#Watching his son spiral out of control

[sunnylolli]

Got tagged by the person of all time, @oumaheroes and realize that I listen to a lot of soundtrack

rules: shuffle your 'on repeat' playlist & post the first ten tracks, then tag ten people 🎶

Ceiling Gazing by Mark Kozelek & Jimmy LaValle

Need 2 by Pinegrove

Goodnight Dad I Love You by Wishing

Børn af natten by Panamah

The Sound of Myself by Disasterpeace

Spectre by Radiohead

Not Allowed by Kapa Boy

Knockin' On Heavens Door by Bob Dylan

Son Of Nyx by Hozier

The Gold (Phoebe Bridgers version) by Phoebe Bridgers

I tag anyone who wants to participate!

And @ego-meliorem-esse

[angededesespoir]

*Sees a character with anxiety*

My brain: 👀 *Grabs them and Runs off to project onto them*

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 3671 words & 18+

here it is! part two of this blurb. all the hugs and kisses to @moonpascal for reading and giving me tips/ideas! also, here's the series masterlist for these two 💌 happy reading, angels! 💌

While James is gone, your thoughts spiral out of control. You consider slipping out of his bed and retreating to the living room, where the space feels less charged. A nagging voice in your mind insists that James would be more at ease if you weren’t in his bed. You’ve been in his bed before, shared countless late-night conversations and quiet moments, but this time it feels wildly different. 

The air was thick with tension, something you’d felt even after James left the room, and it made you question whether you should create some distance before he returned. The last thing you wanted was to put him in an uncomfortable position. Lying in his bed while his son called you "mum" surely must have felt that way to him. 

You’ve just sat up in bed, ready to slip out from under the covers, when James quietly reenters the room, closing the door with a soft click. He turns and catches sight of you sitting up, your uncertainty evident in the way you watch him. One brow arches in silent inquiry, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Uh,” you murmur, easing yourself back into the sheets, your hands nervously smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric. “No.” 

James lets out a satisfied hum, his voice low and warm, “Good.”

You chew on your lip, watching as he runs a hand through his hair, tousling the curls. You fight back a smile, thinking how just a few minutes ago, Henry’s hair looked exactly the same.

“Listen,” he starts. “I want to thank you for going along with Henry calling you mum. I know it might have been a bit of a shock.” His voice is soft as he acknowledges the almost-four-year-old sleeping down the hallway. You feel a wave of emotion at the mention of the little boy.

“A bit.” You say softly.

“I’m sorry,” he admits, his voice tinged with guilt as he runs a hand through his hair again—a gesture that betrays his nerves. “I’ll talk to him in the morning and explain that he can’t call you that.”

A pause lingers between you. Neither of you speaks, the quiet hum of the TV the only thing breaking the stillness.

“Or you don’t have to.” You say gently, pushing the covers aside as you shift to the edge of the bed in front of him. He watches you intently, his eyes darting down to trace over your bare legs. You’re wearing the shorts that drive him crazy—especially now, with you in his bed.

“What?” He asks, his tone dripping with surprise.

“It’s okay if he wants to call me ‘mum'. If you're okay with it,” you say shyly, and he can tell from the way you bite down on your lower lip and stare up at him that you’re nervous. “I consider him mine.” You continue, your voice coming out in a near whisper.

That’s all it takes.

James pushes himself forward with a determined intensity, his hand cupping your cheek as he tilts your head back, forcing your eyes to meet his. His thumb gently caresses your bottom lip, sending a shiver through you as your lashes flutter with anticipation. He leans in, his breath mingling with yours, and captures your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. You respond with a shuddering sigh.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “He is yours.”

You can hardly respond. The words are stuck in your throat, trapped by the rising emotions. You couldn’t have heard him right. “Jamie, I—”

“You’ve raised him with me.” He tells you, kneeling between your legs, his warm palms gently pushing your thighs apart so he can press close to you.

A slow, gentle kiss is pressed to your cheek, “Been such a good mum, darling.” He whispers, his voice is rough against your ear.

James grins at the sound of the soft whimper that escapes your lips. Eyes wide and lips parted, you gaze up at him, caught between surprise and desire.

He’s beginning to think you like being praised.

“Always so good for me, aren’t you?” He tests as his lips graze the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You instinctively reach out, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as a surge of heat shoots through you, straight to between your legs.

He grins, his theory proven correct. Your hips roll, desperate for friction, as your chest pushes further into his.

“Taking care of my son,” Your eyes flutter closed, letting him run his palm down your neck, tilting your head to the side. Another kiss is placed below your ear, pulling a whimper from your lips. “Our son”

The hand that isn’t cradling your neck glides up your thigh, fingers grazing your skin before gripping your hip firmly, his touch possessive. He squeezes the flesh, sending a wave of heat through you. The sigh you let out is soft, almost a whimper, betraying how desperately you’re losing control under his touch.

“Jamie.” A whimper escapes you as desire coils tightly in your stomach, almost unbearable. You’ve never ached for someone’s touch as much as you do now, every nerve ending alive with need.

“It’s your turn to be taken care of, love.” He mumbles, trailing soft kisses down your neck. Your face tightens, struggling to contain the lump that forms in your throat from his words. 

He pulls back from you, sitting back on his heels as he begins to unbutton his shirt. Your mouth goes dry as your gaze locks onto his fingers, watching them deftly work each button open, one by one. He’s moving slowly, almost deliberately, focusing on the task as if he’s oblivious to how your eyes are glued to him. 

But you know better than that.

The fabric parts gradually, revealing more of his chest with each undone button, and the air between you seems to thicken with anticipation. 

Your focus is dialed into the movement of his hands and the soft rustle of his shirt as he moves. Your thighs press together, the anticipation building unbearably. You reach for the band of his dress pants, fingers curling around the fabric, trying to convey your urgent need. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and he gives you a smile that’s as devastating as it is knowing.

“Slide up on the bed, darling.” He tells you as he pops open the last button and slides his shirt off, revealing his tanned and toned torso.

You obey without hesitation, your body responding instinctively to his command.

He casually tosses his shirt onto the top of the dresser, the fabric landing in a careless heap. Then he climbs onto the bed, moving with deliberate ease until he’s hovering over you, his presence overwhelming and inescapable.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, his voice rough with an intensity you’ve never seen in him before. “So beautiful that sometimes I can’t even think straight when I’m around you.”

“Stop it.” You sigh, though there’s no real sharpness in your tone. You’re simply trying to mask how flustered he’s making you.

His fingers slip beneath the strap of your tank top, tugging it off your shoulder, “I’m serious, baby. Do you know how many years I’ve spent dreaming of worshiping your body?”

Baby. That's new.

“Fuck, I need you to touch me.” You sigh, your voice coated in desperation. 

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice dripping with a cocky undertone. You hate how much it stirs you up, the confidence in his tone intensifying your reaction.

You nod frantically, “Yeah.”

Your eyes flutter closed as James slides the other strap of your top off your shoulder. There’s a brief, charged pause before you feel his lips grazing your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. He murmurs tender compliments, his words melting into the softness of your skin.

The hem slips down, exposing your breasts to the cool air, and you can feel your nipples harden. James curses before leaning down, eager to press a soft kiss against your right nipple. You draw in a sharp breath, so sudden that James glances up at you in surprise. But you’re too absorbed in the sensation, head thrown back, to notice his reaction.

He takes his time, sucking on your nipples until you’re whining before trailing kisses lower and lower down your body. Stopping at the band of your sleep shorts, he glances up at you for permission. You meet his gaze and give him a small nod, and then he’s tugging down the flimsy fabric along with your panties and tossing them aside.

The light from his lamp is reflecting off your slick, and he’s never wanted anything more. All those years he spent dreaming of this moment, imagining what it would be like to have you this close. Now that it’s finally happening, he can’t quite grasp that it’s real—that you’re here, within reach, and this isn’t just another fleeting fantasy.

“Fuck, I wanna taste you,” James groans, staring down at your soaked pussy. “Please let me, baby.”

You don’t say anything but instead spread your thighs, your hands gripping underneath the backs of your knees. He grins, his hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to hold you open for him. The tip of his nose brushes against your thighs as he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin. The shaky exhale that slips from your lips at his touch has him growing uncomfortably hard. 

When he nips at your inner thigh, a playful squeal escapes your lips, and you tug at his curls with a mischievous grin. Gently, you guide his head so he’s lined up with your pussy, your touch both commanding and affectionate.

He doesn’t waste any time, his tongue sliding right through your slick as he moans into you.

You let out a moan so loud that he reaches up and clamps his hand over your mouth. The last thing he needs is Henry waking up and cockblocking him.

He keeps his hand over your mouth, feeling the vibrations of your sighs and whimpers against his palm. If it weren’t for his son sleeping just down the hall, he’d be urging you to let go and be as loud as you wish. Begging you to let him hear just how good he was making you feel.

Your thighs jerk, and James grips you harder, pushing you back down into the sheets. Wetness is beginning to drip down onto the sheets, and the way James sloppily licks and sucks at your cunt doesn’t help the mess. He couldn't care less about the mess gathering on his sheets. The only thing on his mind is making you feel so good that you can’t possibly think straight.

At the feeling of the tips of his fingers tracing along your entrance, you moan, desperately nodding your head to tell him to keep going. He listens, slipping a finger slowly into you and curling upwards. He watches transfixed as you arch your back, and he can’t decide which sight he likes more. The sight of his finger slipping into you so easily or the complete look of desperation on your face.

“God, you look so fucking pretty like this.” James hums, pressing a kiss onto your clit before glancing back up at you. Against his better judgment, he pulls his hand away from your mouth, desperate to hear the pretty noises you’re making.

He’s not at all disappointed; the way you moan his name makes him dizzy.

“Got the prettiest pussy too.” He hums, pulling his fingers away to circle your clit. When he pinches your clit you shriek, jolting at the sensation that shoots through you. Your legs are shaking, and you can feel the building hot pressure settling into your body.

James shifts, moving further up your body so that he can settle next to you. His fingers are still rubbing tight circles against your clit, and you don’t get a chance to ask what he’s doing before he’s leaning down and sucking your nipple into his mouth.

The sensation sends you over the edge, vision blurring into white as you’re consumed by the intense, toe-curling orgasm. Your gasp is startingly loud, so James leans down and kisses you hard, muffling your cries as you grip his bicep in one hand and the sheets in the other hand. He keeps the same pace, swirling his fingers over your pussy in the most delicious way as he works you through your orgasm. He slows his movements once he notices your breathing has evened out and your eyes have fluttered open.

“Fuck,” you sigh, your chest heaving as you look up at James with wide, glassy eyes. He smiles down at you, pressing a quick, tender kiss to your lips. At that moment, you’re certain he’s ruined you for any other man—though, truth be told, he did that years ago.

“You’ve got the prettiest moans I’ve ever heard.” He speaks with such sincerity that you’re certain your gaze is filled with the most lovesick adoration.

“James.” You say softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach up to gently brush the curls away from his face. Your fingertips graze his skin, lingering for a moment on his cheek as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with an emotion that matches your own.

You know he’s deeply in love with you, just as you are with him.

“What, baby?”

“I want to feel you inside of me.” Your fingers reach down to grasp the waistband of his dress pants. James looks momentarily startled when he glances down and realizes he’s still wearing them. With a flurry of hurried movements, he fumbles to unbutton and shove them off, and you can’t help but giggle at the endearing clumsiness of his efforts.

You barely have time to admire how beautiful he looks before he’s positioning himself over you, his body pressing close. He cages you in with his arms on either side of your head, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on your forehead.

“I need to grab a cond—” James begins as he glances over at his nightstand, but you cut him off with a gentle smile, “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

"But there's a chance—" He stops himself, the words catching in his throat as he swallows hard, the mere thought too overwhelming to fully process. He can't let his mind linger on the image of you pregnant with his child; he just can't.

"I know," you reply, your voice steady as you give him an encouraging nod, trying to offer reassurance.

James looks so startled that you immediately worry you’ve said the wrong thing. “Please, baby,” he urges, his voice tinged with desperation, “tell me you’re being serious.”

You giggle, “I am.”

“Fuck.” He lets out a low groan, reaching down to grip his cock, dragging the tip through your folds. The sharp gasp you release makes James glance up at you. 

He’s never witnessed anything so captivating. Your eyes are closed, head tilted to the side, with your swollen bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that drives him wild.

He drags himself further down until he’s lined up with your entrance, and you let out a shaky exhale. As he pushes past your tight walls, he grits his teeth, resisting the urge to shove his hips forward and fill you in one go. But instead, he fixates on your face—the way your brows furrow in pleasure and your lips part, adjusting to the feel of his cock easing in.

“You feel so much better than I imagined, shit.” He gasps, watching the way his cock pushes past your snug entrance and sinks into you slowly. You suck him in so easily, and he swallows hard, silently begging himself to hold it together.

“Jamie, oh my god.” You moan, blindly reaching out a hand to grip his shoulder, the other gripping the sheets.

“I know, baby,” He grunts. “Almost there.” He stills for a second, needing a second to breathe. It’s been ages since he last had sex, and it doesn’t help that it’s you he’s slipping his cock into.

“Keep going, please.” It must be the tone of your voice, that soft, irresistible lilt, that drives him to surge forward as if he can't hold back any longer. The forceful thrust tears a moan from your throat, your hand instinctively flying up to clutch his as it grips your hip with a possessive intensity. At the touch of your fingers, he instinctively twists his hand to intertwine them with yours. With a steady push, he leans over you, pressing your joined hands into the sheets.

Your eyes flutter open, slowly tracing over him, taking in every detail, before finally locking onto his gaze. He’s just so breathtakingly beautiful. His dark curls fall messily over his forehead, his lips are pink and inviting, and a deep blush colors his cheeks. You’ve never seen him like this before, so vulnerable and raw, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude that you get to witness him like this, even if it’s just this once.

A gentle kiss lands on your lips, the softness of his touch lingering for a moment. You let out a quiet sigh, your breath blending with his in a simple, shared connection. His lips remain lightly pressed against yours as he drags his cock through your pussy. Your back arches instinctively, and a soft, pleading whine escapes into his mouth.

He quickens the pace, yet it remains slow and tender, leaving you breathless and dazed. As your head tilts to the side, he seizes the moment to press gentle kisses along your shoulder, his touch soothing compared to the burn of pleasure between your thighs.

“God, I love your moans.” He mumbles, rolling his hips into yours. Being this close allows him to hear every sound you make—the soft catch of your breath, the subtle shifts in your sighs, and the faint murmurs of pleasure. Each noise is crisp and intimate, a testament to the closeness you share.

“Love your pretty lips.” He murmurs softly, his voice low and intimate, as he leans in to press his lips against yours. The kiss is gentle but insistent, and you can barely manage to reciprocate, your movements sluggish and overwhelmed. Yet he doesn't seem to mind; his focus is entirely on making you feel good.

“Love how well you take me.” He murmurs praise with a tender, reverent tone, each word wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The effect is immediate; you release a choked sob as his hand slides from your neck down your body. He gently slides his hand under your thigh, lifting it and securing it over his hip with a possessive yet gentle grip. The shift in position pulls you even closer and has him hitting that delicious spot that makes your mind go blissfully blank.

You’re utterly undone, and it’s all too clear in your voice. Each desperate plea of his name tumbles from your lips, mingled with breathless, disjointed words about how incredible everything feels. The raw vulnerability in your tone, the way you falter and stutter with pleasure, tells him just how close you are

“James, I—” you cry out, your voice breaking as you squeeze his hand with a desperate intensity. Your other hand weaves through his tousled curls, tugging him closer. You pull his lips to yours with an urgent, almost pleading motion, your heart racing as the warmth of his lips meet yours. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck.”

He keeps the rhythm steady, his lips lingering on your cheeks with soft, reverent kisses before moving slowly down your neck. Each kiss is deliberate and tender, a gentle exploration that sends a cascade of shivers across your skin. The warmth of his breath mingles with the sensation of his lips, heightening the intimacy of the moment and deepening the connection between you.

“Fuck, I love you.” He grits out a few strained words, his voice rough and laden with raw emotion. That simple utterance is enough to shatter your composure. In an instant, you’re undone, your body trembling and mind swirling as you surrender entirely to the intensity of the moment.

The intense feeling of you squeezing him tightly, overwhelms his senses, causing his thoughts to dissolve into a haze of pleasure. His body reacts instinctively, and without much warning, he spills into you as he helps you ride out your high. He curses under his breath, his head sinking to your shoulder, the weight of his exhaustion and satisfaction pressing against you.

It takes a moment for both of you to catch your breath, chests heaving and hearts pounding in the aftermath. As you gradually come back to yourselves, he gently pulls away from your shoulder, meeting your glassy-eyed gaze with his own. You stare at him, wide-eyed, your hair a tangled mess and mascara smudged. Despite the disheveled appearance, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“Did I—” you trail off, your voice faltering as you shift your hand from his tangled curls to cradle his cheek gently. Your thumb brushes lightly against his skin, your gaze searching his face. “Did you just say you loved me?” The words come out in a soft, trembling whisper, your eyes wide and filled with a mix of hope and disbelief.

“Yes.” James admits; there’s a shake to his voice as he bites his lip nervously. The admission wasn’t meant to slip out. Instead of apologizing, he shifts his focus to the tears welling up in your eyes. Before he can process it, you lean in and kiss him fiercely, the intensity of emotions seeping through.

“Like you’re in love with me?” You ask, your voice trembling with disbelief. James offers a nervous, yet hopeful smile.

“Uh huh.” He confirms softly, his eyes reflecting a vulnerable sincerity.

“I love you. So fucking much, James Potter.”

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby trope Simon Riley / female reader

You’re startled.

He can tell just by the way your eyes pinch at the corners, your shoulders high and tight beneath your ears. You’re flustered, you’re stressed, rubbing small circles on the baby’s back, playing with the hem of the their hat.

Your discomfort, the unease radiating from your frame, combined with the saw blade currently buzzing through his brain, nearly makes him dizzy.

Still, even in this moment, you leave him breathless. He feels the same itch, the same swell of emotion as he looks at you, drinking every single detail in like a starved man.

He tries, and tries to make the connection.

I didn’t know how to contact you.

What does that mean?

It feels monumental, feels like there’s a black hole opening in his stomach, sucking his heart out into the universe to be obliterated.

It’s just there on the cusp, teetering on the edge.

I didn’t know how to contact you.

“I’m uh,” the baby’s tiny arm flings out a little fist towards your chest, and slide your finger into their grip, smoothing your thumb across, what he imagines, is very soft skin. “Do you have a minute?”

He nods wordlessly.

The cafe is quiet.

Simon can’t see the baby’s face. They have your complexion, your hair… but he doesn’t know what they look like. Not really. He doesn’t even know if they’re a boy or a girl.

He doesn’t know anything, and inside this out of control situation, he yearns for it. The plan. The knowledge, the ability to plot and counter plot the next move.

This… instability, this lingering question in the air-

fills him with fear.

An earl grey sits in front of you, spiraled steam curling in the air across the table, where you’re rocking a little bit, side to side, swaying like a sailor.

You worry your lip between your teeth. "I know this is kind of... a shock." He blinks. "I tried to find you, I scoured social media, I went back to the to the pub and asked if anyone knew you, I had them look through all their credit receipts from that night, but... everything was a dead end. It was like you were a ghost." His lips twitch.

"Why?" He thinks he knows, thinks he understands now, but he needs to hear you say it, needs to watch your lips form the words. You stare down at the table before taking a long, deep breath, placing your hand protectively against the back of the baby's head.

"This is your son, Simon."

And there it is.

He's a dad. There's a tiny life, a tiny piece of him, in this world now.

He's a father. A father, to a son, just like his brother was. A father, to a son, like his own father was, and his father before that. A vicious, endless cycle. One his brother vowed to break, and did.

One that terrifies Simon now.

The first words out of his mouth are unintentional, and cruel. "Are you sure?" He winces as soon as it splays out in the silence, and you wilt into a shade of embarrassment.

"I uh, yeah. I'm sure. The pill isn't foolproof and we weren't exactly... careful. I... um... there's no one else." You grimace, averting your eyes, and his stomach clenches.

"I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." You wave it off, keeping him at arms length. You keep your gaze down, and he curses himself. Making a mess of it already.

He's very good at compartmentalizing. It comes with the job, always has, but in this moment, he's struggling to stopgap the flow of consciousness that seems to be melding together by the minute. Worry, panic, fear all roar at the forefront, but beneath them, buried by mountains of darkness- shines something unexpected.

Happiness. Hope.

A baby.

Something possessive thrums inside him, beats in the veins of his heart. It's reverent, identical to way he felt the first night he met you, the night the two of you made him. Together.

You had his baby. You did. The girl who was everything. The sweet girl who took him like you were made for him.

No matter what happens, no matter where you go, he'll always be the man who gave you a baby. Who gave you his son.

It's sick, how pleased he feels. How satisfied. Something long buried in the genetics of human beings, now rearing its head inside his own.

You were everything, and now- you always will be.

His throat is suddenly very tight, nose stinging with effort to allay his emotions. "What's his name?"

"Orion." You smile, timidly, but tears shine in your eyes. "I really like stars. I used to tell him all about the constellations when I was pregnant. I call him Ry for short." Orion.

"I like it." He tells you gently, and you smile again, more confident.

"I'm glad." He studies you. You're beautiful, possibly even more so now, but there's a thread of exhaustion pulling across your face, like you haven't slept in a year.

A new realization settles in his bones like a chill, and his stomach pitches. He thinks he might sick.

You said there's been no one else, so you've been alone? Did you do this on your own? Do you have family, friends? Anyone to help you?

He's no fool. He watched Beth go through it all, struggle through it all, even when she had support.

And he was the asshole that walked out of your life that morning, not caring for the consequences. Not caring for you.

He missed it. He missed all of it.

"I'm sorry I left that morning without... saying anything. I'm sorry I wasn't here. I'd take it back if I could." Your lips part in surprise, and then you nod.

"I- thank you." The baby fusses, tiny cry sounding from your chest, and you fidget with the carrier, pulling him free. "Do you want to hold him?"

Orion fits against his chest perfectly. It's like he was always meant to be there, nestled on top of his forearm, staring up at his dad. Simon is painfully and hyper aware of the little activity in the cafe, the people coming and going, but it does nothing to stop the tears that wet his cheeks.

"You're a natural." You whisper from your new seat next to him, hand smoothing over the back of the baby's head. "I knew he had your eyes, I remembered them so clearly. When he was born, it felt like I was looking into them all over again."

There are a million things he needs to say, to explain, and a million questions he needs to ask. Already the clock is ticking down to the time that he'll need to report on base. Already, the curtain is closing on this tiny piece of heaven he's found himself inside. He needs to tell you, have a frank conversation with you about his job, his life, everything.

But when he looks down at Orion, slowly falling asleep in his arms, and then looks up at you, he decides everything can wait.

The world looks different now, and he's never been more grateful-

and terrified.

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, smut, implied established relationship, full demonic form!alastor, power imbalance, (alastor owns reader's soul), size kink, dacryphilia, creampie, begging, tentacle usage

☒ Word Count: 1,654

Selling your soul over to Alastor wasn't all that bad. 

The Radio Demon proved to be cordial. As long as you stayed in line. You hadn't planned on relinquishing your soul. Let alone to the heartless son of a bitch, Alastor. 

But the dapper man presented you with an offer you couldn't deny. Your soul in exchange for protection and power. As a new demon perusing through hell, you knew some help would be needed during the yearly reapings. So, you shook on it. Sealing your fate. 

Over the decades of being chained to Alastor, he began to grow a soft spot for you. It was gradual, but before you knew it, The Radio Demon had you hanging on to every word he said. 

You assumed your little crush for Alastor was one-sided. But one evening, Nifty blabbered to you about Alastor's habit of slaughtering any demon that even looked at you funny. Your heart skipped a beat. From then on, you picked up on all the glances he shot your way. 

Anytime you were in a room together, his crimson gaze was on you. Alastor watched you as if you were his prey. You didn't fail to notice how he only allowed you to touch him without repercussion. The Radio Demon often eased up from your warm embraces, which solidified your suspicions.

It didn't take long after that for Alastor to call you out on your fondness for him. You were more than flustered when he admitted to knowing all along. But The Radio Demon quickly eased your spiraling thoughts. He admitted to the feeling being mutual. 

From that day forward, your relationship only flourished. But Alastor always made it a point to highlight that he was the one in control at all times. 

Alastor was on edge from the early reaping approaching. He was in his radio tower every hour of every day. You worried for him. But you didn't dare to disturb his work. You knew better than that.

Eventually, you had no choice. It had been weeks, and no one had heard from Alastor. The hotel patrons pleaded for you to bring him out of his workspace. You denied it vehemently until those fuckers peer-pressured you into caving. 

You muttered curses as you marched up to Alastor's radio tower. You cleared your throat before calling out to him. Your balled-up fists trembling beside you. "A-Alastor? May I come in?" 

As the seconds of silence flew by, your anxiety increased. A few minutes passed before the door flung open. Revealing an unmistakably irritated Alastor. "What is it?" His sharp tone sent a chill down your spine as he stepped aside. Allowing you to enter his sacred space. 

