sudden temperature change, only seeming to turn Liam on more. Ridoc chuckles at the scene before him, and you watch as your trainer approaches from behind.

"It's... it's not what it looks...like-"

"Oh, I think it's exactly. What it looks like." Bodhi cocks an eyebrow, glancing to Liam who has not let up on his relentless deepstroking. "Is this exactly what it looks like?"

Liam smirks, glancing between you and the two males watching the scene before them. "Oh, it is exactly what it looks like."

You gasp, looking up at him in disbelief. "Liam! What-"

"I've heard enough." Bodhi says, raising a hand in silence. He only sighs, his eyes raking over your naked form before him. Your cheeks heat as Liam adjusts his angle, his hand gripping the back of one of your knees as he drives into you harder. You can't help the moan the escapes; the sheer force at which he's fucking you is enough to make anyone wet at the sight of it.

"Thought she deserved something -- been a pretty good girl for me, anyway," Liam praises, and Ridoc rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well she was bein' a fuckin' brat during training today-"

You glare from your place on the wall, watching as his devilishly handsome lips tilted up in a smirk.

"Ridoc... I said... shut... up..." you pant. Bodhi leans against the stone wall, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he watches your breasts bounce with every thrust Liam gives you. "Ah... oh.. fuck, Liam I'm-"

Liam groans against the hollow of your throat, his cock twitching inside of you before shooting thick ropes of cum deep into your pussy. The tether inside of you snaps, your warm release trickling out of you and running over the curves of your thighs. You're panting, still coming down from your high when Ridoc opens his mouth again.

"Why don't you shut me up then?" He says, his voice thick as he pushes his sweat shorts over his muscled thighs. Liam places you gently back on the ground, the aftershocks of your first orgasm finally wearing off as you saunter toward Ridoc. You shove the shower curtain aside; clearly, there was no concern for getting clean anytime soon.

Approaching the bench where your clothes lay, you push against his shoulders, watching as he yields to your touch. He lies flat on his back near the edge of the bench, his toned legs tapering off the end to where his feet plant flat on the floor.

He grins cheekily up at you, his eager hands guiding your waist as you swing your leg over his chest. He grips at your thighs, squeezing your skin as you position your leaking heat just above his awaiting mouth.

"This will do," You say, looking down at him and smirking. He groans, fingers pulling you to sit all the way down on his tongue. Immediately he gets to work, his lips exploring each and every inch of your throbbing core while his hands grip your ass, perched lightly on top of his chest.

"Ohhh... fuck," you moan, your fingers threading through his onyx locks as you begin to lightly rock your hips against his expert tongue. He licks up into you, illiciting more whines of pleasure from you as your fingers tug on his locks. He growls into your cunt, the sound sending another wave of pleasure through you that has one hand leaving his hair and playing with your nipple instead, imagining how good his mouth would feel there if this was any indication.

"Ridoc, yes, yes..." You chant, your eyes drifting toward the abandoned shower you had retreated from before. No longer is Bodhi leaned against the wall -- the space is empty, save for a few articles of clothing on the ground.

You let out a sharp gasp as your hair is suddenly yanked, forcing your chin up as dark brown eyes stare lustfully down at you. From the corner of your eye, you watch as a blonde head strides over, sitting on the bench a couple of feet away and leaning against the row of lockers.

"You don't seem so eager to get to bed now that your cunt's being eaten," Bodhi snarls, his gaze trazing over your face contorted in pleasure. You can't think of a witty a response, no comeback in mind -- especially as Ridoc moves below you, his nose prodding against your clit. You let out a breathhy gasp, your mouth hanging open and Bodhi only shakes his head at you.

"Mouth looks a little empty," he grits out, gripping your chin harshy before releasing you. He strides before you, his fingers tugging on his length before sitting in front of you on the bench. Your mouth practically waters at the sight; he's huge. He sees it too, as he scoffs at you.

"You wanna mouth off all night -- bend over and take it all then," he challenges. Ridoc's hand moves to grip his own length, moving in quick thrusts as you bend before him, lowering on your hands until his glistening tip is positioned just before your lips.

"Said you could handle a man yourself... handle me then," he looks at you darkly, and you glare at him, shoving his entire length down your throat in one thrust. You gag around him, his intimidating size measuring up. When you draw your head back, his hand threads through the mess of a ponytail you have left, roughly gripping the back of your head and forcing your mouth all the way back down on his cock.

"Fuck... so pretty, taking my dick all the way down that little throat," he groans. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, the combined sensation with Ridoc's punishing tongue nearly pushing you over the edge almost too much. When Bodhi releases you again, you stick out your tongue, and he taps his length against it.

"Fucking hot," he mutters, watching you through half-lidded eyes. You dare a glance to your right, catching sight of Liam relaxed on the nearly bench, fisting his own cock at the sight of you getting both males off at once. His head is rolled back in pleasure, his eyes closed as he drags his fingers up, and down, and up...

You don't have time to warn Ridoc before your orgasm rolls through you, your thighs shaking beside his head. You glance up, surprised to see Bodhi panting heavily as you continue sucking him at a slow, punishing pace.

"Fuck... oh fuck-"

He plunges his cock deep, shooting his cum down your throat. You gag, the size stretching your throat around him as he whimpers before you with each twitch of his cock. You focus on swallowing every last drop; though a small part of you cheers in silent victory that you have Bodhi Durran whimpering for you.

✧･ﾟ: *

You're spent. You're absolutely spent; surely, you'd been in here hours now, the three males delighting in pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, and you doing the same for them.

Nonetheless, you still find yourself happily sitting atop Ridoc's lap, bouncing on his thick length in the early hours of the morning.

"Fuck, Y/N... just like that, bounce that ass on my dick, just like that," his arms are wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as you ride him, milking every last drop out of his delicious length. It was the only time, you'd admit, you liked hearing the sound of his voice.

"Tongue," Liam commands, and you open your mouth wide, letting your tongue fall out per his request. He grins, giving your head a little pat before tapping it with his silky-smooth dick.

"Good girl," he praises, slipping into your awaititng mouth with ease. Your eyes roll back, his tip hitting the back of your throat as Ridoc's thrusts were now brushing your cervix. Your hands gripped his shoulders, and he delighted in the way your strangled groans sounded right next to his ear.

It was the sharp slap on your right butt cheek that had your walls fluttering around Ridoc though, Bodhi's fingers lightly tugging on your hair again in silent control.

"You like being fucked, is that it, hm?" He asked, landing another slap against your skin. You cried out, Liam pulling his cock from you for only a moment to hear your pleasure-filled screams.

Another slap -- this time, you felt yourself on the edge.

"Fuck!" You sobbed, your fucked out expression staring at Liam with your rounded eyes. He sucked in a breath, his hand working his cock as he slipped his thumb into your mouth.

"Taking it so well..." he mumbled, his eyes closing only for a moment before sticky spurts of cum covered you, painting your chin and neck with the evidence. He sighed in pleasure, Ridoc slowing his relentless pounding before he pulled his dick from you, his cum shooting across your boobs and painting your skin in his seed.

"Fuck... I'm so close," Bodhi groaned, his hands hauling you off of his friend and bending you over the sink. Before you had a moment to adjust, he filled you with his length, his hips snapping against your ass harshly. His fingers gripped your throat, tilting your chin to gaze at yourself in the mirror. Your mouth dropped open, watching the attractive male behind you fuck himself into you mercilessly.

"This perfect fucking cunt," he grunted, his chocolate curls swaying with each thrust. "Watch how good you take it, baby," he ground out, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Your stomach tightened, your eyes rolling back as his dick rubbed against your sensitive spot.

"Bodhi... Bodhi, please, I'm cumming-" You squeaked, and with a few sharp thrusts, he came inside you, pulling out to watch hungrily as the white liquid dripped out of your raw cunt. You gripped the sink's edge, panting as the weight of the evening's activities took hold of you. Glancing to the shower, you sighed, chuckling at the thought.

"You still have time, if you want to actually clean up before class," Ridoc chuckles, pulling his shorts on from behind you. Liam yawns, stretching his arms wide as he glances at you through the mirror. Bodhi grabs your clothes, extending them to you. You take them with a shaky hand, chuckling softly and shaking your head. You could barely believe the direction the night had gone.

"Yeah... I think I may just skip class today."

✧･ﾟ: *

[writtnbyhan]

Let me take care of you.

PAIRING: han jisung x reader

TAGS: sickfic, idol!han, established relationship.

WORD COUNT: 1927

PROMPT: "and just when were you going to tell me about your [injury/illness]?" You're sick and Jisung is worried -- That's the plot.

warnings: mentions of being sick (reader has a cold). Let me know if I missed a warning.

author's note: i don't know where this came from. I had something very different planned for today's post but this came to me in a vision and now i can only think of jisung taking care of his s/o, he's so baby and he's probably so good at taking care of people !!!!! i just wanna be in between his arms !! being cared for !!!

Okay, here’s the thing: you knew you were getting kinda sick. You knew from the way your body ached when you first woke up, from the sore throat and from the general feeling of being unwell. However, you decided it was not a big deal, and that was obviously your first mistake.

It was Jisung’s kind-of-free day, which meant he only had to go to the studio with 3RACHA to work on “some stuff”, as he put it himself, refusing to elaborate claiming that it was a surprise. You knew they were probably working on music for the next comeback even when this one wasn’t even out yet, and that’s why Jisung wouldn’t come clean, wanting to avoid your reprimanding from overworking themselves when they finally have some free time from the studio, only having to comply with the schedules related to the comeback.

On these days, he was usually only busy for a few hours before they got distracted with something random and therefore decided to call it quits, going home and relaxing for a few hours before moving onto the next scheduled activity. Today, Jisung didn’t have any of those, only going to the studio and then straight back home. You didn’t want to ruin what little time together you were getting these days, and you weren’t actually sick yet, so it wasn’t anything you should worry about.

You woke up alone, the other side of the bed unmade from when Hanji woke up, earlier, and went to the gym before the studio. He spent most nights with you, cuddling to make up for the time you weren’t capable of being together due to busy schedules and responsibilities. Everything ached, and the only thing you wanted to do was cover yourself with the sheets and sleep some more. But, you couldn’t do that. You needed to take a shower, clean up a bit, and force yourself to feel better. “Just for today, tomorrow we can be sick,” you told your body as you got out of bed, frowning and closing your eyes when the light coming through the window was quick to cause you a headache.

Shower first, you decided, going for the warm water and hoping it’d help with the pain on your body. It did, luckily. You then brushed your teeth, noticing on the mirror that the bags under your eyes were darker and more noticeable. Yes, you were obviously getting sick. Tomorrow. You were getting sick tomorrow, because today you had to spend the day with Jisung and cuddle with him watching Ghibli movies, it was a need.

After breakfast, you took some ibuprofen and sent Jisung a quick text.

“good morning, baby. hope everything’s going well at the studio, missing you already :)”

Putting your phone down after that, you set out to clean up the apartment, taking more ibuprofen whenever your body was being inconvenient to you.

“hello cutie, we’re actually wrapping up for the day!! going home in 30, love you.” You read the text when ten minutes had already passed since it was received. With a smile on your face, you sent a quick reply, knowing it wasn’t necessary given that he was already coming home, but also knowing that he would sulk if you didn’t reply to his “love you”.

“love you too<3 will be waiting with the popcorn ready.”

Making good on your promise, you started making popcorn and conditioning the living room for

Making good on your promise, you started making popcorn and setting up the living room for your movie plans, bringing all the blankets you could find (which was not actually necessary, but you were starting to feel cold so you thought it’d be better to have those around) and the pillows from your bed.

As you were placing the popcorn on the table with some juice, the door opened, and in came the squirrel-looking boy that was able to put a smile on your face instantaneously, even when you were feeling so ill.

“Hello, my love!” you said, dramatically, bringing a hand to your own chest as if to hold your heart. “I thought you’d never make it, I was left missing you for too long!”

He smiled with that heart-shaped smile that made your heart do spins. You felt dizzy just by looking at him (okay, maybe that was the cold you probably had, but you decided to convince yourself it was Jisung’s fault). “My lady, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, shall we begin with our plans?”

You giggled, skipping towards him to give him a kiss on the cheek and drag him to the couch that was currently surrounded by blankets. You chose one and threw it over both of you, getting comfortable in between your boyfriend’s arms with the remote in hand.

Halfway through the first Ghibli movie of the night, you began sneezing.

“’m sorry” you mumbled, getting up to grab some tissues and noticing you felt much more sick than in the morning.

You should tell Jisung, you knew that. But he’d worry, and you didn’t want to cut your night together short.

So, you didn’t. You grabbed the tissues and got back into his arms, kissing his hands when they were in front of you. Jisung freezed when you did that, and you frowned — it was a common gesture between the two of you, why was he reacting like that?

His hand went quickly to your forehead.

Oh, that.

Jisung gasped.

“Baby, you’re burning up.”

He sounded worried, and you sighed.

“I know.” You said. You didn’t actually know you had a fever, but you didn’t want him to make a fuss. You wanted to watch movies together, and cuddle, and sleep. And okay, maybe you had a headache and that had made you grumpy, which was something that always happened when you were sick so Jisung was used by now to your complaints about his caring.

However, despite knowing you always reacted badly to feeling unwell, that comment had made him frown, looking at you while his hand was still on your forehead.

“You knew?” he repeated, clearly agravated by what you had just told him. “And when exactly were you planning on telling me? When you collapsed in the hallway or while I was being forced to bring you to the hospital?”

He was being dramatic, of course, but the sincerity in his worry and his concern made your heart soften a little, so you directed your eyes to the floor, blinking to try and ease the headache that had formed from looking at the screen for too long.

“I didn’t wanna worry you” you mumbled, voice soft and shy. He melted a little at that, his anger dissapearing almost as quick as it had made his way forth.

“Baby, you need someone to take care of you when you’re feeling like this. We could’ve just cuddled in bed so you were more comfortable, and I could’ve been checking on your temperature and your medicine. What hurts?” he asked, giving a little kiss to your forehead before letting his hold around you loosen, clearly having plans of getting up.

You whined at the lost of his warmth against your back, your eyes filling up with unwanted tears at the cold and the loneliness you suddenly felt.

“Hannie…” you cried out, looking up at him, who looked almost bewildered. When he met your eyes, a pout formed in his face. He extended his arms towards you, now standing in front of the couch, and hugged you so you could attach yourself to him like a koala would to a tree. Your hold was weak, so he made sure to keep you safe with one hand on your back while he wrapped a blanket around you as if you were a baby. You knew the plan was to get you to your shared bed so you could cuddle more comfortably and drift off to sleep when you needed it. Problem was: you had needed it for about 15 minutes by now, so hiding your face in his neck and letting his warmth envelop you, you were quick to fall asleep against him, not minding his movements or the sounds around you.

You woke up when it was already dark outside. A wet cloth was on your forehead and you were now in bed, your boyfriend’s hand on your waist and Ponyo playing in the background. You looked to your bedside table and found a water bottle and some pills that you knew you didn’t have in your house. You knew Jisung never wanted to leave your side when you were sick, no matter that you were asleep, so you were sure he had those delivered or asked one of the boys to pick them up for him.

You turned around, letting the wet cloth fall off so as to hide your face in his chest. You felt better after sleeping, and you were sure your fever had subsided because you no longer felt cold, but your throat was still sore and your eyes still stung with the light.

At your movement, Han directed all his attention towards you, kissing your forehead and tightening his hold on your waist.

“Hello, sleepyhead. You need to take some medicine, I asked Chan-hyung to bring it here because all you had was some ibuprofen, and you were running out of it. How are you feeling?” he asked, his free hand caressing your hair and making you feel a lot more relaxed, even when your back still ached and your throat hurt.

“I’m okay,” you settled for, your voice coming out raspy and probably revealing what you were hiding. He chuckled, and you knew he knew what you just said was a lie, so you sighed. “I’m feeling a lot better, but my throat still hurts and my body aches. It’s probably just a cold.” You mumbled the last part against his chest, a subtle way of saying: there’s no need to worry this much.

He nodded, which you knew because you felt his head moving above yours. “Probably. Please, take some medicine so you can feel better faster.”

You did as he asked, taking the pill he was offering you and drinking from the water bottle he had uncapped and handed to you. You smiled at him in thanks, after wincing from the bitter taste of the pill.

“Sorry for ruining or movie date.” Your eyes were sad and he knew you were sincerely sorry. A pout formed on your lips as you thought of when you would be able to have the next one, knowing it’d be difficult to plan out given that the comeback was so close.

“You didn’t ruin anything, baby,” he said, equally as sincere. “It’s not your fault you got sick, and I don’t mind taking care of you — I really like it, actually. Plus, I got to watch the movies while watching you sleep, so… I really don’t mind. I just want you to be okay so we can have more movie dates.”

You blushed at his words, feeling soft and just wanting to kiss him — you both knew you should not do that, for he couldn’t get sick now because he had a lot of presentations and performances to do. You pouted.

“This is so unfair, I want to kiss you so badly,” you complained, and he laughed, kissing your cheek.

“I know, baby, me too. So, take your medicine so I can get all the kisses you owe me.”

[in-another-april]

summary/prompt + genre - just a few hcs about living together with spencer | fluff

warnings - mentions of food

wc - 385

notes - hehe i'm so normal about him *eye twitch* i have more but i didn't wanna overdo it soo lemme know if i should post the part 2

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

- He’s pretty tidy overall, but he does have his things. Namely, the books. You’ve run out of space for yet another bookshelf, but his collection just keeps growing, so now they’re Everywhere. Every time you sit on the couch there’s something jabbing into your back and you just sigh and shoot him a lighthearted glare as you pull out his 3rd copy of The Illustrated Man from behind the pillow.

- His side of the closet is also a mess, especially the sock drawer, but he knows exactly where everything is and is surprisingly particular about his clothes. You ask if you can borrow his green sweater and he’s like “Which green, army, moss, or olive?” while you’re just ???? at him.

- He is absolutely obsessed with anything combining his two favorite things (you and books) whether its him reading to you, you reading to him, reading the same novel and discussing it book-club style, or just being in your general vicinity while he reads by himself.

- Speaking of general vicinity, he’s a sucker for parallel play. As much as he loves talking and interacting with you, he really enjoys the comfortable silence of being around you while you do your separate things.

- Stares at you with the sappiest heart-eyes no matter what you’re doing. You could be just folding laundry and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the entire world. Even if you’ve been together for years, he’s still enamored with you like a teenager with a crush.

- He cannot cook to save his life. He knows the processes and methods of cooking in theory, and can easily recite the history of practically any dish, but once he’s actually trying to make something he’s lost. He still wants to make food for you, though, so he practices up on a couple of meals he knows you like so he can surprise you with them after a long day.

- On his days off, he gets really into making elaborate coffees. The coffee from whichever local police precincts he’s working a case with is normally watered down and bitter regardless of how much sugar he adds to it, so he starts to appreciate the coffee from home a lot more and makes a whole thing of it every morning. You get him one of those fancy Keurig’s that makes espresso shots and has a milk frother and he almost cries.

[deathbxnny]

So remember that prompt i sent to you? Well here’s the request! Can i request Neuvilette, Zhongli, and Dainsleif meeting the alternate version of their dead lover? Like how would they act around the reader during their respective Archon quest? (Example, Zhongli acting weird around the reader when they were gathering materials for Rex Lapis’s funeral)

Context:

The said character used to have a lover that had died a gruesome death centuries ago. And despite the years passing by, he still hasn't really gotten over their death. He wishes he could see his dead lover again and that wish came true as when he met the traveler, he met them too but it wasn't the one had fallen in love with. It was an alternate version of his dead lover.

The reader is an alternate version of said character's dead lover. They're from another universe (maybe HSR?) and somehow got isekaied to Teyvat. Fortunately, they got dropped at the same beach Traveler and Paimon was resting in the prologue. After talking with the traveler and realizing they are in another universe, the reader decides to join the traveler in traveling Teyvat and try to find a way to go back home. Although the last thing they expect was an ancient man acting strange around them.

(Side note: The characters are not in love with the reader (who’s the alt version of their dead lover) as he did not fall for this version of his lover. Its more of a longing? Like “so close yet so far” kind of case? I hope that makes sense)

- Flower Anon 🌸

Hello Flower anon! I have finally found the time to do your request, so I hope you like this and thank you for your great ask!!<33

(Also, due to the fact that I barely remember most story quests, I've decided to generalize these a little-)

Content: Reader is dead, past romantic relationships, doppelgangers, vague descriptions of readers death, angst, hurt/no comfort, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette took a double take, a really obvious one that made the Traveler and Paimon glance at eachother in confusion at his strong reaction. His usually calm and collected persona slipped, the disbelief spreading across his face before he tried to hide it behind a cough quickly. His heart was beating out of his chest, thousands of questions plaguing his mind at once, until you nervously asked him if he was okay.

It took him only a small moment to collect himself, a deep exhale releasing all the grief, horror, and pain with it. He smiled calmly once more, chuckling as he waved off your concerns. "I felt ill." He'd say, not elaborating any further as he asked you to please continue telling him about your mission to expose the truth behind his own archon. He doesn't react further than that and stays professional to his bestest ability.

He knows it's not really you, after all. And he refuses to hurt himself any further than your death already had. This was a mere coincidence, a cruel joke of the universe that made him want to laugh bitterly.

Instead, however, the rain poured down for a week straight, despite his best efforts to stay strong.

》ZHONGLI

Zhongli doesn't have a visible reaction and strictly keeps it that way when meeting you for the first time whilst you were helping him with the "funeral". This alternative version of you seemed to be the same on the surface. But he could easily tell that you still weren't his lover that he lost so many years ago. And he supposed that it was for the best to let the past go through befriending you at least.

He observes you closely, often finding himself still reminiscing in the small actions you do share with his original muse, whilst he delves into deeper conversations with you. But that's his limit. Whether out of the respect for the dead or his need to distance himself from the tragedy that once befell you, he didn't know. But he just couldn't interact with you further than that.

He simply watches you from afar instead, as you prepare everything for the grimm festivities, his heart secretly yearning for another awfully familiar smile his way despite everything.

》DAINSLEIF

Dainsleif felt breathless at the sight of you, and for a moment, he wondered if he had imagined you. A past he desperately held onto drifted through his mind, your image perfectly clear in his memory, his heart aching desperately with the need to hold you again after the fall of your nation. Unsaid, regret filled words burned on his tongue before he swallowed them as swift as the emotions that overwhelmed him.