"E-Everyone's worried about you. So I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," Your voice was timid as you fixed your gaze on the floor. You heard a deep sigh escape Alastor before you felt his hands on you. He grasped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

"You doubt my competence, my dear?" You froze, desperately racking your brain for a response. Alastor's other hand held your hip firmly. His grasp on you was bruising, no doubt. "Of course not! I just- with all the stress you've been under I... I want to help you in any way I can!"

You saw the wheels turning in Alastor's mind from your declaration. His hand at your jaw slithered down. Clutching your other hip as he pushed you backward. You stumbled slightly, and a gasp escaped you as your backside came in contact with his control panel. "Anything, you say?" 

Alastor's voice was low as he hoisted you up. You now sat atop the control panel as The Radio Demon slotted himself between your parted thighs. You nodded fervently in agreement. "Anything, use me how you see fit."

That was all the conformation he needed. Alastor wasted no time hiking your skirt over your thighs. A blunt gasp escaped you as his sharp nails dipped between your legs, tearing your panties to shreds in one swift motion. Your eyes widened as you noticed The Radio Demon begin to morph into something more sinister before your very eyes. 

Alastor's antlers tripled in size, as did his frame. A glowing red X marked the middle of his forehead, and his pupils turned into radio dials. His body completely enveloped yours as Alastor freed himself from his trousers. You bit your lip in anticipation as you admired his length. His antlers weren't the only thing that tripled. 

His cock was an angry red, leaking a copious amount of precum as he bullied himself into your welcoming walls. "A-Alastor!" You whined as the tip of his hard length pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. You outstretched your arms to wrap around his twisted neck. But before you could get that far, Alastor's tendrils came out to play. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself, my dear. I'm the one in control. Do I need to remind you of that?" Alastor's radio static was heavier on his tone than ever. A gasp escaped you as his tentacles tangled around your limbs. Your arms were now bound, and your legs were spread wide, giving Alastor better access to your dripping heat. 

But that wasn't all. Your glowing green choker appeared before your very eyes. Alastor removed one hand from your hip to clutch the chain leash that dangled off your collar. A loud moan escaped you as Alastor plowed the rest of his cock deep inside your pussy. 

"You speak when I say you can speak." He groaned, thrusting into you deep and tugging you closer by the blunt green chain.

"You touch me when I say you can touch me." Alastor pulled back, leaving only the tip of his ruddy cock nestled inside you.

"And you come when I say you can come." His hips snapped sharply, prodding your g-spot faultlessly. "Understood?" Alastor's smile took up nearly half his face as he peered down at you. 

You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, waiting for the green light to speak. Alastor granted you another quick thrust. "Look's like someone was paying attention, good girl. You may speak now, darling."

Your lips trembled as Alastor began fucking into you wildly. "Y-Yes! I understand, I'll be good!" You babbled as one of his tendrils dipped between your thighs. The slippery tentacle flicked teasingly over your clit. You couldn't help the way your pussy clenched around Alastor's cock from the delicious sensation. 

Alastor grunted from the feeling, but his hips never eased up. The Radio Demon fucked himself into you with reckless abandon. Chasing his own high above all else. The prodding at your sweet spot and the slippery tendril swiping at your clit was nearly too much to bear. You knew the coil within your tummy was merely moments from unraveling. 

"Alastor! P-Please, I'm so close... please can I-" You babbled, giving him a pleading look as his sharp claws dug deep into your hip. Your vision blurred as tears spilled past your lash line. Your neck ached from the collar chafing your delicate skin, and your arms went numb from how long they were bound for. 

His tongue darted out to lick the tears that ran down your cheek. You felt him throb deep within you from how you cowered beneath him. "Hmm... not good enough. You need to try harder than that, my dear." His pace was ungodly at this point. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

Your mind was fuzzy as you tried to form a coherent thought. Alastor chuckled wickedly above you as his tentacles tightened around your limbs. His grip on your leash was unwavering. "Please, Alastor! Please may I come? I'll be so good I-I promise... I beg you!'

Your pleading voice was hoarse as more tears slipped past your waterline. Bottom lip quivering as you peered up at him desperately. Alastor's pace faltered for a moment. Your pitiful plea riled him up more than he cared to admit. His release was near, it was only a matter of time. 

"Much better. Go on, come for me!" The moment Alastor uttered those words, you were gone. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, legs trembling wildly as your white hot release overtook your senses. Your pussy gushed around Alastor's cock as he fucked you through your high. 

Alastor groaned loudly above you as he slammed himself to the hilt inside you before stilling. A whine was pulled from your throat the second you felt Alastor's cum painting your walls white. His grip on your leash eased up, the green collar dissipating before your eyes. The Radio Demon slowly began to shrink in size as the last of his load filled you up. 

You took a shaky breath as the tendrils slithered away from your limbs, finally allowing you to stretch them out. Alastor took on his normal appearance now as he slowly pulled himself out of your spent pussy. Embarrassment flooded your body from the aftershocks of what transpired. "Well, that was effective copulation, my dear! I feel as right as rain now!"

All you could do was stare at him dumbfounded as you pulled your skirt over your thighs. Alastor was back to his somewhat usual self. Who knew all he needed was to fuck you to get him out of his stressed state of mind. He offered you a hand as you slumped off the control panel, trying to stand on shaky legs. 

"Glad you're better, Al. Now that we settled that- can we talk about how you never told me you could do that with your coc-" Alastor's finger pressed against your lips, silencing you.

"Now, now. No need for such vulgar talk! What my body can do is for me to know and for you to find out."

tags; @danveration @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix@littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @chewbrry @nonetheartist @zombiesnips-blog @stargirlplanet @twistedkisses

leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

please have your age in your bio or i cannot add you.

[ellecdc]

Hiyaa, I’m back again for another seer!reader😋

This one’s connected to the other seer!reader, I was thinking, what if mini padfoot inherits his mother’s abilities? Although he still can’t differentiate the line between his visions and dreams since he is really young. So what happened was he dreamt that a wolf was running after him and his baby sibling and he got so scared that he told his parents, then at the end they all figured out it was just a harmless dream?? Yes, angst with a happy ending please😚

Have a great day babes!🩷✨

mini-padfoot stoppppp I love them

poly!marauders x Seer!reader whose son inherits her gift of Sight

CW: hurt/comfort, fluff, Remus spiralling, continuation of this fic

If you had told Remus at any point in his life that he would one day be a doting stay-at-home-father of not one but two children, he would have called you barmy and maybe suggested you be admitted into the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo’s.

But alas, here he was, currently baking in his kitchen whilst his two children napped as he waited for his partners to return home from their various jobs.

And he loved it. 

As if perfect timing, Remus had just slid a sheet of biscuits into the oven and set a quick timer when he heard his oldest starting to cry. 

“I’m coming, cariad.” He called out as he wiped the flour off his jumper and pushed the door open to his son’s room, hoping to calm the crying before he managed to wake his younger sibling. 

“Da!” Leo sobbed, holding his little arms out to Remus. Remus quickly bent down and scooped the toddler up into his arms and began shushing him and bouncing back and forth.

“You’re okay, m’love. Da’s right here.” He murmured into his head of curly black hair. 

Though Remus knew toddlers and babies often cried as they woke up, Leo seemed to be particularly distressed after today’s nap. 

“Hey, hey cariad; what’s the problem, hm? What’s the matter?” Remus cooed as he pulled his son away from his body to examine his face. 

Remus’ heart lurched as he watched the little black-haired, grey-eyed bub rub at his eyes with pudgy fists; lip jutting out as he took in shuddering breaths.

“Saw bad.” He pouted miserably. 

Remus’ heart lurched once again for the poor mini-padfoot who was plagued with his mummy’s gift of Sight. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” Remus asked cautiously. 

After many discussions that Sirius, James, and Remus had with you, they decided it was best to have Leo describe any potential Sights as dreams until he was old enough to be able to cope with potentially unsettling Sights; there was no use in your child stressing over things he could not control or even properly understand yet.

“Yeah.” The boy cried again.

“What was the dream about, my love?”

“Bad wolf.”

Remus felt his blood run ice cold as he stared at his son in horror.

A Bad Wolf.

“What did the bad wolf do, cariad?”

Leo let out a pitiful sniffle as his big eyes stared up imploringly at his father. “He was chasing us, me and my baby sister. I had to carry her but she wouldn’t stop crying and the wolf kept chasing us. He was growling and drooly and just very scary.” He explained, the end of his sentence punctuated with another sob.

Remus’ body seemed to move in autopilot as he pulled the child back into his chest and began rocking him back and forth, murmuring soft encouragements of ‘your safe now’, ‘da’s got you’, and ‘there’s nothing to be afraid of’ even though Remus himself was terrified. 

It was him.

He was The Wolf. 

He was chasing them…hunting them; his own children.

He should have known; he should have known better.

He was a monster through and through and he had no right to endanger the lives of these two innocent babes.

He felt sick and twisted even holding Sirius’ doppelganger in his arms like he had any right to tell him it was all okay and he was safe now. As if he wasn’t currently cradled in the arms of the monster he so feared. 

Remus moved the child to the living room where he popped on a video of Winnie the Pooh or some other children’s cartoon on the muggle telly for him and handed him a small cup of apple slices.

He stood in the corner of the room - the closest he’d allow himself to Leo - chewing at his cuticles until James walked in the door.

“Daddy!” Leo shrieked excitedly as he abandoned the remaining apple slices in favour of launching himself at his father. 

“Hey lovebug!” James cheered back, swinging the toddler back and forth in his arms before putting him back down and letting him race back off to his shows.

“‘Lo Moons! How was- is…is everything okay?” James started, but paused as he noticed Remus’ tense body language. 

“Can you please watch them?” Remus whispered, referring to the one child sitting in front of the telly and the other still sound asleep within her bassinet. 

“Of course.” James started, sounding like he was ready to ask Remus what was going on, but Remus never gave him the chance.

Remus swiftly moved down the hall and closed himself into their bedroom where he let out his own sob that had been stuck in the back of his throat. 

The house smelled heavenly, alerting you to the fact that Remus had been playing around in the kitchen again. You’d been coming home to some of the most delectable pastries and breads that Remus always found some fault in - they were too dense, too flaky, not risen enough etc etc - but they never failed to make your mouth water each and every time.

The pleased smile that had taken over your face as you entered your home quickly vanished when you entered the living room to a tension you weren’t accustomed to in your own home. 

Sirius was standing with the youngest of your two children cradled in his arms as he and James murmured solemnly back and forth, and your oldest watched cartoons completely unaware of any stress colouring the atmosphere around him. 

“Hey you guys.” You offered cautiously, causing Leo to jump up to greet you.

“Hi mummy!” He shrieked, causing your daughter to stir unhappily in his papa’s arms. 

“Where’s Da, pumpkin?” You asked him as he wiggled out of your grasp, clearly eager to return to his shows.

“In bed.” He responded simply, causing you to look at your husbands bemusedly. 

Sirius and James exchanged a glance as James moved over to you. “He’s in the bedroom. He seemed very upset when I got home and all he told me was ‘Leo Saw something’.”

You let out a sigh as you looked over at your son, feeling horribly guilty that he was plagued by the same ‘gift’ that you were. You could remember some of your earliest sights at perhaps only slightly older than he currently was, and how upsetting not only the Sights could be, but how upsetting it could be when they happened to come true.

But, you also knew that at his age, what Remus described as a Sight could easily have been a simple dream.

You made your way down the hallway towards your bedroom, pausing to knock gently twice before letting yourself in.

Remus was sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands with his back facing you.

You aren’t sure when the last time you saw him look so dejected was, but it caused a horrible lump in your throat nonetheless. 

“Moony, love?” You called quietly, moving slowly around the bed in order to stand in front of him.

He never looked up at you, but a sob escaped him at your words.

“Baby.” You cooed as you knelt; placing your hands on either side of his knee and trying to rub circles with your thumbs in an attempt to get him to look at you. “What happened, my love?”

Through quiet sobs, you managed to catch “He’s scared of me. I’m going to kill him.” 

“Remus.” You said more seriously. “That’s impossible.”

“He saw the Wolf, Y/N.” Remus responded emphatically, pulling his hands away from his face to expose his reddened and swollen eyes and cheeks. “It…it was - I was chasing him, and he was carrying our sweet-” He cut himself off with a hiccup and tried to cover his face again, but you caught his hands and brought them to your cheeks instead. 

“He was trying to protect his little sister, and the Wolf was hunting them. I was hunting them.”

“No Remus.” You argued, but Remus screwed his eyes shut as if your refusal to believe him caused him physical pain.

“Remus Lupin, you listen to me; you would never allow anything to happen to those kids. You love them more than anything in this world; I’ve never been more certain of their safety than when they’re with you.”

Remus didn’t seem completely convinced as he shook his head in disagreement, though he didn’t bother arguing with you. 

“And even if that wasn’t true.” You began, drawing your syllables out to encourage him to return his eyes to yours, which he did. “You have three of us here who also would never allow anything to happen to them. If you don’t trust yourself, don’t you trust us?”

Remus let out a defeated sigh as he rested his forehead against yours; his hands still stationed where you were holding them against your jaw as his thumbs gently rubbed near your cheekbones. 

“Besides,” You added quietly, nudging his nose gently with your own. “I’m a much better Seer than Leo; if anything were to happen to my children - I’d be the first to know.” 

Remus let out a quiet snort at that, causing you to smile. 

“I’m sorry you’ve had a bad day, my love.” You soothed; pulling your head back to press a kiss to his nose only for him to hold your head there and press a gentle kiss to your lips in response.

“It wasn’t a bad day.” He countered. “It was quite good, before he woke up from his nap terrified.”

You let out a sympathetic hum of acknowledgement and pressed another kiss to his lips. “It could have very well been a dream, baby.”

Remus sighed as if he knew that, but just couldn’t help being worried. You understood his dilemma. 

Before either of you could respond, a cautious knock was rapped against the door as James and Sirius both poked their heads in.

“Hey, Moony.” James started, sounding all kinds of guilty.

“So, Leo told us about his dream he had this afternoon.” Sirius continued, grimacing slightly at the admission. 

“Yeah! And, uhm, funny thing…that…” James soldiered on. “It turns out-”

“Red Riding Hood!” Leo squealed as he shoved his head between Sirius and James’ legs.

“What?” Remus asked in bemusement. 

“Well, we had a playdate over with the Lovegood’s yesterday, right? And Xenophilius read this muggle nursery rhyme to them-”

“James…” You groaned, leaning your forehead down on Remus’ knee as he rubbed his thumbs through the baby hairs on the back of your neck.

“Why don’t you tell them what happened next in your dream, bubs. After the wolf was chasing you?” Sirius encouraged.

“Me and sissy got away from the wolf because Mama showed up with two knights and they fought the wolf! And the knights were Daddy and Da, and then we all went and rescued Papa from an evil witch who locked him in a tower!” Leo explained excitedly. 

“Leo,” Remus chided jovially. “You didn’t tell me any of this when you woke up.”

“I forgot!” Leo said with a shrug before he went racing back off down the hallway. 

“Cheeky bastard.” You sighed quietly causing Sirius to bark a laugh. 

“Sure is; he is his father’s son, afterall.”

“I’m so sorry, Rem.” James offered guiltily. “I was just so excited to learn muggle nursery rhymes and stories; I never even made the connection of the Wolf.”

Remus shook his head at his husband in faux contempt as he turned to lean his head against yours once again. “I’m gonna kill him.”

You hummed as if in thought. “No you won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?” He asked with a smirk.

You smirked right back. “Because, I would have Seen it.”

“Fair enough.” He whispered back. 

“Right. So, now that we���re all good.” Sirius began. “Can we have those biscuits you made yet? They smell bloody brilliant.

“You can.” Remus replied. “None for Prongs.”

This earned him a bark of laughter from Sirius and a horrified squawk from James.

“Ha ha. You’re in the doghouse.” Sirius taunted James, turning to flee quickly when James turned to glare daggers at him.

You knew James had caught up to him when you heard an inelegant shriek from Sirius and Leo squealing in laughter at his fathers’ antics.

“I love them so much.” You mused aloud.

Remus breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Me too.”

[brucewaynehater101]

Just read a fic about Tim finally getting post patrol ice cream and his own renovated room after admitting to never getting any unlike his siblings and now I'm imagining an AU

Imagine this, Tim is tired, pulling an all nighter, because he did too poor a job at pretending as Robin, and it's too late to do damage control. Not in front of villains or heroes alike

But the people

They've caught onto how the third robin receives less than the first two

Robin acts less like a child, less like a son to Batman, and more like a 'Business Partner's as he said with his own words. Like a handler

Robin who has to put work into keeping Batman from overexerting himself, from cruelly punishing those who fall victim to him

Robin who receives less praise or care from Batman and cares for both himself and his "Boss" as he said with his own words

And it gets worse after the mantle passes down to Stephanie and Damian because the people notices how even as Batman treats them better than the third, now rebranded as Red Robin—

—Red Robin is still as much a Business Partner to batman as he always has been since the Dark Knight's loss of his second bird

And as much as tries to keep things buried, word is spreading that Red Robin is black sheep of the batfamily, and he won't be able to hide it for much longer

Have fun with this idea lol

I know the fic you're talking about! "with the exception of..." by DSS1101. That's a good one!

"Home Decor" by sElkieNight60 is about Duke remodeling his room as part of the new Wayne member tradition. This brings up feelings in Tim cause his bedroom still looks like a barely used guestroom.

The concept you've mentioned gives similar vibes to a hc/au post I read about how JJ (Joker Junior) isn't known by anyone but the goons/Rogues, Barbara, Jim, and Bruce. All the other Bats don't know. In consideration of Tim, electric shock weapons are immediately put away when Red Robin arrives on scene (I love that idea so much).

I think, with the Gothamites around when Bruce was going on his grief spiral almost killing spree, people feel a kinship with Tim. They couldn't have stopped Batman and, with part guilt and part relief, it seems only a child could. They watch this child, who seems to be sacrificing everything for a brutal and cruel man, and how he pulls Batman back into the symbol he's supposed to be. It brings out the protective and parental instinct of a lot of people.

This cues civilians, goons, and rogues alike trying to assist Robin in small ways. Tim as Robin had people offering him food (in sealed containers), giving him compliments, handing him scarves or hats (how could Batman let a child out in this weather without a hat?!?!?), and more. They tried to give him small moments to be the child he was pretending he wasn't. He obviously wasn't getting decent parenting at home if Batman was just his boss and his real folks were letting him out to fight.

There's a kind of guilty gratefulness towards the third Robin and a protectiveness of him. All young Bats are treated with care by civilains and some goons, but Robin three was special. He willingly became the barrier between Batman and Gotham. A lot of folks owe their ability to work (and not have exorbiant medical debt and medical conditions) to Tim. He saved them by damning himself. He needed the support Batman obviously wasn't providing.

Tim, as intelligent as he is, doesn't realize the affect he has on Gotham's older population. The younger ones will react with slightly more respect towards him than the other Bats, but they weren't around to see what Tim's sacrifice did for everyone.

Tim, with his self-doubt and hero-worship of his predecessors, thought his treatment throughout Robin was the work of those who came before him. Of course Gothamites trust and help out Robin when Dick and Jason built that foundation.

He's not exactly wrong, but it isn't to the extent they actually do for Tim.

Unfortunately for Tim, Damian and Jason do know that his Robin was treated with such reverence. They don't know why, but their Robins did/do not get treated that way. They chalk it up to Tim being the "perfect" and "can do no wrong" Robin. It's one point of contention they are unable to clear up due to Tim not knowing about it and the other two not wanting to explain their jealousy.

Steph was not treated as well as Damian and Jason when she was Robin. She, in this AU, was not treated as much of a crutch as Tim is. Despite that, her Spoiler/Batgirl/whatever persona gets some of the protectiveness that Tim's personas do. Bruce was more healed with Steph, but he was still an ass. That was obvious to any Gothamite watching.

Steph, because she was around at the time and talks with Gothamites to know what rumors are floating around, becomes aware after her death of why Tim's Robin is held up with such respect. This allows, unknowingly to Tim, for them to reach more understanding. With her knowledge of Tim's time as Robin, she's able to point out how he was being an ass, what he should've done instead, and that she herself was sorry for some of her actions.

When more and more individuals cue into Tim's black sheep position in the Batfam, this could go two ways.

One, Tim is targeted more due to his lack of support.

Two, Gothamites and Rogues increase their aid to Red Robin and become slightly cold to the Bats for their treatment of him.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Forbidden - Part 2

In which you go to Max's hotel room to watch a movie. And only watch a movie. ;)

Warnings: alcohol use (but really only if you squint), steamy but not smutty, use of pet names.

Word Count: 2.6k Part One

Master List

AUSTRIA 

You knew you were playing with fire when you sent that text to Max. Judging by how Charlie’s head had nearly exploded when he (quite innocently) caught the two of you catching up on the couch a few weeks ago, you knew that he would lose his mind if he knew you were in Max’s hotel room late at night. Even if it was with the purest of intentions. Because of course it was. 

But, Charlie had left you alone in Austria on a Friday night without anything to do other than watch Austrian TV so really, this was all his fault. Alexandra was at home in Monaco, having some work to finish up at the new art gallery she’s curating. Pierre’s girlfriend Kika, who was fast becoming your other best friend in the paddock, wasn’t going to be here until tomorrow before qualifying, so you were left to your own devices. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself standing outside Max Verstappen’s hotel room at 8 o’clock at night, arms overflowing with snacks and a bottle of wine, knowing that you had everything but watching a movie running through your mind. 

The thing was, you had spent the entirety of today trading glances with Max from his garage three doors down from Charlie’s. It seemed like every time you looked towards the Red Bull garages, Max was already looking at you. He even managed to manufacture a lunch invite from Charlie and Carlos while you were standing right there, so the four of you had gotten lunch in Ferarri’s motorhome today. You were quite pleased that Charlie spent the entire time looking like he had swallowed a lemon every time you and Max even looked at each other. Even Carlos had noticed, asking your brother several times if he was okay. Every time, your brother’s response was a strained ‘yes’.  

But you weren’t teasing Max just to make your brother mad. You knew that. You were genuinely interested in the driver. Ever since the afternoon you two spent catching up in Charlie’s apartment in Monaco, the two of you had been trading random text messages and had even run into each other while out. What started off as an innocent crush had spiraled into something more, even if neither of you had voiced it quite yet. You knew Max was quite shy when it came to his feelings, side effects from growing up as Jos Verstappen’s son you supposed. You’d always been able tell what he was thinking though, ever since you were kids.  

Which landed you here. Tonight you had been bored and feeling a little attention starved, so you had been thrilled when Max invited you up to his suite for a movie night. It was something you had done frequently with friends at the track when you were younger, those movie nights being some of your favorite memories from growing up. 

It took Max a few moments to answer the door when you knocked that evening. He had to psych himself up for it, finding himself suddenly nervous about having you over. It felt like every time he looked towards the Ferrari garage today, he had instantly found you. And more times than not, you caught him staring. Gone was his usual cool facade that he kept so securely in place when it came to you and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t unnerve him. 

“I brought snacks!” You proclaim the moment Max opens the door and he can’t help but feel all the anxiety he’d been feeling moments before evaporate into thin air with a single look at your pretty face, hair tied up in a messy top knot, oversized Ferrari sweatshirt hanging so low just the bottoms of your sleep shorts poked out. It took every bit of control Max possessed not to bit down on his knuckles and groan then and there. 

Max chuckles and you try to ignore the shimmer of pleasure that danced down your spine at the sound. It doesn’t work though. Probably because making him laugh was one of your favorite activities lately and it had all started that afternoon he showed up at Charlie’s door. 

Your brother was going to be so mad. 

“Did you think you were feeding the entire grid, beestje?” 

You shove the bottle of wine at him while rolling your eyes. “Hopefully you have a bottle opener, Maxie or else we’re going to have to go on an adventure.” 

“That sounds like a terrible idea. You out in public without your brother to control you?” 

Max expertly dodges the pillow you lob at his head before taking the bottle of wine to the little kitchenette in his suite. “I’ll have you know I am a whole grown ass adult that has lived on my own in a big city for the last six years, thank you very much.” You snip. 

Spreading the snacks out on the bed, you do your best to ignore the fact that Max is looking so very attractive in a pair of grey joggers and black t-shirt. Seriously, what was it about a pair of slutty grey sweatpants and tight tshirts that got you all worked up? 

“I’m surprised you don’t have a sim rig set up somewhere in this giant room.” You tease, settling down on the large king sized bed that takes up most of one side of his suite. 

Max looks at you, a bit puzzled before saying, “That race isn’t until tomorrow night after quali, I just haven’t set it up yet.” 

The laugh that leaves your lips sets Max’s skin tingling with pleasure and he tries to remind himself that Charles would quite literally kill him if anything happened between the two of you. But with each passing moment, watching you settle back into his pillows on his bed, he’s finding it harder and harder to really care what Charles thinks. You’re a grown woman, after all. Max’s eyes drag over your body, admiring the miles of legs on display for him. Yep. You certainly were very grown up, that’s for sure.  

“Just don’t stay up all night. I don’t want Buxton to have an excuse to call you out in post-race interviews again.” You smirk. 