He ignored Paimons' inquiry over his somehow even paler face, before turning to the important mission at hand. That wasn't you, he reminded himself grimly. This doppelganger that seemed so much like you was just a pure coincidence, nothing more, nothing less. And yet those reminders did little to quell the uneasiness and ill feeling in his stomach. The memory of your death replayed over and over again endlessly for all eternity to come.

And even if it did happen to be a reincarnation of you after all, Dainsleif would have still refused to reach out to you more than he already has through the unknowing traveler and Paimon. He didn't see himself as deserving to be in your presence. That privilege had been taken from him the moment you took your last breath.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle (Here!), Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Azul Ashengrotto

Fortune. Azul is one fortunate soul. At least, not he thinks himself to be.

and to think that it's because of sheer luck. He did not work for you. He did not climb or claw or plan for you. He did nothing.

No, you chose him. You saw him at his lowest and decided that he was worth becoming friends with. You actively sought him out...just to spend time at his side. Regularly. You enjoyed Azul's company

and over time, he grew to enjoy yours. Immensely. Like a giddy school-girl, his heart fluttered at the thought of you and all his notebooks were covered in doodle hearts.

This was it for him. Azul is a one and done kind of man. It’s you or it’s no one. Which means that it obviously is going to be you because hello??? Azul is not a quitter.

During your younger years as students….he may have been a bit too ambitious. In other words, Azul has proposed many times

And in turn has been rejected. Many. Times.

It began passively. He’d mention here and there his future plans for after schooling. Try to talk himself up, yeah? He’s going to be a big business man, isn’t that just perfect husband material? He can take care of you easily so there’s no need to stress.

Naturally you pushed off these moments as daydreaming and casual joking. Nothing serious. So he ups his game. It just so happens that he mistakenly got a bridal magazine in the mail…oh, look at these dresses and suits! So fancy. So beautiful…oh, you would look absolutely darling in one.

….oh sweet merciful seven please take the HINT. He is LITERALLY throwing himself at you

He ups his game. Again. A romantic candle lit dinner for two. The works. Jazz music, slow dancing, good company, and the casual proposal y’know just your average date.

You have to be doing it on purpose

In your defense. He did not flat out say “will you marry me,” because he chickened out. Instead he asked if you’d like to live with him after graduation as…roommates.

The world is out to get this poor man. It is. It truly just wants him to crash and burn in embarrassment. The way you laughed and went “I think we’re a bit more than that, don’t you think?” HAUNTS him

He screamed into his pillow that night. For hours. Floyd still gives him shit for it

Life continues this way. For reasons unknown…he just couldn’t bring himself to be direct. Which is so unlike Azul considering he spent years toughening himself up.

Maybe deep down he did fear that things wouldn’t work out. A merman and a human…what if you did not want to lige in the sea? What if his body could not sustain human form for long term? Maybe he wanted you to take initiative and prove him wrong. Eventually he did give up.

At least until you both aged into the “roommates”he dreamed about. There were trials and compromise. He never thought to have two homes, one by the ocean and one literally inside of it. Life was perfect….just without the title. And on one random night, Azul thinks “One more time,”. No elaborate ruse. No trickery to get you to ask him. Just….

“Will you marry me?,” Azul whispered into your shoulder. You both lay together in your shared bedroom with nothing but the sound of crashing waves coming in from the outside. Your steady breathing halts, proving that you heard him. With a sigh, he reaches to massage your scalp, “I do not know if you have realized by now…no, I am sure of it. No one is that dense. I won’t pry for why you have ignored my past attempts…all I ask is that you answer this. Will you marry me, (Y/N)? Having you at my side has truly made me the most fortunate man alive,”

{ A black pearl over a gold band. One of the most ultimate displays of wealth. Azul is well aware that this is not the traditional pathway. He could have easily acquired a ‘genuine’ Pearl, perhaps a diamond - but no. You are a rarity. A true jewel. Only a ring worthy to reflect that is worth buying. You were the most unexpected thing and are now the most cherished. This ring represents that,}

Jade Leech

The want caught him by surprise one day, which is rare. Jade is never thrown off guard. At least, not easily.

Then again, you have always been the most difficult person for him to predict. Something he finds very charming since there is always an upbeat atmosphere wherever you go. If his days were a dimming flame, you would be just the right amount of Co2 to spark some fun - not that he would easily admit to it.

Albeit so, Jade is not blind to his emotions. He hides them well underneath a polite smile - but they are there. He is aware of them.

Which is why he snatched you up early on. A relationship was the last thing he thought to find on the surface (or in general, honestly), but Jade knows what he wants when he sees it.

He merely asks you on a date with confidence. You accept, and the process repeats until an unspoken bond formed between the two of you. Not a soul in the nearby vicinity would dare make a move on you with his lingering presence. Jade was pacified, entertained, and happily content with your circumstance.

A circumstance that Jade gets maybe a bit too comfortable with. Just like surprise, it takes a lot for Jade for feel secure. The only person he has truly felt that with is his brother. This lack of overbearing responsibility, where something is being unspoken. No ulterior motive or underlying tone in your actions that make him have to over-analyze.

In the beginning he thought of your bluntness as an extra entertainment factor. Something that he could count on to make those brief unpredictable situations amusing. Yet, as time passed he notices that it's comforting. When he's with you, Jade turns his brain off. Not entirely, of course. He still needs to throw in witty quips and fluster you at LEAST twice per day.

but it's different. It's a different comfort than what he feels with his sibling or with his friend. It's new, and strangely similar to how he feels when he forages while hiking. Perhaps finding peace in another person...maybe there is merit. Hah. Yet another surprise.

On an evening long past curfew, Jade was tending to his botany collection and miniature greenhouse. You sat on his bed, watching videos on your phone. It was almost like you weren't there with him, yet not since he felt your presence. However, there was no pressure to talk or be attentive. He found himself enjoying your presence alone, and it slipped.

"If this is how our days will be when we live together, then perhaps sharing one life is not as inconceivable as I once thought," he said amidst trimming one of his herb plants. Jade turns curiously when he hears a thump from behind, and sees you gawking at him. You had lost your grip on the cell phone, and it fell to the ground.

He eyes you suspiciously. What's startled you? He doubts that any video could render you speechless.

....he spoke aloud, yes? Not in his head. Now it's Jade's turn to lose his composure.

Another surprise, but this is his own doing. Jade has not had a slip of the tongue since his childhood. Even then it was rare. He's never experienced this kind of mess-up...yet, you don't appear appalled.

Jade places the clippers down, and coughs into his gloved hand, "well, it appears I have gotten a loose tongue. It must be from your influence, no doubt". He stands, and moves to sit next to you on his bed, "I've never spoken out of place before, you know. Do you know what this means? I've become weak...and perhaps it it is time you take responsibility for these newfound emotions. I fully intend for many moments like these to happen, and for you to not leave my side. When it is time to leave this place, I believe you will join me. No, I am certain of it"

{An eye of lapis. A reminder that he is always watching - waiting, to see you again. The gem is not see-through. It’s a tough stone. Yet it is beautiful and is appreciated nonetheless. Enough said}

Floyd leech

At first, you believed him to have an obsession. Many did, actually.

The judgement isn't uncalled for either. Floyd's emotions towards you are very strong. With the way he loves to tease and follow you around - he's got a deep attachment. He's always demanding your attention, pulling you from your duties, starting trouble, and nosy. Floyd is oh so nosy and into everything in your life.

You're a toy. His little Shrimpy. The plaything that he absolutely adores and loves to watch. You're the Friday night sitcom to his late-90s grandma.

That's how you see it because that's how he portrays it. With others in agreeance, it is easy to overlook the small undertones in his actions. Especially since he's a touchy and emotional person normally.

Somehow, Floyd had himself tricked as well. He didn't akin his emotions to obsession, but he did think that you were a toy that he would

eventually out-grow. At the start, it really was just a game for him. He liked your reactions and therefore decided to keep you around.

Yet, he never got bored. Eventually the fun events around you stopped being what he found interesting, and instead he liked you alone. Floyd being Floyd instantly tried to confess this, not wanting to waste another minute. Yet you never believed him.

He brushed it off. You'd come around. Not a day went by without him by your side. To the average onlooker (and you, to Floyd's dismay) this still appeared normal. Weeks past by like nothing.

Only the people closest to Floyd see the small giveaways. Like how he glares holes into the mirror portal every morning, or gets snappy with customers if you take too long to visit the Monstro Lounge at night. There's a booth saved, every evening with no student brave enough to go near it unless they want their head chopped off.

When he gives you a 'squeeze,' he never wraps his arms around your stomach. He instead smothers your head and goes tightly around the shoulders. Your squeezes are special. He loves them.

or the name 'Shrimpy'. How he says it to you in public, but in private he occasionally lets your real name slip out. This normally happens during moments when he feels "bored,"(i.e has nothing to talk about) or lighthearted (the rare moments when you get him to relax). Floyd has never said that name with anything other than a positive emotion, despite his mood swings. Shrimpy is his calling card for you, and only his. Yet your name is different. He feels a tummy-twisting kind of weird when he says it.

but the biggest change is Floyd's attitude towards danger when it comes to you. Before, he thrived on it. He liked to hear your stories and be part of the fun. He took joy from the scary adventures you got wrapped into; heck, he was one of them.

Now he gets morbid. Not like how he was before, with eerie threats and a suspenseful aura. He never actually acted unless told to do so, since the over-blots and delinquent students were your problem, not his.

One afternoon, you didn't show up to have lunch with him. That already made him irritable since you know better than to no-show. Did you want a squeeze? Huh, Shrimpy? He'll give you one later.

Then two students come in, all snickering and acting suspicious. Strike two. Now Floyd is upset AND annoyed. Others in the area can feel the animosity in the air.

"Did you see their face? Psh. That'll teach some snot-nosed no-mag to act all mighty. If they know what's good for them, they'll go back to whatever sh*t-hole they came from alrea-" The no-face couldn't finish his sentence. Not with one of the infamous Leech twins gripping his arm tight enough to snap bone.

Floyd smiled, "oh~ So you're the reason my little shrimp isn't eating lunch with me, aren't ya? So. What'd ya do? C'mon guys, I want to know what 'lesson' ya taught, " as Floyd spoke, his grip gradually tightened and he stared straight into the other student's eyes. Each word came out harsher than the last.

They broke quick, as he suspected. With a rough shove Floyd pushed them aside to find you. He had their faces memorized. Let them live in fear for a bit until he collects due payment. For now?

Floyd finds you at your home. He doesn't bother to knock and bursts through the front door, only to see you nursing a black eye on the couch with some ice. He wastes no time in taking it and kneeling in front of you.

Floyd holds the ice to your eye - a bit too harsh- and clenches his jaw when you wince. You won't meet his eyes and it only pisses him off more, "Oi. Look at me," and you do with your one eye. "Why didn't you call me. Why'd you not show up," You sigh and reach a hand to cover his, "because I knew you'd be pissed... I handled it, okay? No need to fake the whole 'I will protect you, my little Shrimpy' scenario. We both know that's not your thing, "

You're wrong. It's not a scenario. You can dismiss his flirting all you want, but even Floyd has a limit. Do you not see how absolutely wreaked overhearing those airheads made him? He's going to do worse than you can think. He won't kill them. No, he'll make sure that no one messes with you anymore. You can't see it, but on the inside he is over it. Done. Finished. Officially has 0% patience.

"Did you know that every time you spout crap like that, it pisses me off? I don't 'act,' because that's boring. I'm not lyin' when I say I like you, and you better start believin' it because I'm over the niceties. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. You're in deep (Y/N) and I'm not letting go, so wait here while I handle some little pests. I love ya. I act this way BECAUSE I love ya. Quit denying me already,"

No one will ever mess with you again. Not with the sparkly little gem on your ring finger, tying you to one of the largest and most threatening groups in the undersea world to date.

{ An aquamarine tear. In all honesty, Floyd did not put much thought into his gem. It sparkled. It is the color of his hair streak (or close to it). He imagined it on your finger and thought that it would stand out - ensuring that anyone and everyone could see it. He thought of your possible expression upon seeing it, and was sold}

[wooahaes]

party hats & kitty cats

pairing: non-idol!lee know x fem!reader

genre: fluff. established relationship au.

warnings: food. one-off line about having kids in the future. discussion of expanding the family via adopting a new cat.

word count: 1.3k~

daisy's notes: oh to adopt a cat w lino....

Minho shifted next to you, causing you to lift your head off of his shoulder. “Hold on,” he said, voice soft as could be so as to not disturb you (or, more likely, the cats asleep around you). “Keep your head held up.”

Which was what prompted you to open your eyes right as a string fell snugly against the underside of your chin. Minho pushed it back so it would sit more comfortably, continuing to manipulate the party hat on your head until it looked right. That was when you realized he was wearing one, too. 

“What?” 

You’d been drifting off a little too much despite the carnage going on the screen (the powers of a bad horror movie, for sure), halfway to dreamland when he moved. The first time, you hadn’t had to move too much—assuming that Minho had just been reaching for his drink. The second time, you thought he’d been putting it back. And now he was just watching you with this playful look in his eyes, proud at his own silly little joke. 

“Pretty,” he mused aloud. Then he leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss against your lips before getting up for real this time. The action earned a curious ‘mrrp?’ from Doongie, who had been sleeping at your feet until now, and Minho looked at him. “Doong-doong-ah, just stay there.”

Doongie promptly hopped down off of the couch to follow him instead, cat DNA requiring that he not follow orders from anyone but himself. You just relaxed against the couch, reaching a hand up to pet Soonie where he’d curled up to sleep. He raised his head lazily, purring once you began to scratch underneath his chin. Dori had popped his head up from where he’d been batting around a little mouse toy, watching Minho carefully as he moved about the kitchen with Doongie at his heels. You just found yourself smiling at the scene. Sometimes you joked that Minho fell in love with you once you met his cats and began to adore them almost as much as he does, but sometimes you truly think this relationship wouldn’t have lasted this long if you weren’t all-in on moving in with him and the three cats. You turned your attention back to Soonie for barely a second before you heard the click of a lighter.

And then a minute later, Minho began to sing to you. He made his way over, holding a small cake that was enough for the two of you. Doongie followed after him as he came back to you, all too curious and needing to know exactly what was going on in his home without him knowing ahead of time. Minho carefully lowered himself onto the couch next to you, holding up the cake for you.

“Did you make this?” You asked once he stopped singing.

He shook his head. “I was going to,” he said. “But I decided to focus on cooking dinner instead.” 

Good, you thought to yourself. The dinner Minho had cooked for you was a little elaborate. The idea of him making you a cake and dinner, especially when the cake was decorated a little extravagantly, would have been too much. He’d pouted at you when you went the extra mile on his birthday considering how much you’d been working lately, gently chastising you when you were left exhausted after everything.

“I don’t need anything that special,” he’d told you while the two of you were laying in bed, his arms wrapped around you. “Your health is more important to me.”

You turned a little to look at him over your shoulder. “You didn’t like it…?”

“I loved it,” he kissed the side of your shoulder. “I always love the things you do for me. But…” His fingers grazed against the skin, exposed from where your shirt has ridden up. “I don’t want you to sacrifice your wellbeing for me. Okay?”

You had made him promise to do the same, something he’d easily done and sealed with a soft kiss before snuggling in for the night. Now he sat before you, the candlelight illuminating his face more than the television screen did. 

“Make a wish already,” he’d lightly teased. “You can stare at me later.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your attention to the lit candles. For a moment, you debated on what to wish for before settling on something achievable, hopefully. You shut your eyes, blowing out the candles before the smell of smoke immediately greeted you. When you opened your eyes, Minho had reached for one of the forks he’d casually left on the coffee table earlier. You’d assumed at the time that he simply brought too many and would return it to its drawer later, but of course he was a step ahead of you. 

“So?” He pushed the fork into the cake, apparently intent on feeding you the first bite before he’d pass the fork to you. He held it up. “What did you wish for?”

“I thought telling you meant it wouldn’t come true?” You teased before closing your lips around the fork, sweet vanilla buttercream bursting over your taste buds as you enjoyed the first bite of your cake. This had to be the same bakery you ordered his birthday cake from last year. Their vanilla buttercream had a certain quality to it that you could never put your finger on (Felix would know, though: he’d complimented it at Minho’s party). 

“Is it something I can do?” He asked. When you played up your debate before nodding, he rolled his eyes, scooping up another bite of cake for you. “Then tell me.” 

“I was thinking…” You went to take the fork, only for Minho to pull it away from you. A hostage situation, apparently. Unfair. “We could maybe expand the family a little?”

He gave you the most confused look in response. “You said you didn’t want to have kids until later on—”

“Not kids,” you said. “Maybe… We could get another kitten?” 

Minho nodded along to the question, thinking it over. He pushed the fork back toward you, purposefully not letting go. You decided to oblige once more as you ate the bite of cake. “We’d have to see about fostering first,” he said, already figuring out the reality of adopting a new kitten when you already had three rambunctious cats around. “Find a space that the others can’t get to while we introduce them to each other…” 

Finally victorious in stealing the fork from him, you pushed it through the cake and held out a bite to him. The two of you had shared enough at this point anyway. “So we’ll look into it?”

He nodded. “I think we could. It’ll mean more work looking after them, but I think we could handle it.” He looked at Soonie, reaching up to scratch him between the ears. “Although if the cats don’t respond well, I don’t know if we could go through with it…” He hummed to himself for a moment, thinking harder about it. “Maybe a girl? It doesn’t matter either way, but maybe it’d be nice to have a girl cat around. We’d have to find one spayed or get her spayed when she’s older—”

“Minho.” 

He immediately turned back to look at you, realizing how lost he’d grown in kitten adoption thoughts. His gaze flickered back to the fork in front of him, and he smiled at you for a minute before leaning forward to accept the bite. “Thank you,” he said after swallowing. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” you giggled. “It’s cute that you care so much.” 

He lowered the cake he’d been balancing on one hand, carefully leaning over it so that he could kiss you. When he drew back, his eyes were all twinkly, so obviously giddy over the prospect of a new cat. Or maybe that was just the way Minho looked when he looked at you. His friends told you once that Minho adored you completely, and it was evident when they saw the way he looked at you.

“Happy birthday,” he said for the final time that night. “I love you so much.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @jinnie-ret @cheesemonky

[bloodiedrogue]

GUARD DOG (11)

SUMMARY: During the aftermath of your confession, you and Astarion navigate your feelings.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,982

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2, canon typical violence, brief mentions of past abuse.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I made my Saturday schedule with a few hours to spare. :') Also, update: I'm going to be closing my tag list on Monday. I have a lot of people signed up and it's becoming a bit overwhelming to keep track of over time so if you've been thinking about joining do it while you still can!

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

You feel like a ghost, drifting from one experience to the next —your body moving as needed while your mind wanders, failing to grasp the fact that you’re already rooted inside of Moonrise Towers.

Blinking hard at such a realization, you find yourself scanning the secluded office you and the party suddenly occupy, feeling the fog of your mind slowly begin to lift, remembering why you’re here. Why Ketheric Thorm has somehow allowed you to explore the contents of his subject’s office. 

He needs you to get the relic. Not that you know exactly what that is. Considering he doesn’t trust you yet, all you know is that after you’ve gathered supplies you’re meant to go to the mausoleum to find it. Along with a man named Balthazar who’s gone missing. The same man whose office you now find yourself looting. 

Moving through the space as quietly as possible, you notice quickly that all around there are stacks of books, creating this sort of claustrophobic space you have to steady your breath against. Deep within your chest, you can feel the past anxiety of the day bubbling up within your throat as you take it all in, threatening to spill just as Wyll clears his throat, telling you to hurry up so that Z’rell doesn’t get suspicious.

At the mention of Ketheric’s disciple —an orc woman you met earlier— you swallow hard and nod, allowing the fog to resurface as you wander towards a nearby desk, exploring the contents of the tabletop with narrowed eyes. Across it, all the usual items sit: various notebooks, an ink bottle with a well-used quill, a couple of decorative knick knacks here and there. However, there’s also a skull that sits at the top right edge, piquing your interest enough to reach out and grab it, testing out the weight.

“Death enthusiast or necromancer?” 

As if on cue, Astarion slithers up to your side, pulling out various tools from his pocket before kneeling on the ground, turning his attention to the desk drawer. 

Almost immediately you reply with necromancer, but unlike him, there isn’t a flirtatious tone that coats your words. Instead, there’s just exhaustive sadness, prompting his eyes to flicker up momentarily as he pushes the hook into the keyhole. 

“Care to elaborate?”

You shrug and run your finger around the eye socket of the skull, tracing the edge with distraction —feeling your mind continue to distance itself from the task at hand as your gaze grows fuzzy.

It’s a sensation that suddenly makes you remember the events of earlier. The ones where you foolishly confessed your feelings only to receive no such reciprocation. A feeling that weighs you down without warning, covering you in a layer of anxious smog that sticks to your skin, reminding you that you’re mad at him. Frustrated and disappointed —a version of yourself that makes you wish you could be anywhere else so that you could process your feelings.

Because you haven’t had time to, yet. Thanks to Shadowheart’s interruption, all you’ve been left with is questions. Inquiries so intense that between fighting the convoy for the lantern and arriving at the steps of Moonrise, you’ve managed to drive yourself over the edge. 

Breathing in, you can feel how heavy it’s made you. How, as Astarion remains knelt beside you, trying his best to avoid your gaze but ultimately failing to do so, makes you want to plummet into the earth in a heap of tears.

“I’m going to take a look in the other room,” you tell him then, giving yourself a moment of reprieve as you place the skull back onto the desk and make your way to the door. Once there, you reach for the handle and freeze in place, releasing a shaky plume of air before you swallow hard and push it open, allowing it to close until Astarion’s hand shoots out to grab it. 

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Standing near the entrance, you open your mouth to respond but ultimately fail to come up with anything that isn’t mean-spirited, prompting you to instead frown and turn on your heel, moving towards the farthest bookcase you can find. Immediately after that, you attempt to tune out his presence completely, opting to sift through the catalogue of books before you, searching for some sort of clue. Perhaps a book on the Shadowlands themselves or something to do with the undead —anything to distract your mind from Astarion’s movements as he explores the room, eventually turning to face you. 

“I assume you want to talk about earlier.”

You do but not right now, so instead of responding you roll your eyes and grab the first book you see, opening it up to find a series of familiar-looking symbols gracing the page.

At first, they merely look like some sort of intricate design. The way each figure curls in odd ways, drawing your eye to the complicated graph in the centre. Then your mind clicks into place and you’re suddenly blinking back the fog, forcing your mind to focus on the translations written below each image, realizing what they are. 

They’re Infernal letters. The language of the Hells clearly displayed in front of you, reminding you of Astarion’s scars as you look up to scan him, watching him reach for a nearby book. 

“Listen, darling, I know you’re angry with me but—“

Without even thinking, you shush him loudly, moving towards his frame. “Take off your shirt.”

He drops his jaw open in shock, laughing in slight confusion. “I beg your pardon? Take off my shirt?” His eyes are wide as he continues to stare, quickly discovering that you’re serious as he tosses the aforementioned book aside. “You’re aware our compatriots are just beyond this door, correct? Or have you suddenly gone mad with lust and failed to remember?” 

You scrunch up your face, shaking your head. “Ew, Astarion. No, not like that.”

He shoots you a look of relief before quickly backtracking and narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry —what d’you mean ew?” 

His sudden offence makes you scoff and motion to the open page in front of you, forcing him to notice the symbols. “These look like your scars, don’t they? The ones on your back.” 

There’s a moment of silence that stirs between you then. As Astarion reaches for the page, gently brushing his fingers over yours while leaning in, you swallow hard and try not to think of before. Of the unrequited statement that still lingers between you, ripping you apart while he somehow remains fine. 

Standing there, drinking in the great interest that befalls his face, you find it incredibly hard not to reach out and shake him in that moment. To grip him by the collar and demand answers despite knowing there are far more important things at hand. For example, the fact that, on top of the already complicated infiltration mission, you’re now required to go on this little treasure hunt. One that will most likely have dangerous consequences if you manage to fail. 

Meaning, the last thing you should be thinking about is how Astarion still hasn’t bothered to respond to your confession.

“Did that bastard seriously carve Infernal into my flesh?” He looks disgusted as he glances up at you, his brows knitted towards the centre of his face while you offer your sympathies. 

“I guess so.” 

Swearing under his breath, he takes a step back, immediately moving his hands to pop open the leathers of his armour, ignoring the way you press your lips together nervously. 

“You know he spent the entire night doing it,” he says then, moving his hands across the many fastenings, shaking his head at the memory. “For hours I laid bare beneath him, enduring the pain of his blasted knife —and for what? So he could further brand me as his own? Make even more claim to a helpless slave.” 

You frown at his words, hearing the ache of his voice crack inside your ears as you take a step forward, listening to him huff and toss his leathers onto the floor before taking off his undershirt.

“Wasn’t it enough to merely strip me of my rights? To starve me as I filled him up each night.” 

A part of you wants to tell him no. That nothing Cazador did to him would ever be enough. But then you hear the breath that escapes his chest —the tremors of its wake hitting your fingers as you tentatively grip his shoulder, feeling the strain of his muscles tense beneath your touch. 

“We don’t have to do this right now,” you tell him, forcing your thumb further into his flesh with careful precision, feeling him melt. “We can take the book and come back to it.”  

Immediately, he scoffs in response, craning his neck towards you just as the door creaks open, revealing a very shocked looking Gale who freezes at the doorway. 

“I uh… I recognize that I’m interrupting something. However, might I suggest the two of you perhaps don’t do this right now?”

Releasing Astarion from your grasp, you take a step back and close the book in your hand. “May I suggest knocking, maybe?” 

Gale snorts and raises his hands in innocence. “Perhaps you’re right. My apologies. I promise I’m not here to make a fuss. Just here to remind you that while you’re attempting to bed one another in quite literally the worst location we’ve experienced thus far, the rest of us are out here dealing with the constant reminder of our impending doom.” 

Smiling sarcastically, Gale then motions to Astarion who smiles back and reaches for his clothes. “And here I was thinking of inviting you to our little party.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll have to decline though on account of the fact that both of you frighten me and frankly, I’m not one for sharing.” 

“Hm. Too bad.” Astarion pouts, prompting you to sigh in embarrassment, pressing the book in your hands against your forehead.

“Yes, well, anyway. The rest of us are going to split up and take a look around. Feel free to join us?”

His last sentence is phrased as a question but you know deep down it’s more of a command, telling you to stop, so you do. Nodding your head in response, the two of you then watch him leave before turning to the other, releasing shared heavy breaths as Astarion continues to redress. 

“Stupid wizard.” 

Despite the grin that erupts across your face, you realize then that focusing on anything other than the task at hand is dangerous. That, even though you want the answers to all the questions floating inside your head, the only thing you should be focusing on is Ketheric Thorm and the hidden relic that Balthazar failed to collect.

You shouldn’t be thinking of yourselves. At least, not in the way your mind wants to. Instead of emotions, it should be focused on survival. On the steps needed to ensure your safety to get to all the parts you actually want.

“He’s right you know —about doing this another time.” You tap the cover of the book and see Astarion roll his eyes, moving his hands to readjust the top layer of his armour with a sigh. 

“I understand that but—“

Before he can finish, your hand finds his chest, pressing it softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I promise. Just give it time.”

Deep down you know it’s a difficult thing to ask. Considering Astarion’s spent the majority of his life waiting already, you’re well aware of the lack of patience he’s developed. How, his sliver of freedom thanks to the Illithid has granted him the ability to become easily irritated by time. 

Unsurprisingly, since you’ve known him, he’s always been prone to bouts of restlessness. Whenever he’s forced to wait there’s often a scowl that presents itself across his face, growing with each passing moment until he eventually explodes. Because of this, when you look at him with desperate eyes, watching the way he twitches and shifts, you’re more than anxious. You’re downright terrified. Lost to a grouping of thoughts that tell you he most likely hates you for asking. 

“I promise the moment we have time, I’ll spend every waking hour trying to translate this for you,” you tell him. Hoping and praying that just this once he’ll understand that waiting is the right thing to do and not a lie you tell him to gain his trust. 

“Can we even afford to wait, though?”

You look at him like you don’t know the answer, sliding your hand upwards to play with his collar. “At this rate, we might just have to take that chance. You heard so yourself, Gale and the others are already planning to depart. We can’t fall behind and further risk our chance of surviving this.” 

He knows you're right. You can tell by the way his jaw clenches and he looks away, trying to suppress the frustrations. 

“I know I already said it before but I do love you. Truly. I’d do anything to make you happy but right now keeping you safe is my number one priority and if that means delaying said happiness, so be it.” 

After that, there’s a moment of silence that hits. One that’s filled with avoided glances and heavy sighs —all of which come from Astarion as he struggles to accept your words. 

At first, it fills you with regret, realizing the way you phrased yourself probably sounds a bit insensitive. But then you see that familiar smirk begin to curl across his lips, pulling upwards with a scoff as he playfully shoves you away. 

“Fine. I’ll wait. But not because you told me to.”

“Of course.” 

“I’m serious. You’re not the boss of me. I can do whatever I please. You just happen to make an effective argument. Plus, you’re rather convincing when you’re professing your undying love for me.” 

“Shut up.” Pushing him back in annoyance, you shake your head and step through the doorway, moving through the office until you’re out in the hall again, glancing around as you pack away the book. “What supplies do we need anyway?”

“Potions, definitely. Perhaps some arrows or elixirs. I know Gale wanted some spell scrolls but after the stunt he pulled earlier I refuse to get him any.”

You fake pout in his direction as you both begin to walk with no destination in mind. “Aw, is somebody sad that the wizard didn’t accept his sexual invitation?”

“Hardly. That man wouldn’t know an orgasm from a sneeze.”

Suppressing the urge to laugh, you offer an unknowing shrug. “I don’t know. You don’t bed a goddess and not have the dexterity to please a woman.”

Scoffing, Astarion turns towards a random doorway, giving you a curious look before you nod your head, prompting him to open the door. “Please, the man pales in dexterous endeavours compared to me.” 

“Hm. Maybe. Perhaps I’ll ask him for a hand one day. Maybe do a little experimentation?”

As you smirk in his direction there’s a feeling of normalcy that hits. Slowly but surely it fills you up with that familiar warmth, reminding you of the reason you first fell for Astarion in the first place. Somehow he has this unwavering ability to make you grin through the darkness. To distract you from the hellish fear that nips at your feet each time you step into dangerous territory. 

Compared to everyone else he’s the closest thing you’ve had to a friend. And now that you’re joking back and forth, grinning as he stares at you in fake shock thanks to your statement, you begin to accept that his response no longer matters. That you’ve made your peace with it, knowing he’s still there, comforting you in all the ways you need as you walk further into the room, noticing a white-haired woman standing in the corner.  

Upon taking another step she turns from the worktable in front of her, raising a brow at the two of you before fully turning around with a grin. “Ah, the True Soul.” Moving forward, she then extends her hand towards you but fails to meet your gaze once she notices Astarion’s nose begin to turn up, causing you to frown. “I’m Araj Oblodra, trader in blood and the sanguineous arts.” 

Taking her hand, you feel an unwanted heat hit your palm, making you look down as you peel away, offering your name before motioning to Astarion. “This is—“

“A vampire spawn,” she interrupts with interest, leaning towards him with crossed arms and curious eyes. “What an absolute pleasure.”

Both of you share an awkward glance that doesn’t go unnoticed. Despite that though, she barely bats an eye as she offers her hand again, this time to Astarion who clears his throat and shakes his head. “Astarion… sorry I don’t… touch.”

At first, she seems a bit disappointed but then such feelings are quickly erased when she turns her attention back to you, revealing another grin as she drops her hand. “I assume you’re faring well around Moonrise?”

“If by fairing you mean struggling to find a decent potion seller then yes.” 

She clicks her tongue in understanding, turning towards the worktable behind her to grab a vial unprompted. “Perhaps I could be of service then? As long as you’re willing, of course.”

“Willing?” You raise your brow, watching her twist the vile between her fingers with a smirk. 

“I happen to trade in blood,” she explains. “And the potions that can be wrung from it. Obviously considering such details it’s ideal that I earn the consent of my customers. Otherwise who knows what kind of havoc might occur. Hence the willingness.”

“Hm, now nice of you to offer the bare minimum,” Astarion comments, making you narrow your eyes in confusion, wondering what’s suddenly got him so on edge.

“Yes well, if you’d humour me with a drop or two of your blood I could whip up something truly potent for the both of us.”

Immediately there’s a wariness that sets in at the mention of sharing. Overall, it feels as if there’s something off about her. Maybe it’s the way she carries herself or the instant distrust you sense from Astarion as he stands beside you, tensing up with every passing moment you spend talking to her. Either or, you take both as a sign of caution, taking a moment to collect your thoughts as you glance around to view her workspace, noticing various needles and vials, haphazardly filled with liquids you can only assume to be her customer’s blood. 

“Not sure I like the idea of weaponizing my blood, to be honest.” Offering her a polite smile, you see her kindness falter in response, replacing it with an air of curiosity. 

“I can assure you it’s safe,” she says. “Nothing more than a pinprick but obviously if you aren’t keen perhaps we can discuss other matters.” 

As she speaks her gaze focuses on Astarion once again, her lids half-closing in such a lusty way you find your chest brimming with something bordering between anger and jealousy —enveloping you in hatred.  

“Your spawn, for example.”

The way she says it feels like she’s insinuating a sense of ownership. As if Astarion’s your pet or something equally disgusting. Angrily, it makes you scrunch up your face and turn towards him, sharing a look of displeasure before ultimately turning back to scowl. “You’re aware he’s his own person, right?” 

She laughs dryly. “I’m sure he believes that.” 

“Yes, he does. Because it’s true.”

After that she’s silent for a moment, taking in your words. Allowing them to sift within the air as each of you stare at one another, trying to figure out how to proceed even though you know you’re already done. 

Unable to entertain the lack of sense, you move your hand to Astarion’s arm, feeling him tense beneath your grasp. Then you awaken your tadpole to contact his, feeling the creature shift against the corner of your eye. 

Can we leave, please?

Before he can make the effort to listen to your words, Araj is already speaking again, telling you stories of her childhood and how, even then, she wished to be bitten by a vampire, prompting the two of you to stop.

“I’m sorry. You want to be bitten?” Astarion says in disbelief, watching her nod and take a step closer, sharing her interest further. 

“To feel your life’s blood slipping away? To dance on the edge between life and death?

She looks at him longingly as she speaks, telling him then that she’d want nothing more than to feel the icy sting of his teeth against her flesh, making you scoff in disgust even though you know all too well what it feels like. How addictive it can be to let your mind drift away as you're sucked dry. 

“I’ll even compensate you if you like.”

“Compensate me?” Astarion laughs. “Darling, I’m sorry but my talents cannot be bought.”

“Not even for a potion of legendary power?” she muses. 

Immediately, he shakes his head. “Hm, afraid not.”

Her tone shifts then, frustrations filling her every pore as she looks towards you but motions to him. “You might want to talk some sense into your spawn, you know. I don’t offer such rarities lightly.”

You catch Astarion open his mouth to respond, but before he can you’re already stepping forward, inserting yourself into Araj’s space with such powerful aggression, pressing your knife to her throat. 

“Are you always this dense?”

Suddenly aware of the consequences of her actions, she lets out a shaky breath and eyes Astarion, her expression filling with desperation as you press the blade further into her flesh, using your other hand to force her to look at you. “You’re aware of the meaning, yes? Of the word no?”

Instead of answering she just groans at you, angling her head upwards to try and distance herself from the knife, forcing you to tighten your hold. “Oh, you don’t? Well, allow me to enlighten you then.” 

For a moment you pause, grinning wickedly at the fear within her eyes. Taking in the change of demeanour as you twist the edge of your blade away, huffing as you release her all at once, watching her gasp. 

“It means he doesn’t want to suck your fucking throat. Just as I don’t want to kill you… at least, not here.” 

Sensing the truth within your words, Araj gives you a careful nod and retreats, reaching to grip her tender neck as you put away your blade and scowl one final time. 

As you do Astarion looks at you with wide eyes, barely responding when you grab his arm and lead him back out of the room, swearing angrily under your breath when you slam the door behind you. 

“Well, that was an eventual moment.” 

You can’t help but laugh and lean forward once you realize you’re alone again, resting your forehead against his shoulder in slight embarrassment. “Sorry. I just…”

His hand loops around your shoulders before you can even think to pull away, forcing you into his chest as he laughs and kisses your head, granting you a moment of peace within his hold. “Don’t be. It’s quite enjoyable seeing you like that.”

“All deranged?” you mumble against his chest. 

“Protective,” he corrects. “In fact, I find it quite flattering seeing you puffed up, ready to kill for me.”

You snort and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer. “Like I said, it’s because I love you.” 

“Yes, well…” Pausing to clear his throat, you feel his hand stroke the top of your head, slowly moving down towards the back of your neck before repeating the process —doing it several times before he ultimately releases a heavy breath. “I love you too, darling. Thank you.”  

-

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[jasontoddsdarling]

suggestive, 18 + | jason wears a locket with your photo inside and your initial outside.

you gave jason a men's locket necklace with his own initial engraved on one of the side and yours at the other.

he loved it so much. so much.

when you two are making love, he never takes his necklace off. his locket will graze at your skin. in the valley of your soft tits, between your collarbones, your neck, your lips. you love it. it'll hit you on your face when he's making love to you above you. it'll sensuality graze your back and your nape—when he wants you on your hands and knees and your stomach. and you love it.

one time, when he was above you, his locket was directly above your lips and you caught and bite it in between your teeth, your seductive gaze directed to his darkening beautiful eyes. it drove him crazy. long short story, you sport a lot of love bites on your exposed skin afterwards (and your ability to walk weaken for twenty four hours straight).

you love how he manifested his love by having your photo on the chain around his neck everyday. since you gave him the necklace and he put your photo on it himself, you have never seen him without it—when he's in the shower doesn't count, you've to persuade him to take it off so it'll stay long. even if he only wear the necklace occasionally, you know he loves you and he doesn't need to have you 24/7 on him but he does it anyway. it's his way of appreciating your love language of gifting him the necklace in the first place too.

he loves having the reminder of you with him every second of the day when he's not with you. he loves to grasp his locket on his palm whenever he needs a reassurance, it's like you there with him. he loves that when he's bored he can just open his locket and your picture will immediately draw a smile from his face.

when he put the the locket on his palm, he feels like his whole world is on his hand.

mariea's notes: midnight thoughts. brainrots. nothing to elaborate i am afraid it's already so clear. btw you can send me anything (prompts, ideas, questions, etc) to my ask box (mailbox 💌) and i will see what i can do about it.

[arent-i-the-fairest]

I can't live like this any longer. PLEASE I NEED YOU TO WRITE NEIGE CONTENT OF ANYTHING PLEASEEEEE

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 (𝟐)

he takes care of you while you’re sick. (romantic)

author’s note : in addition to neige, i wrote hcs for che’nya and rollo! i love these three so much <333

crowley, crewel, and sam ver. of this prompt here!

neige leblanche

“you really called off a photoshoot just to come take care of me? you know you didn’t have to,” you said, smiling softly. neige shook his head.

“oh, i know, i know. but i just couldn’t help myself. the thought of you being all alone while sick just makes me so sad!” he pouts, taking your hands in his. “so i had to come! now, come on and lay down. take it easy and just leave everything to me! i’ll take good care of you.”

he babies you so hard, it’s to the point you almost feel embarrassed. like, he spoons feed you and everything. but he seems no shame in it!

he also decides to take it upon himself to do all ramshackle’s housekeeping and chores for you. (househusband material, honestly.)

no matter how many times you warn him that your sickness is contagious, he can’t resist giving you little kisses throughout the day. so it was no surprise when he called saying he was sick the next day…

“don’t say you didn’t expect this to happen, neige.”

neige only let out a whine and hid his face in the fluffy pile of blankets you brought him. as much as you wanted to scold him for not listening to your warnings, seeing him in such a pitiful state made it impossible.

you’ll save the lecture for later. for now, you’ll be gentle with him, just like he was with you while you were sick.

che’nya

“oh my, you’re not looking too well!” che’nya chuckles, quirking his head to the side as he looks at you. “well, don’t worry. nurse artemiy artemiyevich pinker is here to help you recover!”

you didn’t have the highest expectations when it came to his caregiving skills, but he actually does really well at taking care of you. he’s very attentive when it comes to your needs. be warned though, he will ask you if you’re feeling better like every 20 minutes just to annoy you.

he’ll exaggerate his cat behaviors to entertain you— and maybe to get you to coo over him being cute. he’ll knead blankets (or perhaps your lap if he wants to rest there instead), bump his head against you, and the like. if you had a cat toy, he’d probably play with it. all without feeling the slightest bit of embarrassment too.

“i’ve gotta ask… did you really come here to take care of me, or was this just an elaborate plan to get me to pet you?” you joked as you scratched behind che’nya’s ears.

“oh no, you’ve caught on! i just came for some pets,” he teased back, purring and leaning into your touch. “— just kidding, of course. hehe.”

you chuckle and lay your head against his chest, listening to the calming sound of his purring as you drift off to sleep.

rollo flamme

you got sick from getting hit by several spells. the perpetrators were none other than ace and deuce, whose fight you accidentally got caught in the crossfire of. (they’ve apologized to you over ten times for this..)

with all the chaos that’s been thrown your way so far, you hardly cared. this is just another tuesday at nrc for you. but you know who did care? rollo.

needless to say, he was not happy to hear of this situation. it’s only served to support his resolve of wanting to eradicate magic.

he tries to hide his anger about the context of how you got sick… and he doesn’t do a good job at it. you’ll look at him once in a while and his face will be twisted up in a scowl. or sometimes you’ll hear him muttering under his breath about “vile reckless mages…” and the like.

knowing how no-nonsense he is, you were a bit nervous about being in his care. but he ended up being a lot more gentle with you than you expected! (… he still made you study though. no falling behind in school on his watch.)

just like neige, he took it upon himself to do all the housekeeping for you. and you swear, you’ve never seen ramshackle so spotless. rollo does not play when it comes to cleanliness.

you watch in amusement as ace and deuce desperately try to convince rollo to let them enter your dorm. rollo is not even slightly swayed by their pleas, standing his ground on not letting them step foot in ramshackle.

“you two are the reason the prefect is ill in the first place. you’ve proven yourselves to be dangerous. i will not take the risk of letting you miscreants in and causing any more trouble for them.” rollo glares down at the pair, getting ready to shut the door on them. you quietly laugh at how protective he’s being.

you walk over to rollo, gently pulling him away from the door to let ace and deuce in. “come on, rollo. let them in. i’m sure they’ll be on their best behavior, especially with you here watching them like a hawk.”

rollo sighs and finally relaxes. “hmph… fine.”

[stealingyourbones]

Here's a cursed ship:

Danny Fenton, out of his parent's grasp, now as an adult, goes to explore rumours of some rotten ectoplasm somewhere in some place called Nanda Parbat.

There he meets the one person that came the closest ever to killing him. Her sword was already in his very human chest before he transformed on instinct, barely avoiding a very painful injury that could've threatened his core.

Naturally, what is a guy to do? Fall head over heels, and gift her with a newly purified pool of ectoplasm that can help heal injuries without the Rage and Madness. Maybe gift her a throne of starlight after he deals with her manipulative old bastard father.

Oh, she has a kid from a prior relationship? Well, if she's ok with it, he'll do his best to help her raise him.

The League shift from indiscriminate murder to more Assassin's Creed-like "maintaining Balance" ideals.

Naturally, this confuses the Bats. They come to investigate.

No one was expecting to see Talia al Ghul sitting on a very comfy-looking throne, with an unknown but clearly powerful guy sparring against a small Damian, while the kid looks like he's having the time of his life.

Of course, as soon as their presence is noted, he's at Talias side, holding the tiny kid in his arms as she delivers her speech.

Oh, he's King of the Infinite Realms? Yeah, but this is the Living Realm, so he's going to defer to his Queen.

Talia initially tried plotting to take the Crown from Danny, but Ember and Kitty (who I headcanon both having dated Danny at different points of his life) laugh as if she told them a joke, and Grandpa Clocky takes his new Granddaughter-in-law aside to show her how her betrayal and manipulation would bring about Dan, stopping that plan in it's tracks then and there.

Ellie floats into the room in the middle of their discussion, and to add further confusion for poor Brucie, scoops up Damian and loudly announces she's taking her half-brother out for ice cream (female clone, from a boy's DNA? Yeah, Talia's DNA was exactly what was needed to stabilise her permanently).

Bruce is in a crisis.

Jason is laughing his ass off, now that Danny took the rotten ectoplasm out and put in fresh ecto in it's place, and he can properly appreciate the situation, especially how Danny looks like he could be related to Bruce, so naturally Talia also has a type.