“That was one time and it hasn’t happened since.” He argues, shooting you a glare that has you giggling under your breath.

You hum in response but don’t respond, needing to focus your attention elsewhere now that Max is searching for the bottle opener and the concentration on his face is making you squeeze your legs together just a bit. 

Max does, in fact, locate a bottle opener and before you know it you’re both settled on his bed, side by side, wine glasses in hand, bag of chips open between you. You try your hardest to ignore the head radiating off of Max and Max tries his hardest to ignore the fact that you’re wearing the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen. Neither of you do a very good job of it. 

“I’m surprised you’re not out with Lando and the rest of the boys tonight. Getting a little tired in your old age?” You tease (always with the teasing, you two) as Max scrolls through Netflix, trying to find something you can both agree on to watch. 

“I went out with him and Carlos last week.” 

You pop a chip in your mouth before responding. “And from what I saw on Instagram, you’re probably still recovering from it.” 

You remember the night he was talking about. The jealousy that washed over you when you saw his private Instagram stories from that night, girls falling over him in a dimly lit Jimmy Z’s, him and Lando on stage with the DJ clearly wasted on his favorite G&T’s, was a feeling you were entirely unfamiliar with. You never got jealous, not over someone you were dating and certainly not over someone like Max Verstappen. Absolutely not. 

“Are you keeping tabs on me, beestje?” Max bumps your shoulder with his as he hits play on the OG Jurassic Park movie. 

You can’t help the pout that materializes on your face. “Stop calling me that.” You whine, unashamed at how bratty you sound in the moment. Frankly, you were tired of being treated as the little sister of the group, never being taken seriously and always being teased. “If you’re going to be mean to me, I’m going to leave.” 

You lean forward to go, not really intending on leaving but wanting to teach Max a lesson. A strong hand wraps around your wrist before you make it off the bed though and he pulls you back so quickly you nearly end up in his lap. “Don’t leave, schatje.” 

Schatje? Oh. Oh. 

Your heart hammers in your chest as you realize Max hasn’t let go of your wrist. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s pulled your wrist closer to him so your hand is resting on his thigh and he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. He’s only ever called you beestje before. His little beast. You never really hated it if you were being quite honest, thought it was quite cute actually. A name that Max reserved only for you. But he’s never called you schatje and he’s absolutely never called you schatje in that tone of voice before, all husky and raspy like just saying the word does something to him. 

All at once, there’s a fire in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. Something akin to a lion stalking his prey. He knows what he wants and it’s like something finally clicked for him. You sitting there, pouting away at the nickname he’s always only reserved for you, plump bottom lip popping out, just asking to be bitten. He follows your gaze to where you’re staring at your hand in his, giving your wrist a little squeeze to get your attention back up to his face. “Don’t pretend you came up here just to watch Jurassic Park with me tonight.” He murmurs, leaning in incrementally more. He’s so close now you can feel his heated breath fan out over your cheeks. 

“Max.” You whisper, thoughts moving a mile a minute and sluggishly slow all at once. You’d been wanting this exact thing for weeks now, his hands on yours, hadn’t you? So why were you suddenly so unsure of what the fuck you were doing. 

When he tugs you into his lap, bag of chips crunching under your knees, you feel a flush creep up your neck. Knees straddling his thighs, you’re suddenly in a very compromising position and feeling something very…thick pressing into your center. A single roll of your hips is enough to have Max tipping his head back on a groan. 

“We shouldn’t Max.” Where in the hell did that protest come from? Your body practically screams, desperately needing your mind to shut the fuck up just this once.  

“I will happily stop if you want me to, schatje but your hips are telling me a very different story right now.” Max stares up at you and almost shudders at the look on your face. It’s a look he’s never seen on you before, all unabashed want and need and heat and fuck if it does something to him seeing that lusty gaze aimed his way. 

The two of you stay like this for several moments, the movie long forgotten, Max’s hands resting on your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh. It’s almost like you’re both daring the other one to make the first move. You both know you want it, the tension thick in the air. Energy crackles between you as Max drops his gaze from your eyes down to your lips and then back up again. You find yourself slipping deeper into those icy blue eyes of his, unable to tear your eyes away from how he’s looking at you. Like he’s seeing you all at once for the very first time. The sheer awestruck look on his face has you catching your bottom lip between your teeth, a smile begging to be released. 

“I want to kiss you.” Max breathes, voice barely audible but in the silent room, you don’t miss the whispered confession. 

“What’s stopping you?” You probably should be embarrassed at how breathy your voice is, how needy your hips are as they roll into his again. 

And then, it’s happening. He’s leaning in, eyes never leaving yours as your breath catches in your throat, dizzy with anticipation. You’ve kissed people before, of course you had, but never in your entire life has the moment before a kiss been this torturously pleasurable before. 

And if the anticipation of the kiss is enough to have you groaning with pleasure, the moment his lips connect with yours is astronomically better. A spark ignites when he presses a kiss to your mouth, one hand snaking up your body to frame your face as you tip your head down to allow a deeper kiss. The sound that you make when he licks into you the first time is obscene, a throaty purr rumbling out from you. 

Max can’t help but smile against you when he feels you try to press your legs together, the fact that you’re straddling him completely lost on your distracted thoughts. The way you tasted was something straight out of a romance novel and he instantly found himself addicted. He could win every fucking Grand Prix for the rest of his career and it still wouldn’t compare to the first time he got his lips on you. His other hand skates up your slender back, finding heated bare skin under your Ferrari sweatshirt. 

“We’re going to need to get you something Red Bull, I can’t have you in my bed wearing Ferrari colors.” Max grumbles, mouth barely leaving yours. 

You giggle, “In your bed, huh? Someone’s cocky.” You lift an eyebrow at him, liking the frown that tips down at the edges of his mouth when you pull away. 

“Confident, schatje. I’m confident.” 

Your lips find his again and they continue the exploration Max started, your tongue slipping between his lips, teeth first nipping at his lush bottom lip before sucking it back into your mouth. The soothing sensation on his swollen lips has Max’s hips tipping up towards yours, seeking more friction than your grinding hips are already causing. 

When you reach for the hem of your sweatshirt, intending to take it off so you can get your skin closer to his, Max lifts a hand to stop you. The confusion that clouds your face has him shaking his head, “We should stop before we get carried away.”

“What? Why?” You pout. 

Max brushes a calloused thumb over your swollen bottom lip before looking at up at you. There that look was again. Only this time it was like you’d hung both the moon and the stars and were trying to give him both. “Because if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.” 

You blink down at him, somewhat surprised and very caught of guard. “And what exactly is this?” You’re almost too afraid to hear his response, not sure if it’s the one you need to hear. 

“I don’t know but I know that it’s not a one night thing. It never could be with you.” 

You melt into his arms, your head finding its home in the crook of his neck. Dragging in a steadying breath, you allow the clean, sharp scent of Max’s shirt bring you back down to earth. He was right. You knew that. It would be a monumentally bad idea to sleep together so quickly.

“Oh Maxie.” You sigh, wondering what the hell you’ve both started here tonight. 

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 15

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Author Note: From the last poll, the series that you want to see updated is this one. I hope you enjoy this update.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

“Just like your father. Dishonest to the core,” Lydia sneered, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Bucky.

He exhaled sharply, folding his arms. “How could he ever marry you? And how did I end up with a mother like you?”

Without warning, Lydia snatched up the magazine and flung it at him. Bucky moved effortlessly, dodging the flying object with ease. “You threw me in jail, and now you disrespect me? I can’t believe this is my life,” she spat, her voice seething with resentment.

Bucky sighed, but there was no sympathy in his eyes. He walked over to the coffee table and sat down on the edge, directly facing her. His movements were calm, controlled, but Lydia could sense something had shifted in her son—something dangerous.

He raised three fingers slowly, holding them in front of her. “Three times,” he said coldly, his voice steady and low. “If you push me past three, I’ll send you back to jail. And from what I hear, the food there does wonders for your diet.”

Lydia’s face twisted with rage, her jaw clenched so tight that her teeth ground together. She stood abruptly, practically trembling with fury, but she said nothing. Instead, she shot him a glare, turned on her heel, and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing loudly as she left.

Bucky watched her go, his jaw tense, his hands tightening into fists. The room was quiet again, but inside, his thoughts were turbulent. How did it come to this? How did everything get so twisted?

For years, he had been blind—blind to the lies, the manipulation, the way his mother had used him as a pawn in her schemes. He had fought to protect her, fought for a family that had never truly existed. Now, he saw her clearly, and the bitter truth burned like acid in his veins.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The situation in your house wasn’t much better. Despite Tom’s insistence that he was fine, you could still see the tension in his eyes, the way his hands fidgeted, unable to relax. His panic lingered beneath the surface, though he kept trying to mask it with forced smiles and shallow breaths.

Then your phone rang. The screen lit up with a name—Alan, Harlan’s oncologist. You took a steadying breath before answering.

"Hello, I’m sorry I just saw your text," Alan's voice crackled through.

“It’s alright, I know you’re busy,” you replied, trying to keep your voice calm even though your mind was racing.

“That’s true, I barely get enough sleep. I’m really sorry about your father,” Alan offered.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “Did you see the photo I sent?”

“I did. From the photo alone, I can’t tell exactly what’s in the pill. But one thing did catch my attention,” Alan said, his tone shifting slightly.

Your grip on the phone tightened. “The doctor’s name?”

“Yes,” Alan confirmed. “Tony Stark. I’m really surprised he’s practicing again, considering everything.”

Your heart began to pound, a sudden unease creeping in. “What did Tony do?”

Alan sighed on the other end. “He’s been involved in some serious controversies. He offered treatments to patients who didn’t need them—overcharging, committing insurance fraud, manipulating patients for financial gain.”

Tony Stark? You felt a chill run down your spine. You glanced toward your father’s bedroom, your thoughts spiraling. Could Tom have been misdiagnosed?

“Alan, what if my father’s been misdiagnosed?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“If I were you, I’d get a second opinion immediately,” Alan advised, his tone firm. “Come to my clinic anytime. I’ll personally check on your father, and bring his medication with you.”

You exhaled in relief, trying to steady your shaking hands. “Thank you, Alan. I really appreciate it.”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s my pleasure. After all, you and Harlan helped grow my portfolio quite a bit.”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks again. Would tomorrow work?”

“Of course. Anytime,” Alan replied before you both wrapped up the call.

Quietly, you moved toward your father’s bedroom door. You eased it open just a crack, peeking inside. There was Tom, frail and fragile, a shadow of the man you once knew. Is this really cancer, or has he been subjected to unnecessary treatment? The question hung heavy in your mind, twisting your stomach.

The next morning, you stood by the car, loading a suitcase into the trunk. The air was tense, and Tom, leaning against the doorframe of the house, still looked uncertain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly hesitant.

“Daughter,” he started, his voice wavering. “Our doctor is good. He has so many certificates and awards…”

You gently led him toward the passenger seat, your hand firm but comforting on his shoulder. “Having certificates and awards doesn’t mean the diagnosis and treatment are 100% right, Dad. If that were all it took to be a doctor, everyone would be cured,” you said softly but firmly.

Tom sighed, unable to argue. He nodded and got into the car, his hands fumbling with the seatbelt. It dawned on him then that this was the first time he’d ever been in your car, the first road trip he’d ever taken with you.

After making sure everything was packed and ready, you moved toward the driver’s seat. Just as you reached for the door handle, a familiar sound caught your attention—the low hum of a car engine. You turned to see Bucky’s car pulling up to the driveway. He parked hastily and stepped out quickly, his face a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his gaze flickering between you and your father.

You didn’t meet his eyes, not wanting to reveal the real reason. “Just a road trip,” you said with a casual shrug. “I realized I never had that moment with my father.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. But then he nodded. “Alright. Safe trip, guys,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll take care of the house while you’re gone.”

“Thank you,” you responded, offering him a small, appreciative smile before slipping into the driver’s seat.

As you drove away, you glanced in the rearview mirror. Bucky stood there, watching your car disappear down the road, his figure growing smaller in the distance. There was something in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying. You couldn’t quite place it, but it lingered in your thoughts as you drove farther from the house, from him.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

You and Tom entered the clinic, immediately struck by how different it was from the small-town hospital you were used to. The walls were pristine, the furniture modern and sleek, and the air felt fresher, almost too clean. Tom's eyes darted around, taking it all in.

“This place looks expensive,” he muttered under his breath, clearly uneasy.

Without looking up from the magazine you were idly flipping through, you gave a small smile. “It is. This doctor has treated presidents, actresses, athletes. He’s the best we’ve got,” you said casually, letting that sink in.

Tom’s eyes widened a bit at the thought. He glanced at you, as if seeing you in a new light. You had really gotten far since leaving that small town—much further than he’d realized.

Moments later, a nurse walked into the waiting area with a clipboard in hand. "Tom L/N?" she called, scanning the room.

Tom stiffened, his grip tightening on the arm of his chair. He shot you a quick, uncertain glance, and you gave him a reassuring nod. Slowly, he stood, and the two of you followed the nurse down the hallway.

When you stepped into the examination room, a tall man with kind, tired eyes and graying hair stood to greet you both. His demeanor was professional but friendly.

“Tom, Y/N, good to meet you,” Alan said warmly, offering a handshake to both of you. “I’ve heard a bit about your situation.”

Tom shook his hand, though his movements were stiff. “Likewise,” Tom muttered, still unsure of the whole process.

Alan motioned for Tom to sit on the examination table. "Let's take a look," he said, adjusting his stethoscope and carefully examining Tom. His hands were gentle but thorough as he checked Tom's vitals. “You’re quite underweight,” Alan noted with a concerned frown, pulling back to look at Tom. “We need to work on building your strength up. It’s critical.”

Tom forced a weak smile, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. He shifted in his seat, his eyes darting away as he spoke. “Yeah, well… haven’t had much of an appetite lately.” He hadn’t expected this doctor to be concerned about his weight; Alan was different from Tony.

Alan paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in Tom's condition. He placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder, his tone growing serious. “We’re going to do some tests—a scan, maybe a biopsy, to see what’s really going on. You’ll need to stay here for a while so we can monitor you.”

Tom looked uneasy, shifting on the examination table. He shrugged, then pointed toward you. “She’s in charge of all that. I trust her judgment.”

You smiled back at him, though your mind was racing. “Whatever you think is best, Doctor. We just want to get to the bottom of this.”

Alan nodded approvingly. “Good. I’ll have the nurse set everything up. In the meantime, we’ll make sure Tom gets the nutrition he needs.”

As the nurse came to escort Tom to the next room, you stayed behind with Alan. The atmosphere between you shifted immediately, the conversation taking on a more serious tone. You reached into your bag and handed Alan the collection of medication bottles your father had been taking.

Alan’s brows furrowed as he sifted through them, clearly surprised. "All of these?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice low, a tightness in your chest. You’d had the same reaction the first time you saw the sheer number of pills.

Alan shook his head in disbelief, turning a bottle over in his hands. “This is way too much for anyone to be on,” he muttered. “I’ll send these to the lab for analysis. We need to know exactly what he’s been taking.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. "I don’t trust his diagnosis anymore, Doctor. What if… what if he’s been misdiagnosed?"

Alan looked at you seriously, setting the bottles down. “It’s possible. With the medications he’s been prescribed, there are a lot of red flags. Especially with what you mentioned about Dr. Stark.”

Your pulse quickened at the mention of that name. "If there's any chance my father’s been given something unnecessary… or worse, something harmful, I need to know."

“We’ll find out soon,” Alan reassured you, his voice steady. “But in the meantime, we’re going to focus on getting Tom back to a healthy place. He’s too frail right now, and we need to get him stabilized.”

You nodded, feeling a knot of anxiety loosening slightly. "So, what's the next step?"

"Tom will need to stay here for observation. We’ll run a few more tests and adjust his diet to get him stronger. You can visit him anytime, but don’t forget to take care of yourself too," Alan said, giving you a kind but pointed look.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Later, after Tom was settled in and you knew he was in good hands, you found yourself wandering through the bustling city streets. The towering buildings and fast pace of city life made you feel small, but your mind kept drifting back to the clinic.

It's only been a few months, but already the city felt different. New cafés and restaurants had popped up, their signs gleaming with fresh paint. The pace of change was unsettling, and as you walked, memories of a quieter, more familiar place tugged at your thoughts.

Suddenly, you remembered the art gallery that had hired Steve. It wasn’t far from where you were, so you hailed a taxi, the ride feeling both quick and too slow as your mind wandered. Steve had always found solace in his art—maybe seeing his work would bring you some peace too.

When you arrived at the gallery, the soft hum of conversation and the faint smell of paint welcomed you. You moved through the exhibits, eyes catching on familiar brushstrokes. There it was—Steve’s painting. You paused, staring at the delicate lines, the vibrant colors. It felt like him, a piece of him still lingering on the canvas.

As you stood there, lost in thought, the gallery owner approached with a friendly smile. "Enjoying the collection?" they asked, their tone polite but cautious.

You nodded, still admiring Steve's work. "Yes, especially this one. Steve Rogers—he's incredible."

The gallery owner’s expression faltered, their eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite place. "I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this… Steve was in an accident."

The world seemed to slow, your breath catching in your throat. “What?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

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[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (13)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: Expect daily updates until the story is done.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 12

- Next part: 14

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The Dragonpit is alive with the unmistakable roars and calls of dragons, the air thick with the scent of charred flesh and the earthy smell of caves below. You, the Prince of Dragonstone, circle high above on Silverwing, your gaze fixed on the large domed structure below. As you descend, the faint shapes of your sons and their half-uncles grow clearer.

Jacaerys and Lucerys are near Vermax and Arrax, offering the young dragons chunks of meat. The boys’ laughter echoes through the pit, a rare sound of joy in these troubled times. Nearby, Aegon, the eldest of Viserys and Alicent’s children, watches his dragon, Sunfyre, with a detached interest, his eyes more on his nephews than his beast.

Aemond stands apart from them all, a loneliness clinging to him like a shadow. His eyes flick between the dragons and the older boys, a longing so stark it almost cuts through the distance. It is a sight that tightens something in your chest, but before you can give it more thought, a movement from your sons catches your eye.

Jace and Luke exchange glances, their faces lit with mischief. A few whispered words later, a stable boy wheels out a wooden cart. Perched on it, adorned with crude, makeshift wings, is a pig—a mockery, a cruel jest. The "Pink Dread," they call it.

“Here you go, Aemond,” Jace announces with a grin. “Your very own dragon.”

Aemond’s face turns scarlet, a mix of shame and fury. “You think this is funny?” he spits, his small hands curling into fists. The other boys snicker, even Aegon’s mouth twitches into a half-smile.

“You don’t have a dragon because you’re not a true Targaryen,” Jace continues, his voice taking on a mocking lilt. “Our father is a dragon, our mother a dragon, but you? What are you?”

The words hang in the air like a poised dagger, and in that moment, you see Aemond snap. He launches himself at Jace, fists flailing, the smaller boy’s speed taking your son by surprise. They tumble to the ground, a blur of limbs and angry shouts. Lucerys tries to pull Aemond off his brother, but Aemond’s rage is wild, untamed, and he shoves Luke away, his eyes burning with a desperate fury.

Aegon stands back, arms crossed, watching the scuffle with a mix of amusement and boredom. It’s only when he sees Lucerys getting pushed that he steps forward, his smirk dropping. “Enough, Aemond,” he says, voice sharp, but it’s too late—the fight has already spiraled out of control.

It’s then that you make your entrance. Silverwing’s massive form swoops down over the pit, her shadow casting a dark blanket over the scene. She lands with a thunderous impact, the ground trembling beneath her weight, and the boys scatter like leaves before a storm.

You dismount, your boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, and your eyes, dark with disapproval, sweep over them. “What is this madness?” Your voice, though not raised, carries the full weight of your authority, and the boys freeze.

You move toward Jace and Aemond, still tangled on the ground. With a swift motion, you pull Aemond away, lifting him to his feet with a firm grip on his shoulder. Jace scrambles up, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip, his eyes wary as he meets your gaze.

“A prince does not behave like a common brawler,” you say, your tone cold. “Nor does he taunt his kin like a street urchin.” Your eyes shift to Jace, your voice softening but still firm. “Words have power, Jacaerys. Do not use them to wound your own blood.”

Jace’s head lowers, his face flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you interrupt, “but you will think before you speak next time.”

You turn your attention to Aemond, who stands stiffly beside you, his small frame trembling with barely suppressed emotion. His eyes, a mirror of the Targaryen fire, meet yours, and you see the pain and anger there. “Aemond,” you say, your voice gentler now, “having a dragon does not make you a true Targaryen. It is the blood in your veins, the strength in your heart, and the courage to face whatever comes your way.”

Aemond’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes dropping to the ground. “But I don’t have one,” he murmurs, the words almost lost in the vast space of the Dragonpit. “Not like them.”

You crouch down, bringing yourself to his level, your hand resting on his shoulder. “You will,” you assure him, your voice firm. “And when the time comes, your bond with your dragon will be stronger for the wait. Do not let their words make you forget who you are.”

Aemond nods, his jaw still clenched, but there’s a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. You straighten, turning back to the other boys. “And you will all treat each other with respect,” you command, your gaze sweeping over them. “You are family, and you will need each other in the days to come.”

With that, you mount Silverwing once more, her silver scales shimmering in the dim light of the pit. “Return to your mothers,” you tell them, your voice carrying across the distance as you take to the sky. Below, the boys watch as you rise, a reminder of the power and legacy that runs through their veins.

As Silverwing ascends, the wind whipping past you, you glance back down at the shrinking forms of your children and their half-uncles. The weight of what is to come presses heavy on your shoulders, but for now, at least, the skirmish is over, and the fires of their tempers have been tempered—if only for a time.

The door to your chambers swings open with a soft creak as you step inside, the cool air of the Red Keep a welcome contrast to the heated anomasity that still lingers from the Dragonpit. Rhaenyra is seated by the window, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. She looks up, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern as she sees your face.

“What’s happened?” she asks, setting aside the book she’s been reading. Her voice is calm, but you can sense the undercurrent of anxiety. It’s a tone you’ve grown used to, living in the shadow of your father’s choices and the precarious balance of your family’s position.

You take a deep breath, crossing the room to stand before her. “There was an incident in the Dragonpit,” you begin, your voice steady but weary. “Our sons and their half-uncles got into a scuffle.”

Her brow furrows, and she rises, her eyes searching yours. “Are they hurt?”

“Nothing serious,” you reassure her, though the memory of the boys’ clash flashes behind your eyes. “Jace and Luke were taunting Aemond. They brought out that pig—‘The Pink Dread’—and made a mockery of him.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, her lips pressing into a thin line. “They did what?” There’s anger there, protective and fierce, but you hold up a hand.

“They’re children, Rhaenyra. Foolish and unthinking,” you say, though your tone carries its own frustration. “But I won’t have them tearing each other apart, especially not now.”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she reaches out to touch your arm. “And Aemond?”

“He fought back,” you admit, a trace of admiration for the boy’s spirit despite the situation. “He feels out of place, without a dragon of his own, and Jace’s words struck deep. He thinks it makes him less of a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, and she shakes her head. “It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.” Her voice drops, a whisper of frustration mingled with sorrow. “It’s Viserys. He should have known this would happen, bringing us all under one roof again. It’s like throwing oil on a fire.”

You nod, your gaze drifting to the flickering candles that cast long shadows across the room. “I don’t like this any more than you do. You know how I feel about his choice for a wife, and her children.” There’s a bitterness in your words that’s hard to swallow. “But Viserys made his decision, and now we have to navigate this storm without letting it drown us.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tighten around your arm, her eyes searching yours. “And the boys?”

“They must learn to control themselves,” you say firmly. “We cannot afford to have them fighting amongst each other, not with the eyes of the court watching. They need to understand what’s at stake.”

She looks at you, her gaze fierce. “They’re just boys. It’s not fair to put so much weight on their shoulders.”

“It’s not,” you agree, your voice softening. “But fair or not, it’s the reality we live in. They’re Targaryens. They’ll have to grow up faster than others, and they need to be stronger for it. We can’t have them tearing each other apart when the real threats lie beyond these walls.”

Rhaenyra sighs again, her hand slipping down to clasp yours. “I know you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

You pull her closer, resting your forehead against hers. “We’ll get through this,” you murmur, your voice a low promise. “But they need to see us united, strong. They need to know that we are their foundation, no matter what happens.”

She nods, her eyes closing for a moment as she takes in your words. When she opens them again, there’s a steely resolve there, a reflection of your own determination. “We’ll talk to them together. Make them understand.”

You press a kiss to her forehead, a brief but tender touch. “Yes.” You step back, your hand still holding hers as you lead her towards the door. “Let’s find them. The sooner we set this right, the better.”

As you leave your chambers, side by side, the weight of your shared responsibility settles between you. 

You and Rhaenyra find Jace and Luke in their shared chamber, their faces drawn and tense. The playful spirit that usually fills the room is absent, replaced by a silence that feels heavy with guilt. The boys stand as you enter, their eyes flicking nervously between you and their mother.