Tim is three seconds away from asking for his spleen back.

Cass is dangling from Danny's shoulders after, in classic Ghost customs, she tried to attack him as an introduction. She's fine being carried like a sac of flour, Jason does that with her, too.

Dick, Duke, Steph and Babs stayed behind to protect Gotham, but Babs is always watching and/or listening, and she's a horrible gossip.

It's also Jason that comes to the horrifying realization that, the reason why Danny is still with Talia, is because Ghost culture is weird enough to be normal for the League, he's a similar type of dumbass as Bruce, without the elaborate revenge plot, AND he's a simp for women who could kill him.

Essentially: Danny is the cute lovable dumbass, who's Into That when his Love Interest has the capacity to easily kill him or snap him in half, if it weren't for the Ghost thing. And Ghost instincts are the kind of feral that Damian vibes with, so Damian likes this random guy Talia found on their doorstep, who's so stupid and yet competent he comes back around to being attractive, and is Commited to his new family.

I have yet to hear a friendly stepdad(?) Danny prompt before and I am loving it

[skepsiss]

Post season 4 steddie fic with Steve helping Eddie recover? Like after hospital and he's technically "healed" but he's having trouble. Learning to walk again, shaky hands, sharp pains, things like that

I love them sm

I love them too, anon. This premise is like so many of my story premises for them, so I will try my best to keep it short cause I can see this getting way out of hand, oops. Lol. **Note, you can send me steddie prompts too! Anyone can** (tumblr keeps messing with this post and putting the read more WAY farther down. Forgive me) The idea behind this is they're not together, and neither of them quite knows that they have feelings for the other. Sort of... the blooming of a crush. Early, early stages of Steddie. -- "I can do it," Eddie said harshly as he attempted to pull himself out of the chair he had been lounging in. Steve stood there, arms hovering around the perimeter of the armchair, as Eddie struggled to stand. Maybe Steve had been a bit too attentive as of late, but Eddie had only been home from the hospital for a little over a week. After the accident, recovery hadn't been easy for Eddie--or Max for that matter, but while Max was still in hospital recovering, Eddie had been discharged back to the care of his uncle. Of course, Wayne was ecstatic to have Eddie back home, but with hospital bills and having to replace half of their trailer, Wayne didn't have a lot of time to spend at home. The Party had been volunteering around the clock to check in and help Eddie, but Steve had noticed that Eddie allowed very few of them to actually help him. Steve was one of those people, and even then, it was a fight. Eddie did not in fact 'do it,' as he tried to support his weight on his arms and stand. Instead, he managed to get up and then promptly collapse to the side, clinging to the armrest to stop himself from hitting the floor.

"Hey, woah--" Steve breathed, hunching to catch Eddie by one of his elbows.

Eddie snatched his arm away, looking frustrated and embarrassed as he kneeled on the ground. "Eddie, just let me help," Steve encouraged, sounding a bit exasperated as he tried to look Eddie in the face. "Don't mother-hen me," Eddie huffed, obviously trying to contain his emotions. He sounded on the verge of yelling, or like he was about to start weeping, but Steve tried to ignore that. He didn't need to embarrass Eddie any further. "Can I at least grab your cane for you?" Steve asked, sighing as he stood back up. Eddie took a moment, and then nodded, breathing out a gruff 'yeah,' without looking up. Steve moved to the door and grabbed the cane that Dustin had brought over a few days ago--one The Party had decorated and glued a dragon's head to the top of to make it 'cool.' Eddie had liked it, but he still didn't seem keen to use it.

Steve handed Eddie his walking stick and he grumbled before attempting to get his feet under himself again. "Just let me help," Steve said quietly, not stepping forward like he had before, but still standing there expectantly. "I need to be able to do it myself--" Eddie grouched, barely managing to get up onto wobbly knees and stand. "No you don't," Steve scolded, "not this early on---Eddie, you were in a hospital bed for over a month, you don't have the strength to do it by yourself." "Elaborate way to call me an uncoordinated nerd," Eddie huffed, obviously trying to inject some levity into the conversation.

"That's not what I'm saying," Steve sighed, keeping close attention to Eddie as he slowly started to pivot. "Just let me---" Eddie started as he tried to take a step forward and wobbled terribly. Steve was at his side instantly, catching Eddie around the waist and arm, stopping him from hitting the ground again. Eddie stilled in Steve's arms before Steve heard a small whine escaping him, that eventually turned into an angry snarl. "Don't---just--" Eddie complained, trying to pull away again, but not having the footing or the strength to break Steve's grip as he jerked back. "Just let me do it--" The threat of tears was evident again as Steve saw the frustration well up in Eddie's eyes. He didn't want to force Eddie, but this was getting ridiculous. "Why is it so important that you do it? I can help, Eddie. That's why I'm here, just let---" "Because you're not always going to be here!" Eddie snapped angrily, cutting Steve off. He looked away again but stopped struggling against Steve's grip, instead standing there with his face turned toward the ground like a dejected child. "What're you..." Steve trailed off, trying to grasp at Eddie's meaning. He didn't like how emotional this was making Eddie, and he didn't like that he wasn't able to help him. Whether that was with walking or feeling better. "You're not always going to be here..." Eddie repeated, his tone much softer as he continued to hold onto Steve, still unable to stand on his own.

"We'll... I'll be here for as long as you need," Steve tried, still not understanding what Eddie meant. "No--you... how long is it going to take for me to be normal again? A month? Five? What if it's never? What if I don't get better? You're not always---I'm not going to make any of you put your lives on hold so I can stand up and go take a fucking piss," Eddie gritted out, his voice getting tight at the end, his emotions obviously raw. Steve quieted as he stood there, understanding what Eddie meant, but not agreeing. He had to imagine that being immobilized by an injury would drive him insane too, and he understood to a degree how deregulating it was not to be able to do everything he demanded of his own body. Recovery was slow, and hard, and Eddie wasn't going to have an easy go of it, but pushing himself wasn't going to help.

"That's stupid," Steve said bluntly, watching as Eddie looked up at him, completely surprised by his words. "You almost died, Eddie. No one other than some action hero from a bad B-movie is going to recover that fast. You're just going to make it worse. You have to rebuild the muscles, man. Learn to walk properly; there isn't a point in doing it if you're going to teach yourself to do it wrong, and then have to correct yourself over and over. You'll probably hurt yourself. It'll be painful, man." Eddie seemed shocked silent by Steve's words, still hanging there as he stared. "Isn't it the same with music? You practice and practice the same string over and over again until you get it right? And then you have to practice the right way or you're never going to do it?" Steve asked, watching Eddie inhale unevenly. "Eddie... none of us are going to abandon you, that's not what we do. I'm not going to make you do this by yourself." Eddie looked away again, a choked-sounding laugh escaping him as he let his hair tumble in front of his face to hide his emotions. Steve didn't stare, instead trying to look across the room to give Eddie a bit of privacy. He knew this wasn't easy, and the emasculation of being unable to do anything by yourself had to suck, so Steve tried to preserve as much of Eddie's dignity as he could manage. "Yeah... like learning a new chord," Eddie swallowed, his voice sounding rough.

He took another beat before trying to stand up on his own again, leaning heavily on his cane, but not letting go of Steve's arm either. "Going to ruin your summer--I don't want to be a burden," Eddie breathed, obviously trying to sound a little jokey, despite his words. "You're not a burden," Steve replied easily, shifting to stand beside Eddie to help him walk toward the hall of the trailer. "What else am I doing with my summer? Swim? Actually, might be good to get you to swim. Low impact, but great muscle strengthening. Probably be good for you to swim." "I can't swim," Eddie laughed, his tone bittersweet and laced with a much deeper emotion. "I'll teach you," Steve offered, not putting too much stock in his own words. "I used to teach kids to swim all the time during the summer back in '83 and '84. It's easy." Eddie went quiet again as he took careful step after careful step down the hall toward the washroom. "Yeah... okay," Eddie mumbled quietly as he leaned on the door handle and breathed hard from the effort of walking just that short distance.

"Okay?" Steve repeated, "Hallelujah, he compromises." Steve said sarcastically as he helped Eddie slide the door aside. "Man, shut up," Eddie grouched, but he sounded charmed by the gentle tease. "What're you going to get mad about now? Not holding my dick while I piss?" "Grow up," Steve retorted, trying to sound friendly. Eddie laughed and Steve helped him as far as the sink before letting go. "Don't fall over, and don't try and stand. Just sit down, you're still recovering, man." "Don't tell me how to use the toilet, Harrington. You're not my nurse-maid," Eddie grouched, able to wobble from the sink edge to brace on the back of the toilet. "You're lucky I'm not, probably would have sedated you by now if that was the case," Steve teased again, getting another small laugh from Eddie before he turned to leave the room. "Holler if you need something." "Harrington..." Eddie mumbled, and Steve paused at the door as he held it open. "Don't... thanks... thank you." "Don't worry about it," Steve smiled, "any time man... really. Any time, I don't mind hanging out with you at all." Eddie glanced over at him, and Steve flashed him another smile before sliding the door shut and walking back down the hall. He leaned there, waiting for Eddie to call him back over when he needed him. None of this was easy, and he didn't blame Eddie for having a hard time with it. He wanted Eddie to get his freedom back as soon as possible, but he truly didn't mind hanging around with Eddie whenever he wanted him there. He liked it, actually. He liked feeling needed and helpful, and Steve liked the idea of teaching Eddie to swim. He owed a lot to Eddie, and he had meant it when he said he wasn't going to abandon him. A month, five, forever... Steve didn't plan on abandoning Eddie for anything.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

45 - Dark Blood of Blinding Light

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

Length: 21.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, mild disturbing imagery, references to past rape, insecurity, possessive behavior and language, breeding kink, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v

Notes: I know, I know, okay? I know about the length already, I was the moron who wrote it. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

You were too much alike, both of you were being pragmatic and yet it around in circles you both continued to do. He had a point but so did you, and thus as you both stood there the debate once more spin around and around coming to the same conclusions once, twice, too many times. It was almost far too much how it used to be, instead this time you both were walking the cold grounds within the Nightfort instead of along the sunny and warm docks at the edge of Kings Landing. And this time it wasn't numbers which were the discussion of debate, it was what such numbers meant in actuality.

Gold and trade the usual debates between you two back when the highest place you had any influence on was the small council. A Kingdom rapidly finding itself in dire straights as the treasury was empty and the Lannisters were as well. The only gold remaining to them was for their own spends and livelihoods but no longer could they pay for anything of other uses. The Iron Bank was new in dealings with Robert's reign and it meant that you were too aware that payments were going to be needed far more prompt then before. Your allocated budget grew smaller every quarter year and thus you and Stannis spent many days debating on what trade deals to prioritize.

Those however, were low stakes in comparison to now. You understood his position, truly you did. He was the one true King and no one had ever respected him for it. By every law in Westeros, the Iron Throne was his. You had almost died beside Eddard Stark to defend that stance, but once more like the days on the docks, those were more simple times. More simple stakes. These were not, and it would be all too easy to be blinded by presuming those stakes were just as important. But they weren't.

Jon had only been able to send a raven to Aegon, because it was now known that he had taken Storm's End, and the battle to claim the rest of the Stormlands had begun. But it also meant, asking your father to give up the castle where he grew up, and the lands of his family to the one House which meant the most insulting to claim what was yours.

The urge to keep what men he had here, stay in his place and leave to his vastly more superior numbers, and chase the Dragon from the Stag's home was too tempting, and you knew it.

“It's asking me to hand over the lands this House has ruled for centuries, to give up the home I grew up in, the home my father grew up in and his father before him.” Once more you knew that argument was fair, and in many other occasions you'd have agreed.

On the other hand, your eyes narrowed ever the slightest not from the sting of the cold winds. “You are aware father, that you cannot appeal to emotions in me which don't exist.” You both knew what that was referring to, but the man as stubborn as the daughter he passed such a trait down to, waited for you to elaborate. “Asking me to care about the things my grandfather did is a far stretch of what I am willing to do. Which for him, is none.”

Collected as ever it did not yet show in your father's face that your point had effected him as such in a harmful manner. Neither his tone was well. “Some days it's difficult to tell if your insolence would only make him like you more.” If any could see you trying to not roll your eyes, it was Stannis. Who even from just a side view, saw the slight twitch in your face trying to hold it back. “You are not alone in that manner, my father tried very hard to have me see the world his way. Moreso then he ever did with Robert or Renly. The last I ever heard from him was a raven telling me they didn't find what they were looking for in their journey but they found something hopefully which would teach me how to laugh.”

Your eyebrow raised only for your entire expression to grimace, a tilt to the side asking, “Please do not tell me it was-” Glancing to him, your father only gave you a single knowing look that had you shake your head in further exasperation. “Are you certain your father didn't hate you, because that fool never made a single soul laugh in the twenty two years I knew him.”

“Save for Shireen.”

Quick in amusement as you were dismissal, “Shireen was a child, she didn't know what was funny.” In a moment passing others by, you had waited until it was once more only the two of you in any earshot. “I'm not sure you've ever told me what they were doing. My grandfather and grandmother, you told me they had sailed to Essos but never why.”

Blunt as he was honest, your father was. “You already had a strong contempt for the Targaryeans at a young age, I did not think it productive to give you more reasons to hate them as strongly as Robert did.” Playing the same game, you turned to him in a questioning gaze but asked none. Tone quiet, there was a shred of sympathy towards you as he spoke. “They were travelling to Volantis under the order of King Aerys to find a suitable Valyrian bride for Prince Rhaegar.”

He was right, telling you that would've made you lean much more towards Roberts side, even now, it still did. More then ever it did. Nothing was spoken as you both looked at one anther, waiting for the building flooding of anger to simmer back down before getting out of hand. A long exhale left your lips before your arms crossed over your front, turning to the grounds below where you had been walking.

It was far away on you as it was spoken, but not with anger or vitriol, just an honesty. “The last thing I've wanted to do was to downplay what happened that day, they were your parents and I heard enough from Robert to know it must have been horrifying to watch. But maybe that was the price he paid.”

Stannis matched your stance, neither of you giving away in posture or even faces as you spoke in low tones. You both appeared as neutral as the other, when in truth the weight here was growing to be insurmountable. “Robert and I discussed it. Not often, but we discussed what we would have done differently had our father been alive once war was declared. We both knew our father would have remained loyal to the Targaryeans, and we both agreed that we still wouldn't have done anything different. He made his choice long ago, we only wished that he had not taken our mother's life with him when he passed.”

For everything said about Steffon Baratheon, there was not even a match of tone towards the grandmother you never knew. Cassana Estermont. Even when the remainder of her House had done nothing but insult your father. Declared for Renly, then went running to Stannis when he had passed, then to Joffery at the defeat at Blackwater Bay, and now have come crawling back to Stannis once more as the Lannisters lost nearly all true hold on the realm. Yet through all of it, your grandmother was never spoken in any ill.

Glancing to him you asked with something genuine. “Those lands have been ours for centuries, and perhaps once long ago they would be worth dying to defend, but it won't matter. None of it matters, and we're running out of time too quickly to keep pretending as if it does. Everything you have seen here, do you truly think you're needed more there then you are here?”

Looking up to your father, something heavy flowed in the air. Something unspoken that was not tense, nor agitated. Something rather, which pleaded what little vulnerability you two ever shared. He was not judging either in his response after a good while of thought. “Robert held the peace for nearly twenty four years, not because he was a good ruler, but because he relied on better men to do the ruling for him behind the curtain. Everytime he ignored his council, we had to clean up the mess it left behind before it got out of hand. He never listened, not when it mattered. Not to Jon Arryn, not to me, not even to Ned Stark. And after he died his Kingdom has done nothing but bleed for it.”

There was a point somewhere in there, but you were quiet to let it breathe before crowding it with any clarifying questions.

“But now by every law there is, now it is my Kingdom. And I will not forget how much these people have made my Kingdom bleed, and I will not forgive it either. If I pull every of my men out of the Stormlands and bring them North, my enemies will think I am weak.”

It weighed heavy in your heart, you two did not often speak in any praise, not to each other about each other. But it came out as honest as any could be, “If you were weak, father, I wouldn't stand here asking you to not leave. Westeros will survive without you fighting in it, but it will not survive if we do not fight for it. Jon cannot do this alone. The North doesn't have the numbers, and even if we did it would take months, years to train everyone to even resemble an army large enough. If you were weak, then we wouldn't need you. But we do.”

Finding his gaze, neither of you said anything. Much in your eyes held back as did his, not to let it creep too close to the surface. When he did, you admittedly could have let out a chuckle were your heart not still fast and too heavy. “You're starting to sound like Jon.”

Biting your tongue, you turned back to the cold sight of the forts activities bustling about. Arms moving to rest along the wooden railing, Stannis too matched you. Only he had the retort on his tongue, knowing that furrow in your brows far too well. “It wasn't an insult.”

Eyes trained forward, it came off as dry as your stare was tense. “I'd hope so. He's your son in law now, I can't imagine insulting him is a good starting off point.” Curious it was, that your father had asked the very question you asked her what felt like a fortnight passed, asking how your mother was fairing with such a detail. You resisted the urge to shrug. “They're..” Pausing to find the more diplomatic of approaches, “Taking it at their own pace shall we say.”

It surprised you, but your father almost chuckled. Almost. “Selyse was never fond of the boy even before we had arrived at Castle Black.” Your brows narrowed turning to look at him, before the realization formed lightly on your face as it did his. A fondness amplified by the feeling of her necklace under everything. “Used to say you were too distracted, and shouldn't spend that much time around boys when you weren't even a woman yet.”

“It wasn't like that.”

Quick as you were, so was Stannis. “I know. Despite everything I raised you better then that.” The sights of the Nightfort passed by still, neither party noticing that should any glance up, an amusingly identical image was sat between the two of you as you both stood there, leaned against the railing. “If Aegon cooperates, I'll order my troops to sail on Eastwatch by the Sea as soon as possible. Organize with Jon and this Lord Commander-”

“Edd.”

You could see your father turn slightly to give you a glance, but continued without noting your interruption. “Edd. Decide what forts need to be prioritized and how many. I'll remain in the long term for now. I presume you will return to Winterfell shortly, I will keep my command here. The North needs an army to man the wall, so we'll man it.”

Nodding, you said nothing for a moment. This was neither the time nor place, but you still struggled to even find the words for what could be said. You discussed strategy, plans, and numbers with your father, no details of your life. He never knew your last until it was too late, but telling him of this one felt foreign and strange. Of course he would care, but part of you was still a girl with a father you didn't like to step out of line towards.

You weren't quite yet ready to have that conversation. And yet, what came out of your mouth was not at all the same as the thoughts at the front of your mind. Instead without permission, your mouth reached deep within and pulled up something you hadn't even considered saying previously. “I didn't go to Robb to spite you. At the beginning of the war, I didn't side against you with ill intent.”

Stannis barley turned to look at you. Something distant in his tone with a question long forgotten until now. “I never asked how it was you came to leave. You were said to have been in King's Landing at the same time Ned Stark was arrested, how did you leave before they could get to you?”

“I was there that day too. In the throne room, Lord Stark and I both went to confront Cersei, we had Roberts will, we thought we had the gold cloaks. But we didn't. They arrested us both that day. Separated us and tossed us both into the black cells.” Shaking your head, gloved hands wrung slightly together as your face twisted in long passed conflict. “I didn't go into this war wanting to stand on the opposite side as you. But I had a choice, and I made it, and I will never apologize for choosing Robb over you. But it was never meant to betray you.”

“Who aided in your escape?”

Right to the point, you considered not wanting to know if he had even considered your words thus far beyond that. Honesty however, was all he wanted on some. “Ser Barristan Selmy. We went though the tunnels under the city and I got on a small fishing ship headed to White Harbour.”

Neither of you spoke for the moment, until once more he shifted the tone. “The man did always have a soft spot for you.” Only a nod, something in your head tried to ask a question but there was too much fog from the days since. Too much had occurred in such a short period of time to allow such a wondering thought to bloom.

For once however, the quiet between father and daughter which followed, wasn't awkward nor tense as the day continued to pass by around you.

“So what are we looking for exactly?”

Somehow it seemed there were still rooms which had not yet been explored nor even walked in. Only now had you found what appeared to look much like what the Lord Commanders quarters in Castle Black looked like. Dust sat around and it felt as barren as any, like it had been gutted long ago. Eyes squinting as you looked up to the shelves near the ceiling you muttered, “Anything that appears to have writing on it, especially anything not written in Common.”

Theon and Olly both looked at one another, the question once more coming from the younger ones mouth. “Has she always been vague about things?”

You answered at the exact same time as Theon in a dry word. “Yes.”

Fifteen years knowing one another, Theon knew your most annoying of quirks likely better then anyone else. Some still needed time to get used to it, but if the two of them were going to be in your proximity in the first place, then you were going to make them useful to your purpose in here.

It felt a shame this fort had been abandoned so long. It was large and vast and too much to upkeep for the dwindling numbers of the Nights Watch, but it was well constructed and rather impressive. You could almost stand in the training yard and imagine the vast amount of black furs and leathers all bustling within these walls. You meant no offence to Castle Black but it was minuscule in comparison to the luxuries which could be afforded here.

Now it was no longer as such, a dreary place which needed as much work as it likely ever had since it's first build. No fancy noble woman would come here and find it suitable to live in or even be in. The first they ever build though, you wondered how long the men had attempted to hold onto this place before finally being ordered to leave.

Jon had said the other abandoned forts tunnels had been flooded, but the did not this one, and you wondered just how many men understood the strangeness below. The gate, the face, the symbols all there but did they know somewhere in there was a mystery tied to bodies and symbols of blood in the snow? Did they have any idea when they left this place what was to come in hundreds of years?

The Wall was said to be built to protect the realm, but why now did all of those secrets lay in the dark little hope to ever find answers to their depths?

Books scattered about, looking in one and nothing but numbers and inventory. Another schedules and routines, discipline and what not. All standard and left behind with no care anymore for what would not remain. But still, no hint of other forts containing answers to a thing seemed likely when the black gate below was something not like any other.

Something, someone, somewhere and sometime in this very place there had to be something written in one form or another as to what was going on. What happened here and why was the remainder of the Nights Watch left in such disarray and unprepared?

Near a desk, you could see the remains of a large book, more of a tomb then anything. As you picked it up however, it became very obvious that it would likely not be hiding any secret, a book this absurdly heavy. A wince on your face, you walked it to the nearest surface and let it drop with a thud. Only as it did, more then just the wood of the natural desk shifted.

Brows narrowing, you looked to see nothing. So you repeated the process, and something surely seemed to be moving separate of the rest of the wood. Theon and Olly both glanced over, the former with a question in the air. “What is it?”

Frowning, you knelt down to look more at the wood, but saw nothing. “I thought I saw something, must be imagining things.”

Walking to your side as Olly stood on the opposite of the desk, Theon looked at the book. Opening it, there was more of nothing useful, and yet you bit your tongue trying to look at what didn't move. But startling you back, Theon with far more strength did the same and that time, you were at the right angle to see just the slightest of jolts underneath. Right where the legs of a man would sit.

Mouth parting slightly, Theon explained. “Some wood can get stuck against any metal keeping it together in the cold. Just needs a good shift to do so.”

Both coming to your side, Olly pulled the chair from the way and all knelt on each side of you, looking to where your gloved hand traced along what might be an opening. Only for a second did you reach for a blade, only to find your hand empty and turning with a frown to see nothing. Right.

A certain someone didn't seem to want you casually carrying weapons so frivolously anymore.

Almost rolling your eyes with a sigh, Theon caught enough of the context with a smirk. “Allow me.” Pulling a dagger out of his own, you and Olly both leaned back to let him pry at it. A wince on his own face until a thud of his arm slamming against the side of the desk and did a piece of wood fall.

Wood, and what appeared to be scraps of paper all wrapped together with a string to keep them from separating. Slowly picking up up, you turned some of it in place but wrapped up as such not a lot could be determined. “If you were to abandon this castle for good, why go to such lengths to hide papers instead of taking it with you?”

Theon presented one answer, “Maybe to hide it and come back to it when no one was around.”

But it was Olly with the one you suspected might ring more true. “Or they didn't know this was there in the first place. Hide it where no one would ever find it.”

Until now you thought. Standing up, you carefully undid the strings and let them fall in place. One by one you gently looked through the ink, and found something far more interesting then inventory and routines. You found something written in a language long not used, something which looked much like carvings on a rune stone.

The Nightfort was the oldest along the Wall, and such papers truly reminded you as such. That it was not just ancestors and Northerners manning this place. Once thousands of years ago, the First Men occupied this place all on their own.

By the time the afternoon fell over the sky, you were still there. Only enough light filtering in from the windows alone, but sat at the desk still flipping through it all. A small journal of your own to the side where your left hand was preoccupied writing, and your right sifting through each page.

Not anywhere near what you likely could know if the vast extend of work Sam had conducted, but you felt strange looking at these. Something hidden away for so long not even the hundreds of Lord Commanders after these were made, had found them. They would be at least four thousand years old, as the traditional phonetics of written word as it was used now, was only brought over by the Andals.

It likely, sat somewhere closer to six thousand, the fade some of the ink had become and the darkening on the paper naturally from accumulated age. What you could recognize seemed strange this far, speakings of curtains of light, heart and winter, and something you could only translate as a woman of white. Over and over such symbols came back and back and back again but never more did you grasp the meanings of it all.

Whatever this man had seen, something unusual had happened to him, he had seen something almost as if it drove him mad. The writings not even neat, uniform or clear. It was as if they were scrambled down in a haste, manic ramblings which were all they had time for or the sanity to put forth. Every symbol was cracked and faded and had you running your gloved hand over again and again as if to scrub away the grime from years.

But it wasn't that itself which caught your attention, it wasn't strange writings alone which had you sitting here on your own. It was the final page. Nothing as if a name, nothing which spoke of a person, but a symbol which was one not out of the ordinary to your knowledge. At the bottom, sat the symbol you knew all too well now. Faded and nearly wiped gone, but it was there. No name of who left such a story, but that of a direwolf. A sigil no mistakening from that of House Stark.

Old Nan had told many stories of the Nights Watch, the Wall and the Nightfort but none ever contained mystique of such far north whispers. Monsters and strange creatures and corpses and death, but nothing close to matching what this spoke of. Whatever this was, it was old. So old it seemed not have to been passed down.

You needed more information somewhere else.

Why he kept glancing at you in a knowing manner you weren't sure, but you at that point in your life had found expert talent in pretending as if you did not notice a bit of it. Focusing instead on the words in front of you and not either the eyes or the weight of papers you had not brought out from where you hid it on your person. As if a bird pecking at the inside of your mind, something had told you to keep it to yourself. To not throw it down to others so quickly, and it just might have been that Stark sigil doing so. But you spoke none of it, only walking into the room and stating you wanted to simply look over things yourself, to make yourself useful.

Sam had accepted that explanation, but you felt that rising paranoia that it was what you had hidden from his knowledge he was looking at you for. Regardless, you ignored it and spoke as collected as you could. “And this is every record available?”

Almost as if shaking his head out of it's thoughts, Sam jolted to look over at you with more calm. “Names, dates, greatest accomplishments, everything they recorded as they went. Though, not so much where you're still at.” A narrowing of eyes as you asked the question in quiet. “Well, once the Andals came in, they had to transcribe the records all before them into our writing and so the further back the records go, the less information they have.”

The book was one Sam said should exist somewhere in every fort along the Wall. The Maesters records of every Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, from the start until the last day of each forts use. This one sat still in the somewhat empty library of the Nightfort and thus had no information passed a few short centuries ago. But you didn't look to there, not yet.

Right now, you had begun from the start. Each entry as Sam said was barren at first. But there were names and dates of voting in until their death. You could look one to the next and the math added up entirely correct. Only, no, you couldn't. From the first through to the twelfth Lord Commander it was Stark after Stark recorded. It made sense in your mind, one Stark ruled the North as King, the other commanded the Wall following the end of the Long Night.

But there was no entry for the thirteenth, and after as such it was never a Stark so consistently until it devolved into rarity and then it ended far before your lifetime. The thirteenth, you thought. Brows narrowed as your nails tapped along the edge of the page. Something was in your mind, but you weren't anywhere near a Northerner to have it so readily in your memory.

No, your lifetime was filled with tedious knowledge of every dragon named Targaryean there ever had been in their dynasty. You only knew the North in stories, you had not the lifetime of learning in such an age. But Sam was not a Northerner either, and you were far too aware, that was only an excuse as to why you did not ask.

There was only one other entry which intrigued your mind, but it was not here. They were voted in far later then the last of the Nightfort's days. Two Lord Commanders of the Nights Watch, and something once more like a bird pecked at your mind with increasing frustration. You were too tired, you had been awake too long and far too much of the last night when sleep should have been had, was spent on something else entirely.

Maybe you didn't have the capacity to understand any of this right now. And the longer the day went on the less you found yourself wanting any to intrude on it with a single word. You required a very specific air of quiet and it would not be found as the day was busy. And if by the weary expression on Jons face, he felt all too the same.

Walking in with a frown and unfocused eyes, you could sense the irritation all the same as it sat in your blood, but judging by the unphased reaction of Sam, you'd suspect he was used to it as you were. A lightness in his tone as he jested with ease, “You know sometimes I forget I should be referring you to by your title, but then you walk in like that and you make it difficult to remember there's a King under that look.”

Jon's eyes narrowed in a half baked glare towards Sam, which was taken as good as Jon sending him but a smirk. Passing him by to circle more around to where you were, he mumbled under his breath enough for him to still hear. “You're the last person I'd ask to call me that, Sam.”

To your surprise, as your eyes had been casted downward, you hadn't noticed until warmth enveloped your side. Jon resting a hand gentle along the back of your head as the other braced against the desk, leaning down he spared no hesitation pressing a tender kiss to the hair at the top of your head. Out of everything, it was such a simple act in front of another that had you feel a flush building in your chest, not daring to look at Sam, no doubt having seen the display of affection.

Murmuring a he pulled a seat close to where you were at the edge of one side of the desk, Jon sat at the other. Eyes narrowing at the book in front of you, “What is that?”

“Oh, that's called a book, your grace.”

Jon's face fell flat instantly, peeling his eyes up to glare at Sam who was no doubt rather amused with how much a grouchy Jon would let him get away with saying. Knowing the man was too tired to say a word back with the same quickness. You were also rather certain he knew you were smothering your own smirk, but passing by it as you cleared the strain in your throat. “It's every Lord Commander since the Wall was constructed. I had wondered if any name ends up standing out, or something they've done could match anything Sam's already uncovered.”

Nodding, Jon's eyes had not seen as you did, and none would yet. “Have you found anything?”

Yes. “No.”

The hand at the back of your head had slid to the top edge of your chair, not noticeable enough for you, but on every non consistent occasion, Jon would reach what of his fingers he could to toy with the loose strands of hair free down your back. Eyes hardly leaving you to the page then back. Whatever he normally held back in respect in front of others, Sam was not one Jon felt the need to hide in front of.

The papers hiding under your clothes weighed a crushing amount.

Voices moved between the two men, the rasp from one side so gentle in your ear you for once had not felt the burn in your scar. But something only a little girl would describe as a fluttering in your stomach in it's place. For so long you couldn't ever think of it in terms of something which couldn't haunt, but it wasn't life alone now. It was life gifted by Jon himself.

You came here to focus and search for answers, but your heart skipped light in your heart being so close to him. All the talk of children, and it was only real now. It was only real not even in the past twenty four hours. And instead of having time to consider it together, you both were once more jumping within the depths of duty.

A sigh holding back inside you, you were a mess. Tugged in many directions in the storms of winter coming but the one which came back again and again you could feel Jon's eyes flickering down to your stomach. You were avoiding the grey and he knew it, as if begging you to ignore your focus and look back up at him.

Did he want to make you feel out of your mind? You thought to yourself, Jon was just sadistic enough enjoy dangling your silence in front of those closest to him. “Either we used symbols of their language in our writing afterwards, or they are using ours thinking we could read it.”

You could hear Sam somewhat near you still, the sounds of the endless amount of paper trailing along his workspace as he spoke. “What if it's both?” Jon's brows narrowed in question just as you much firmer felt his hands trail along strands of your hair along your back, Sam continuing. “I tried to combine the symbols you both had seen, and found it seemed to form a new phrase entirely. Something along the lines of winters heart.”

Head turned just to the slightest, your tone breathless as you tried to make it nonchalant. “What does that mean?”

Sam earnest as he responded without hesitating. “I don't know. Nothing I've seen even in the old manuscripts mention anything like that.” Jaw clenching, you turned back to re reading the same words over and over. The papers would crush you had you hid them against your lungs. Begging to be looked at but you weren't sure why you continued to withhold it.

It was a bizarre sensation, something you cannot control telling you against the logic in your mind and you knew too well it wasn't something you have never felt before. But never with something so close to the storms of the North coming. It was never so close to something you understood as such.

Per chance you spared a glance to Jon, already leaned down somewhat to catch your eyes in tandem as you sought his out. A brightness of asking in them, but you bit your tongue. Doubt only you could look to him back with, and the smallest of single head shakes you were graced to know he understood as later. If it was his family on these papers, he should know about them first.

Looking away, the thought sat deep on his face trying to put more together. Low and strained as Jon spoke through the clues already in front of him. “They know our vows, they think we can understand their symbols..” Trailing off the right question was left to him. “I only see two options. Either they're trying to communicate with us, or it's meant to be a threat.” Sam asking a threat to what, and it seemed Jon had thought that through as well. “That they know us more then we know them.”

Such a fact was true, but it did not sit comfortably anywhere between the three of you.

“Edd said his rangers report it would take months to reach where the green in the sky is. As far as the Frost Fangs.” Jon stood abruptly, his hand pressing more firm along your back and down to your hip as if when moving by towards Sam, he was beckoning you to follow. For now it seemed, you had seen enough from the book in front of you. There was little else a missing entry could say without anything further to go of off.

Smoothing the skirt of your dress down as you stood, Jon and Sam had begun looking over a map of sorts. Coming closer to Jons side, one arm without looking away, spared no expense in wrapping around your waist to pull you into your side. Sliding the same hand to press along the small of your back. Eyes of yours trained downward in a fluster to smother the urge see the continuous gaze of Sam watching Jons physical ease with you.

Hand trailing along a path from Castle Black out to lands you knew none of. North of the Wall was large and vast, and no doubt however you thought the North you live in now was, likely was minuscule in comparison to the cold endless snowy lands the further you went. Up past the eeiry named Haunted Forest, Jon landed on what looked like a set of mountains before a very empty space along the rest of the map above it.

Rasping deep as Jon looked over it to give him the answers here and now. “If the light's we saw aren't passing by the Frost Fangs, we shouldn't be able to see them at all.” You asking why, Jons face twisted once more in thought. “It would take months to reach there. It's the furthest North the Nights Watch has ever made it, but that's too far to see anything in the horizon from there.”

“Unless they want us to see it.” Both your and Jons head rose to find the more hopeful knowing in Sam. “Think about it, they leave things for us to read, they want us to see these green waves in the sky, but not bring it any closer.”

Your eyes found the map once more, looking to where Jons hand sat at the Frost Fangs you leaned down closer to the table. “What's beyond it?” Both men turned to look at you in question. “The Frost Fangs, it's the furthest the Nights Watch has ever made it, but what's beyond that?”

It was small print in the middle of a space of nothing at the top of the map. Stretching to sights unseen as if unable to confirm it. The location nothing which spoke of actual civilization, unlike the rest of the northern map which detailed where many people had once lived all over. Sam filled you in on such details, all three of you now looking to the same place. “The Maesters at the citadel have about as much knowledge as we do, but according to them, it's where giants and the children of the forest lived during the dawn age. A land frozen forever, inhospitable to man.”

Jon turning to meet your gaze with a more gentle of tones, “Some of the brothers used to say it's where the Others came from thousands of years ago.”

Shaking your head a tad, your eyes trailed off to nothing in particular. “We already know they're coming, why tell us now? Why warn us they're coming now when they've spent years hunting us all down?”

But Jon had a possible answer to that, one that he came to conclusion of at Hardhome as he and one of them found the others eyes across the waters. Meeting one another before letting the free folk all rise dead and blue eyed beside for the remaining living to see. It wasn't a threat to warn, it was a message to scare. “First kill our people, and only then make sure we know they're coming.” Face twisting in thought, you could see the strain as always existed in him now as he looked with sudden sharp eyes to Sam. “You've killed one of them, and now they know I have too. They might be trying to scare us into thinking we can't fight back the way they can. They want people like Sam and me to believe we aren't enough. We know they're still out there and now we have to watch it every night until they decide to come for us.”

The room was warm as it could be with the fires around, and yet a chill shivered between all three of you. It was too dangerous, this path finding itself uncovering. If they wanted you all to believe you were without hope, then the lack of it couldn't leave this room. The Long Night ended once, it would end again but perhaps preventing it in the first place was the losing battle. Perhaps it was finding the answer of how to end it before a generation was born and died all in that darkness.

An order coming firmly from Jon in the creeping silence that shocked both Sam and yourself back into your heads without crushing dread taking over again. “Every translation you have, I need a copy of it. If the only way we can understand them is in a dead language,”

Only you would dare with such a finish for his words, the only one in the room who understood. “No one better to learn how to understand it then a dead King.” Greys met Green, and you knew too well that it was not one dead man who should understand it. But three.

It seemed fitting, the first of you to die and return now one of the first to learn a language of symbols and people long dead. Jon when conveying his plans before coming here had been firm. If Thoros and Beric wished to fight this fight, they wouldn't do so anywhere near Jons true home. Trusting them to commit to such a battle, but not enough to let them have eyes on you more then they already were.

Telling the group of you who had all accompanied Jon here, that should Stannis agree, the two outlaws would remain at the Nightfort under his watch and command. “The Night's Watch is beyond reach of the law. Edd knows what we're up against as well as I do, and he and I are working together, but sending men there can't be a punishment anymore.”

You could recall standing beside him, the flare of pride in you watching Jon speak with such conviction and confidence without a shred of ego to back his voice up. Smalljon Umber had spoken up in a respectful manner, “I'm not sure I follow, your grace.”

Jon, as he was better at then he'd give credit for, was convincing to the point you'd almost mistaken it for another act of strange magic natural in his blood. “I had brothers in the Nights Watch sent there instead of being physically punished for their crimes. But the Wall needs more then men forced to find purpose there because that's the only life they have left. Thoros and Lord Beric will serve at the Nightfort, no chains, no sentencing. We have to fight this fight beacuse we want to. Not because we have no other choice. I'm bringing them with us when we leave, and hate them or not, they won't be my prisoners anymore. I'm trusting them with the same chances I trusted my brothers with at Castle Black. You are free to voice your complains my lords, but I can't have us arguing about it. Now now. We have to all trust each other regardless of what we may have once done.”

The thought that he once thought he wasn't worth anything and yet in that moment all you could do, was hope Robb and Ned could hear you. Hear you tell them that they should be proud of who they helped Jon become.

Robb would always be Jons brother, the closest companion he had from before he could even form memories, Robb was there right beside him. Nothing could take that away from then, nothing and no one could remove that Jon and Robb both were brothers who missed each other in those wars with everything they had. Robb tried not to talk about Jon in front of you as much as you did him, his presence a missing void especially once Theon had turned traitor.

Once it was only Robb and yourself left, Jon was such a missing space in your hearts beyond even the love you felt for him. He was in different ways, best friends to both of you. All Robb wanted to do once the war was over, was take you home and find a way to bring his brother home where he belonged.

You both knew something was coming one day, the moment the raven arrived in Riverrun with news of Sansa being wed to Tyrion Lannister, you both could sense Lord Tywin was plotting something to replace you both with. Not the idea of how inhumane it would be or how sudden, but you both had the growing sense that there was a chance you both wouldn't make it.

Robb had said it himself. “Tywin finally knows your pregnant.”

You had no doubt that even had Robb known the truth of Jons birth, that would not have changed his mind in naming Jon as his true heir. Unspoken, but so enraged by his mothers insulation that Jon would have any intentions of harming what remained of Robbs family, it had Grey Wind step forward and growl deeply at her. It gave away how far she overstepped, and Robb did not hide that he had let his direwolf express such rage for him.

Everyday you always wished Robb could see his trust in Jon was right. That he could rest with his family in the crypts beneath Winterfell and watch over his brother not rule like him, but be a great leader all of his own.

You knew too well, Ned Stark was proud of Jon. Never more had you been confident he'd be proud of him. He knew the truth Jons entire life, and never raised him as anything but his own true son he loved with all his heart. Father by blood or not, there was no influence on the man Jon stood as now which was greater then Neds.

Without failure, every time the night settled into drawing you into sleep did you feel the nerves inside you flare up. Everytime you wondered not what you might see, but if he would be there. What he would say, what he would do. He wanted you to fall for his tricks, but did not hide his willingness to act as the attacker if you wouldn't give in.

The scariest thought of it all however, was that this was someone in the world you lived in. Somewhere out there, this stranger was real, and he knew far more about you then you knew about him.

If there was only one factor to redeem it thus far, is that for reasons you still did not know, both dreams he has come to you, was where you were protected by that of a great wolf. A white direwolf larger on four legs then he'd ever been seen, and feirce as any could possibly dream of when in need of aid. But, there was a difference between that one, and the very large ball of white fur laying about by the fire in the room and the one only now just taking a seat at the edge of the bed with a rough, low groan and a wince in his face.

The image of Ghost was what stood with you in those dreams, but it was the white wolf currently rubbing harshly at the back of his neck to no avail of easing his tension. You already perched on the bed, knees somewhat bent as they lay outward, you had been to write something. Paper flat out on the cover of a book, it was taking you far longer then what you suspect Jon would think.

That was always a complaint directed towards your father and yourself. Your ravens were always very deliberately worded, but it meant it took longer to write out then what many scribbled out in haste. A pause between half sentences trying to consider the wording once more. Had you been the one writing to Aegon, Jon had jested you'd needed to have started two hours before he did just to get it done at the same time.

You hadn't looked up from your writing to that, but likely he had caught the smirk trying to smother itself forming on your lips. Now though, he sat down as it stretched far too late into the night and not much sleep had been found for a while.

The night before you and he had stayed up on the Wall with one another until the watch duty moved onto the morning switch. Little was said, little needed to be then. You had to accept it, Jon had to actually deal with the ramifications of what was once his biggest fear being with you. Neither of you rushed each other. It was different this time.

You had not the burden of failure weighing you down, and Robb had spent his entire life knowing one day he would so easily start a family. Once it was out there, it was only joy. Even out at war, even when everyone was finding ways to stab him in the back, when you both were losing everything, the happiness of sharing that news was the easiest part.

But you no longer were that person, and Jon spent most of his life as far from Robb's dream of a family as what he thought possible. It wasn't upsetting, it wasn't angering, but it wasn't easy. You finally knew though only time could ease that for you both. Though, one thing was the same it seemed, no matter how much more frustrating it felt this time.

As if knowing, begun a path in your mind that could be set off at any moment. It had been this way once Robb and you knew, but now with Jon that might be a bit more dangerous. Jon would never admit it, but in a shocking turn of events, somehow he was the brother with the insatiable appetite. You feeling needy for Robb was easy, you both knew when was not the right time for it. Jon though, would push anything aside should the need become too much.

You were daring not think about what he might say, should he realize the more this carried on, the more of such a need you were going to feel swirling on the inside.

Very carefully as to not quite let him know, you gently moved the paper and ink off to the side completely before slowly making your way down the rest of the beds length. Moving up onto your knees, you let your front drape lightly against Jons back as your hands took place of his. Digging down more into the base of his neck and spine and putting just the right pressure into the muscles you felt him tense before relaxing. Moving along further down until you reached the far worse strain he carried in his shoulders.

Something akin to a grunt left Jon as his head dropped, hands braced against the sheets below him only to relax moreso as you pressed a kiss to just below his ear. Murmuring lowly, “You should've asked me to do this far sooner. It's not good for you, walking around this tense.”

You think maybe Jon nodded, and you could only smile at how easily he crumbled under such a touch in all the same ways you knew finding the right place for your nails to scratch at Ghost would make the direwolf as weak. Truly one in the same your two wolves were. His words slurred out a bit more as he leaned a bit back int your touch, clearly lost in the feeling as he sounded as if his accent had thickened in no time. “I didn't ask you the first time.”

A chuckle left lightly in his ear from you, yourself missing the smile it drew from Jon at the sound so close to him. “No, but I like making you feel good.” Were Jon not still hidden somewhat by you having only a view of his back, you would've noticed his jaw clenching. Too often you would phrase things that pricked at a wild part of his mind, and he would sit there telling himself not to ruin the peace of the moment by turning around and forcing your back against the bed laying under him. You were just being sweet and Jon wanted to ravage you for it.