“Sit,” you instruct gently, motioning to the chairs by the hearth. They obey, exchanging uneasy glances. Rhaenyra takes a seat beside you, her expression a careful blend of concern and firmness.

“Do you understand why we’re here?” she begins, her voice calm but edged with disappointment.

Jace nods slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “We do, Mother. We… we shouldn’t have done what we did. It was cruel.”

Luke shifts uncomfortably, his voice a soft murmur. “We didn’t mean to hurt Aemond. It was just a joke…”

“A joke?” Your voice is sharper than you intend, and both boys flinch. You take a breath, forcing yourself to soften your tone. “You’re Targaryens. You know the power words hold. Mocking someone, especially your own blood, for something they cannot control—it’s beneath you.”

Jace’s eyes glisten, his voice breaking a little as he speaks. “I’m sorry, Father. Truly. We just… we didn’t think.”

Rhaenyra leans forward, her hand resting gently on his. “I know, my love. But you must start thinking. You are not just boys playing in the yard. You are princes, and with that comes responsibility. People look to you, they judge us all by your actions.”

Luke’s lower lip trembles as he looks up at her. “We won’t do it again, I swear.”

You nod, reaching out to place a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You need to remember that Aemond is your family. You will need him, and he will need you, in the days to come. Strength lies in unity, not division.”

Jace nods fervently. “We’ll apologize to him. We’ll make it right.”

You’re about to respond when the door creaks open, and a servant enters, his expression tight with urgency. He bows quickly before speaking. “Your Grace, my Prince, the King has requested your presence. He wishes to speak with both of you privately.”

Rhaenyra frowns, a flicker of unease passing over her face. “What is it?”

The servant hesitates, glancing at you both before he answers. “There has been… troubling news from Driftmark. Lady Laena Velaryon has passed away.”

For a moment, silence fills the room, the words hanging like a heavy shroud. You feel Rhaenyra’s hand tighten around yours, her grip almost painful. The boys look between the two of you, confusion and fear mingling in their eyes.

“Laena…” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice trembling. “How?”

The servant bows his head. “I’m not privy to the details, my lady. But the King has asked for you both. He wishes to discuss this matter personally.”

You nod, your throat tight as you glance at Rhaenyra. “We’ll go at once.”

Turning back to Jace and Luke, you force a calm smile, though it feels hollow. “We have to speak with your grandsire. Stay here and reflect on what we’ve spoken about. We’ll return soon.”

The boys nod, subdued and solemn. As you and Rhaenyra leave the room, you feel a heaviness settle over you. Laena’s death—Daemon’s loss—hits harder than you would have expected. She was family, in her own way, and her passing feels like another thread unraveling in the fragile tapestry that binds your House together.

Rhaenyra’s hand slips into yours as you walk, her grip cold and trembling. “Daemon,” she murmurs, her eyes wide with sorrow. “How will he…?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” you say, though your voice is filled with uncertainty. “We must be strong, for him and for the children.”

She nods, drawing in a shuddering breath as you approach the King’s chambers. The door opens before you, and you step inside, the gravity of what’s to come pressing down on you both like a weight you can barely bear.

The heavy door to the King’s chambers swings open, revealing a somber scene within. King Viserys sits slumped in his chair, his face pale and drawn, a ghost of the man he once was. Alicent stands by his side, her hands clasped in front of her, the very image of dutiful silence, but you catch the brief flicker of her eyes, the smoldering anger beneath her composed exterior. No doubt Aemond has already told her about the incident in the Dragonpit.

Rhaenyra tightens her grip on your hand as you both step inside. You bow your head respectfully, feeling the weight of the room’s tension settle on your shoulders. “Father,” you greet, your voice steady despite the unease coiling within you.

Viserys looks up, his eyes clouded with grief and exhaustion. He waves a trembling hand toward the chairs across from him. “Sit, both of you. There is… there is news from Driftmark.”

You and Rhaenyra exchange a glance, the unspoken worry already taking root between you. You take your seats, your wife’s hand never leaving yours. Alicent’s gaze flickers between the two of you, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she remains silent.

“Laena Velaryon is dead,” Viserys says, his voice cracking. The bluntness of his words cuts through the silence like a knife, and you feel Rhaenyra tense beside you. “She died in childbirth. The labor… it went wrong. She tried to get to Vhagar, but she collapsed on the steps. Daemon was with her, but there was nothing he could do.”

There’s a strangled sound from Rhaenyra, half a gasp, half a sob. You tighten your grip on her hand, your own heart aching at the thought of Daemon, your uncle, watching helplessly as his wife—a woman of such fire and strength—was taken from him in such a brutal way.

“We’ve all been summoned to attend the funeral on Driftmark,” Viserys continues, his gaze distant, as if speaking to himself as much as to you. “It is our duty to pay our respects, to support House Velaryon in their time of mourning.”

There’s a pause, thick with the unspoken implications. You and Rhaenyra share another glance, the memory of your conversations from two months ago flashing between you. Conversations about the Hightowers’ growing influence over Viserys, about the way Alicent’s words seemed to carry more weight in the council chamber than they should. And now, with the eyes of Westeros surely turning to Driftmark, you can almost see the challenges that will rise like shadows at the edges of the funeral.

“Father,” Rhaenyra begins, her voice strained, “what of Daemon? How is he?”

Viserys’s eyes close for a moment, as if gathering himself. “He is… shattered, as you can imagine. They had come to Pentos, seeking a different life, but it was not to be. Now he returns to Driftmark, to bury his wife and face his loss.” He opens his eyes, fixing you both with a weary, almost pleading look. “You will go, won’t you? You will show the realm that our family stands together, despite… everything.”

Despite the divisions, despite the whispers, despite the presence of your father’s new family, his new children. The words remain unspoken, but they hang heavy in the air.

You incline your head. “Of course, Father. We will be there, for Daemon and for Laena. Our families are tied, and we will honor that bond.”

Rhaenyra nods beside you, though her eyes are still shadowed with grief and apprehension. “We will pay our respects, and do what we can to support him.”

Alicent’s gaze sharpens at that, her hands tightening around the hem of her dress. “It is good that you will be there,” she says quietly, her voice steady but tinged with something else—something brittle. “Daemon will need his family, all of them, during this time.”

There’s an edge in her tone, a pointedness that isn’t lost on you. You meet her eyes, seeing the silent fury simmering just beneath the surface. No doubt she’s already heard from Aemond about the cruelty he faced today, about the boys’ taunts and the mockery of the “Pink Dread.” Her eyes seem to dare you to address it, to acknowledge the simmering tensions that threaten to fracture this already fragile unity.

But now is not the time. Not with the shadow of death still hanging over the room. You give her a curt nod, acknowledging her words but not engaging further. There will be time enough to address those grievances, but not now.

Viserys exhales slowly, as if some great weight has been lifted from his shoulders by your assurances. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Thank you both. I know things have been… difficult. But we must hold together, now more than ever.”

You and Rhaenyra rise together, a unified front, as you bow your heads in respect. “We will be there, Father,” Rhaenyra repeats softly. “You have our word.”

As you turn to leave, you feel Alicent’s gaze burning into your back, a silent promise of words yet unspoken. But for now, you push it aside, focusing on Rhaenyra, on the grief and worry etched into her face.

The corridor outside is quiet, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. 

The door closes behind you and Rhaenyra with a soft thud, leaving Viserys and Alicent alone in the low lit chamber. The silence between them is heavy, almost suffocating. Alicent remains where she is, her knuckles white as she grips the back of a chair, fury barely restrained. Viserys looks at her with weary eyes, as if already exhausted by a conversation they haven’t even had yet.

“Are you truly not going to address it?” Alicent’s voice is low, but the bitterness in it cuts like a blade. “Your grandchildren taunted Aemond, humiliated him, and you say nothing?”

Viserys sighs, the sound carrying the weight of years of burdens. He rubs a hand over his face, the lines of his age more pronounced in the flickering candlelight. “Alicent, they are children. They act thoughtlessly, all of them. Jace and Luke’s actions were cruel, yes, but Aegon was not innocent either. He stood by and let it happen, perhaps even encouraged it.”

“Aegon is a boy, Viserys!” Alicent’s voice rises, her eyes flashing with a fury she can no longer contain. “He’s still learning his place, his responsibilities. But you—” She pauses, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. “You always defend them, defend him and Rhaenyra. No matter what they do, you find a way to excuse it.”

Viserys’s face hardens, the tired king giving way to the father who has been pushed too far. “This is not about sides, Alicent. They are all my children, my grandchildren. Aemond needs guidance, not vengeance. As do Jace and Luke.”

Alicent’s eyes narrow, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Guidance? You think that’s all they need? You allow them to humiliate Aemond, to hurt him, and do nothing. Just as you did nothing when he—” She stops, her words catching in her throat, but the venom in her eyes makes it clear what she’s referring to.

The image of Silverwing descending upon the sept outside Casterly Rock flashes in her mind. The stones still bear the scars of dragon’s talons, a testament to that day when you stole Rhaenyra from her impending marriage to Jason Lannister. You, the prodigal son who had left for the Dorne border, returned with the ferocity of a storm, claiming what you believed to be yours without a thought to the chaos you left in your wake.

“There were no repercussions for what he did, Viserys,” she continues, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “He defied you, humiliated House Lannister, and shattered a political alliance. And you did nothing. You welcomed him back with open arms.”

Viserys’s gaze drops to his lap, his fingers twitching as if the very memory of it still pains him. “He is my son,” he says quietly. “I did what I thought was best to keep our family whole.”

Alicent’s laugh is sharp, almost hysterical. “Whole? You call this whole? You let him and Rhaenyra do as they please, and now their children are just as wild, as ungoverned. Aemond will grow up believing he’s less than them, that he’s not a true Targaryen, and you’re content to let that happen because it’s easier than admitting you’ve lost control.”

The king’s head snaps up, a flash of anger in his eyes. “And what would you have me do, Alicent? Punish them? For what? For the mistakes of youth? For the passions of their blood?”

“Yes!” she almost shouts, her voice breaking. “Yes, if it would show them there are consequences, that they cannot simply take and destroy as they please. There are scars on that sept, Viserys. Scars left by the dragon, by your son’s defiance, and you—” She swallows hard, her eyes blazing. “You allowed it. Because it was Rhaenyra. Because it was always Rhaenyra.”

A bitter silence falls between them, the air crackling with all the things that have been left unsaid for too long. Alicent’s hands tremble as she grips the chair, her knuckles pale against the dark wood. She forces herself to breathe, to steady her voice.

“You know, I thought… once,” she begins, softer now, almost as if speaking to herself, “that he would see me differently. That when he came back from the border, when he returned from Dorne, I could show him that I was a better choice than her. That I could be what he needed, what he wanted.”

Viserys’s expression softens, a sorrowful understanding in his eyes. “Alicent…”

But she shakes her head, cutting him off. “No. Don’t. I was a fool, Viserys. A fool for thinking I could compete with her, with whatever hold she has over him. She enthralled him, from the moment they were children. And now look at us.” She gestures around, as if the very walls of the chamber bear witness to her frustration. “Look at this family. Torn apart because you cannot say no to them.”

Viserys leans back in his chair, a look of profound weariness on his face. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I’ve failed in many ways. But I will not see this family destroyed by bitterness and blame. Not by yours, and not by mine.”

Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, her fury burning out into something raw and painful. “Then what will you do, Viserys? How will you keep us together when we’re already breaking apart?”

He doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches between them, heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. For once, the King of the Seven Kingdoms has no words of comfort, no easy solution. He simply closes his eyes, his hand still resting over his face, and lets the silence speak for him.

Jace and Luke make their way through the corridors of the Red Keep, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. They had left their youngest brother, Joffrey, with the servants, trusting them to keep him safe while they faced what felt like an impending storm. Their father’s stern words still ring in their ears as they approach the courtyard where they were told Aemond and Aegon could be found.

They spot their half-uncles by the training yard. Aegon leans casually against a wall, his expression bored as Aemond practices with a wooden sword. The younger boy’s movements are fierce, each strike of the blade carrying a force that belies his small frame. It’s clear he’s still angry, his face flushed and his jaw clenched.

Jace and Luke exchange a glance, a shared determination in their eyes, before they step forward. Jace clears his throat, drawing the attention of the brothers. Aemond stops mid-swing, his eyes narrowing as he sees them.

“We came to apologize,” Jace begins, his voice steady though the words feel strange on his tongue. “What we did in the Dragonpit was wrong. It was cruel.”

Luke nods, looking at Aemond with genuine remorse. “We didn’t mean to hurt you. We’re sorry.”

Aemond’s eyes flicker with something unreadable—perhaps surprise, perhaps something darker. He lowers his sword but doesn’t put it away. “Sorry?” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think words can fix this?”

Aegon snorts from his place against the wall, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “They’re just doing what they were told, Aemond. Daddy and Mommy sent them to make nice, didn’t they?”

Jace’s cheeks flush with anger, but he holds his tongue, determined to do what his father asked. “We shouldn’t have treated you like that,” he insists. “We know it’s not easy, being without a dragon, and—”

“You think I care about your pity?” Aemond snaps, his grip tightening on the sword. “Your father, the great Prince of Dragonstone, thinks he can send you to smooth things over, like everything is fine. Like he’s some perfect, noble hero.”

Jace stiffens at the tone, his eyes narrowing. “He defended you, Aemond. He told us we were wrong and that you deserved better. And you dare insult him?”

Aemond sneers, his eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and fury. “Defended me? Your father’s only ever cared about himself and his precious Rhaenyra. He never cared about us. My mother says—” He stops abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Your mother says what?” Jace demands, his voice rising. “What lies has she filled your head with?”

Aemond’s face flushes red, his expression defiant. “She says your father is nothing but a selfish, reckless man who took what he wanted, no matter who he hurt. That he only ever looked out for himself.”

“That’s not true!” Jace barks, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “He’s a better man than you’ll ever know. He was more fair to you than you deserve, especially when you speak like that!”

Aemond’s eyes flash dangerously, and he takes a step forward, his sword still in hand. “You want to say that again?”

Before the situation can escalate further, Ser Criston Cole appears, his eyes sharp as he steps between the boys. “Enough,” he commands, his voice firm and brooking no argument. He places a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, pulling him back gently but firmly. “This is not the time or place for fighting.”

Jace glares at Aemond, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. “You’re right, Cole. It’s not the time.” He turns to Luke, who looks equally shaken and angry. “But this isn’t over.”

Luke steps forward, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “We’ll settle this on Driftmark. We’ll see who’s truly worthy.”

Aemond’s eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something—perhaps apprehension, perhaps excitement—behind the anger. “Anytime, anywhere.”

Ser Criston’s gaze sharpens, and he steps in between them fully, his voice a warning. “You are all princes of the realm. You will act like it, or there will be consequences.”

The boys glare at each other, the air thick with unspoken challenges, before Jace and Luke turn and stalk away. The anger in their bodies is visible, the fire of the argument still burning hot within them.

As they walk, Jace glances at Luke, his expression grim. “This isn’t just about us, or Aemond. It’s about our family, about what’s right.”

Luke nods, his young face set with determination. “We’ll show them on Driftmark. We’ll show everyone.”

And as they leave the courtyard behind, the promise of another confrontation lingers in the air, a storm brewing just beyond the horizon.

[dclovesdanny]

OK, there are several time traveling heroes. They definitely knew, at least somewhat, about Danny, becoming Dan right. But what if they don’t know exactly the age?

Dan’s been having a pretty good rehabilitation time. However, he does not like the idea of leaving Jazz alone when she goes to Gotham university psychology, so he decides to go with her. Tucker sent him up with a fake identity of being her older brother, and he Gets enrolled in astrology program.

Then, the time travelers are trying to figure out how to stop him, when they see Jazz, absolutely commanding him not to be the guy who cat called her, dragging him by the ear away from the terrified man. They realized, oh, Jazz has control. And figure, somewhat truthfully, that Jazz died and that’s what made him snap. So they just have to protect Jazz and everything will be fine.

However, Jazz lives in Gotham and Bruce is a paranoid person. So he has his son infiltrate for classes and serve as a kind of bodyguard. I’m going to leave it up to you which of the brothers is infiltrating, though I personally prefer it to be Jason. He’s just supposed to keep an eye on her, but he does fall madly in love with her.

However, they also want someone keeping watch on Dan. Which leads to another bat kid enrolling in several of classes. Again, it can be whatever bad kid you want, but I’m personally imagining it’s Cass.

Q an awkward family dinner, where they are trying to ignore the fact that Jason and Kas are making out with the person who starts the end of the world, and the only person who can control them

Bonus points if Dan, Danny, and Ellie come to Gotham, personally to threaten, Jason, and Dan makes a comment about how he has killed before, and he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again for her. That alone would definitely send the justice league into a spiral.

[shitsndgiggs]

Hey can you write were the reader and Kenan are co parenting their son and while their son is at Kenan places for the week he says something about the reader seeing someone and kenan gets jealous about he still has feelings for the reader

SHADOWS OF THE PAST - KENAN YILDIZ

When a comment from your son made Kenan jealous

Kenan Yildiz x co-parent! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

I pulled up to Kenan's place, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. It was always a bit awkward seeing my ex, especially when we were exchanging our son, Emre, for the week.

Co-parenting had its challenges, but we made it work for Emre’s sake. As I parked the car and walked to the front door, I took a deep breath and knocked.

Kenan opened the door almost immediately, a warm smile on his face. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted, stepping aside to let me in. “Emre is just finishing up his breakfast.”

“Thanks, Kenan,” I replied, stepping into the familiar living room. Despite everything, Kenan’s home always felt oddly comforting. “How was he this week?”

Kenan's face lit up with pride. “He was great. We had a lot of fun. He’s been talking about this new soccer trick he learned. Says he wants to show you.”

I smiled, imagining Emre’s excited face. “I can’t wait to see it.”

As if on cue, Emre came running into the room, his face beaming. “Mom! Look what I learned!” He proceeded to demonstrate his new trick, and I clapped enthusiastically, giving him a big hug.

“That’s amazing, sweetheart! You’re going to be a soccer star just like your dad,” I praised, ruffling his hair.

Kenan watched us with a soft smile, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes. Jealousy? No, that couldn’t be right. Why would he be jealous?

Emre suddenly looked up at me with his big, innocent eyes. “Mom, are you still seeing that guy you told me about? The one who gave you the flowers?”

I froze, my eyes darting to Kenan, who had tensed visibly. “Uh, Emre, we’ll talk about that later, okay?” I said quickly, trying to deflect.

Kenan’s gaze sharpened, and I could feel the intensity of his stare. “What guy?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

“It’s nothing,” I said, waving my hand dismissively. “Just someone I met. It’s not serious.”

Emre looked between us, sensing the tension. “Okay, Mom. I’m gonna go pack my toys.” He scampered off, leaving Kenan and me alone in the room.

Kenan crossed his arms over his chest, his expression darkening. “You’re seeing someone?“

I sighed, feeling the conversation spiraling out of control. “Kenan, it’s not what you think. It’s just a few dates. Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious,” he repeated, his jaw clenching. “Does he know about Emre?”

“No,” I admitted. “We haven’t gotten to that point. I don’t even know if I want to.”

Kenan took a step closer, his eyes flashing with anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s none of your business!” I shot back, my own temper flaring. “We’re not together anymore, Kenan. You don’t get to control who I see.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” he snapped. “But I care about you, and I care about who’s around our son.”

I could see the hurt in his eyes, hidden behind the anger. “Kenan, I appreciate that, but you have to trust me to make the right decisions.”

He looked away, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… hard, you know? Seeing you move on.”

I softened at his admission. “Kenan, I’m not trying to hurt you. But we both have to move on at some point.”

He looked back at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and longing. “Do you still have feelings for me?”

The question caught me off guard, and I didn’t know how to answer. Did I? “Kenan, I…”

Before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, his hands gently cupping my face. “I never stopped loving you, Y/N,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “Seeing you with someone else… it’s killing me.”

I felt my heart race as his words sank in. “Kenan…”

He didn’t let me finish, his lips capturing mine in a desperate, passionate kiss. For a moment, I was lost in the familiar sensation, my body responding instinctively.

But then reality crashed down, and I pulled away, breathless.

“We can’t do this,” I said, my voice trembling. “We can’t confuse Emre. We can’t confuse ourselves.”

Kenan’s hands dropped to his sides, and he took a step back, pain etched across his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my emotions. “We need to focus on Emre. That’s what’s important.”

He nodded, looking defeated. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Just then, Emre bounded back into the room, his bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m ready, Mom!”

I forced a smile, reaching out to take his hand. “Great, let’s go.”

Kenan walked us to the door, his expression unreadable. “Bye, buddy,” he said, ruffling Emre’s hair. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Bye, Dad!” Emre chirped, giving him a hug.

As we walked to the car, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Kenan’s eyes on me. I glanced back to see him standing in the doorway, watching us with a mix of longing and regret.

My heart ached, but I knew we had to take things one step at a time. For Emre’s sake, and for our own.

[m-ayo-o]

seeingdouble ɘldυobϱniɘɘƨ

KINKTOBER IV: DRUGGED starring: f!reader, megumi [25+], toji [mid 40s] synopsis: megumi is led down a dark path by his assassin father. his moral compass askew, lacking any real social experience, he's left to his own devices with a cute girl. thankfully, toji shows up in time to take control. warnings: murder, violence, spiking, drug use: narcotics + psychedelics. stripper!reader [who sometimes offers sex work]. virgin!megumi. restraints. choking. unprotected sex. incest [pussy sharing, dp, anal] guidance. non-con; reader starts to enjoy it [she is drugged] wc: 4.5k

⋆⁺/ don't like it? block it / do not interact i do not condone taking drugs. spiking is illegal. this is fiction

18+ EXPLICIT SEX | DARK CONTENT | HORROR THEMES

When Toji’s wife passed he managed to sell off his daughter to the notorious Zenin clan for a pretty penny, but decided to keep the ten shadows boy for himself. 

Without his wife, daughter and clan, Toji’s life spiralled out of control and he took Megumi down with him. 

Toji left everything behind, so did Megumi.

Toji became invisible, so did Megumi. 

He corrupted him and dragged him into a cursed life of killing for money. 

Leaving his boy in cheap, dusty hotels, Toji would go out to commit murder– it was as simple as grocery shopping for him, only returning home with his shirt all bloody and ripped. Young Megumi would eye his clothing curiously, his gaze wide and innocent, but would be too scared to utter a word. He knows his father has a terrible temper.

This routine continued until Megumi got older, into his late teens, when Toji thought it would be appropriate to start telling the young man about what he did. Then in his early twenties he started taking him along on his sinister missions, hunting. Lacking any formal education or training, he doubted his son would be of any use. 

But Megumi had become intelligent and strong in his solitude, reading for entertainment and experimenting with his powers, his shikigami the only life forms to keep him company.

Despite his independence, having Toji as his only guiding light led the younger man to have a somewhat twisted view on reality, and as far as sound moral judgement goes, he simply does not possess it. 

As an assassin, Toji likes a quick kill; clean and efficient, usually with a gun or a knife. He can get paid faster that way, delivering the body swiftly and avoiding any trouble.

But he’s noticed his son taking a liking to finishing his victims more personally.

⁺⋆

Another murderous evening had drawn to a close, their hands stained red once again, when he carelessly took his eyes off his son and their victim.  

A young, powerful sorceress who’d seemingly pissed off the wrong crowd. Still, a surprisingly easy target for the assassin in training.

“Megumi, s’time to go,” the older man wipes his knife and cautiously looks along the alleyway.

His son is unresponsive. 

Toji gets closer, squinting in the dark to find his hands wrapped around her neck. 

She’s still alive, barely, but clinging on nonetheless, fading in and out of consciousness. 

“What are you doing? Just– just fucking–” 

“Wait”

The younger man’s stern voice halts Toji from slitting her throat.

And he watches his son squeeze the life out of the young woman. 

His lips twitch when her eyes roll back. But still, his hand remains over her windpipe, feeling her pulse die when the last breaths escape her body. 

“Megumi. We need to go.”

His son finally pulls away, and they become invisible once more. 

Despite his grisly methods, not only did Megumi prove useful, but their missions also provided for some much needed father-son bonding time. 

So, with his son reaching 25 years old, they got into this gruesome habit together, becoming partners.

Another habit Megumi picked up from the older man was his tendency to visit strip clubs after their kill. They were great places to hide, especially if you knew the owners well enough. And Toji knew each and every member of staff in this place; the managers, the bar staff, the girls.

And he knew a certain pretty little girl very well indeed.

Despite his many visits he never made any inappropriate advances, only paid to watch you dance. Maybe a lap dance every now and again if he was feeling particularly self gratuitous.

You share few words, but seem to have a mutual understanding of one another. You know that he loves watching you, and you’ve come to like his stern demeanour and surprisingly respectful attitude, enjoying his ability to scare off creepy customers. He’s kind of like your personal bodyguard at work. You feel lucky to have met him.

Unlike some of the halfwit scumbags that frequent the club, he’s a real man. From his assertive, deep tones, those muscles, perfect for manhandling little girls like you, and those sharp eyes, staring as if he wants your body as much as you want his.

But you have no idea what he does for work– he almost seems nocturnal.