Now more then ever he wanted to ravage you for it.

By the time your hands eased up, you let them dance slightly back to his neck and up before working on what as to be Jons next weakness. Letting loose his curls, you begun running your fingers through them and scratching against his scalp to have it sit comfortably and neatly. “You need to stop doing that.”

A light questioning on your lips asking, “Doing what?” Whatever mumble Jon gave you was not an answer you could decipher. Leaning more over his shoulder, you tried to seek his face out more, “Jon? Stop doing what?”

Inhaling, he sat up, grabbing a hand of your which had slid down to his shoulder, forcing it in front of his chest to leave a kiss against the back. Holding it in place it forced you to lean more against his back as he turned to somewhat find your gaze back. “Doing things for me like this, trying to take care of me.” Not changing your expression you only looked at him curiously asking why. Letting the hand go, you didn't take it back, but kept it draped over to press somewhat against his chest as he used his now free hand to run along what of your jaw he could reach. “I'm supposed to take care of you.”

A lightness sat in your eyes, but yet even as the tone matched it's softness, your words knew better then to challenge him as such. “If you need proof you take care of me perfectly fine, it's currently growing between us.” Truly, you meant it innocently, and you really should have known far better then that.

His eyes narrowed for a moment before Jons far superior strength managed to turn on you. Before the understanding of the moment hit, in an instance your back was flat against the bed as Jon how hovered over you. Both of his hands pressed somewhere on the sheets beside your frame. A laugh left you with ease, “Jon-”

Smiling brightly in return he said your name in the same mocking tone. But as soon as the laugh on you faded into a quiet, tender smile, it quickly thus melted along with your heart as you felt that growing in your heart of adoration. Jon made it too easy, and part of you in the back of your head despised that he once thought he would never have or deserve anything close to this.

Running a hand over the facial hair on his jaw, you let your thumb trace against the scratching feeling as your other sat just above where your scar was, even covered up. Hardly but a whisper on you, as if now the room became only what was here and now on the bed. “I hate to be the bearer of difficult news, my King. But if only a mention of it garners such a reaction, I'm not sure how I'm going to ever get anything accomplished once it starts showing.”

The tease was on the tip of his tongue you could tell, but he held it back. Swallowing the jest right back down as he inhaled deeply. Bright eyes shining down at you even despite the darkness falling upon the room in the night. Low and still thick as if such rawness in him brought out the most Northern of an accent deep in his capability. “When do you?” Your head tilting best it could against the sheets in question, he repeated himself just a softly. “When do you start showing?”

He had been there to see Lady Catelyn go through four pregnancies but it wasn't quite as if she was eager to have her husbands bastard around her in her more sensitive states. Jon usually avoided her in the early months to not accidentally instigate things. Almost eleven years after her last one, it wasn't as if Jon was spending hoards of time around pregnant women at the Wall. Part of him almost felt disappointed in himself for how much he realized he didn't yet know about this process.

Yet not for a moment did it even occur in your mind the same thought. Your eyes distant in trying to search back to a life long passed. “Two moons passed when I started to notice, but it wasn't until around three when I couldn't hide it anymore.”

Grey eyes trailing downward, Jon pulled back, now more kneeling between your legs upright, a hand running down your waist and hip until his thumb could reach where he knew your scar was. Perhaps it was the familiarity that calmed you, and yet Jon felt a skip in his heart. Something rough caught in his throat that refused to come out, were he with anyone else he'd worry they'd mistaken the frowning in his expression as a negative. But you knew him.

Wanting to sit up to go to him, you knew though it would take away what he needed right now. And even in the quiet of the room, you could hear Jons head spinning. Robb had it easy, he had always wanted it, and knew one day it was coming his way. Jon didn't. He had thought of it, obsessed over it, rambled about it when deep inside of you but it wasn't until he could sit there and know the life in your womb was his did it feel real.

His eyes flickering up to meet yours, slowly when he didn't break gaze you sat up. A breathless chuckle almost leaving you, it had started already. Jon moving in an instant to gently help you sit up, moving so you both sat more side by side on the bed facing the other. Your hand finding his cheek once more, Jons both at your waist. Dragging back from your stomach up to you again.

Shaking his head you knew he was struggling to even comprehend whatever words were forming in his mind. Instead, you leaned forward. A light capture of his lips to yours, Jon moved to cup both of your cheeks in return. Deepening it in a manner of seconds, your hands drifted to rest along the back of his neck and shoulders. His kiss wasn't greedy or demanding, but there was a pouring of nerves he was trying to get rid of in your lips. Refusing to let you go until the anxieties filtered out, but it wasn't that easy you knew.

Still, you let Jon guide your kiss, soft lips begging yours not to leave his for too long or he'd pull you right back before you could catch one proper inhale of air. Moving to wrap an arm around your waist, Jon suddenly shifted both of you. Pulling just barley from your lips, his eyes heavy as they looked dark at you and back down to your lips as he pulled you up. His legs swinging over the edge of the bed before he hauled you to perch straddling his lap. Your hands clutched at his shoulders and both of his tight at your hip.

Jon kept you a decent amount from his chest though, despite the begging in his lips to kiss yours again he trailed his eyes down your neck, to your chest and resting finally at your stomach. Rasping out, he almost seemed like he could not choose between the dark need brewing in him, and something far more wide eyed and boyish in honesty. “The first day you arrived in Winterfell,” A huff of a laugh left him as his voice dreamed of past. “I thought you were the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. Standing all alone in the training yard, but the moment Robb and I went up to you, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to you.”

Hands running up and down your hips, material bunching and smoothing out with each instance. Your hands wrapped gently around the back of his neck to toy with the curls loose around his head.

Barley finding your eyes he just looked to where you suspected he wished he could see without the dress in his way. “I knew I'd have to tell you I was a Snow, and I knew after that you wouldn't want to talk to me.” Your brows narrowed, something jolting at your heart as you looked at him in a despair but he continued onward. “Girls never wanted to talk to me after they learned my name. And I knew the pretty daughter of the Kings brother wouldn't ever want to talk to a bastard. But then I told you, and you didn't do anything. You asked if I was Ned Starks other son, and you never said anything about it after.”

You both knew you wouldn't remember that, you recalled very little about the day you arrived given how fever ridden you were pretending not to feel. But you did remember meeting him properly the second time, but you didn't care then either. Fingers running through his hair, stopping at the pause of any tangle and gently running through them carefully to not disturb it. Your voice soft and as quiet as his. “Being a bastard didn't mean much to me, even then. I grew up around different members of House Seaworth, and they all came from Gin Alley. If I wasn't supposed to judge them, I didn't think I should judge you.”

Jon had only ever known Ser Davos as he was now, but he knew Karl Tanner, another from just there. A man as dangerous as he was morally reprehensible and he boasted all he could about how he was the top paid cutthroat in Flea Bottom, and if he could judge by shaking and disturbed look in the girls bruised eye in Crasters Keep, he died as sickening as he lived.

And yet on the other side was Ser Davos, a man that many, including Jon had come to greatly respect and value the opinion of. Or Sam, a highborn disowned by an abusive father because he didn't fit the rigid standards of what he saw as manhood. Grenn and Pyp, just two lowborns not given a chance in the world to succeed. Tormund, a large, outspoken wild man from beyond the wall who in another life would have every reason to consider Jon an enemy.

Outside of his family, almost everyone it felt like he was close to was something of an outcast. The ones who didn't have a place like the rest of the highborns they were surrounded by and found people in one another. Carving a place for themselves when most of them should've been cast out and forgotten.

Except you. You never made sense when Jon considered his life. A beautiful highborn Baratheon girl, the Kings niece with a fancy education and lived in the Red Keep, sitting on the small council. You had no place in Jons life, he thought. Most girls with less prestige then you looked down on Jon as it was, but you were as highborn as a girl could get without being a princess and you found yourself a life where nothing but a Northern Bastard was such a big part of it.

Even now, learning the truth of his mother didn't make Jon any less a bastard. It didn't change that he spent his entire life being raised as one. Jon used to know he was lucky to even live in Winterfell. Most highborn bastards of the North didn't get to live with whoever fathered them. But he lived with his father and grew up with five siblings alongside him as if be belonged but you shouldn't have cared about that.

No one in the Kings company gave him a second glance until Tyrion Lannister came creeping around the corner with advice Jon was then too angry to listen too. It was only you.

Sitting there, his grey eyes trained so heavily on your stomach, he knew there was nothing to see but a scar, but it still felt so odd to know it was real. Him being a father? And not just that, but a father to a legitimate child? Snow or Stark in name his child still wouldn't be a bastard and Jon struggled with it. He didn't want to get you pregnant knowing putting a child in you, a bastard child, would be ruining that child's life before they even had a chance.

The only children he dreamed of were yours, but he wasn't stupid. He knew it was a dream. It was part of why he knew he was taking the black. What was left? He couldn't have a life with you so why stay and mourn what was still right in front of him? But yet? Now?

Jon wasn't sure how quiet he had been for how long. He had told you he wanted to keep this to yourselves for right now, until he could get you safe and sound back in Winterfell and that was true, but there was one more thing Jon wanted to do before his people knew.

If this was real, if this was happening, Jon wanted to go see her. To tell her that Jon would do everything to make sure what happened to her, wouldn't happen to you. Jon wanted to get you home, so before he could even see the burial place of the only father he cared about to tell, he first wanted to visit the resting place of Lyanna Stark.

Jon wanted to promise his mother he'd protect you the way someone should've protected her.

Only a rasping whisper came out, hands still running up and down your sides. “Let me see.” A hum of question came from you, but Jon ignored it. Suddenly moving you around himself to undress you, tossing each offending article in his way mindlessly to the ground.

“Jon, there's nothing to see yet.”

But he didn't listen, not until there was only one thing left on you, but otherwise bare in the cold air of the room, yet warm in Jons touch. He skipped past everything else to seek out the scar. Nothing else mattered, but he stared intently at it until the greys turned black in colour in his eyes. You prompted his name once more, a hand running along the hair at the side of his head when Jon more hissed out with his jaw clenching.

“It started with you, didn't it?” When his eyes soared up to meet yours, there was anger in them. Which grew in the second of silence as you contemplated his question. “The night you died, it started with you. With this.” Keeping one hand at the small of your back to support you, his other moved to trace more purposely over the scar. All you could do was nod, you weren't sure you knew what to say if anything at all. “He killed your son before he even killed you. How far along were you?”

A skip in your heart felt heavy and dizzying, you weren't sure why his demeanour changed so suddenly, but you stammered trying to seek the right answer. “Around five months.”

Something in Jon was blazing with rage, you couldn't identify where it came from but you knew this wasn't going to be the last this was brought up. A distinct feeling in your veins that the longer you were with child this time, the longer you survived the worse this feeling in him would continue to grow. Almost growling, “Five months. You wouldn't have been able to hide it.”

You didn't want to think of it, the disgust in words as you had to stand there in the Twins and let Walder Frey leer over your pregnant form with an utter perversion for doing so in front of Robb. Knowing Robb needed his support more then he wanted to put a stop to his comments, knowing that in hours time, he'd have his men close the doors and end it all.

Shaking your head, you weren't angry as him, but not quite as present as you hoped. “No. Lord Tywin had learned I was pregnant by then. That's why it all happened so fast. Word had reached him and I couldn't hide it anymore, so he moved quickly. Organized everything the moment we left Roose Bolton at Harrenhal.” A rough rasp in his voice almost to himself that he wouldn't let it happen again. Your attempt to lighten his mood didn't work. “Tywin Lannister and Roose Bolton are both dead, it would be far harder for it to happen again now.”

Finding yours, Jons hands on you were fighting not to hold you tight enough to bruise but you knew he wanted to do more. Something inside him had switched, and something far closer to an animal was raging inside of him now. “This isn't a joke.” Your gaze softened at his, trying to implore him to ease up but at the same time, you suspected he was too worked up.

The tighter his hands on you were, the more Jon seemed to without notice, drag your covered hips down onto his. Even under all his own clothes, you could feel his cock twitching with how hard something protective was working up inside of him. “You understand why I need you to listen to me from now on?” You nodded almost a bit shyly, unsure how to approach his agitation yet. Inhaling deep enough his chest rose and fell quite visibly, Jon leaned in. The hand on your scar moving to your hip as the one around your back rose to pull your forehead to press against his. Breath hot as it trailed along your skin. “I have to protect you, both of you from now on. So please, darling. I need you to trust me when I want you to listen to what I say. I couldn't protect you then, so let me do it now.”

Part of you wished you had an argument against it, you really did. Your hands braced against his shoulders, you nodded. Jon encouraging you with the hand keeping your head to his, ran down the length of your hair. Prompting you to vocalize it to him. “I promise, Jon.”

Sighing deeply, he pulled back to look at you, only to let his eyes that time trail downward in a much greedier manner. Hard underneath you, he knew you could feel it and both his hands this time ran up from your hips to your sides so close to your breasts but just an inch or two away from touching them.

Only as his eyes found themselves trapped once they trailed back up and reached your breasts did a bit of a light in your heart force a far too adoring smirk out for how little you had on. For everything this conversation had been, and everything which led up to how worked up Jon got himself both in something protectively angry and in a raw lust, still deep down, all men had something that turned them back into teenage boys. Now his dark eyes were more of the man who already knows what he has, but there was still almost a bit of wonder like a boy seeing them for the first time. A tease leaving your lips far before you could think better of it, “Is this your first time seeing a girls chest, your grace?”

Peeling his eyes up, a shimmer of playfulness sparked in his eyes but he was not quite that teenage boy anymore. A sturdy confidence in how he hadn't blinked the same time he reached up, both hands grabbing your breasts with a greedy hold. Thumbs both moving to run across the small buds already quick to react under his touch and the cold air around you. Raising an eyebrow, Jon spoke calm and collected despite the twitch of his cock you could feel under you once more. “You remember which one of us was the nervous one that day?”

You knew the answer and just as the wrong one was to intentionally come out of your mouth, his fingers twisted both. A gasp leaving you as your head dropped, fingertips digging harsher into his shoulders. He could play them as a minstrel plays their instrument, Jon had long since fine tuned your sound and mastered his craft.

Breathless a bit, you didn't quite raise your head back up as the sparking of something twisting and beautiful was found right in his touch. Fogging your mind and point until you had nothing left but the meek truth to spit out. “Me it- it was always..” Eyes slipping shut you tried not to gasp the more roughly he twisted, begging to yank them but not quite committing. “Gods, you always made me nervous..”

The husk in his voice gave away that he wasn't as unaffected as he wanted to pretend. “Do I still?” But when you nodded, Jon breathed out such a lovely laugh that his hands switched back to almost a caressing sort of grope, but it didn't really bring you back down any. “Everything you are, and I make you nervous. Why?”

He was being cruel, you thought. Jon was asking for a true answer while refusing to let his hands sit innocently on you instead of this. But you kept that feeling growing in your core, radiating down between your legs and begging something terribly and needy in you that wanted Jons clothes off compared to almost all of yours already gone.

“Darling?” Your face almost winced trying to push passed the building inside you, telling yourself not to move against his cock as if you were too impatient to wait. He asked you a question, and your breathing was heavy as you calmed down your heart long enough to form an answer. Forcing your head up, meeting his eyes once more, they were soft and yet so sadistically knowing.

Swallowing, ironically, in a nervous fashion you tried to ignore the greed of his rough hands large against your breasts. “You're overwhelming, being with you is a lot.” Asking why, one hand found the small bud on your chest to twist and the other continued far gentler. “You're intimidating..the way you can stand over me, knowing exactly what you want, it- gods, it makes me want to do anything you ask..anything you want..”

A shiver ran through you, and just as your head dropped again, one left your chest to tilt your chin back to meet his eye. “Anything?” Nodding eagerly, Jon exhaled as shakily as the shiver had moved down your own spine. Eyes a bit more soft as he eased up on their intensity. “There is one thing I want.”

There was the intimidation, no matter how much time had passed you were never the one holding the cards with a man. You were weak in his touch, and you nodded once more, far too eager then Jon was expecting. “I'll do it, I promise.”

His eyes closed for a moment, a small whisper for you to stop almost too quiet to be heard. “It'll be easier to show you then explain. But first, take these off for me, alright?” Nodding down to his clothes you felt so relieved. Feeling his bare skin against yours wasn't even sensual, it was an intimacy that you craved in every needy to innocent form.

Jon moved you back, getting you to brace on his shoulders to stand you up on two feet, he paused any further movement. Both hands dragging down the edges of the last material hiding you from him, at an eye level sight Jon shut his eyes as he groaned deep in his chest. Head resting on your lower stomach by your scar, he pushed himself up and standing before you as well.

Nothing on you and almost everything still adorning his person, you felt small against him, and you felt that need begging once more between your legs, but you had a task to do. A hand of his trailing along your hip, but Jon otherwise stayed silent as you worked. The cold of the room around you had your fingers working slower, but you had a growing sense Jon wanted it that way. Grey eyes watching you intently the entire time, and you knew Jon hadn't the clue this was exactly what you were talking about.

He said not a word, but stood there with a silent, stoic confidence as his eyes took in your bare form over and over as you dutifully took the layers off of him. There was an authority to the way Jon could stand there in silence, one he must think you were exaggerating but it only caused you to work to keep your breathing even in front of him.

Maybe it was what you had learned keeping your mind tethered to both men, but the comparison was striking in your mind as let the last layer covering his torso sit neatly to the side before kneeling in front of him to continue.

Robb would talk, he always did. It never bothered him that you didn't say a lot sometimes, he was happy to fill the air for you and he would do so in a manner he knew would work you up. He'd stand there as you knelt in front of him and say all the right things to make you want him to fill your mouth the second you got everything off of him.

Jon though? He was silent, stoic, and didn't say things to work you up. He said them in a husking voice because he was rambling them out as he was the one already worked up. But he would stand there as you undressed him, knowing you would do the work and he didn't have to say a word. It wasn't as teasing and seducing as Robb, but it was far more intimidating.

You'd take everything off of Jon, and stay knelt there waiting for him to decide what to do next and sometimes he'd stare at you with his dark, greedy eyes for a while before directing you to what he wanted. You always knew what Robb wanted, but you never knew what Jon wanted.

And as you were undoing the laces to take his boots off, you started to suspect he liked it that way. That Jon liked keeping you on edge, relying on him for direction, for what to do next, to be guided by him into the next thing. Something inside him didn't want you to just rely on him for support, he wanted you to rely on him completely.

He knew you were capable all on your own, but something inside him almost didn't want you to be. As if he had spent his whole life at the bottom being pushed around, and now as a man he wanted to take advantage that he was at the top, and keep you right under him safe and protected the way he and many others weren't. Jon relied on himself for most of his life, and now that he didn't have to, instead wished for you to let him prove you could rely on him for all the same.

But in truth, you had relied on yourself much of your life in separate ways. It was why you were the way you were, but Jon had known that for twenty years, hadn't he? He knew you always wanted to prove yourself, do everything yourself without help. You were silent and careful as you undressed him, but in your mind just perhaps it had started to click. That maybe, he was happier taking care of you, then you were trying to still take care of yourself.

He always had. It was the first thing he ever did for you, three days you were sick and unconscious and it was Jon who spent three days taking care of you. He had just never quite let go of that, and never had an opportunity to show you he could do more then just that until now.

Finally, getting Jon as bare as you were. You looked up to him, something shining bright in your eyes that spoke far more then you had said out loud. Almost biting your lip trying to keep it and your heart steady as you waited for him to do or say something first.

Jon wanted you to behave for him.

Helping you stand, Jon grabbed your hips to pull you a bit closer before letting one tilt your gaze up to his by your chin. “You can say no, but I want you to trust me. Because you're going to say no right away to this, but I promise if you trust me, you're going to like it.” The nerves hit you again, and your lack of creativity left you in the dark.

You truly knew so little what a man and woman could do with one another, and both Starks who had your heart got to have their turns guiding you into how depraved it could truly be.

“I trust you.” The manner in which Jon could ignore how achingly hard he was seemed to be a skill few men had you suspected. Guiding you to the bed, at first, you thought you understood what he thought you would be apprehensive about.

Jon laid out on the bed, gently guiding to straddle him. It made sense, you didn't feel confident in this position. You already didn't look flattering but this did not help, and you knew it showed off how utterly untalented you were in pleasing a man. It was embarrassing, you should have full control this way but all it did was expose how unappealing of a bed warmer you were.

Hands gently resting on his chest, you inhale a bit with a nervous look in your eye. “Jon,”

But his hands at your hips prompted you to move away from his cock, and your brows furrowed in an instant. Voice turning a bit stern, Jon beckoned you. “Come here.” You did not get what he was doing, or how this could possibly end up being a position he could make love to you in. Gentle promptings he moved you higher against his torso, “There we go. Come on, darling.”

But only the last minute did you realize, and you tried moving away from him in an instant. He called your name, but you moved away enough he could sit up better as you shook your head. Curling a bit in on yourself, now you felt such an immense embarrassment it grew up your chest and into your cheeks. “No, Jon- why would you-”

He thought of simply moving you back, but knew using his strength against you and forcing your hips up was a bad idea. Instead, his voice was a bit rough as if a lecture. “Because this will feel good for you, and me.”

Shaking your head, you frowned a bit. “Jon, no, that will not be good for you. That's horrible.”

But he only smiled, that bright charming smile that could melt you in an instant. “And who told you that? Your Septa?” Your eyes rolled to the side, grumbling at him to not make fun of you, but he let his back flop back onto the sheets. His hands still on your hips but now running up and down them in a bit more of a soothing manner. “I promise you, it'll be more then good for me.”

Turning away from his gaze, you felt utterly humiliated.

Jons tone was comforting, not with judgment. “What is it you think you won't like about it?”

The silence was deafening, he wouldn't budge or say another word until you answered this one you knew. Your finger tips twitching against his chest, but Jon lay back comfortably looking up at you with ease. The discomfort sat heavy in your stomach. “I already don't understand what you like about..”

Rambling off, Jon filled in the blanks for you without hesitating. “What I like about tasting you?” Still not looking at him you gave a small nod, and thus you missed the smile. “That's easy, I love doing it because I love the way you taste.” Oh the wide eyed fluster you had before going back to not at all looking near his way. Hands smoothing up and down your hips, he was patient. “So, you can take away worrying I don't enjoy your taste, what else is there? Is it the way you think you look on top of me?”