Then you notice that he starts bringing someone else to the club.

His younger brother? His son? You can’t tell. But you know for certain that they’re related as soon as they step in together– their hair is styled differently, but is the same absolute black. The strobe lighting illuminates different colours in the younger man’s eyes, but they have the same glare. Their faces are a slightly different shape, but they have the same wicked smile. 

How could there be two of him? One was already enough.

“Meet my son.” 

Oh. He might be the same age as me. You think, studying his features– bags under his eyes, more height than muscle, cheeks slightly sunken. 

His exchanges are awkward. He looks uncomfortable.

You offer him a dance, not knowing what else to do. You’re here to work, after all.

Toji pays for a private dance and you walk with his son to a booth, the older man giving him a wink and a devilish smile.

You draw the curtains and pause, looking at the way he’s fidgeting. 

“Got a girlfriend?”

“No,” he replies tersely, narrowing his eyes. 

You ask if he wants a lap dance, but he’s so hesitant that you just end up sitting next to him and chatting instead.

“So, do you enjoy working here?” he sounds less nervous now he’s gotten to know your name, at least. 

“Yeah, nice customers for the most part, but the hours are pretty long.”

“Same with my job– the hours, I mean.”

“You don’t work with the public?”

“Sort of…” he trails off, dark eyes darting over your features.

You notice, despite your clothing revealing most of your body to him, that he’s focusing on your lips more than anything.

“You’re um,” he takes a long pause, dragging his gaze back to your eyes, “very pretty.”

How sweet. Your eyes widen slightly, a smile forming on your lips. You’re not used to sweet. 

“Th-thank you.” you can’t help the stuttering– the way he’s looking at you with sudden intensity catches your tongue.

“Shall we–” you reach to open the curtain of the private booth, your arm caught in his strong grip, your body freezing. 

“You– you can’t touch me–” does he not know that?

“Sorry” he retracts his hand, fiddling with his fingers. 

“You change your mind or something?”

“No, I just wanted to… look at you, for a little longer,” you turn to face him again, “if that’s ok.”

So you nod and sit down.

He has a hungry look in his eyes now– he starts with your face, your eyes, in fact, making incredible, unwavering contact until you can’t take it, your pupils darting away to his amusement. Then he finds your mouth, and the way you’re chewing the inside of your cheek.

Then your neck, where he focuses intently on the slow thrum of your jugular. He licks his lips, making you squirm and wish he would’ve accepted the lap dance.

His gaze darts over the rest of your body and you watch the clock tick over to midnight, signalling fifteen minutes and the end of his private… whatever the fuck this was.

“Time’s up.” You stand and reach for the curtain, feeling his eyes remain over your figure as you step out and waltz back to the changing rooms. 

You get off early tonight, having a final smoke with your colleagues when you see a text pop through from Toji. After exchanging numbers months ago, he barely contacts you, only asking where you are if you’re not at your regular shift.

[00:14] Toji 

Come over?

You’re surprised he’s asking. 

You’re tempted– after all, it is for Toji. You’ve been wanting him to reach out to you, thinking that he would’ve made his move much sooner. Every cell in your body is telling you not to do this, but you ignore the feeling, finding his hotel.

You enter the room– luckily for you, in a slightly nicer establishment than usual– still, one that is filled with the smell of alcohol and cannabis, the TV blaring on some late night gambling channel.

So they sit you down, welcoming you into their little games and bets, offering you hard liquor and joints till you’re tipsy. 

After Toji’s multiple visits to your workplace, and seeing you at other clubs with your friends, he knows you’re into all kinds of drugs. 

He caught you with white powder under your nose on one occasion, your pupils the size of the fucking moon another night, and with a blunt hanging out your mouth after work one evening.

He’s seen it all. He knows you’re a fiend. So… what’s the harm in pushing you a little further? Surely you can take it.

⁺⋆

Your eyelids are growing heavy, your body slumped on the floor against the coffee table while you stare at the TV in stupor. Their joints were just so packed it's nearly finished you off, and the last few drags tasted kinda funny.

“Can we tie her up now?” 

You’re not sure if you heard that right, swivelling in the direction of the voice and blinking in disbelief.

You turn to find Toji with his legs spread wide, slouched back on the sofa where you left him, while the younger man stands holding some kind of cord in his hands. 

Your eyes widen, your mind jolting awake when you see the way he pulls and grips it, stepping closer to you. Your body lags. 

“Mm” Toji grunts, not taking his eyes off the TV. 

Megumi takes this as permission to pull you up and drag you to the bedroom, your legs stumbling after your body, your mind succumbing to panic. 

His hand tugs at your wrist, while you’re distracted by something strange in the edges of your vision. It’s subtle to start with, colours fading in where they weren’t before, shadows starting to move. 

You try to ignore it, blaming the weed and flickering lights playing tricks on your mind.

You’re pulled from your daze when Megumi jerks your arms roughly, your vision readjusting to find yourself on the bed, your wrists forced to the frame in a tight knot of coarse, black rope.

“Mm– Megumi,” your voice comes out more slurred than you expected, confusion crossing your features, “w-what’re you doin’...”

“What does it look like?” He shoots back, his sharp tone making you recoil.

“I, I don’ know– jus’, w-where’s Toji?”

He watches your eyes dart about, enjoying your fearful expression.

You notice a sinister glint behind his indigo irises, his face looming closer and starting to cloud your vision.

You’re squirming now, pushing yourself up the bed, trying to distance yourself from him. But he keeps coming.

“Stay still…” he stops your motions with a single cool hand closing around your ankle, dark eyes trained on your throat again.

Time stops still when he leans in and places a single, chaste kiss over your neck.

He does it slowly. Gently. As if you’re the only one he’d kiss like this. His silent intensity makes you tremble.

He pulls away with a pleased hum, the feeling of your heartbeat making his lips tingle, his dark mess of hair illuminated with a dull halo.

He’s not too far gone. You could still go back.

“Y-you don’ have to do this,” you stumble, your voice cracking.

“I know,” he presses another kiss over your jaw, becoming ravenous now he can almost smell your fear, “but I want to…”

His voice disappears into the crook of your neck, where he starts sucking and tonguing.

He wants to taste you.

There’s a deep ache inside you now, gripping at your heart and filling your lungs, where it spreads to your throat– to where you can feel his mouth over you.

Nobody has ever kissed you like this before.

The way he sucks and bites is cruel, your body starting to flood with pain. If he does it any harder you’re sure he’s going to taste your blood. He’s going to puncture your neck and let it spill.

“M-megumi– please–” your whispered sobs only urge him on, till he’s dragging his canines over you and sinking them into the soft flesh.

His impassioned movements finally ebb as he switches to tending your marked skin with his tongue and lips, inhaling your scent deeply.

He sits up now, looking longingly into your tear stained eyes, his pupils drifting to where your lips are quivering with his name.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he lies, stroking your ankles gently.

Standing up, he watches you shake your head again, begging him not to go any further and that you’d anticipated being with Toji tonight, asking where he is again.

“He’s a little busy…” he cranes his neck to ensure his father is still transfixed by the TV.

“Plus, you should be grateful,” he tugs off his belt, “you get to take my virginity.”

Your eyes fly wide, your mouth dry and gulping for air stupidly.

Just the way he looks puts you on edge– and now you know he has no experience, you can’t begin to fathom what he’s going to do to you.

“Nn-no– thought, thought Toji w-w–”

His next movements are too swift for your idle, drug induced brain to comprehend.

He’s over you, your arms twisted uncomfortably above your head, his cock nudging at the sweet bud of your clit.

That’s the only ‘foreplay’ you’ll be treated to before he slots himself up against your tight, unprepped entrance, shoving your dress and panties aside.

“Toji!!!” you cry out for the older man, “Toji, god–” but your voice is interrupted, choked by his cock sinking into you, hard and deep.

The man before you has changed, his resting scowl paling in comparison to the now fierce arch of his eyebrows.

Why are you crying for his father when he has everything you need right here?

“Ah– haah—” you shake and squirm, struggling with his untamed, crude thrusting.

Your head flies back when he pushes deeper still, slowly working your raw pussy open to the shape of him, while he watches fresh tears trickling over your waterline and gathering beautifully in the corners of your wide, glassy eyes.

“Hm,” he lets a little laugh escape, enjoying your quiet sobbing and whimpering as he gets rougher and dirtier, grabbing and marking your skin.

Your arms start to jostle and tug in the bindings, your wrists aching from the pressure.

“Untie me…” you sniffle.

“Untie you? But I haven’t even got started yet…”

He wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, trailing his hand down your face and stroking the marks on your neck.

“Might untie you after I hear you scream,” he gives you an experimental squeeze, then leans closer, bringing his face down next to yours.

The way he’s talking has you wondering if he really is a virgin, your thought quickly dispelled by his hedonistic thrusting.

You can hear his shaky breath in your ear now, your legs lifting instinctively when you feel him haphazardly pressing on your g-spot.

“Yeah, open up f’me,” he whispers, sucking on your earlobe, his free arm encircling your head to cage you in closer.

You can feel his hips start to jolt unevenly. He’s close.

“D-don– don’ cum inside,” you beg, your eyes getting bleary as he constricts your windpipe.

You feel him smirking over your skin, speeding up his ragged motions, squeezing.

Your pained breaths consume him, urging him to crush your throat with a look in his eyes that makes you believe he’s going to take your life.

His pale, beautiful face hovers above yours, eyes enrapt by every miniscule expression of terror that passes your features.

“S-s—” 

Your voice is gone, you can only fight for breath now, your body succumbing to a helpless fit.

You struggle. Kicking. Hips bucking.

He drinks it all in, thrusting mercilessly now.

“You can’t do that to her.” 

You hear a sudden deep, booming voice, hands pulled from your neck, air flooding your lungs as you sputter and cough.

Toji takes his son’s arms and bends them behind his back, restraining him instantly and pulling him off you; out of you.

He lets the sight sink in for a moment, words failing him. 

Toji’s affected by the drugs and booze, but he can still get some kind of hold on this fucked up situation.

“Look. Just let me show you… what you’re supposed to do,” he drawls into the younger man’s ear before releasing him.

Sure, he needs to take responsibility. But he can’t let you go. Not yet.

You shake your head again, watching the younger man struggling with his achy, hard boner after being denied his first raw dogging orgasm.

His father readjusts you on the bed to his own liking, leaving you tied up and taking your thighs in his beefy hands. He dips his head low, lips skimming over your neglected clit. 

“‘M feelin’ hungry…” he mutters, proceeding to swirl his tongue through your heat, where his son’s cock was digging moments ago, humming while parting your labia and licking sensually at your little jewel.

However done you are with this situation, overcome with lightheadedness from your choking, you’re glad to at least be sent reeling through a few much needed orgasms.

And now you’ve had a chance to breathe and relax a little, you’re becoming aware of a shift in your consciousness. 

Your body is right here, in this moment, experiencing every fleeting detail in high definition. But your mind is somewhere else, overcome with a feeling of simultaneous presence and dissociation. 

The older man sits up, patting the bed for his son to join him.

“You ok, doll?”

He watches you look around curiously, taking in the room that’s now bending and changing before you.

“Think the lsd’s kickin’ in…” he mutters, “just lay back, promise we’re not gunna hurt ya.”

“The-the what?” you stutter, your hands starting to tense and grip in the restraints.

“Look, there were a few drops of acid in that last wrap, jus’ relax, ok?”

Fuck. You knew you shouldn’t have come here.

You let it sink in, taking a deep breath so you don’t lose your cool. You cannot let your mind spiral on this drug.

“That’s it,” he encourages you, “good girl. Jus’ let go.”

You give up trying to fight it, obeying his gentle tones, working past the nausea to find your mind and body entering a different headspace.

Reality fades in and out, feeling their tongues on you, one after the other, switching and exchanging till you’re unaware of what’s happening to you.

You can only sense their touch, submitting your body to the chemical pleasure.

Your clothes are torn off now, soft, deep words being exchanged until you feel them shifting around.

You feel the unmistakable nudging of a hardened cock at your entrance once more. Only this time, it slips through your folds easily, your slick hole welcoming the long, hard member.

You blink slowly, your vision wobbling as your mind enters a trance in sync with their rhythm.

“Megumi?” no, “Toji?” you honestly can’t tell, your faculties slowly dulling as the powerful drug takes over.

You reach out your arms hoping to discern who’s inside you, only for their body to move away as another frame enters your view.

You feel his cock sink in, hips rolling and stimulating your senses till you’re creaming and moaning around his girth.

“T-tojii–” you’re sure it must be the older man. He feels strong, manhandling you and pushing you wider.

But he pulls away too soon.

You focus hard, seeing both of them now, one figure in front of the other, one man guiding, the other following.

“...like this… take her… deep…” you can only make out a few words, wide eyes distracted by the scar on his lips.

But the way Megumi’s cock slides in is completely different than before– the feral jackhammering transformed into long drags, smooth and hard.

They exchange words, Megumi’s movements getting greedier until you feel his body consuming yours in a display of lust and passion so strong you let out a scream of his name.

The sound of your voice, combined with the grip of your pussy that’s drenched with the slick of a fresh orgasm, rips a groan from his depths.

You hear him panting and moaning, his thrusts getting sloppy, until he’s drawn out of you again.

That was close. You think, realising his father pulled him away before he could spill inside you.

Things are getting blurry now. They’re both over you, on you, in you.

With the surreal visuals taking over, your mind enters another realm while they kiss and fuck and share your body.

Spiky black hair, blue and green eyes flashing, hard muscles and sadistic smiles are all you can see.

Their images burn into your retina, becoming a blurred mirage of nightmarish beauty. 

A sight that you will never forget.

Now that Toji’s brought his son up to speed and you’re all wet, you honestly can’t tell who is who.

So you sink into it, enjoying the spiralling visions behind your closed eyelids while they draw waves of orgasmic pleasure from your body.

They bend and move you, pinning your legs back, pushing deeper, then onto your knees. You’re getting so absorbed in the trip now, the euphoric energy taking over, that you’re only partly aware that you’re being lifted.

You’re off the bed, you know that much.

You’re in a pair of strong arms. It’s Toji. You smile, your eyes clearing to see his roguishly handsome face before you.

“Hey pretty girl,” he places tender kisses over your lips, and you accept them with pleasure, “gunna try somethin’ fun now…”

You giggle, liking the sound of that very much.

He holds you, his massive cock melting into your core so deep he’s going to become a part of you, then slides his fingers over your ass.

You feel another body behind you. Megumi.

You turn, feeling his lips over you as well, murmuring sweet praise in your ear the whole while.

You feel him sliding over your ass now, through the wet juice of your pussy, pushing into the tight ring.

“Oh, oh my– fuck–” he edges in, his father thrusting slowly while urging him to be gentle.

“Haahhh–” you breathe out, your head falling back onto Megumi’s hard shoulder where he caresses your skin with his lips.

“That’s– that’s fucking good,” he hums in your ear, pushing himself all the way back while grabbing your ass.

They cradle you, thrusting in tandem, as you reach a new level of bliss.

Hearing them, feeling them takes you higher, until you can only sense their deep moans vibrating through you, the drag of their cocks.

Your thoughts turn slippery, losing focus on the world around you, wondering how you ended up here in the first place, realising that you don’t care.

Right now, you care about the man in front of you, tall and broad, scarred lip between his teeth with dark green eyes fixed on yours.

His ever sombre stare resides behind those fiery irises.

It captivates you.

Your body is convulsing with dopamine once more, slurred thank yous leaving your lips, and all you can concentrate on is counting the shades of green in his eyes.

Flecks of amber shimmer within the emerald, his lashes blinking slowly, eyebrows quirking.

“Watcha lookin’ at?”

“Mm, pretty,” is all you can muster at this time, earning a snort of laughter.

He mutters under his breath and starts taking you harder till you feel him pulling you off his son and pushing you down on the bed.

Your legs spread, wide and obedient, holding yourself by the knees while he takes your nipples between his lips, between his teeth.

“How many times s’that now?” he feels you clenching and bucking again.

You just giggle and sigh, stroking his obsidian strands in a dreamy state.

He hums with pleasure; you feel his nose dipping into your neck, where he places soft, gentle kisses, in contrast to his now animalistic pace.

Letting off hot grunts and moans, he finally spills his hot, wet cum.

He pulls away, his son entering your vision once more.

Angling your ass up, he guides himself in again, enjoying the way your tight muscle spasms around him, but takes him all nonetheless.

His hips get nasty, drawing whimpers from you until he nears his release, growling and sinking his teeth into your marked skin.

“Fuck– fuck–” you tug at his jet black spikes, encouraging him to take all he needs until you feel his hot load shoot deep into you.

“Ugh, oh princess– fuck me–” he sighs, strong muscles overcome with exhaustion as he watches your beautiful features relax once more.

You feel peaceful, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair hangs over those dark eyes.

Your wavering vision absorbs his graceful figure in all his glory, your mouth opening before your brain catches up.

“Art” you poke at his hardened stomach, earning a slight smile, “artist.” You look up at his father now, appreciating the view as he stands before you.

You giggle, laying back and focusing on the ebb and flow of your breath, feeling your senses leave you, your eyes resting as you enter transcendental sleep.

⁺⋆

You wake to find your body bare, but clean.

There’s no longer white liquid oozing from you– just soft, warm sheets and the fresh smell of soap.

You climb out of the bed, stepping to the bathroom, eyes still half lidded and hazy.

You look in the mirror, finding kaleidoscopic visuals in the reflection, where the glass bends and trembles.

But you can see your face. Unscathed. Unharmed. You look down. It’s just a few bruises. You’re fine. 

Despite their questionable methods, this has been a good trip… and you have to admit, a very good fuck.

So in your giddy state, you tiptoe out to the main room, watching their heads turn from the TV, grins emerging.

“Mornin’ honey,” Toji coos. It’s dark outside. You have no idea what time it is.

You step over to the sofa, sinking between the two men again, taking their lips and tongues while their hands roam and fondle your body.

You sit back, enjoying how they’re drawn to you magnetically, allowing their pleasure to fill your body once more while you ride out the most ethereal high of your life.

⋆⁺ [see you in hell]

toji | m.list

[hbyrde36]

STWG Daily Prompt 5/7/24: Mermay

Rating: Gen | WC: 1929 | AO3

Eddie had always lived his life in fear of being caught, of being labeled a freak for more than just his love of Metal, Tolkien, and D&D—not to mention his less than heterosexual leanings in the romance department, but that was a whole other thing with its own set of worries.    

Now here he was quite literally being hunted, though not for any of the reasons he’d expected. The whole town thought he was a monster, and he was—

Just not the type of monster they were accusing him of being.

They thought he was a murderer. 

In reality he was just a scared boy who’d spent his whole life trying desperately to keep the family secret, and got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

For the first time since he was little, Eddie found himself grateful for his deformity, on the night Jason and his buddies had finally found his hiding place, the boathouse, and he’d been forced to flee via lake Rick’s boat. He’d paddled quietly by hand, hoping to avoid notice, but of course they’d spotted him anyway. Then the motor had proved all but useless when he’d tried to start it, and suddenly the other boys were in the water coming after him, gaining on him, until Patrick— 

He didn’t like to think about that part, the second time he’d had to watch someone die such a horrible death at the hands of Vecna, even if the guy had been part of the mob calling for his head. 

Knowing what was coming, Eddie had quickly shucked his pants and shoes, tucking them under his arm just as the boat tipped, sending him crashing into the dark water. And there it was, that familiar tingle at the base of his spine, the sensation of pins and needles running up and down his legs as bones and muscle reformed, knitting themselves together in a new way to form a long powerful tail—skin giving way to glistening black scales that covered him from hips to fluke. 

In seconds he was clear across the lake, much faster like this in the water than he could ever be on land—so fast that Jason was still screaming out Patrick’s name as Eddie pulled himself up onto the shore, praying he would dry out quickly and get his land legs back, and somehow be able to get in touch with Dustin and the others. 

That should have been it, the closest he’d ever come to discovery, but no, it seemed Lover’s Lake wasn’t done trying to ruin Eddie’s life yet, because he was right back on it the next night, in that same fucking useless excuse for a boat. 

His legs had eventually returned, and he managed to steal a walkie and reconnect with the others, but just as he was starting to think things were looking up, they spiraled out of control again, and they wound up hunting the day into the night chasing an electromagnetic field that would lead them to a gate to the underworld. 

A path that eventually led them—you guessed it! 

Back to Lover’s Lake. 

Steve bravely volunteered to be the one to take the dive, as the self proclaimed best swimmer of the group. Eddie had done his best not to snort at that, any semblance of laughter dying suddenly on his tongue anyway as he’d watched, or rather, gawked openly, as Steve stripped off his shirt, tossing it pointedly right at him. 

Eddie gulped. 

It’d all been fine at first. Steve came back up, announcing that he’d found the gate they were looking for, only to be pulled right back down again by an unseen force—and did not resurface. 

Nancy jumped in first, Robin shortly after, and Eddie…

“Goddamnit! Son of a bitch! Oh this is so stupid, this is so stupid, this is so stupid—shit–shit–shit!”

Eddie jumped in after them. 

The water soaked through his jeans in seconds—jeans that he’d neglected to take off this time—and his body quickly got the memo that it was being submerged, the denim fabric shredding to pieces in the transformation. 

Great, that was going to be awkward later. 

With a whip of his tail, Eddie dove deeper. Nancy must have made it through the pulsing red hole in the ground already, but he could see Robin still struggling to swim her way towards it. He snatched her by the hand on his way by, pulling her down, and shoved her through the gate ahead of him, hoisting himself through, well, up and out right behind her. 

Nancy and Robin had taken up oars from somewhere, and were about ten feet away fighting off an air attack of freaky looking bat creatures, while Steve was laid out on the ground, struggling—choking, while one of the things had its tails wrapped around his neck. 

Eddie dragged himself, hand over hand, along the dry ground, the girls too busy to spare him more than a wide eyed glance, until he reached Steve’s side, and together they were able to pry the little fucker’s tail loose from his throat, while Eddie beat another one off Steve’s side with the end of his tail. 

When the last of the bats had been dispatched, and the group had collectively caught their breath, Eddie found three puzzled faces aimed right at him.

“Well, don’t stand there gaping at me, help him!” Eddie hollered, gesturing to Steve and his multiple bleeding wounds. 

Steve startled, looking down at himself as though only just realizing for the first time that he was actually injured, hissing in pain as his fingers ghosted over his chewed up sides.

Nancy leapt right into action, tearing a strip of fabric off the bottom of her shirt to use for wrapping his torso, as Robin watched attentively over the whole thing, holding Steve’s hand. 

But Steve couldn't seem to stop looking at Eddie, with this… unreadable expression. 

Eddie fought not to squirm. 

He knew what was coming. The second Steve was taken care of they would all turn on him with suspicion, with questions. 

But they never got the chance. 

No sooner was Steve patched up and ready to go, than a series of chittering calls sounded, a few close by, more off in the distance. Four or five of the demon bats surrounded the gate, cutting off their way back, and a swarm, dozens more of the creatures filled the sky, heading straight for them.

Robin wrung her hands as she stared out at the horizon. “We have to get out of here.”

She was right. They were too exposed out here in the open, sitting ducks.

Nancy looked around wildly, searching for a solution. “The woods!” She shouted, pointing towards a thicket of trees that just might provide enough cover to hide them.

“But, Eddie–” Steve began.

“Just go,” Eddie shook his head, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I–I won’t be running anywhere for a while, and you–” he cut himself off, gasping as he felt strong arms slide under his tail and around his back, lifting him.

“You’re one of us now, man.” Steve said, cradling him to his chest. “We’re not leaving you behind.”

Eddie threw his arms over Steve's shoulders automatically as the other boy began to walk at a brisk pace. “But you can’t! Steve, you're hurt!”

Steve looked Eddie right in the eyes, grit his teeth, and adjusted his hold. “Not too hurt to carry you. We’re gonna make it out of here. All of us. Okay?”

“Okay.”

When they were deep enough into the woods and fairly confident they were no longer being stalked by the army of evil overgrown flying rats, Nancy and Robin scouted up ahead a bit to figure out the way to the Wheeler house, while Steve and Eddie made their slow and steady way along behind them. 

“Thanks, by the way, for saving my ass back there.” Steve said after a while.

“Thanks for carrying me.”

“So,” Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. “How does it work?”

Eddie had never really prepared for this, never thought he’d have anyone to explain it to. “You, uh, you see the movie Gremlins?”

Steve tilted his head.

“Dude, don’t you work in a video store?” Eddie sighed. “You know, the furry little monsters with the rules? No light, no feeding them after midnight, and–”

“Don't get them wet.” Steve finished for him, nodding. 

“Bingo.”

“Is that why you always skipped gym class on swim days?”

“Be kinda hard to hide this thing, don’t you think?” Eddie flapped the end of his tail for emphasis, the force making Steve stumble. Eddie grimaced, heat rising in his cheeks. “Sorry.”

There was something so incredibly intimate about talking like this, with Steve holding him close, their faces only a handful of inches apart. It made his heart race.

Steve smiled, letting out a breathy laugh as he shook his head. “What do you do when it rains?”