If you could get even more flustered you would pass out. “If I looked-”

Cutting you off, Jon was far too nonchalant in such a raw honesty. “You look beautiful, especially like this. What else?” Once more you said nothing, this time the insecurity sunk a lot deeper. It sunk right down to an innocent day in his chambers in Winterfell as you told him you were worried he might not enjoy being with you because you didn't know what to do. “Oh darling,”

You'd pull away if you wouldn't instantly miss the comforting feeling of his bare skin against yours. He reached up, leaning on one elbow to allow his hand to tilt your gaze back to him by your cheek. A small shrug on your shoulders, trying to play yourself off as uncaring and failing. “It's fine, I'm upset over nothing. Let's just do it, I can get over it-”

“I'm not doing this unless you tell me you want to.” Looking back at him, you hesitated to say it now that you felt the fluster drain a little. His calmness easing your heart down, and now you felt foolish to say it as if he had ever expressed dissatisfaction before.

Saying it felt childish, but you said it. “I don't know what to do.”

The charming smile on Jons face and the way he let his thumb trail over your cheek and bottom lip, he was as blunt as you had spoken it. “Good thing about this, all you need to do is enjoy yourself. But it's up to you, we won't do this if you really don't like the idea.”

Watching him in quiet for a moment before a much more genuine ask, “It won't be uncomfortable for you?” Telling you not at all, you sighed. Palms flat against his chest before inhaling. Nodding, you found the bravery passed the hesitation in your heart. “If It does-”

“If it becomes uncomfortable for either of us, we'll stop. And I'll lay you down and taste you the way I always do. Alright?” Nodding again, you sighed out a deep breathe.

Not confident enough to watch, your eyes slipped closed, as you let him guide your hips up. Both knees moving to beside his head, hands firm on your hips as he leaned up. Your hands initially tense and useless by your sides, a spark hit you, causing one to reach up to steady your almost jump, gripping the headboard.

The quick feeling of Jon nudging at your clit with his nose took you off guard until he then pressed a lingering kiss to the small bundle of nerves. A gasp high pitched leaving you, as his hands tightened to prevent you from moving away. Small, gentle brushes of his tongue stole your breath and had you seizing up from the desire it so easily drew out.

Licks one after another just to work you up and your chest tightened at how easy it was for you to want to cry out already, but Jon was only beginning. In his mind, you had offered yourself up as a feast and he now could keep you glued to his mouth as long as he wanted. You were so much easier to hold down against his mouth from this position.

He was desperately hoping you would like this, because Jon was fairly certain outside of gently hovering over you with your back against the sheets as Jon would slip inside of you, this was by far, the best way he's ever had anything of you and it wasn't even close.

Soaking your core, Jons tongue ran more flat against your clit, kiss turning almost into gently sucking at the sparking nerves and he only increased the intensity the more you writhed in his hold. You wanted to say something, anything, but there was something so unsure and unknown in you about how he went about this that kept you on an edge. How casual he was able to coax you into it and how tightly he was holding your hips. Bruises shaped just like his hands would no doubt be contrasting notably in colour against your skin tomorrow.

In another life you were the experienced one, but despite all what could have been seen as proof, it was in the contrast between you both which made you feel so new at this everytime. You and Robb both knew he was the experienced one, and neither of you shied away from that fact, he would use his greater experience to guide you with confidence. Now it was so much more complicated, for you and Jon both and yet he took the reigns as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was as if no time had passed between that day he tried to guide you in his chambers. You still the unsure girl with far too many preconceived notions about sex.

But what was once guidance from older women who implored you to view such enjoyment as the sort of behaviour men only find in a brothel, it was the creeping words of a man many months dead still spitting vitriol in your ear about how little choice you had and how the only reason you should enjoy it, was that maybe it would be less painful.

Jon though, he almost got angry when you would try and deny yourself the enjoyment. He hated when you tried to make it all about him, even though in your mess of a mind it would be so much easier to please him and move on. But instead, Jon's hands kept tight on you, but as if you were not engaging in your own pleasure enough, he seemed to get impatient.

Leaning up as much as he could from where he lay, you could feel his facial hair, thick and coarse as it was rubbing up against the sensitive, raw skin between your thighs. His mouth was warm and only adding to the growing wetness between your legs, but the dry and rough scratching of his facial hair made such a contrast that you swallowed heavily. Attempting to contain what felt like a growing whimper.

Not letting up, Jon licked more small, tight patterns against your clit. Keeping on one as it burned through you, and only when the coil begun to tighten some what inside, did he ease up and find a new manner to run his tongue over. Not even letting you go close to the edge before he drew you away from it, your hand trying to hold the wooden railing of the headboard tightening meekly, your other gripping the sheet beside his head unsure what to do.

Teeth giving the slightest of grazes along your clit, a cry jumped from your mouth just as your hips tried to jump from the sudden sharpness. Jon though, ran his tongue almost gently along you, soaking the offence with a soft brushing lick before going back to the more rough treatment. Back and forth his mouth dragged you from a soaking caress to a bladed edge and your tingling clit the wet stone keeping his sword sharp. Just like one too, Jon controlled exactly how he ran it along, and how sharp he wanted to keep.

Your insides were twisting like the moulting of lava, burning as hot and yet it stuttered your breathe to something high pitched, hand in the sheets beside him twisting to where the strain in your knuckles could be seen. Small begs of his name were all you afforded yet, only adding to the noise of ravenous desire in Jon knowing he could do more. He knew he could drag much more sounds from you, but he was playing a game of patience.

Pressing a kiss to the bundle of nerves, you closed your eyes with a shaking inhale. Trying and failing to move from his touch, the pit in your core growing and growing and your eyes slipped closed again as the desire twisted through your blood stream. Trying to infect your nerves and flowing all over like an illness, only the cause and concern was the same, how close you were. Muscles tensing and straining in his touch, your thighs shook trying to keep mostly upright as off of him as possible.

Smaller presses of his lips were given with a soothing softness, but it had you cry out unable to choose between leaning away or giving in. Teetering on an edge that had you mutter softly without giving thought to the soft nothings you were saying so gently. Muttering pleases and his name so gently that Jon couldn't tell if it was making him want to show you mercy, or drag you down further into the depraved depths which his darker mind fantasized about.

You could be so innocent the closer you were to an orgasm, relying on him to either let you or obeying without a fight if he took it away. And some days he couldn't tell what he liked more. Giving you too much and exhausting your senses from pleasure, or taking everything from you at the last minute and making you that much more needy for him but trusting to only let him give it to you when he thought you deserved it.

The things Jons already convinced you to do? Deplorable, your better more restrained instincts looked at you in dismay over what you'd wind up begging for Jon to do. You knew there was so much you didn't know about, but the more his warm tongue dragged up and down your clit with a needing hunger, the more you knew the list of what you wouldn't let him do to you, was provocatively short.

Pulling you closer and closer to that orgasm, your head dropped as you felt that strain burning between your legs from its origins in your core. “Please, Jon. Please, gods, I'll do anything. Anything you want, I'll do it please don't..”

Humming against you, Jon once more moved his mouth to you more, and once more teetered you at that precipice of pain only he could make you beg for. Teeth against your clit before sucking at it as he would the sensitive buds of your breasts. Gasping with no air, you seized a bit in his touch, but just as you felt that twisting coil begging to snap, did Jon change up again.

Though, this time, whatever desire of a meal you thought he was giving such warm soaking attention to your clit of, was nothing. In a grunt, Jon removed his mouth and turned to the side. Just somewhat, sinking his teeth into your upper thigh, but instead of the jolt of fear in memory, only a buzzing in your head making your muscles weak.

Moving his teeth upward along your thighs, Jon pulled away just enough you felt his breath exhaling against your soaked core, and yet, just as you felt your muscles loosen from how stinging being taken from your finish felt, did Jon once more find new paths.

Jon while running his tongue flat along your clit, grabbed both hips tighter and in one go? Jon humiliated you, dragging your core down to fuse his mouth. Forcing you to practically find seat on his mouth and tongue, one hand only leaving you long enough to take the hand beside him, and drag it into the loose curls around him.

Grasping your hip again, he wrapped the other around your back and perked your back up running his hand up and down your spine. Begging his name, you knew you were soaking his mouth but Jons tongue, hot and flat ran thick along your folds. Clit down to your cunt and a growl left his chest at the slightest hint of a taste.

So much of you was already coating his tongue the moment he dragged you down onto it with no room to hover away from it. Your hand in his hair trying to hold without keeping too tight, but Jons growling need himself vibrated against what already was a dizzying pleasure inside you. Head dropping down, but only lasting but a single peek.

Barley anything of his enjoyment was visible from such an angle, but it was too much. It was far too intimate having to look down and see his black curls between your legs knowing he was giving you no room to let him breathe. Running his tongue flat from your clit and back along your folds, Jon finally had enough.

He wanted to be selfish.

The hand on your spine slunk down, grasping one cheek of your ass tightly as you gasped. The other holding your hip down against his mouth, Jon sunk his tongue deep inside your cunt and once more the rawness against your thighs, how hot his mouth was and how much you soaked him still. Dragging what he could of his tongue along a wall to make you beg his name with a shaking cry.

“Please- oh fuck,” Your head all but falling back with begs high into the cold night sky, your voice was breathless as your muscles all tensed around a burning feeling hot like a white star twisting to oblivion inside of you. “Your so good, feels so good, Jon please.” Jons hands tightened as he kept you now much more by force against his mouth with a growl if you even tried to move away from his mouth desperately drinking from you. “Please let me cum, just once, please, I'll be good..I'll be so good for you, Jon...please- I'll never ask you again, I promise.”

Even through the raging noise in Jons head at how on a bordering feeling of feral he felt, he knew you likely weren't really even aware how much you began to ramble. But you did, you rambled and begged and promised in such a breathless high pitched whine, that Jon was going to hold you to it.

You promised to be good, and he was going to expect it, but his greed was as strong as your needy cries.

Vibrating deep in your core did something inaudible growl from Jons mouth, but his tongue gathered every soaking taste of what your cunt gave to him that you couldn't stop to think of anything you were saying. His name only what you recognized, but you could've asked him or promised anything and as long as he didn't take this one away from you, you'd do whatever you promised him.

Burning bright, your thighs strained in a shake, Jons fingertips digging roughly into your ass that had you almost weak enough to ask for one thing. But you didn't, and his hot mouth dragged you right up to that edge and kept you forced against his mouth to drink as soon as that coil snapped.

A loud beg of his name cried into the air like a melody, your vision dark and head falling back so lightheaded that you couldn't even stop begging of such pleasure to realize Jons own growling and grunts had turned to greedy moans as he drank every bit of what your wetness gave to him.

His other hand at your waist slid back. Jon sitting up only enough so that as both hands grasped your ass, he brought you further into his mouth as groans escaped shamelessly at your taste. Just as you felt nothing but his soaked, fat tongue lick along your cunt and inside you to taste every chance you gifted him, just as you did begs of his name so sweetly.

Were Jon a tad more cruel, he may have kept you there for so much longer but there was something he was struggling to ignore. Behind you, Jons cock was leaking seed of his own as it turned red with need and twitched and throbbed free in the air. The cold not enough to be able to grant you mercy of his size but noticeable enough for Jon that he had only one place to fix such a feeling. Dragging your orgasm with his tongue ensuring none of you went anywhere but his taste, Jon did not stop until your muscles around him relaxed as did the begging of his name.

Your breathing was so heavy, and your cunt was such a mess of your own wetness and Jons saliva drinking with a purposeful sloppiness. He pulled away only enough he could raise you off him to inhale any for air. Once more holding you in place over him as you seemed to let out a surprised noise as if he wanted you to move, but Jon shook his head.

His hot breath dancing along the soaked wetness you both let him drink of from such a feast.

Murmuring against you, the sensation making you writhe as the aftershocks glistened against you, head so heavy you almost couldn't hear Jon. But the gentle tone did not match the depravity of what he had just done. “Switch places with me. Lay down, alright?”

Grey eyes watching with a flicker up to you, you nodded with a bite to your lip but followed his lead to guide you. Your legs shaking as he ran a hand up and down your thigh, “Easy now, slowly,”

Spreading your legs almost indecently wide the moment Jon had you on your back, he followed the action you gave him by moving in between them. Hands now shoving your legs a little more apart against the bed as he hovered over you. Lips shining with what you embarrassingly knew was you, but Jon took a moment to gently watch you still shake in the aftershocks. “Thank you..”

His eyes fluttered closed, brow furrowing under it as he exhaled shakily. His hands pressed beside your head on either side, tight as he fisted the sheets under you, muttering your name in a dark warning you did not quite fully grasp the need of. Grasping your jaw, Jon leaned down to capture your lips without any further thought.

Angling you to lean up to his mercy, your hands ran along his chest reaching his shoulders and back of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls as you felt him deepen the kiss with more of an urgent greed. Only for a moment did he barley pull back, saliva trailing between your lips as the grey was barley visible in his eyes as he looked down what he could of you pressed to close. Rasping low, words almost slurred together in a heavy need. “Don't ever be nervous about letting me taste you, you're perfect.”

Before you could protest, Jon clearly read your mind, pushing you back into the bed with another kiss, rough and biting down to your bottom lip. Bare hips rutting into yours, his cock was so hard against you, begging to be paid attention to. One leg moved to rise up his hip, Jon shifting with you to wrap an arm around your thigh and hitched it up more.

Your other loose but lost, slunk a bit up to somewhat try and wrap your ankle around what you could reach of his calf as if to steady your overwhelmed mind. Letting your lips part, Jon slipped his tongue into your mouth, brushing along your tongue just as eager. The hand on your jaw sliding to cup the back of your head, keeping your mouths together without parting.

Jon forced your taste heavy on his tongue, to make you capture a bit of it. Your hands in his hair tightened as did a needy sound leave deep in your chest. Heart racing each time you felt Jons cock brush against your core but never caring enough to commit. He yanked your thigh up higher, almost trying to move it with him. Pulling back from your lips suddenly, a dark glaze over his eyes at the swiftness you tried chasing his kiss to no avail. His arm moving to all but shove the leg in his hold as much against your chest as he could, letting the other stay wide in contrast around his calf.

Looking down between your bodies with a rough sigh, Jon trailed them to your scar, up to your breasts and hardly managed to get to your lips before something inside him snapped. The hand behind your head flying down, you barley had a moment to register as he stared down at you with dark eyes. The feeling of Jon moving so the leaking tip of his cock just barley prodded your entrance. Looking down to what your bodies were too close to see, he flew back up to watch you with dark eyes, and a complete silence.

Jon tilted his head with the slightest of frowns and only in the last second did a command register in your mind. Not daring to disobey, you kept your eyes on his, hands in his hair falling to hold more firmly at his shoulders, his eyes barley narrowed and darkened as he pushed inside you.

A single, beautifully smooth thrust, he was as deep as you could take him and pushed inside as slow as it could torment you. Eyes dark and his face almost unchanged the whole time, staring you down as your own tried to keep calm but eyes fluttered in a gasp at the stretch. Cock so thick that taking all of it burned in a way that had your back arching up into him.

Jon only managed to slide out perhaps half way, before he slammed back inside you. The jostle having your head fly back to cry out, only for him to mutter angrily under his breath. Head dropping to your chest, that time Jon didn't look back. Cock so smooth and soaked, sliding back out of you before sliding back in. Shoulders and arms almost shaking as was the breathing coming from him heavy.

Slowly his cock slid in and out of you so perfectly, you felt all air leave your lungs, but it seemed to take much effort for him to go so slow. No other thrusts as rough as his first, but he dragged his cock along your walls as your nails dug into his shoulder and upper back. Trying to wrap them around, your eyes were closed with whispers of his name in nothing but desire.

Jon didn't look that way. Every slide of his cock inside of you, his muscles tensed, his eyes closed as his head was dropped. Curls dancing along your breasts, nothing guided Jon but the harmony you moved together with as he was inside of you. As if he was trying to hold back with more intensity then it was taking to make love to you.

Burning inside you, it flooded your veins and swam along every inch of your body, you tried coaxing him back to you. “Jon, please, come here,” You were fighting the pain he gave you just being inside of you, but you soaked him every single time he cock slid deep inside. Something in your heart fought against the racing desire making your mind a fogging mess wanting him to come back to you but he wouldn't.

In and out, you tried gently moving with him hoping to lull him into the same floating feeling twisting inside of you, but he instead shoved your leg as far up as he could stretch it. Sitting up better, Jon now more kneeling between your legs but having refused to leave your warmth for a single second. His other hand grabbed your free leg. Yanking it away from him and where it fell, both hands shoved you as wide as he could. Staring down at you with something angry brewing behind each thrust. Accent so thick, words so unintelligible, you knew he had hardly registered he said anything as his eyes closes shut after. Thrusts pulling such an obscene wet sound each time it was followed by a rough pound of his hips against yours. “I should've fucked you until it took that first night. I hate that I didn't.”

No words came as your heart jumped along with the screaming if pleasure begging with the pain and sting to stop, knowing stopping was the last thing you actually wanted. Your hands barley able to even touch him, he was so pulled away from you, and each pound grew rougher and rougher. His eyes slinking down to watch himself sink in and out of your cunt, Jon looked almost angry.

Before you could say a word in your hazy mind, Jon kept rambling, kept sounding like he spoke without registering he had said anything substantial. “I wanted it to take so badly, fuck- more badly then I wanted to be alive, I wanted to put a child in you that night. I wanted to force you to let me.”

Raising his eyes up, he found yours wide and innocent. Shaking his head, Jon's teeth grit as he thrusted harder, not giving you more chances to speak, he kept letting his deep husk fight over top of the slapping of his skin against yours. Fighting to not look down and watch with a dark, obsessive feeling as your cunt took his cock so perfectly. Still his voice didn't stop. “This is all I've ever wanted, wanted you to be the mother of my children, make you my wife..” A growl mixing with a groan left as his body shivered through the need. “I can't do this without you, I won't..” Another shuddering groan left him, his head dropping as he fucked into you harder. “Promise me you'll stay, promise me I won't lose you again.”

Crying his name, he barley looked up at you from his eyes trained on where his cock was pounding in and out of you. Eyes barley keeping open, your heart full and senses all overloaded you hardly could recall anything around you but him. “I'll stay, I promise, Jon. I'll stay, I'm yours. For good.”

Something in him swallowed heavily. An emotion so close to the surface on him, Jon shook his head before grabbing your hands. Pushing them back against the bed, Jons hips still pounding so roughly into yours. Fingers interlocking tightly, he held you as tight as his cock was rough inside of you, eyes wide as he looked down at you, something so strangely innocent contrasted to how he fucked you. “None of this belonged to her, it never should've been hers, I'd have rather died without having this then letting her ever have a piece of it.”

Voice stammering, your hearty was heavy as it was racing with each pound of his cock. Shaking your head but he barley met your eyes. “You have me now, as I have you, that's all that matters.” Dropping down, Jon pressed his lips to yours, hands still intertwined with his, hips still fucking into you smooth as he was roughly but he kissed you like a man still about to fall apart.

But he was, wasn't he? Hardly able to think over the twisting inside you as it was painful, but enough sense came to you as every desperation poured into you from his kiss. He was falling apart.

He was a bastard, nothing was his, no future was ever supposed to be this. He walked away from the only life he's ever known to one where the first time any told him any of this could be his, was a pretty hair of red forcing it all on a man against his will. Only to come back and find out everything he never had, all died without him anyways.

Being here, a King with a home and a kingdom and a wife and a family, and now growing between you two was life of his very own making. None of it was supposed to be his, and Jon spent his whole life knowing it was out of any reach. But it was real, it was between you both and only months would prove him it continues to be real.

Yet, as he kissed you, as his hips rutted rough and desperate into yours with a pounding slap, it was as if the moment this was over he'd go back to none of it being real. Kissing him back with as much gentle love as you could against his roughness, you moved against him. Together, locked in embrace you gave Jon the loving gentle he was struggling to see as allowed.

Pulling from your lips, Jon tried to go slow enough to press his forehead against yours, but your scratching voice beat his to the chase. “You deserve this Jon, all of this.” He tried shaking his head, but you tried to lean up as much as you could, judging his nose with yours lovingly. “You do, I promise. You've always deserved this, and now we can have it, together.”

Hands tightening holding yours, his jaw clenched as he tried to slow his cocks thrusts down to something suddenly incredible in it's slow speed. Pulling back to look at you, but instead of the angry desperation, was just Jon. The Jon you've always loved as bright and genuine as he always had been, and nudged your nose with his back. “And I promise, we'll be here to love our son. We'll both be here. I'll protect you, him, all three of us.”

Barley managing out against the floating in your chest of rough to gentle and slow, “Son?”

Were any to see, none would have guessed such a bright smile came from a man with his cock deep inside of a woman. “It's a boy, I know it is.” Shaking your head best you could, you wanted to hold back the sting but right away it boiled over and tears fell down with your own shaking head smiling.

Pressing a kiss to his lips, you pressed another, then one more trying to seek out his cheek finally for a fourth. “Been thinking about this a lot?”

“My whole life.”

Jon didn't give you any more thought, just leaned down, no longer angry and pounding as he fucked you. But slow and gentle, making sure you felt every inch of him and he felt every tight soak around his cock without missing a thing. Kissing you once more, only a gentle loving one shared as if innocent lovers but yet you were soaking his cock as he was burning your walls on the inside.

The second he felt you clench, you whined something meek into his lips, but he didn't pick up, or even let go of your hands or kiss. Just a gentle thrust as deep as he could before almost pulling out entirely as you finally seized up. A flood of water bursting through and splashing across your body with a fire that screamed only of Jons existence and nothing more. Begging his name in meaningless cries, Jon barley thrusted into you so slowly and gently twice more before he shook above you.

Sinking his cock deep, Jon felt you clench tightly around him so warm and soaking around him and he groaned your name into your kiss the moment he felt it become too much. His seed spilling deep inside of you, thrusting slowly as if he could still find a way to give you a daughter too.

Yet nothing perverse or debauched sat between you both as his seed, close to hot, spilled so thick as deep as he could inside of you. Jons lips didn't leave yours and didn't push you any further. Your hips moving together as long as he filled and filled you.

Maybe it took a lot longer for your peaks to settle, maybe your orgasms only lasted seconds and something within you wrapped that time to feel like hours. But that time, Jon didn't pull out of you, but before anything else was said, or before you could think he'd leave you, Jon turned both of you onto your side. Pulling you thigh up and open more to fit his hips, and his hand then wrapping around your front to cover your stomach and scar best he could.

Jon knew the scar would never go away, but he'd watch it move along with your growing stomach, and such an image was one he knew now, would kill more then ever, to ensure he could see and protect.

Neither of you really even came down from your ends by the time Jon gently laid you on your side, but you both fell asleep at the same time for once. Connected in body, connected in the minds of bringing him back, and in the son Jon knew was growing inside of you.

He knew, now begun the true test. More then ever, he needed to keep you safe. As terrified of anything happening to you he was, Jon knew the closer you would draw to five months with child, Jon knew he was going to have to be the strong one. You brought him down to earth tonight, but it wouldn't be many moons from now, that Jon would know, you'd feel the terror unlike any understood.

But Jon was yours as you were his, he was going to have to understand. This was not the ease of your love and life with Robb. This time, you were carrying Jons child, and more fear of losing that child then any mother could possibly comprehend.

Falling asleep along with you, Jon's heart begun to settle for the first time in weeks.

Creeping down the corridor, once more the illuminated light at the end of the tunnel was not one spoken of from death but rather a strangeness calling to the human eyes behind the wolves. The power had called to many, its source ran roots deep within the world and no one spot was its origin. It tied together in unison but was never stronger then in the snow and ice.

It had not been cut down, but fashioned into something else which did not operate as the rest of the castles holding similar fortresses. This held a face, and writing. Something which had no answer of why, just as some asked whether or not the Children of the Forest had carved faces into the great Weirwoods, or if they had always had faces, so they would always have eyes.

It was when a young boy, hair growing long and shaggy, was brought towards a tree just like it, when it started truly this time. Crippled and crawling towards it as he was gently placed down into the snow. As soon as his bare hand reached out and touched the bark, did his eyes go white and connect with a power calling to him. Few had such a reach, not the children, not man, only a select few were so intertwined with such paths of eyes that they could connect to another so directly.

Most were gifted it by those three eyes. Eyes which all could connect, seek each other out if need be, and yet it was still not known by the boy when he was called, what he was going to find when he got to where he was destined to go.

None ever knew, but all who had been shown something with such power had always come. To the crow with three eyes watching over all with the sight tied through the world, but also to the powers which came before it. Afterall, the world existed long before an old man with red eyes and a mark along his face in the shape of a raven.

For thousands of years did they sleep. Until it grew and grew, and suddenly that power drew forth such strength from the frozen lands that it rattled powers opposite of it across the world. Eternally at war, the darkness could exist without the light, but light could not exist without first coming from the darkness. The dark was where it came from, and yet the dark had fought the light all the same.

The world had changed as they slept beneath the ice. The light grew brighter and hotter until it threatened to overtake every inch of the lands with fire and blood. But a war was not battles and swords alone, war here was not the way in which man considered it. Warnings were given, and those who chose the unnatural path the light promised, paid the price of not heading that warning.

Yet it was not enough. The darkness had shown man what would happen should they force the balance into fire and blood, and now they begged more. So they watched. Their eyes were tied into the Weirwoods, and they could see without asking. The crow with three eyes did not take sides but this creature and his kind, did.

As the human eyes behind a direwolf walked one path, it had been a very long time since another path was taken by the creature. Its own destination not dissimilar.

It stood tall and old but strong and bright against the darkness and shimmering green illuminating behind it. But they had seen enough of the light refusing to give up its stronghold within the world. They had known what would happen as war once more would ravage the realms of men. The price to pay for what they did. The rest saw no other path, they saw what they needed to do for the darkness, but they were not with eyes tied to the world, as the one walking towards the sacred sight had. This one had knowledge they did not, could not.

The old man, the young crippled boy, the crow with three eyes would not be enough anymore. The dark and light would tear the world apart before the crow became ready. But, the darkness within the blood of the boy, was the same in this man that the creature was watching all on their own.

They had come and they had fought and taken. There was no match for such a brutal fight. But it was necessary. Man had many warnings before, and this would be their final one before they begun their true work. The place men had called Hardhome was where this creature met him for the first time. And from the instance they saw him, they knew this one was different.

He took the battle as a threat, and he should have. It was a display that one of him was no match against them. The sword in his hand during the midst of fighting, collided with one in the hands of the creatures own kind. Which should not have been possible. The weapons of men were nothing to then, but this man had swung and his sword did not break or shatter. Before the creature had a chance to comprehend what was about to happen, the man had knocked the blade away and cut through their body, shattering them to the wind.

But there was no glory nor triumph in his aftermath, falling to his knees in the same spot he stood realizing the weight of what he had done.

The light in the man’s blood was dim, hardly overtaking the darkness, but the creature had descended from the cliffs above and walked onto the docks which the man and all the rest had sailed away from. But the creature? The darkness was their existence, and it connected them, binded them. As if using their own person as a conduit for all their power, all had drawn the darkness out and up beside the creature rose the thousands of dead only they just cut down.

He did nothing and said nothing. He watched, and the creature knew then, they would continue to watch him in return. But the realms of men were chaos, and they watched death befall him.

Yet? A woman whose blood radiating so brightly it blinded them, she brought him back. The light in her, reignited the dim light within his blood and yet the darkness in his blood dimmed down her blinding brightness. As if fire encased their persons, and the ice thus covered over it. Protecting them both, his power now shared with her.

But, the crow with three eyes was not yet finished his own work. The crippled boy granting her power just as the old man had others before. But her and the mans powers were already connected through the blood needed to bring him back. And so the power granted in her, too strengthened his. The world was putting those into place whom would be needed most in the war to come.

But the creature was not one without any reason. They knew that the darkness and the light both needed those to serve them, and those who served, could not be ignorant any longer.

So they walked and finally did the sacred sight come into view. The Weirwood was strong and tall, and as blueish skin of milk white touched the bark, so did their eyes turn white just like it.

But it was when not a hand, but the gentle scrape of a wolfs paw against the tall gate with its carved face met the surface so did the minds attached.

Visions shown which both could see. The blood of war, the mans own death through his now beating heart, a dense land of men and castles as a large shadow flew over top of it, an iron seat drenched in white as the snows around them covered every surface in the great sized room.

Bloods, birds, crypts, her, and yet finally came the ice. The snow and the darkness which they were born from. Nothing spoken, only a destination shown. It was a calling further then any had asked of men before.

They needed to know if the light shared between he and his mate had overtook the natural darkness in his blood. In this vision between the two, did the Great Wolf stand before them. Kneeling down their crystal blue eyes met ones of red, and it was sealed.

They would come, they knew it.

As Ghosts paw fell back again to the ground, did the direwolf return to his own mind alone and, run from the carved face of the gate under the Nightfort into the room Jon was in.

Now gasping for air as silently as he could without startling you awake, he and Ghosts eyes met. Jons breathing evened out, beckoning the direwolf silently to more by his side. There was no use Jon trying to dissuade him from climbing up onto the bed, regardless how much space he took up.

Turning more to his side, Jon let a hand tenderly come down to run along your arm and down your side as the grey in his eyes were wide and bright with something he had no words for to explain. What they promised waiting for him at the end, Jon did not know, but something heavy ate away at his heart as he watched you sleep in peace.

Tormund was right. The answers lay out there, but one more person beyond Jon and Ghost alone, were being told to go out there and find them.

And it was that realization that had Jon lay awake, consumed by it for days.

[ahamkara-apologist]

Fuck it. Big Taniks headcanon dump go

-One of the last remaining pureblood Eliksni from House Scar.

-As a result, he sports the phenotype from Scar: a dark red-brown striped carapace with a boxy, viper-like muzzle and heavy jowls, yellow eyes, very thick, blood-red setae with hooked barbs on each strand (where its still present), large mandibular teeth, and prominent chitin spikes on his carapace. If he was born on Riis, he would have had horns like a horny toad- many short, sharply triangular chitin spikes ringing his jaws, cranial crest, and eye spikes. As is, the remnants of those can still somewhat be seen in the way his carapace overlaps each other, but not to the extent it should. Body type is more on the burly side, but he grew up malnourished so he's thinner than he should be, even after getting as much ether as he could ever want after the fall of his house. Has 8 eyes, which his mother took to auspiciously mean he was born lucky (as he was lucky to be born at all): really this luck is more of a curse at this point, but Taniks doesn't like to think about that all too much

-However, it should be noted that most of these features have mostly been completely lost to scarring/mechanization. He's kind of like the Anakin Skywalker of the Destiny 2 universe: handsome to scarred mess, minus the fascism

-While he broke his House, the culture he was reared in still informed some of his behavior: Scar used to be full of honourable, ritualistic fighters and healers in the old days of Riis, known for their strict adherence to moral code and their technological advancements, but devolved into brutal violence post-Whirlwind. (By 'ritualistic fighters', I mean that they used to do elaborate swordplay dances to settle debates that House Judgement alone could not appease, and that this ability with blades was secondary to the fact that they were doctors first and foremost. The idea was that a healer would willingly do less harm than another Eliksni, hence why they were often chosen to be fighters as well)

-Post-Whirlwind, particularly brutish rituals arose to desensitize their members to violence, which got worse and worse as Scar sought to subvert their old healer ways and lean hard into being warriors. By the time he hatched, the only remnants of House Scar's culture as healers was that they were better at patching up their wounded than the other Houses

-How is this relevant to Taniks? Well...in Taniks's case, he was born to a drekh that was too low-ranking to be allowed the luxury of reproduction. He was allowed to live after he was found out, but when he grew old enough to fight, he was dragged before the Kell and told that had to prove his right to be survive through two trials: one, to be docked and fight as a wretch, or two, to kill his own mother and become Captain immediately- the choice his mother begged him to take. So he honoured her wishes, and killed her

-His kell double-docked him anyways.

-This prompted Taniks to go into the frenzied rage he was known for, where he made himself new arms and killed the kell, breaking House Scar. His disdain for the brutish ways of the House system + his hatred of kells continues to modern day, with the exception being Eramis, whom he fought beside, and who earned his trust by never trying to lord over him or demanded a house oath to keep him in line

-Unfortunately, breaking his house pretty much sent him into exile and marked him as an unstable traitor for the rest of his life, leading to social ostracization. Taniks didn't care personally, but since this happened while he was still very young (+ the fact that eliksni are deeply social beings, perhaps even moreso than humans), it did permanently fuck up his mental and social development. He's only half-socialized at best, and struggles intensely with navigating Eliksni society outside of dominance plays and combat rules. Granted, he doesn't particularly care about any of that stuff, but when he does, his own ineptitude can send him into a rage

-It also affected his physical development as well. Because the Eliksni function like lobsters in that they only grow more fertile as they age, and bc I hc them to be sequential hermaphrodites (ie, able to change sex as needed, bc traditionally the kells were the most fit breeding adults so being able to change sex to maximize compatibility was key), eliksni puberty is a long, drawn-out event that's heavily influenced by social and environmental cues. Taniks's isolation during his early teenage years ended up with him stuck as a simultaneous hermaphrodite, which is not really how Eliksni are supposed to work (they can live relatively normally, but their fecundity is drastically reduced in both egg and sperm production, and they suffer from health conditions as a result). Again, he doesn't really care bc he's used to it, but the hormone imbalances certainly didn't help with his mood or chronic pain problems

-Bc oh yeah, he's essentially got Eliksni PCOS. He's spayed himself at least twice to try to alleviate the symptoms + sterilize himself, but since he's not a doctor, he missed tissue both times, and he grew them back both times- the second, entirely without his knowing

-His identified gender is also a clusterfuck to match, though that's entirely a Taniks thing, and isn't necessarily tied to his physical sex organs. Most Eliksni just default to their equivilant of masculine pronouns for him bc that's what he had when he killed his kell, and Taniks never really cared enough to bother correcting them. The only Eliksni who knew he was genderfluid was Eramis (who likely explained genderfuckery to him to begin with) and maybe Atraks, who was also genderfuckery in her own special way. He never revealed this to others because with the Eliksni, I imagine being trans is seen as more of a soul-state that the body doesn't need to mimic, and the last thing that Taniks wants is for random people to know his soul-state.

-Because of his sex alignment and his attempts at spaying himself, he is entirely convinced that he's infertile. He Is Not.

-Part of the reason he wants to believe this is is because he's terrified of children, and is terrified at the thought of making any children. Kids are a wildcard, and and they trigger nurturing instincts in him that he has no frame of reference for dealing with. Pair that with the fact that his mother had him in secret, hid him away from the rest of the House, and often told him how dangerous his conception was to her, and you get Taniks

-Intense distrust/fear of doctors. You will not voluntarily see him in someone else's medbay if it kills him. The one he has on his own ketch is specifically set up to be fully automated, and whatever the machines don't do, he does himself. It's impressive given his lack of official training, but still very crude and slapdash, and his houseless, suspicious nature means that there's not many painkillers on board

-Intensely intelligent with a very keen eye for detail: would have been an amazing scribe in another life. Writes poetry in his free time that's actually really damn good, though nobody else gets to read it. Most of his prosthetics were engineered by himself, building off of dataplans he picked up himself, and are genuinely innovative and high-tier tech even though they're made of scrap metal

-(On a related note, I don't think he actually lost his legs when he fused himself to a shank- I think he was already missing most of his legs bar his thighs to begin with, and what he did was just hotwire his prosthetic connections into the guts of the shank to control it. It would have been quicker and easier than the alternative)

-Became a mercenary because the puzzle + thrill of a hunt gives him an adrenaline high like nothing else, and because if there's one thing he's good at, it's killing. Guardians are his favorite prize because they're the most dangerous game, forcing him to use all of his skills and all of his strength- though the fact that he still hasn't killed the Young Wolf off for good is something that pisses him off immensely

-Despite having the same level of socialization as a rabid racoon, he's still able to navigate the Eliksni honour system pretty well, based off of his knowledge of it alone. He also has a strong sense of honour and opinions about what constitutes as a fun/fair fight- he just doesn't stick to them if they're a hindrance, and thinks that the old ways of the Houses are bullshit. He's cunning and practical above emotional...in most cases

-Has sensory issues. He thinks he grew out of it, but the reality of the situation is just that he's reached a point of chronic pain that's so bad that he just doesn't notice it anymore. Unfortunately it is hereditary

-Deeply suspicious and hateful of most Eliksni, *extremely* loyal when/if he's won over. Very few have managed that: Eramis, Phylaks, and Kridis are some of the few who did. Everyone else he either ignores or tries to goad into a fight/toy with their pride, because he thinks most of his species is full of uptight pricks. Dude would make waves with the anarchist movement on Earth

-Not religious in the slightest. Get that Great Machine bullshit outta here

-Very chatty when his emotions are running high, near-silent and broody when not. If you're talking to him and he's just grunting back, that's a good indicator that his patience is rapidly dwindling and he's going to snap-roar at you soon. In that case, it's best to back off quickly, because he tends to not fuck around with warning signals very much, and he does not have any degree of bite inhibition

-Has a VERY strong Drift + Scar accent that is essentially the equivalent to Space Texas, but he masks it as much as possible when he can because lots of the old kells tend to look down at that sort of thing, and it pisses him off when people do. And, again, it's a part of himself that he doesn't want others to know about

-Probably would have been a hopeless romantic if his upbringing wasn't so harsh. As it is, he's a very bitter fuck who scoffs at the notion of love, and doesn't think that he's capable of it or that anyone would ever be interested in him (while he's shared a nest with Eramis during some of his seasons, that was entirely a platonic endeavor based on mutual trust + a need to be with someone who both of them knew they WOULDN'T ever fall in love with). While he claims this is just him being realistic, asking about it is a good way of getting him to grow violent real quick

-Paranoia? YES. He's cocky, but he's not stupid. He's got all sorts of traps rigged on his ketch, and all sorts of backup plans for every different scenario you can think of out there. He's cunning and clever and a nightmare to try to get the drop on

-That being said he is the type of person who will deny things until he can no longer afford to if they're something he doesn't want to acknowledge, so there's a fatal flaw of his right there

-Rules the few crews he keeps with fear and is comfortable with that. He likes the smell of it, and it means that nobody is going to look down their noses at him

-Cannot cook. Do not ask him to cook. Do not eat what he offers you. He prefers his meat raw, but he's not at all picky from years growing up chronically hungry, and will eat anything and everything, including stuff that's rotten or not technically edible. His teeth are really fucked up and lots of them grow in snaggled now after he's repeatedly broken and regrown them trying to eat things he really shouldn't. If it fills his belly and enables him to survive, that's good enough for Taniks

-His molts are no longer true molts, as the amount of scarring and prosthetics he has going on makes it impossible for him to go through a full, proper molt. He's usually got old carapace flaking off of him in bits, and that just adds to the whole 'old machinery/rot/death/pain' stink he has going on at all times. He's eternally itchy on top of everything else, and that does not improve his mood one bit

-Has been forcefully bathed and groomed by Eramis at least once. Hates to admit how much he likes it

-Has a propensity for hoarding/collecting things, both as trophies and also just as oddities. He's got an entire trophy room, an armoury that can put some Houses to shame, and a whole load of human-based odds and curios that he's hoarded over the years scavenging. Among them is a whole bunch of shiny old car parts and stained glass, among...other things. He is one of the very few Eliksni who know how to do taxidermy, self-taught from old records he hoarded, and has a collection of stuffed Sol animals tucked away in the corner somewhere. Other Eliksni and humans have been off the table...so far

NSFW:

-Externally he has the hemipenes (kind of) of a male, internally he has a very reduced broodpouch (male) + the sperm storage tubules and ovarian ducts of a female. His sperm is barely viable, and he cannot take or produce many eggs without causing himself severe pain during the duration of the experience. His huge size has mitigated a lot of this, as now most Eliksni cannot stuff him full enough to cause such pain NOR do they want to fuck him long enough to induce him to ovulate, but that's also unlucky bc that means he can (technically) still reproduce, even if he himself doesn't believe anything that comes out of him is viable

-He's proportionate to his size, maybe a little bit more on the thick side, which ofc means that he's fucking huge

-His right hemipene has been cut off halfway down the shaft, while his left has been scarred, and is pulled into an odd sideways bend towards the middle as a result. The right is still semi-functional in that it can get erect and isn't blocked off from the scar tissue, but the muscle is still damaged enough to not have much control over it so it just oozes relentlessly whenever he gets aroused. He's a leaky boi

-The left hemipenis also functions as an ovipositor (which, in females, is just a fused hemipenis with a wider passage to allow eggs through). The wider passage further increases his drippy factor. Don't mate with Taniks if you don't like it sloppy and wet...and rough. Taniks goes hard, fast, and has no real inhibitions outside of what his partners have to beat into him. Anything goes, and he likes sex to be a fight just like he likes everything else in his life. He's also very very bitey, though he at least has the sense to not make any marks that last...most of the time

-That doesn't mean he always has to dominate or top, though; he's actually a size queen who likes to be forced to obey when the mood hits him. The issue is that Eliksni who are big enough to actually give him that that are vanishingly few and far between, so the poor guy doesn't always get the same rough treatment that he doles out even though he's into it

-Very chatty during sex. Has a bad habit of running his mouth saying all kinds of dirty talk, with most of it being degrading for the purpose of goading his partner into snapping at him. If you're not into that sort of thing, it's best to just tune him out, bc he's mostly just doing it for himself and/or on autopilot than actually trying to get you off with it. The only time he goes quiet is if he's got to deposit eggs, and that's out of a mixture of instinct and because it's often paired with a non- fun sort of pain for him

-(Oviposition should not hurt either party, as it is an essential part of the mating process for Eliksni, but again- this is Taniks. His body never works as it should. That doesn't mean that he doesn't derive pleasure from it, but it's a weird mix of sensations for him, and he doesn't like it one bit)

-Remember the hoarding thing? He has a Bad Dragon collection. As well as a fuckload of other monster dildos; he just happened to find one of their factories to raid once. He's both very amused by them and also a big fan of using them liberally when he's in heat...though he skips out on the ovipositor models

-Probably would do sex work if it would give him glimmer, as he figures that he's already selling his body through mercenary work to begin with. As it stands, nobody is interested, so Taniks's OnlyFans is still off the table for now, alas

[bonker-bananas]

okay sanders sides board game headcanons go

roman-

has the shortest attention span you have ever seen in your entire life, 90% of the time he has to be bribed to play a game longer than five to ten minutes. uno is the exception.

loves-uno, the idea of risk

hates-most other games, the reality of risk

logan-

into the most long, complicated, rule-and-insane-mechanic-heavy games you could possibly find. also anything trivia or random-knowledge-based. he and virgil make everyone play dnd. he is the dm and only does very elaborate homebrew stuff.

loves-trivial pursuit, everdell, that one stock market game that’s really confusing, matching games likes eye spot it, scrabble, mobius (math bananagrams)

hates-those games where you just roll dice and pass them between the players for five minutes

virgil-

either short games where you brutally destroy your opponents or long games where you brutally destroy your opponents, depending on his mood. also teams up with logan to make everyone play dnd.

loves-unstable unicorns, monopoly, uno

hates-any cooperative/working-together-as-a-team games

patton

big fan of games that let you be on teams or work with other players. loves games where you collect cards with characters on them but is usually bad at the actual game. really is just bad at most games, to be honest. he’s a good sport about it, though. (he likes to make jokes about how “your dad is getting too old for these games” and is immediately shut down by logan because “we’re literally all the same age, patton.”) he doesn’t mind long games but doesn’t do well with extremely complicated games. loves physical building/balance games, weirdly good at trivial pursuit.

loves-pokemon, any cooperative/working-together-as-a-team games, catan (he likes to build little houses with the blocks), bananagrams, jenga, suspend

hates-“now, hate is a strong word, but-” any games where players or characters “die”, uno (apologizes whenever he does literally anything to anyone)

janus-

obviously any game where you have to pretend/lie but also strategy-heavy games that require a lot of planning and thinking. likes slower paced games and takes forever on every single turn he has, no matter what game it is.

loves-mafia, bs, runes and regulations, solitaire (he and logan sometimes sit next to each other and play separate games of solitaire and race to finish theirs first. Janus always cheats.)

hates-wham (he hates the one hand only rule)

remus-

anything wildly inappropriate but also anything structured like apples to apples. give-me-a-prompt-and-i’ll-answer-it-in-a-weird-way games. has a longer attention span than roman but only if he’s interested in the game.

loves-cards against humanity, apples to apples, ransom notes, operation, trophies (he always manages to find words that only technically fit the prompt and you want to disqualify him but you can’t. very annoying.), the telephone game where you have to draw

hates-any game that you just play with a deck of cards (no gimmick and therefore boring)