“Rain is usually okay. My legs have to be completely soaked or submerged to start the change.”

“And right now your legs are..?”

“They’ll be back once I dry out.” Eddie bit his lip. “I’m sorry, I know it’s disgusting.”

Steve frowned. “Is that what you think?”

Eddie shrugged. “It’s what my dad always said. That’s why I live with my uncle Wayne now. Good ole Al kicked me out. I–uh, inherited the gene from my mom, apparently, and after she died and he saw what happened to me in the bath he freaked out. Said he didn’t sign up to raise a monster.”

“You’re not a monster, Eddie.”

“Look at me, Steve. If not a monster, then I’m definitely a freak,  just like everyone says I am.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Eddie scoffed. “What, you got a thing for dudes with tails, Harrington?”

It had to be some kind of joke. He was part fish for fuck’s sake. Slimy—gross! Even if, by some miracle, Steve Harrington of all people actually was some flavor of queer, he could never be into Eddie. Not really.  

“No… Just you.”

“What?”

“You are beautiful, Eddie. With and without the tail. I’ve always…” Steve halted his steps, holding him impossibly tighter as his gaze flitted between Eddie’s eyes and mouth. “I used to look at you, in school. I just didn’t understand why, but… I’ve done some growing up, and I think I get it now.

“Oh.” Eddie found his own gaze being drawn to Steve’s lips as well.

Steve leaned in, asking softly, “Can I?”. 

“Yes.” Eddie breathed. He couldn’t believe this was happening, it couldn’t be real. 

Steve closed the small distance between them, his soft lips so unsure at first, ghosting over Eddie’s for a moment before pressing in, insistent. Eddie melted into it, toes curling, and a sound, an embarrassing mix of a whine and a moan, formed in the back of his throat. 

They both pulled back from the kiss panting and flushed, and that was the moment Eddie realized—toes curling. 

He had toes again, and feet, and legs—

And no fucking pants on!

He was half naked, bare ass out in the air, being carried bridal style in Steve Harrington’s arms, in the middle of another dimension—all while being on the run for murder and trying to thwart an evil psychic wizard named after a D&D villain. 

Suddenly the kiss didn’t seem all that far-fetched. 

“Hey Robin?!” Steve called out. “Can we borrow your overshirt?”

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

59 - Court of the North

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

Length: 17.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, distrustful and deceitful actions, possessive behavior and language, subspace tendencies, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v

Notes: A breather from the last few heavy chapters, but also a slow burning plot in the background I hope you all enjoy! Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Of all things to make you nervous, this seemed as if it was the most simple one to surpass. It was easy in writing, and Jon was confident where you felt nothing but a racing heart to accompany the ragged nerves. Though, he had offered more then once to delay this for you sake. The eve before, Jon had been undoing the braids in your hair, which he had done in the morning, murmuring warm in your ear that if you were not comfortable yet, you did not need to do this.

Leaning back almost instinctively closer to his warm, gentle touch running through each strand of your hair you had withheld the urge to shake your head. “Most already know about it, the longer I hide away the more impatient they may feel.” Jon had not responded right away, sighing deep enough which you could feel dance across your skin closer to your ear. Before he could say a word, you had attempted to control the damage of what you had worried he thought you to imply. “I only mean, everyone has questions about near everything. While we even attempt getting things together, the least I could do is give them something to focus on.”

If you could have turned around to glance at Jons expression, you’d have seen his brows furrow down towards you as his jaw clenched. Attempting to seek out the right words, you both knew Jon was trying to not overwhelm you in multiple manners. Since the other night, you and him had been on much more equal terms in understanding of where your mind was and wasn’t at any given time. Jon particularly did not wish to let you wander too far into doubt or blame, should it lead to you spiralling away too far for him to coax you back again.

Mumbling both under his breath, and also loud enough to make his words known you Jon was certainly rasping through an unidentifiable frustration. “They have enough to focus on, without me throwing you into the centre of it. You’re only just starting to get better-” Attempting to placate that you were fine, Jon did not even acknowledge that you were still speaking. Continuing to talk right over you with more of a firm authority. “I don’t want you to be fine. Everytime you try and settle for being fine, you end up way too close to going right back to getting worse.”

It wasn’t a judgment, but for that brief moment the darkness of such a fog told you just what he was attempting to say the opposite of. That you not getting better faster, was being a burden.

If Jon could tell from the degree which your shoulders stiffened even under his gentle, massaging touch, he made not a motion of it. Your words were quiet, were he not right behind you, you may have not even been heard. “I am trying, Jon. I promise.”

The sigh was monumental for a man like him. Hands dropping from your hair to smooth down your upper arms, bare to the cold room as he had stripped you down to only a shift by the time he had brought you over to the cabinet to undo the braids across your head. Nudging the side of your head with his just enough that he could rest against you, eyes trailing down as much as they could to watch you. “This isn’t about that. We have a baby, darling. I only want to share you and our son with everyone enough so they can see the life we made together. But I won’t make you, you know that.”

Nodding almost to yourself, as Jon let one arm slink around your front to pull you back into him closer, your hands reached down to rest there. Pushing up the soft material against his forearms to trace along the skin you could find your thumb winding across his wrist to find his pulse, strong and steady underneath as it had been ever since it started once more. “I only-” Cutting yourself off with a sigh, Jon nudged the side of your head again almost in the same affectionately pestering way Ghost would to prompt you to continue. “I don’t want to disappoint any one. Let alone you.”

Murmuring in your ear with a low rasp which could’ve sent shivers flying up your spine as they vibrated against you, Jons tone was far more teasing then your serious one might have elicited. “Disappointed in what?” When you had no answer, Jon pulled you closer. His grin was felt against the hair he nudged his nose against playfully. “Let me show you off for one morning.” A gentle ask of only one, and Jon replaced any touch to the side of your head with a press of his lips. “Only one. I’m too possessive for anything more then that.”

Now though, as you stood more dressed and done up then you had been in well over half a year, your reflection told nothing but calmness. Your heart however, disagreed along with the dizzy feeling coursing through your veins and infecting your bloodstream. The nerves of last night nothing compared to it now. Jon though, looked as he always did, except for the ease in which on the other side of his chambers, did he have little Eddard in his arms.

Barley able to catch he was speaking, the low rasp whispered down to him was received either with muffled babbles of the babies own, or small giggles. A world in which could exist that Jon would not have anything close to this, felt as if it should be held accountable for such a high crime. As if he was born to be a father, no matter the outlook on the matter his entire previous life. In truth you had caught yourself stuck watching him as if you had never seen such a sight.

The way father and son would reach out to one another, causing Jon to smile and thus making the baby smile right back. Soon enough you could imagine both of them would taunt you with matching smiles to convince you of anything and everything. Turning in their spot, Jon shifted little Eddard in his arms to look him over to you as well, purposely whispering something in his ear which you could not heard from where you were.

A jesting tone coming about your voice with a mocking narrowing disapproval on your face, “Keeping secrets from me already, you two are.” Jons smile only widened in an unfairly handsome manner, causing you to turn away before the ruse of unamusement was revealed in a wanting grin. “No, no. Please, continue.”

Turning back you purposely did not look in the reflection of the mirror before you as the sound of Jons approaching figure came up behind you. Toying mindlessly with the laces at the waist of your dress as if to retighten them, you felt Jons warm come up to your back. One hand clearly busy holding Eddard firm against his upper torso, the other winding around to grasp at one of your hands and replacing it to toy with the laces himself. Rasping deeply and enticingly into your ear, “We could put this off.” His head dropping down to press a kiss to the skin below your ear, mumbling into it with hot breath. “Stay up here, let me enjoy you before going down there to show you off to everyone.”

Your hands swiftly grasped at his, knowing you could feel the grin coming over his face as yours fell with a playfully disapproving one as you pulled him away from undoing the front of your dress. “You are aware you’re holding our son.”

Jons response seldom helped with the light feeling in your stomach, only that time the nerves came off much more as light and floating then anxious. “And? There’s only one way to give him a baby sister-”

Just as his head dropped to your neck you pulled more forward trying to wrench yourself from his grasp, calling his name out with a laugh. Pulling one subsequently from him. Jon grasped the side of your head to press a kiss before turning you by your hip to face him. Your hands rested on his waist as he pulled you into his free side while adjusting how he stood so the baby could see you too. Glancing to the later, your voice dropped playfully as you leaned in as if whispering to him alone. “You’re starting to see why it didn’t take so long to make you?”

The little giggle from the baby as unknowing as always, responding almost only to the playful tone and grin painted too over your eyes that could so easily illicit something from him. Jon murmured still leaning more to catch your eyes, “It isn’t my fault I want you all hours of the day.” Running gently his nose along the bridge of yours, Jon nudged you a little as it to move you to the perfect position to capture your lips in his kiss.

One of your hands rose, wrapping around the back of his neck as the other pressed into his chest to lean up to meet him better. Softly guiding yours with something asking to go deeper, guided by using your grasp around his neck to his advantage. Leaning in as if to overpower you as he ever so briefly teased his tongue to toy with yours before returning to more of a chaste, long kiss.

Except, it was not only you two there, and a certain someone continued to prove they were as protective of you as his father. The sounds of a grumpy babbling protest came from Eddard as a tiny hand came up as if to tap at what he could reach of Jons shoulder. Once to catch his attention, and the other having Jon pull suddenly from your lips to turn and look down with a playfully incredulous look of offence. Without sparing a moment he leaned down more to him, “She was mine first. You have to share her.”

If an infant of barley over a week could say no, the unhappy fidgeting sounds coming from Eddard would have been just that. Leaving your hip to cup the back of his sons head, Jon pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, muttering back that yes he does. You grabbed the hand of the baby’s which had hit at Jons attention, with a kiss of your own. Leaning in to meet his wide green eyes. “Go easy on him, he deserves a reward for having to put up with the both of us, does he not?”

Once again, he seemed to disagree as long as he was close enough whenever Jon would kiss you. Even from such an age, a protective little wolf he was already. Finally, Jon gently put him more comfortably into your arms, keeping the small bundle laying out more so he could hopefully feel more at ease seeing your face before bringing him out to the world.

Jons lips found your forehead that time before pressing his against it, a hand running through the hair behind your head soothingly. “There will be a lot of people wanting to see you and speak to us, if its too much-” Trying to gently protest saying you could handle talking to that many, Jon just smiled softly, tilting your head up to meet his eyes again better. “I’m saying, if you get tired at all, tell me. No one is going to take issue with a newborn mother needing to sit down for a little while. Don’t push yourself.”

As if it came out without a single thought, which it likely did, you knew the moment it slipped from your mouth you were in trouble later for it. “That doesn’t quite sound like what you were encouraging with me the other night.”

Jon though did not hesitate to turn you towards the door of his chambers before pulling you tightly gripped into his side. That time, his voice more akin to a growl as he muttered into your ear. “I moved you to the bed, because I wanted you to simply lay there and take it, darling. I’ll gladly do all the work when I’m that deep inside of you.” Such a mistake you had made, Jon was a man of promises. And he needed not vocalize a promise in order to ensure he would later act on it. He hadn’t wanted to push you, but finally you were slowly coming around more and more to wanting to be with him again without the anxieties of the dark fog surrounding it.

It was still there, but not so overpowering all day anymore at the least. Hopefully, it was kind enough to hold itself off from getting in the way of the mornings proceedings. And as you approached the corridors nearing the main hall, with Jon on one side of you, the approaching feeling on the other of Ghost almost acted as the final pillar of support. It had only been the three of you the night you brought little Eddard into the world, and it was when the four of you were together now did you all finally feel a little more put together, a pack a little more whole.

Jon promised he would do most of the initial talking, and for you to, as he specifically put it “To stand there and look beautiful as always.” Which luckily for you, beyond the initial scene of celebration, there was little pomp or theatrics involved like twice seen in Kings Landing. The North as always, was never quite as obnoxious about it’s royalty then those surrounding the Iron Throne.

The rest of the council proper respectively took their places amongst the Northern Lords, and beyond them the crowd of people both within the hall and outside its doors. Many from Winter Town and around to give congratulations and welcome backs to their King in the North. Keeping you with a hand at your lower back at all times as he spoke, Jon ensured you were close to him comfortably. You stood in front of the main table, and the only other ones by were on Jons side.

Bran in his new wheelchair which he had seemed rather happy with, no doubt feeling much more independent. Followed by Arya behind him, normally taking turns with Meera, currently in the crowd beside her father, to be the one to push Brans chair for most of the hard work. Arya had taken well to Bran being back, and despite her not having been near him since he had awoken without the use of his legs, she was happy to take turns with Meera to get him around. A small trio together, but for now it was only the two Starks up with you, as they watched their brother with pride.

Behind you on your side was your mother, a more difficult to read expression. Not that you blamed her. In some ways, children were a difficult topic for both of you, let alone sons. She had lost all of her boys before they were born, and she had once thought she lost her chance at having a grandson when learning of the night at the Twins. But here she watched you, finally with a son and with a feeling inside few would know how to read. But no doubt, it was nothing compared to the fight of calm and nerves shining across yours everytime you caught sight of the crowd before you, when not paying attention squarely on Jon or little Eddard in your arms.

There was only one Stark present, whom did not join up with the others of the family, but unlike Jon’s keen eyes, you had yet to notice the way she was watching you three through the morning.

Part of her felt bad for being so suspicious. Her eyes narrowed as she now stood off to the side, everything in her direct eyeline looked fine. But there still sat something in her head which refused to be quiet. It was as if everyone here had accepted the events which played out but never once gave thought to how it looked, let alone question what had truly been taking place leading to it.

It wasn’t as if in her mind, Sansa was going to accuse her older brother of holding you down and forcing you against your will. That would be a leap so grand even she knew was to a vastly unrealistic extreme. You had seemed willing from every way she watched it, but Sansa knew too well what role most women like herself and you had to play. Sometimes one may be able to pretend enough that their situation was fine, that they fell into it without anymore questions or care for the rest.

Almost too many times to count did Sansa meet women who played the dutiful wife in public, but you seemed to not quite grasp what she had been getting at the other night. As if you didn’t question what was going on or what this could be, should her darker suspicions be proven right.

Standing up by the front of the main hall, you had been standing next to Jon for some time as people all came forth to meet the newborn in your arms. When nothing else took his attention away, she could see Jon had a hand on your person as much as he could, sometimes pulling you more into his side if you drifted too much or whispering something to you alone to hear. It looked..well to Sansa, it looked like Jon was being extremely possessive. You didn’t seem to question any of it, as if to you, everything was fine.

But Sansa had yet to shake off that feeling as if something was not quite right about the situation between you and her bastard brother. The last she had ever heard of you before coming here was that you were dead. You, Robb, her mother, and yours and Robbs unborn son. The war was lost for you all, and won to the people of the capitol and it never ceased being a point of mocking pride to Joffery.

The memory of her final day in Kings Landing. The formal morning feast to celebrate Joffery and Margaery’s wedding day, Lord Tywin had gifted his grandson a Valyrian Steel sword. First using it to cut into pieces the grand book Tyrion had gifted his nephew, before waving it around to the crowd. Toying with it he had first joked that it would be like “Cutting off Ned Stark’s head,” everytime he used it. As gut churning as it had been to hear, it was followed up by him asking the crowd what to name it.

When Widow’s Wail had been chosen, Joffery had gleefully commented that it was as if he could hear your wailing and crying all the way here the night you, her brother and mother were all slaughtered. That it was a shame the baby never had a chance to be born before he too could “hear his mothers crying” before you died. It had made her angry the longer she had thought about it. None of them would have had a reason to know from the moment a blade entered your stomach, to your death, you had been drowning in your own blood to the degree you were incapable of making a sound.

She had never heard you come close to crying her entire life, but you had heard Sansa cry countless times, and been the one comforting her more often then even her mother did. That horrible day by the river, how Sansa knew she was letting Joffery treat the butchers boy terribly, and how she had yelled at Arya for it, when looking back on it, Sansa knew her sister hadn’t truly done anything wrong. But Sansa was too naive then, she didn’t really know what to do.

So when Cersei had told her to come before King Robert and tell him what she saw, Sansa had glanced to her father, taken back and confused by this display, then to you. Watching with narrowed eyes but the suspicion was directed towards neither sister. She had meekly said everything happened too fast, that she didn’t see anything. Arya had yelled at her over and over calling her a liar before hitting the back of her head and grabbing at her hair. Both sisters begun to struggle and yell at the other when their father had grabbed Arya yelling at her to stop it, you had detangled the girls grabbing at each other and pulled Sansa to the side shouting at both of them, “Enough.”

Later it was when Sansa had figured out that to spare the fate she knew was coming, Arya chased Nymeria off by force. As Cersei asked about it, you had shared a knowing look with Arya as you had quickly put it together when one of the guards had said, “We found no trace of the direwolf, your grace.”

But you had certainly known what was about to happen the moment Cersei stated, “We have another wolf.” The King had said so be it, and you had turned to him passing through the Starks with a hiss that he couldn’t mean it. He had only said, gesturing to the confused Sansa to get her a dog instead, that a direwolf was no pet.

Still Sansa could remember the horrible realization, how she tried to plead and shout, grabbing at her fathers arm and begging him not to let them do this. The way Arya didn’t hesitate to angrily look towards Cersei yelling at her that it wasn’t Ladys fault, to leave her alone. Sansa still could recall how she had turned to yell desperately to the Queen. “Please, please, it wasn’t Lady-” As soon as Cersei had started to give orders was when their father interrupted.

Feeling exactly as it happened, the moment her father had morosely told Jory “Take the girls to their rooms.” Did she break. The sobs desperate to come out instantly as Sansa realized what was about to happen, and how as if she had reverted back to a little girl had almost turned into you, and how without any hesitation did you let her fall into your embrace attempting to balance a seriousness and a comfort. Sansa years later had listened to Joffery mock in front of the people in Kings Landing that you probably had cried desperately before you died, and all she could feel was that night and how you ran a hand over her hair the more she tried not to burst into blatant tears.

Her father had told the Queen without any hesitation what Sansa had not been ready to hear for months. “The wolf is of the North. She deserves better then a butcher.” Before looking to you as you both shared a tiny nod of understanding did he leave the building. You gently waiting for Jory to take your place, before you nearly shoved passed the Lannister men around you all to follow.

She had not known it for a long time, but once Lady was gone, you had been the one to stay with her last for the proper final time. Cleaning the blood from her fur, and wrapping her up in a sheet with herbs tucked away as to not let the smell of eventual rot overtake. You had watched the four guards take Lady’s body back North until they no longer could be seen. Sansa had not been allowed to have one final time with Lady, and she didn’t know for a long time that you had taken that time in her place for her.

For a long time after that, Sansa would dream about Lady. They would be together in the warm sun, running together. When she would wake up, she would call out Lady’s name as if she would again see her direwolf’s golden eyes, but she never did. She would wake up, the dream would fade away, and Lady was dead again. Sansa suspected you understood that it never stopped hurting for her.

That evening at the table, she and Arya had been yelling at each other and when her sister had thrown part of an orange at her Sansa had let her emotions get the best of her. Shouting that she wished they had killed Arya instead of Lady, and never had Sansa forgotten the way you yelled at her. Only her name in a warning, but you had never yelled at her like that before, never given her that look before and she sat in a shocked, guilty silence over it. You had then covered up for her and Arya both when their father came in questioning the rooms tensity.

Sansa had tried returning to her food, sensing her father sitting something down beside her with a gentle, “That’s for you, love.” Opening the draw stings, you had begun pouring wine out for her father and settling into your seat finally. The doll inside was well made, the hair yellow and draped along the back of a white porcelain face. A dusty pink dress with a dark blue vest sat over top with gold trim around the edges of it matching the hair. Telling her with a hope in his voice, “The same doll maker makes all of Princess Myrcella’s toys.” As she looked at it in silence, he had asked, “Don’t you like it?”

She did. But in that moment, she hadn’t wanted to tell her father that. He was trying to reach out to her gently after what happened to Lady but she was too upset to listen. Not even looking at him she had snided out, “I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight. May I be excused?”

You had been far more stern about it then even Septa Mordane would’ve been, had she still been at the table. Barley glancing at her between the sip of wine passing your lips, “A thank you is traditionally the first appropriate response.”

Her father though, gave her a break, only telling her it was alright and to let her leave. Storming off, she had sensed your eyes following her retreating figure along with her father. Had she stuck round for a few seconds longer, she may have heard the amusement between you both as her father tilted his head in a slight exasperation. “War is easier then daughters.”

You had only laughed, jesting in reply “I’m inclined to believe my father would agree with you.”

Spending more time doing your duty by her fathers side, Sansa had almost never seen you in your time together in Kings Landing. Then you and her father were arrested. It felt like treason in and of itself, being forced to write to Robb, calling you and her father traitors. She had desperately hoped that Robb would not hate her for it. She had no choice, Cersei had told her it was essentially the only thing Sansa could do to try and help you and her father.

The night you had escaped, Sansa had recalled looking out the window with but a single candle to light. Preying that you would make it to Robb safely, and you did. Then Robb and you had declared war, then everything else followed and the deaths to come.

Sansa hadn’t even known she was to have a nephew until she was told of her families slaughter. You and Robb had died together, and your unborn son, from what all accounts said, was horrifically butchered and cut from your womb. The whispers had spoken that Roose Bolton had carved you open so deeply, that had the baby been fully grown inside of you, it would have spilled out amongst all of the blood and insides which came from you too. That was the last image she had when she’d try and think about what your final days looked like.

So, to stand there in the hall that morning, Sansa struggled to see the sight in front of her as anything but a trick. As if you were just being used for your position. She didn’t know anything close to if that was true, but perhaps it was easier to go down that train of thought for now then it was to accept the actual truth. Thus, she let it fester.

Looking around the room, she wondered who would she even be able to speak to who could give answers. Many of the Lords here all accepted the situation, and she did not know them well. So she turned her attention to those she already knew. Arya and Bran were not here for your time before marrying him, and she didn’t know most of the advisors by your and Jons side. But she did know Theon.

He had slunk off to the side of the room, likely to escape the crowed never ending in front of you and Jon. As she silently came to his side, she matched close to his posture allowing the quiet to brew between as he sensed she was there no doubt. You had been confused by her more direct questions the other night, so she this time, started as subtle as she could.

“When did they get married?”

Theon glanced to her in question, before turning back to where her gaze also kept on them as he thought back. Though, his expression was far more forgiving then her blank yet stern one. “If I’m not mistaken, they are actually drawing close to a full year to the day sooner or later.”

Quiet she was, as even more quiet as she kept her voice to herself and Theon alone with your name coming from her lips. “She reunited with Jon, and it took what? A half a year after that point for them to marry?” Theon affirmed only the timeline, not the unknown breakdown within her head, but no doubt was attempting to put it together the more she asked. “He was only crowned King in the North after about a month when they reunited. Then five months after that, he marries her. If being King meant that it didn’t matter a highborn marries a bastard, that timing seems odd.”

Theon had shrugged as he crossed his arms over his front. “With all due respect,” Nodding towards you, “If she hadn’t been so tormented in her head for so long, I think Jon may have married her the same bloody night they called him King.” Whatever meaning he had behind did not match Sansa’s. It only made her grow more suspicious.

Playing her cards a little too loosely, she took the risk to assess it outloud between them. “So, he rushes to marry her, and then as soon as they are he gets her pregnant right away.” To Theon, that was a very uncomplicated and general paraphrasing of the utmost disaster that was your developing relationship with Jon, but he had not found intent in dismantling her point just to over explain a relationship that wasn’t his.

Face twisting almost like a wince, he directed his gaze to the side to notice her watchful eyes yet unmoving. “Everyone kept still calling her Queen. May as well make it less complicated.” Sansa had not picked up on the fact that it was only a joke. His follow up though, only made her eyes narrow more at Jon. “As for getting her pregnant, I don’t think I should need explain that process to you by now. A man lays with the same woman enough times, eventually it will happen.”

In her mind, she struggled to rationalize it in a different way, no matter what her better logical side was insisting on. She found herself deep into something she knew deep down, was a rather harsh outlook. Jon had rushed into marrying you, and rushed into getting you pregnant and now here he stood. King in the North, with a son and heir with the once Queen in the North. Made officially so, when it was Robb you were at the side of. You had been married to Robb before made King and Queen and you both had lost the son unborn to you. Yet now, her bastard brother stood in Robbs place. His crown, lands, title and even his wife. Only Jon now gets the son which Robb never had a chance to have. Robb didn’t have an heir when he died, and yet it felt as if Jon rushed into ensuring you birthed him an heir.

With a son between you two, it would certainly make his position a lot harder now to denounce. In her worst reading, which Sansa was unable to send away from her mind, it was all rather unfavourable. Robb was a Stark, and when he was named King in the North you became his Queen already being his wife. You then both died before you had a chance to birth Robb a son and heir.

Then Jon, their bastard brother who laws Sansa grew up with stated he had no rights too, claims Robbs title as King in the North. Then to ensure his claim is strong, marries his brothers widow, the last Queen in the North and as soon as he can, puts a child in you. And here he stood with a son and heir to present to the Northern Lords. But as she looked around the room, it felt as if not a single person was seeing the deception which Sansa was.

Struggling to tell herself that this wasn’t a manipulative ploy to use you for your position, just for Jon to strengthen his own. It was as if no one was seeing this for what it could be, but her.

“I imagine it is too late to try and tell them that they did not have to bring gifts of any form?” Jon chuckled deep in his chest as he turned more into your side as a hand slipped to your opposite hip, turning you to match his position. Muttering under his breathe that it certainly seemed too late.

Thus far little Eddard had done well with the attention as long as you didn’t pass him off out of your or Jons arms. Both yourself and Jon spending much time ensuring either he or yourself were interacting with him in some fashion seemed to help. A small wave of a very tiny arm reaching out to him, and Jon without a hesitation allowed the baby to grab at what he could reach of his hand as a good enough way to hold hands together, bright wide eyes gazing down to bridge wide eyes, as his other ran along the top of his head. “If you don’t sleep well after today, I don’t know if you ever will.”

Nudging him slightly to grab his attention you jested, “At least so far he doesn’t take after you in that sense.” Both of you well aware that in addition to a lifetime of sleep troubles, Jon now then ever before struggled to get enough sleep moreso then he was willing to admit to you. You had begun wondering if he simply could function on four or five hours compared to most normal people needing perhaps double that amount. Newborns though, especially early born newborns according to Maester Wolkan would often sleep more then they were awake for some time. Though when his cries would wake you and Jon up in the very dead of night, it certainly didn’t feel that way. But neither approached it with frustration, there was little point between you to get upset about what could not be changed. Often the little one would allow you both to just begin falling back asleep before needing something else, only causing you both to laugh gently into one another at his needing timing.

“One can only hope he takes after you in other ways.”

Both your eyes and Jons tore up from the baby to the approaching figure. Jon was either doing a far worse job then you at feigning civil pleasantries, or was not even trying to hide his glare. You had perhaps a little more experience in playing that role with the man in question as you were the one to greet him in a half meaning greeting. “Lord Baelish.”

Giving an appropriate bow, he made a vauge gesture of asking further permission to approach. None of you made a scene in front of the crowd, or the few watchful eyes. Allowing him to come close as he continued on as if a conversation was being shared previous. “Even so young, it is lovely to see the little Prince with so much wolf in him, and a wonderful choice of name.”

You couldn’t quite pin why the way he said it made you uncomfortable, but perhaps it was bordering on a mocking that he thought neither you nor Jon would pick up on. The unspoken tension was saying otherwise. Jon had taken up the discussions mantle for you, with a short and unhidden tone of dislike which the man before you did not seem surprised nor perturbed by. As if he had already experienced this side of Jon well before right now. “If only his grandfather could be here to meet him.”

The tension between both was something you knew had already boiled beyond a safe point. Pulling the baby a little closer into your front as if to shift him away from the mans clear view, contrasting to the manner you attempted to placate anything furthering then this. “Forgive me, my lord. I am surprised to see you’re still here. Surely a man such as yourself has many matters to attend to in the Vale?”

He was at ease more dealing with you, Littlefinger switching his tone and gaze to something much better suited for what he always did best in playing to a specific crowd. “I have many matters all over to attend to, your grace. The Vale is simply one place as such, and I have many trusted men there to keep the peace for me while I’m gone.”

You had the sense, Jon had never seen the kind of smile on you before, which sat present on your face. One so unreaching of your eyes it was almost staggering how false it was. “You have never been this far North before, if I am not mistaken. I could only wonder as to what business then would keep you here now that you have safely delivered Sansa Stark home.”

The nonchalant mannerisms in his gestures as he spoke was merely a smokescreen of casual conversation. But the eyes watching both from Bran and Arya spoke even more suspect of him. All but interrupting their conversation with Meera to watch him close and untrusting. He did not acknowledge it, but you knew he was aware of it. “Let’s simply say, making up for past mistakes.”

Not a moment could pass to breathe before your false polite demeanour had nearly spoken back with a thick layer of condescension. “Winterfell should run out of candles before you find enough to light in forgiveness for that amount of errors, my lord.”

He did not react, not did your eyes blink watching him. The air was heavy before he found himself overstaying his welcome to the degree it could grow too noticeable. Looking between your son and you, he did not even make such a chance of including Jon in the formality. “I congratulate you both on the birth of your son. I believe I had once wished you a future of beautiful children, it is a shame it took this long to get you back from the summer heat, in order to finally achieve that.”

Littlefinger bowed before making his leave, and your watchful eyes as he retreated would tell Jon that more was being said between you both then either party had used in genuine words. You had told him that Littlefinger had once used his knowledge of your early time with Jon as a threat, but not what he said to do it. Nor that such a threat was now being used as a crude slash at your heart for what he felt that comfortable implying to your face, in front of all attending.

Jon didn’t however, need to say a word either for Ghost to catch what he was trying to tell him. And as Petyr Baelish made his leave from the main hall, as subtly behind did the sight of a large, white direwolf with watchful red eyes. Jon it seemed, had enough of letting the man walk about his home without eyes he could trust watching his every move.

And he knew you weren’t yet aware of it, but Jon couldn’t help but wonder how much the distrustful way Sansa was attempting to pretend she wasn’t watching him with, was influenced by the retreating figure Ghost now followed.

To some degree, she put more trust in Littlefinger then Jon, and he knew that acting with swift aggression towards the man would only alienate her more. Having Littlefinger in his home, around his family and his wife was one thing but Jon was not going to let him do so in any secret any longer. Afterall, Jon was more then aware that he and you had secrets between one another that a man like him would never conceive of guessing. And more then one at that.

As evening fell on the day, should those present have been aware, one watching one watching another should have been an amusing sight.

Yet none knew they were being watched, let alone followed save for the first of the chain. As night continued to fall quickly over the sky as the depths of winter grew closer, so did the beauty of the snow which was illuminated by the brightness of moonlight. On the clearest of nights, even the stars were visible shining along with it, but it was not quite so lucky this far north for such things. Not that you were put off by such a notion. You had grown up by the sea, always able to look up into the stars far into the distance as if they were falling into the water the further they travelled.

When you were very young, you had always wondered what the lands beyond your island home could have possibly looked like. Across the Narrow Sea you couldn’t imagine anything but what you knew, just a large span of islands stretching across water, each city their own plot of land separate from another and you could not imagine it could look as beautiful as the world you came to see, was.

The first time you left your home was not truly what you’d call a journey. Sailing young to Storm’s End and you had never came close to leaving the castle. Only from the front gates to the beach leading down to the waters you knew well. You had at such a young age always wished that your family had been allowed to live there. Storm’s End was large and sturdy, as if the largest of creatures could come crashing through it’s walls and every stone would stand in place without a shake. By the waters wind it was always beautiful and cool but the further inland one get it grew warm and even hot in the summers, but unlike Dragonstone, there was no volcano sat within the middle to smoke and smoulder to set the lands alight with the scent of brimstone.

The tomb of your family lay there, stretching back to it’s beginning. Not as long existing as many families in Westeros, but to your young mind it may as well been the beginning of time which they started. You had asked your father would one day you be buried with them here, or would one need to be made on Dragonstone. He had assured you, Baratheon’s belonged here with each other. You had spent many years wishing your King Uncle would have let you live here, all the things in the world you could’ve had.

But as you walked through the snow now, the light falling having given the previous footsteps a fresh dusting which you followed in near perfect succession, you knew that would have been for the worse. You had no resources on Dragonstone which were not thickly coated in a history of dragons, and few wished to travel there to live in order to provide you with education. You had no friends, not real ones at the least.

The other children anywhere near the castle were years older then you, and did not wish to stood low and play immature games with such a small girl nor did they want you tagging along and interrupting their own fun. The ones whom were your age were separated by the woods between the castle and villages on the other side of the island. You seldom had reason to be brought that far and thus when you did, you were treated far more as their Lords daughter then a girl wishing for friends.

The first time you had seen anything of the North, you felt such a strange feeling. It was large, such a large and vast stretch of land that kept going and going. By the time your ship had stopped in White Harbour already the people were so different. With each other they were loud and lively and yet also somehow felt as cold as the lands around you. You had felt as if each person was angry with you, but you did not understand what. Your father had told you that Lord Eddard Stark had two sons your age, but upon learning that they were in fact both at least two years older then you and much taller, you had felt the same worry. That you were now just in closer proximity to children whom did not want to waste their time on a childish little girl.

Sometimes they could be so cold and serious like the adults around you, that you worried that they would be annoyed with you when you weren’t as mature. You had wanted to go home, you wanted to have been able to live in Storm’s End so you never had to come here, you had one chance to make friends and for weeks you were scared they hated having to put up with you.

If such a thought wasn’t ironic enough now, you knew it was even moreso considering that you for those first weeks, thought Jon specifically hated you. He and Robb together could laugh and have fun no matter what they were doing, but whenever Jon had to interact with you, you felt like he waned to be anywhere else. Robb would be the one to come find you to get you to come with whatever he and Jon were doing, but it then would always feel like the later was trying to force you to grow up already so you weren’t as annoying to deal with. Always hovering over you like you were a burden he was forced to watch.

You had been on a ride through the wolfswood one afternoon, the lightest mood you had been in thus far just in awe of how far the North went on and on. Robb had to turn back at one point, telling his brother were he not back in half of an hour or so, to continue on without him. So you and Jon had stopped by a cliffside so you would all be somewhere recognizable for Robb to spot coming back.

A feeling of guilt had sat within you, being forced to watch you like you were an infant when clearly Jon would’ve preferred just going back with his brother. You had attempted to stay mostly on the other side of the flat clearing of land you two were on, shoving down most things you came up with to say in case he would finally snap, and tell you to shut up. You didn’t know when the thought came to you, but part of you wondered if you could see how far the woods went on for if you stood at the top of the cliffside.

There was no clear path up for some time by the sides, so you looked back. He wasn’t looking, and you didn’t want to annoy him by asking, so you quietly did it on your own. You had done this sort of thing all the time alone, so you had found it quite easy to climb up. By the time Jon had noticed you weren’t where he left you, he had but all yelled your name when he realized. But you were nearing the halfway point and it would take more effort to climb down from where you were then to keep going.

The sight almost was as fascinating as it was puzzling. The way not even this high up did the wolfswood seem to have an ending. It simply kept going and going. You didn’t realize with how long you had been looking out to the sight, that Jon had followed you up. When he had grabbed your arm saying your name, you for a moment were swept up in the sight before you that you had merely turned to him in excitement asking all of the wolfswood looked like this.

Face falling though, as he looked at you with those grey eyes speaking something you couldn’t understand, you had begun to apologize, that you’d never do it again. Jon had called your name twice as you attempted to promise you could get down on your own when he nearly shouted it. Wide eyes looking up at him in nerves though, did he smile. “Do you do this a lot on Dragonstone? Climbing?”

Confused at his sudden tone change, you nodded. Muttering as your head dropped with an honesty that you didn’t have any friends there so you explored the woods behind the castle and learned that you liked to climb. You recalled feeling taken aback when he had smiled more turning to stand more beside you to look to the same sight. “Well, I know you like to ride already. And now I know two things you like that we can do together.”

Sometimes it still felt after that like he was watching over you, but less and less did it seem as if he did it because he was obligated too but more because he was always on the lookout for things that you enjoyed or liked, so he could start doing them with you more often. You made friends with he and Robb both quickly, but Jon was your first true friend.

It was why now, everything you wanted as a girl felt backwards. Had you lived on Storm’s End, you’d never have had a single reason to be sent to Winterfell. You’d have never understood the beauty of the winters cold as you walked through thick trees coated in snow as you walked into the night of the godswood. And never would you have lived any life leading to the sight you had stumbled onto.

The Weirwood tall and even in the darkness, the red leaves stood out so vividly against all else. The white bark blending into the snow which too nearly hid the just as white figure of Ghost. The direwolf’s eyes as red as the leaves and directed towards the sight you were a fool for once attempting to live a life leading away from this. His original white fur around your shoulders, but his now were thick and dark, matching the colours of fine leather underneath and his long, black curls all once more pulled back entirely as his grey eyes shined bright in the moonlight still sitting between the clouds.

You could not hear him from there, but you could see the gentle way he held little Eddard in his arms, both facing the wonder of the Weirwood as if already sharing with his son, the beliefs which sat so strongly within him. For a good moment did you not even find it in you to disrupt the three of them. A trio of wolves all in a place encompassing so much of who and what they were that it felt a rare moment you considered yourself an outsider.

But it was striking, how in any point in your life you wanted things which would have certainly taken having any of this, far away from you. That this wasn’t a land you’d always yearn to return too, that twice you would kneel before a heart tree and offer your heart, life, and purpose to a wolf, a Stark, a man of the North and it was with him which you belonged. Both of them, but the sight before you was the one which all blood and death had led you and Jon towards and there was no longer use in pretending as if any of it was wrong. The only thing which was wrong, was the thought of ever thinking this place was not where you belonged. That you did not belong here, belong to him.

You had truly not even noticed Jon had caught sight of your appearance, watching the three of them with bright eyes shining with a ghost of a smile until he had affectionately called out to your name. “What are you doing back there?”

Noticing not the gentle smile already dancing across your lips you stepped forward more. “Admiring you three. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Coming close to the Weirwood, did the more eager sound of little Eddard cry out as two small arms shifted from under the blanket to reaching out. An even wider smile was to follow on you and Jon watching. A free arm reaching out to pull you close as you put your gloved hand in his. “Not interrupting means I can’t admire you.” Nearly close to a playful roll of your eyes was interrupted as he shifted his hand to cup your cheek. Tilting you up to more meet his gaze as he stepped as close into you as he could. Both of your hands reaching underneath the warmth of his fur cloak to rest at his waist, eyes fluttering closed the moment he continued to lean in closing the gap between your lips and his.

A gentle coax for you to simply let him guide you, you could feel the leather of his glove tracing over your cheek with his thumb. Jon barley deepening it, but not letting a single breath through your lungs pass without gifting it all to him. Each press of his lips almost tingling in your own as your hands clutched at him tighter before one drifted upwards. Tracing across the facial hair scratching under your palm at his jaw you almost pulled him closer to you, and you up to him.

Once, twice, again and again he moved his lips with yours but the second part of you or him shifted to deepen it did Jon tear from you. The kiss begging for more but instead tilting your head down to press a kiss firmly to your forehead and resting his own thus against it. The hand on your cheek now tracing along your hair loose down your back, raking through it gently enough by the back of your neck to keep you where he wanted. Your hands both now winding around the back of his neck as your lips begged you to lean up and kiss him once more. But he kept you in that position, until the needing tenseness in your shoulders relaxed for him. Only then his voice rasped so low and deep, vibrating in your ear. “I was telling our son that this was where we married.”

A gentle nod against him, not even unwilling to part from his warmth, but turning to rest your head more in the furs against his neck as you looked to where he still held little Eddard comfortably bundled in his arm. The press of Jons lips to the top of your head followed as you met the wide little green eyes looking up at you. One hand leaving Jon only to drift down to run along the side of the baby’s head as even just with the touch did his eyes begin to blink heavily. Murmuring against Jons front as the feeling of Ghost settling more by your feet join. “I’m almost shocked we didn’t already conceive you that night alone.”

His small ears not understanding a word of what that meant, but the feeling of Jon turning more to nuzzle the side of your head as he rasped for you alone, not even to reach the baby’s hearing as he cupped the back of your neck to keep you leaning up against him comfortably. “I was desperate to.” Only a hum left you to indicate you were listening, still letting a gloved hand run over little Eddard’s head as part of you considered in what felt like little time did you imagine he’d start growing out locks to match Jon perfectly, as he himself continued to murmur into your ear. “How many times did I take you that night? Six? Seven?”

A shiver ran right down your spine, warming your insides substantially as it begun to travel between your legs, the hand still around the back of your neck tightening ever so slightly. Yet not at all enough for Jon to miss, nor not catch the shaking tone of breathlessness which your voice spoke with. “I kept thinking about it..” A nudge against the side of your head when you faltered as if prompting you more commandingly to continue. “When you...when I was..”

The tone was rough but not even a smirk crossed his features, just a tightening of his hand by the back of your neck as his voice and accent flowed thick. “When I had you on top of me?” Only nodding as you almost nervously bit your tongue, Jon continued to contrast by a gentle nuzzle against your hair as if a wolf while again his hand tightened more. “Gods, I was so deep inside you that way.” That time the increasing tension in your blood had you lean more into Jons front as he found himself unable to stop rasping with a thick want in your ear. “You didn’t even know what to do.” Shaking your head no, you felt him breathe in deeply. “Just let me bounce you on my cock as much as I wanted.”

Once more you nodded, but that time Jon pulled your head from the furs hiding you in his neck to meet his eyes. Narrowed and a darkening grey with an expression any but you may have interpreted as angry, but his ramble came out almost instinctively. “You’ve always done that. Let me do anything I want to you.” Again you nodded, and that look tricking one of anger grew harsher as did he hold behind your neck. “I didn’t even ask to put a child inside of you. I did it because I wanted to, wanted to see you swell with my child. It’s like it doesn’t matter what it is I want, you’d let me do it to you no matter what it is.”

Letting the hand trace along his facial hair drop down to sit high on his upper torso, you inhaled long and deeply as you glanced down to what of Jon you could see, though the layers between you outside meaning you did not catch how hard you were making him, looking at him that way. There was an intention whenever Jon would tear his eyes down your body but knowing you were doing it in such a more innocently needing manner made him feel as if he was throbbing. Your voice but a whisper, letting your other hand drop from the growingly sleepy bundle Jon was still carefully holding to let it too join against his upper torso. “Because I trust you. With our son, me, anything.”

Jon only looked at you as the grey returned more to his eyes shining brightly before sighing out. Leaning down he captured your lips once more, a slow and chaste embrace pouring much of what he found himself unable to say into his kiss. A language you always knew how to read. Barley pulling back before he would reconnect, pressing multiple smaller kisses to your lips again ultimately failing each attempt to stop before you drifted your hands up. Cupping both sides of his face you indulged in a far more needing kiss, allowing him to go harsher as his teeth bite at your bottom lip.

Tearing away before he pushed it any further, he mumbled against your lips. “Do you know how I realized this one needs to go to sleep properly?” Tilting his head vaguely to where he held the baby you shook your head gently, only eliciting a breathy laugh to dance across your skin. “I’ve kissed you this much and he hasn’t fought me on it once.”

Your own laugh came so much easier, your forehead meeting his as he joined. Only pulling back from him enough to relieve him of his duty. “I can take him.” Gentle did he transfer him into your arms, never letting go until sure he was secure. Not in the way you as a girl feared, like he was making a fuss to ensure you did it right, but out of the sheer degree of protective within him. It was not yet often in the week of your return that little Eddard was found in one’s arms beyond you two.

Jon noticed you hadn’t responded to his comment truly, and now able to more freely, grasped the side of your cheek and jaw to tilt you to look up at him, his other running a thumb along and down the side of your neck. “How am I supposed to have you the way I want when my own son fights me for your attention?” Almost not bothering to let you answer, did Jon pass your lips by tilting your head enough to start pressing his lips down the sensitive length of your neck.

Knowing as you held the baby you were powerless to let him do so, your eyes fluttered in want to close as your voice breathed out high pitched as it was quiet. “He’s only protective. He doesn’t..” Swallowing the urge to let a whine bordering on a moan as you felt his tongue drag along your skin before once more covering up the trace with his lips, Jon stepped closer to you forcing him to lean down much more over your shorter stature to come with the same need. The hum in the back of his throat his only indication he expected you to keep speaking. “He doesn’t understand what any of this is yet..he-”

Tilting your head up to meet his now much more dark eyes as he dragged them down to your lips and back with a roughness scratching at his voice. “He’s lucky it’s cold out, or I’d have taken you right here as soon as he fell asleep.” Yanking you to meet, his kiss was so much more rough. Short lived but a deep harshness to it as he bit at your bottom lip tearing away, soothing with a single gentle kiss before running his nose along yours. “Let me get you two warm inside before I do anything else.”

Only a nod, you allowed Jon to turn you in place as he much more calmly called to Ghost. The direwolf getting up to start walking first as Jon pulled you into his side firmly, your head turning up to the side as he guided you away. “He’ll need to be fed before we sleep tonight, I assume.”

Jon left another firm kiss that time to the side of your head, his arm shifting upwards so he could grasp ahold of the white fur around your shoulders and strands of your hair which fell loose over it. His voice was steady and unphased, a striking opposite to the words slipping so easily from his deep voice. “I’ll long since have you bare by then, should make it easier.”

A shiver not from the cold winds ran back down your spine but he again looked unphased by his own words, despite the knowledge within Jons own head how painstakingly hard he had been since he first saw you appear like a vision sent to torment him by the gods. Dressed in his fur standing in the night snow of the Winterfell Godswood, you never made Jon more worked up then seeing you look so much like his, in his own home. It was possessive, but Jon was more then that he knew.

Jon knew he was little more then addicted to you, and looking down seeing you holding his son in your arms only had him pull you closer into his side. He adored you for so much more then your body, but for a man with few words, sometimes the rawness of lust he felt for you was his only way of expressing the degree of his love. Which made watching you simply interact with the baby something that made his cock howl at him to strip you bare and slip inside of you again and again.

Perhaps it was something only you two did and would ever understand, and for Jon he was perfectly fine with that. For the second pair of eyes watching someone else that night however, it was research. It was following what one told her to do despite how everyone else didn’t see a reason to care.

Your second night home, you had run into Sansa outside the crypts by the glass gardens and for everything you two spoke of that night, it was the whispering in her other ear during the daylight of Petyr which were speaking a different story. It was hard to keep up, her trust in you and her family on one and Petyr Baelish’s teachings on the other.

Was he feeding into her views to sully the already sour image he painted to her of her brother? She struggled to know that. She had watched you and seen something genuine, and even the way you both looked at each other was something Sansa had seldom seen adults share between each other. Certainly nowhere near anything she had ever come close to experiencing.

But then another part of her still sat in Petyr Baelish’s study, going over the details of what Alyane Stone’s life was. The lessons discussing how she will be perceived because she is posting as a bastard, and teaching her to not react in offence as if it would be the first she’s ever been treated as such. It was the words in her head which Petyr had so delicately taught her that festered in her mind like rot overtaking a bleeding wound.

“They will look down on you. You were raised with the love and worship of a highborn girl, but people will not gift you the same outlook anymore. People do not trust what is different from them, they will be suspicious and expect the worst of those who they do not trust. Everyone knows that bastards are wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit.

It had been hammered away in Alyane Stone’s mind to the degree which even standing there once again as Sansa Stark, did she follow Petyr’s advice. Watch him, keep an eye on Jon when he is with you. Petyr was sure he said that for Sansa to properly pursue what was rightfully hers, that she will need you on her side. You were twice Queen in the North and a born and raised proper highborn. So he told her, watch what Jon does. Watch him manipulate you, watch him seduce you into staying rooted by his side. That was what Petyr had said.

Following you to the godswood, Sansa had watched the way Jon interacted with you. It was a manner she had scarcely seen a man ever interact with a woman, let alone coming from her own brother. She could hear Petyrs words. Wanton by nature, born of lust and deceit. It certainly looked as such. Exactly what Petyr had said people would say about Alyane when she was to cozy to the side of Harry Hardyng.

Petyr had said that a wife of Harry would be he envy of every highborn maiden in the Vale, even a few reaching as far as the Riverlands or the Reach. That because bastards were lustful and lecherous, the more she earned Harry the Heir’s favour the more women would hiss that she had somehow bewitched him. At the time, she felt it laughable. Alyane was the opposite of that, Harry had been rude her once because she was a bastard and she had taken off embarrassed.

It wasn’t until he returned at the ball to dance with her did she forgive him. Alyane was a bastard she was used to it, but within her, Sansa was a highborn girl. She was nothing of the sort. But then she stood there, spying on her own brother. Spying on you, by law twice you were her sister and to Sansa you had felt as such far before. But she spied, and all she could see and hear was exactly what Petyr warned her of.

Even when you were holding the baby, Jon could not keep his hands nor lips off of you. No doubt whispering things in you ear to keep you seduced to his side. Jon was her brother, but he was a bastard and Sansa struggled to see past one to get to the other. Her worst ideas which she already had tossed away for such ridiculousness were far beyond inaccurate.

Jon needn’t hold you down and force himself on you. The part of him which was a bastard had pushed away what of his blood was a Stark, and it was that side that had lured you into his bed willingly. And even now, keeping you on the edge and control of his lust, as if should you drift too far the spell would break and you’d see clearly.

But Sansa was not the only one watching. Because as she watched you and her brother, Littlefinger watched her. And this was not a plan he had yet to lose. He had brought Sansa Stark home, but in truth, he had trained Alyane Stone so well that she still watched and thought through Sansa’s eyes. He had told her to be distrustful of Jon. Littlefinger more then most men knew exactly what desire looked like, and it lived within Jon Snow’s eyes each time they even slightly drifted towards you.

So he conjured a story to Sansa that you were a traumatized and confused widow, bewitched and seduced by the lecherous and wanton ways of a jealous bastard brother. If Littlefinger could manipulate Alyane so much that such lessons could trick Sansa now, perhaps he knew, she was not the only one he may be able to sway against Jons side.

Some plans though, did not always work the way one intends. An example provided so generously by the same evening, now within the warm walls of Jons chambers sat an amusing one.

Jon had gotten as far as peeling off the cold outer layers covering you both before little Eddard had decided enough was enough. The rapid switch from blinking awake with such a gentle and precious look on his face to fidgeting and grumpy was one which drew laughs from both you and Jon rather quickly. Changing the order of things, peace was found first between you all before anything further.

You had argued playfully with Jon about pretending to allow you modesty, when as he helped with the top layer of your dress, did he end up all but yanking the fabric away to allow your breasts bare. A fluster swimming up your chest and into your eyes as you had protested. Jon slowly letting a hand trail along your side to the skin just above your stomach where the tighter layer of the dress kept your skirt in place, pulling you back into him as his other grabbed at your hip. “If I sit you two by the fire this way, you’ll warm up faster.”

The sight now had been the in between. A little pack of four you were, Ghost half curled up on top of the fur before the fire, giving a cozy space for Jon to lean back against. Pulling you with him, Jon carefully lay you back against his chest enough that kept you comfortable but was also an angle safe for the baby to feed at. Jons arm was wrapped around your front, resting just under where you held at the baby, his other grasping tenderly at your waist against him. The skirt of your dress outstretched across half the fur as if taunting with what Jon had not gotten off in time.

But none of you were impatient for this part. Your eyes trained without faltering on little Eddard, as the thought came to you once more. The strange fact that some women chose not to feed their infants from their own breast, not out of necessity, but of choice. Of inconvenience. This was such a small, simple task shared between mother and son that you struggled to come up with any reason to willingly surpass this to another for your own sake. While Eddard was still so small and new to the world, feeding him of your own milk was the most natural way to bond you both together so quickly.

Muttering into your neck behind you, Jon felt almost as warm as the heat from the fire he had sat you all in front of. “He’s still on the small side.”

Your smile was gentle, still not having looked away from the baby. Your voice if possible was quieter then Jons merely muttering for your sake only, but knowing and trusting he’d always hear you. “Maester Wolkan says that he’s growing at an appropriate speed. By the time a full moon passes, he should be the size he is supposed to be. That some infants born at full term are still sometimes on the smaller side until they start walking.”

Adjusting his position, Jon leaned the side of his head against yours as his own eyes shined bright watching you both. An affection dripped from his words but lacked the rawness of need which motivated him as he had led you in here in the first place. “Of course he’s small, he came from you.” You didn’t need to see him to know he was smirking to the point it would break out into a grin as you smiled almost in audacity. Protesting that you didn’t stay that small forever, but Jon let the hand on your waist shift you indescribably closer into his chest with a breathy chuckle deep in his chest. “You’re still smaller then me.”

Now inside, you could feel the edges of Jons curls loose as they danced across the side of your head and brushed just at the edge of your cheek as you turned somewhat to lean into his touch. “Something you’ve never let me forget.”

Jon muttered in a passing tease of his own attempting to come off as dry and even. “I’ve never let Arya forget it either.” As if all he needed was to hear yours, the moment a gentle laugh left your lips did a much warmer one husk in your ear from Jon. Almost envious of the fire before you, knowing it was graced with the sight of the smile which always accompanied Jons laughter, a sight more handsome then you knew how to handle.

When he broached it, you had not at all expected his question. “What did Littlefinger mean this morning? When he said something about you and your children, what did he mean?”

As if on a sign hanging from his chest you could read the protective level of distrust radiating from Jon even here and now. Only you rested comfortably against him, shifting subtly the hand on your sons back down to cover his. Jon only raised yours off, placing it right back against the baby as he then covered your own hand with his larger one far more successfully. Some days neither of you were even aware of the smallest of gestures shared between you and Jon, it was merely things you did from each of your souls towards one another.

Your voice however, was not low to be quiet, but as if distant in memory desperate not to fall within it like a trapping vortex in the sea waters. “I told you he had tried to threaten me into being quiet, did I not?” Jon only nodded, no doubt his jaw as tense as you felt his muscles turning, but you continued with the opposite hoping it would soothe him. “I had turned on him. Saying to just tell me what it was he wanted to say in truth instead of trying to use you to scare me. And his response was...I don’t know, I didn’t think on it for a long while. He parted ways telling me he hoped I could return to Robb soon, wishing me a long life with many children. He said that I suited summer there far less then I suited snow.”

Barley a grunt let Jon, having no problem connecting the very mocking dots Littlefinger had toyed with you about. The tenseness still felt behind you as did his rasp strain more in a force to remain on the side of quiet. “You lost everything that night, and finally when you have the chance to share even a little bit of that with me, he mocks you for what you still lost.” The frustration on his face must have been so distinct were you facing him. It was almost as if he was convincing himself. “I told you, you belong to me. We belong together, I’m not giving you up to anyone ever again.”

Your laugh almost was enough to ease even just the tightness he held your waist with. “You and I have a son together. A man and wife can’t quite get more bonded together then sharing that.” Jon only watched you and little Eddard for a while again. Whatever was stewing in his head, he let stay there until it boiled to the proper point. Simply choosing to watch the mother of his child feeding his son from your breast, as if his was which the old gods had always been fating Jon towards.

The routine was without words. Getting his fill, you would then raise up Eddard to the opposite shoulder Jon was resting by as he pulled your hair off of that over to him. Almost without failure, the moment the tiniest burp would come from the little one, would he start to drift off. His head dropping down to your neck and shoulder as his eyes begun to drift closed.

Jon always took over from there once night came, the insistent claim that you did enough all day for the baby, the least he could do was not force you to jump up at any instance for him if he could bring him to you or back to bed. Each night thus far, Jon would shush you gently to stay in bed while he went and tended to Eddard, only ever bothering you if he needed feeding, to which he’d prop you up in the exact position you two had been in minutes ago, but upright in his bed.

That time barley managing to stand, you almost on instinct lifted up the loose fabric of your dress to cover your chest with a modesty as Jon carefully put the baby into his bed, up against the wall merely a few feet beside and down from where you both would rest. Neither of you had been anywhere near ready at the idea of giving the baby a room he would be alone in.

Whispering low words to his son as he drifted off, Jon pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before turning back to you, still standing at the fur in front of his fire but now holding your dress more up to hide you away. Jon however, only dropped his head with a smirking laugh as he approached. Raising his head up along with his eyebrows to you, grasping your hips within reach with something incredibly playful draping across his grey eyes. His voice low and rasping but filled with as much tease. “I think darling, you should know by now that I’m only going to peel the rest of this off far before you could properly put it back on.”

Jons hand almost childishly tugged at the skirt of your dress, but your hands did not drop. Your eyes did along with your tone in as much of a lecturing tease as he mocked you in playfulness. “Am I allowed to stay partially dressed as I take your things off from the day, or do you demand I do so with nothing else on?”

Jon only tugged at the material harder that time, not blinking nor shifting his expression at all while his eyes once more darkened. The yank was enough that it slipped from your grasp and exposed your breasts to him in a bounce. A small gasp left you, grabbing onto the skirt in front of you which he hadn’t pulled down enough yet, something bright in your eyes matched his but was painted over far more embarrassed. “Jon..”

Leaning in, he only nudged your nose with his. “Let me see you. All of you.”

His tug that time was more experimental, a question as he did one then another before finally moving his hands both to properly undo the laces keeping it against your person. Brows narrowed in focus as he kept his eyes trained on ensuring he took it all off of you respectfully. Sitting it aside from where you stood as he had knelt down by you. Looking up, Jons eyes were bright and asking of a permission you both knew he did not need to stop for.

But regardless he did, and the slight bite at your bottom lip with a nod was good enough for thus far. Pressing a kiss to your calf, up to your inner thigh, and trailing a path from your knee up to the warmth between your legs. Surpassing your core, Jon skipped up to your stomach. His lips refusing to miss a single scrap of skin which consisted of the scar across your womb before continuing his path up. Between your breasts but considerate of your sensitivity and pressing but a small kiss to what would be your cleavage before back up your neck. Rising up to his full height as he did so, his taller and stronger stature mixing with how he still was almost completely dressed, made your smaller bare frame feel exposed and vulnerable, a shaking exhale at how his lips against your neck only grew as purposeful as they were needing and sloppy.

Hands tighter and tighter at your waist, Jons breathing picked up with the high pitched breathlessness of yours. Rasping deeply, hardly able to convince himself to part from any way his hands and lips could touch you. “Are you still alright with this?” Your nod was lightheaded, but his voice calling your name was firm. Pulling you by a grip on your chin to look up to his stern expression. “You’re not still too sore? You don’t have to be ready so soon, it’s alright.”

Your own hands reaching up to flat against his chest you nodded along with a breathless voice which was tinged in the need your heart too raced with. “I’m not sore, I’m fine, I promise. Please..”

Leaning further into his front, Jon held you tight at your hips. Grey eyes on green until he found nothing but a complete truth in them, nodding down to himself with a mumble against your lips. Hand still pulling your chin up to his him, “Let’s get this off first.” Your nod was eager and his kiss too short lived, but he allowed you to work.

Bare in front of him, you took no rush in undressing Jon. Each layer taken off as the heat from him and the fire behind almost made you feel as if you could start to sweat, but never did you consider wanting anything else. Boots off and set aside, part of you always felt as if you should be unlacing his breeches in some kind of show when you took them off in such intimate moments, but you always just felt those nerves.

It never was anything but slowly pulling them down and kneeling in front of him with a hitch in your lungs, Jon had clearly been hard for some time. His cock full and thick, the colour deep as much blood was needed to harden a size and length such as his, but Jon only grabbed your hands. Pulling you up to your feet before cupping your cheeks.

Nose nudging against his, your hands wound up around the back of his neck, grasping at his curls before he nudged you to the right angle to kiss you. Rough and urgent as he held at the back of your neck to keep you there, soft lips guiding yours, deepening each second and growing rougher with that. You could feel his cock against your front but you dared not disobey him by doing what you wanted now, only being allowed his kiss so far.

Deepening his kiss each time as if to tease you with more until he chose the fairer path for you, licking at your lips instead of demanding you. Only gliding his tongue into your mouth once you had graced him permission, with your nerves hesitantly brushing your tongue with his. Jon though could guide your kiss with him for all of eternity, he knew just how much to give you, to explore and taste as he pleased before it became too much. Shying away as he ran the hand at your neck along your hair, back to rough and urgent but not such overpowering kisses.

But your arms wound around his shoulders and back of his neck even more, letting your hand entangle in his curls grasping with your own need to ground yourself against his touch making you dizzy. Leaning more over you, your back arching into his front, Jon let his hands run down your sides.

Hands smoothing along your waist and hip only for one to detour. Nibbling at your bottom lip, Jon only teased at letting his tongue brush against yours in your mouth at the same instance one rough hand slid along your ass. Grasping at one cheek, not tightly nor meanly but enough you cried a whining need into his kiss before his other hand joined. Large, calloused hands grasping and kneading at your ass as you held his hair tightly. Jons kiss growing more and more urgent, licking and deepening against you as he pushed your hips up against his cock, hands still grasping over and over at your ass.

Letting one hand overtake the other, Jon simply pushed your front to press up against his throbbing cock, fingers toying with pressing harder into the skin. Pulling from your lips with a force, the saliva not even snapping between you as you looked up to his hooded, black eyes with wider innocent ones. “Jon..are..did you want..”

Dragging his eyes all the way down your body and back, his jaw clenched as he once more grasped roughly what he could hold, which in his large hands was much. But he shook his head as he growled out, “No. Spread your legs, I need to taste you.” But as you asked about the bed, almost drifting towards it, Jon tugged you back with a feircly disapproving glare. “Now, darling.”

With a nervousness, Jon watched as you moved your legs apart better for him, only looking to watch your throat move with a swallow when he lowly ordered you to stand wider. Nudging your chin up to meet his eyes, Jon captured your lips in a chaste kiss before kneeling down. Resting his forehead against your mound, Jon groaned. “Seven hells..it’s not fair, I can’t go this long without..”

Cutting himself off, Jon pushed your inner thighs as far as he could from there before moving his mouth onto you. Tongue brushing up along your clit, he gripped your hips from moving but your hand tugged at his hair in need, a growl vibrating again you. Sparing you little time, from one pattern to another Jon lapped at your clit in one moment almost like a kitten in teasing, to the next his tongue fat against it before sucking at the bundle of nerves with a growl. His hands on your hips were tight enough bruises no doubt were forming.

His facial hair was thick, scratching at the skin of your inner thighs as he sucked and let his teeth scrape just against your slit before letting his tongue sloppily taste over it as it a salve to soothe you, but only bringing forth more pleasure. Twisting inside your core, you burned white hot with a beg of his name and your hand almost pulling at his curls. Your eyes closed, too overwhelmed and too shy to watch him but had you opened then, as you pulled at his hair Jons eyes snapped open. Never stopping tasting you as he glared up at your pleading figure in nothing but pleasure his mouth and tongue gifted you.

Eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head, Jon grunted as he pulled you more into him, sucking harshly to the point your gasp was sharp. Hurling you to the edge, Jon sucked and licked at your clit as if not a single other thing mattered. Drawing closer and closer your hand didn’t even mean to pull at his hair but it did, and each time he grew more greedy.

Licking down to your core and back up to your clit, no longer staying in once place Jon finally allowed himself to dive deep into your cunt. The soaking taste nothing but a pure addiction to him, he refused to let you even slightly drift away. His tongue running along your walls as he drank from you with a terrifying need. A thirst which he refused to entertain a solution not found between your legs.

Closer and closer to the edge Jon drew you, his own grunting growls vibrating against you as the coil twisted at each brush of his tongue from your clit back inside of you as if feasting only for himself. Begging at his name, hotter and hotter did you burn before it burst. Only, it didn’t.

Tearing himself from your cunt, Jon rose up before you could even think to beg him to let you cum, Jon bit roughly at your lip, sliding his tongue inside to make you taste yourself against his tongue with fervour. Turning you by a grip at your hips to the bed, Jon tore from your lips again as the saliva snapped between you. Guiding you to lay flat against the fur for him, Jon pulled your legs both wide open as he kneeled in front of you on the bed.

His eyes were dark, an anger only you could see was truly need as he stared intently at your soaking cunt. Rasping deeply he dragged his eyes up to meet yours, it seemed like he hadn’t noticed the growling manner it hissed out. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me again.”

“Jon?”

Your gentle and meek tone ignored, Jon somehow yanking you wider for him as one hand pressed down against your sternum keeping you flat against the bed contrasted to your feet spread obscenely wide at his behest. “The next man who even thinks about you this way, I’ll kill him.” Something far gone was Jon, replacing with the feral teeth baring anger of a wolf before you. Unable to come down even when your hands reached up to try and run along his waist. “I should drag you out there right now, take you apart until you’re crying.” The hands on your thighs were nearing a painful tightness but you still found yourself begging for more. “Fill you until I’m spilling out of you, then cover you with whats left.”

Biting your lip, your chest heaved as you knew he was watching your walls clench around nothing, desperately soaking wet wishing he would come to you already, but the wolf was not one to ever be told what to do. “If the only thing I do for the rest of our lives is fuck you, no man will be happier then me. None of them have a clue what you’ve given me, none of them understand. You-”

Cutting himself off, Jons head dropped for only a moment before he shifted. Gripping the thick base of his cock, Jon used his other hand to grasp at your jaw, forcing you to look up at him, Jon did not finish what he was to say. Looking nowhere but your eyes with his pitch black ones as he slid roughly inside of you. He was not gentle the way he was he other night.

One hand holding you open for him, Jon begun to pound his cock with a roughness that his skin slapped against yours right away. Your head wanted to throw itself back, but couldn’t. Forced to look Jon in the eye, his hips only moved harder and faster. Sliding as deep as you could take him, and barley managing to slide halfway out before roughly pushing his cock back just as soakingly deep. Your hands barley reaching his waist to grasp at, your voice weak and nothing but a gentle, almost innocent plead. “Jon, please, kiss me?”

But he shook his head, breaking eye contact to drop down and watch himself. His cock sliding deep in and out of you, rougher and rougher he trusts got the more he watched. Letting your jaw go to hold at your thighs, forcing them back wide open and grunting as he pounded harder and harder. A screaming in your veins at the shock of pain followed by a humiliating sound of how wet you were. In and out, he found a rhythm, but he was so fast inside of you.

Your breasts almost on a lewd display each rough force, the sound deafening of his hips slapping into yours. Jons grip nearly had your lower half up on display, wide and unable to move unless at his control as he fucked you, over and over without a care for how it looked. Again his voice growled and not a man, but a wolf looked and spoke down at you. “You’re mine, darling. You always were.” Nearly dropping his head back down in a long groan, Jon lost some of his speed as he thrusted rougher and slower into you each time. Your insides burning, set alight and screaming for him as you were soaking wet around his cock. The wolf only continued on with a deep possessiveness. “From the moment I saw you across the yard, you belonged to me.”

A hand reaching up to almost caress the side of your face, your skin and hair now undeniably soaking in sweat as the coil within you twisted and burned so tightly you felt not sane within your own mind, only consumed with Jon as it truly under a curse or spell. It was innocent in contrast to the rough manner which his cock would thrust roughly inside of you, the sound of your wetness each time he slid deep as if to seduce him all on its own. But your voice was light and you tried to grasp at his waist and forearm with wide eyes, “Jon, please, gods..I love you..”

The man within Jon and the wolf were at war, his heart tearing inside his chest to lean down and kiss you, the other only grew more shamelessly possessive and Jon had not a clue where this terrifying intensity had even come from. “I know, darling. I know you do, fuck you were born to. You were born for me, my cock, all of it. I’ve always loved you, and I don’t want a single man out there thinking he’ll ever come close to the way I love you.”

Your head flew back, eyes struggling to stay open as your orgasm begged you to be let out but you refused to even consider asking Jon for it. You’d accept him never give you another if thats what he wanted, you didn’t care, you trusted however his cock wanted to use your body. Finally letting go of your legs, Jon leaned down. One hand shifting to grasp behind your head tightly in your hair.

Slap after slap, pound after pound did Jon sink so deeply, so roughly inside of you as he bit at your lips, his tongue making the same path as if to refuse parts of him to not be inside you. But he had one more thought, one which Jon had not wanted to jump into but it was the wolf sinking his cock in and out of you.

His other free hand slid between the furs and your ass, pulling away with a bite to your bottom lip Jon hissed your name. Eyes fluttering open, the moment your met his black ones did he slide one thick finger deep into your ass. Back arching up as you cried his name into the night, Jon met his cocks pace as let a finger, knuckle deep in your ass sink in and out just as greedily. Pleas of please and his name, Jons head dropped back to a kiss, forcing your head up to his with his only other hand to make sure you could not escape his kiss.

Hurling you closer and closer to your orgasm did you cry out, and as if he could match you perfectly, the moment your soaking walls clenched tightly around his cock did Jon growl your name into your lips. His kiss rough and biting and deep as your hands reached up to grasp at his back and shoulders.

Nails digging into his back, clawing down without even realizing as you so desperately needing something as his kiss refused to let you even moan out for him. The stinging sensation so striking in Jons blood he throbbed inside of you. Pounding once, twice, almost managing seven more incredibly cruel thrusts before he sunk deep as he could.

Your orgasm almost pulled Jon deeper as he came, his thick seed hot and spilling deep inside of you but his hips did not still. Almost thrusting incredibly shallow to ensure every single drop would stay inside you where his seed belonged. Pulling suddenly from your ass you cried out, but as your orgasm waved over you, you realized how lightheaded you felt.

Not yet coming down, Jon tore from your lips. His eyes suddenly wider as he looked down to you, a rasp more concerned on his voice as he prompted your name. But your hands wound into his hair reaching up to press your lips again to his, the feeling as if blackening your vision as Jons seed was so thick and hot inside of you, almost making your orgasm go on and on. Vaugely aware that Jon pulled from your kiss again, he ran his hand along your sweating hair, again murmuring your name in a gentle concern, but without much more knowing, did you feel yourself fade.

Hardly even coming down from your end, and Jons cock not even yet truly done spurting thick amounts of his seed inside of you, but you felt like he held you above the clouds. Just Jon, and a floating underneath you as you clutched at his warm self before slipping into the darkness.

It was strange, still drastically in need of coming down to the ground, but Jon had noticed you quickly slipping away before passing out before you had even stopped cumming so beautifully around his cock. Heart pounding and racing, he looked down at you while he propped himself up partially with one hand, his other running along your neck almost as if to ensure your pulse was fine.

But you were, only passed out as you both came together. No faster then that had sent the wolf within Jon away and brought the man back. Almost cradling you as he hovered over you, Jons breathing was heaving desperately. Both your bodies glistening with sweat and dampening your hair, but otherwise you seemed fine. Hands almost growing tight if he tried to pull away.

Unwilling to leave your still soaked, warm cunt, Jon turned you in his arms. Laying more on your sides, Jon pulled you close. That had never happened before, he had never seen you drift so far you passed out before either of you had even came together and finished once.

Laying there in the night, the fire crackling beside the bed as Jon stayed deep, and half hard inside of you, you tucked into his chest and Jons face tucked into your hair, his arms wrapped firmly around you, and nothing but the peace of your son together still slumbering behind you both.

He had not a clue what came over him that night, and still, part of it scared him. He had been so blatantly possessive of you in an unhinged manner, a feral sort of way. It was the side of him which had truly wanted to tie you to his bed and never again let you leave it, keep you spread open for him to fuck over and over at every perfect time, keep you here for him alone and refuse to share you ever again.

It was incredibly intense, and he had gone so much more rough then he knew he should’ve, but yet you seemed incredibly happy snuggling further into his front as you slept. Jon knew as he laid there, there were a few places such an intenseness could’ve come from, but one of those options scared him more then the other.

He was a Stark, the White Wolf, wolves were protective of their mates. Thats all this was, Jon told himself. Nothing else. He loved you with everything his soul and heart had, that much was true, but an obsession had taken over Jon that night inside of you, and Jon for the first real time lay there trying to fall asleep, cock still sunk deeply into your cunt. It was not the first time a Stark had ever asked himself that question, but it was the first time, Jon had ever asked the question about himself. The worrying wonder of just how much of his father did he inherit.

The question Jon fell asleep with repeating in his head, how much of Rhaegar Targaryean was actually running through his veins.

[momotonescreaming]

I went digging through my fics, and found this. Absolutely no idea when I wrote this, or if I shared it already, but I can't stop thinking about it. Enjoy.

It’s the 1800’s, and Steve is the first born and only son of Richard Harrington, heir to the Harrington fortune. Expectations have been placed upon him since he was born, and it only got worse as he got older. He was too kind, liked flowers, and playing in the mud, and learning about horses and carriages and trains, and sitting with his mother while she put on make up and had her ladies maid do her hair. Then came the lessons from the private tutor (since the Harrington’s were too good for the local school) and Steve wasn’t as book smart as his father wanted him to be.

His father was mean and his mother was scared and so Steve spent a lot of time out in the fields as a young boy, wandering the land his father owned, picking up sticks and pretending to be a sheriff or an adventurer riding a fast horse into the sunset.

So he played until it got dark and Steve still didn’t go back home. Dad would yell and Mom would give him That Look and he didn’t want to change into his fancy dinner clothes. So Steve stays out late and wanders.

There are things living in the woods.

Things with teeth that hunt and kill and make people disappear. But no one tells poor little Steve this. He gets attacked by a wolf that isn’t quite a wolf, and screams so so loud.

Nobody hears him.

One of his father’s farmhands find him in the woods in the early morning. His clothes are ripped and he’s dirty and covered in blood but he doesn’t have any wounds, save for one single wolf bite. The man rushes him back to the Harrington Manor House, and someone calls the doctor. Steve is bathed, and fed, and checked over and the doctor tells his parents that he’s lucky it wasn’t worse. He gets better and goes back to his lessons.

Next month he gets a fever. Steve is sweaty and delirious, and hungry and itchy and restless and nothing quite helps. He blacks out one night and when he wakes up he’s curled up on the hardwood floor and all his furniture has been ripped apart. The servants whisper the word “werewolf” in the halls.

His parents fire half the servants, pay them off to keep their mouth shut, and hire someone who can help. A friendly woman named Mrs Henderson, whose dead ex-husband was a werewolf like Steve. She teaches him what she can while Richard Harrington hires men to build a stone basement underneath a small cottage at the very back of the Harrington Land. Where no one can see.

So Steve grows up, he falls in love, he finds out his sweetheart Nancy doesn’t love him, he befriends Dustin Henderson, and then Robin Buckley - a  dorky local girl who plays the trumpet and works at a store in town. And once a month, he takes himself down to the basement of the cottage, and turns into a werewolf. Mrs Henderson could only help so much, not being a Werewolf herself. His control is better than it was, but he still doesn’t trust himself. So chained in the basement it is.

Then there’s Eddie Munson, the poor son of an outlaw living with his uncle in a tiny house in the town of Hawkins. Grew up learning how to break the law with his father, how to live off the land, how to shoot and hunt and survive. He hated it, little Eddie wanted to learn to play the guitar and read and tell stories. But Pa didn’t give him much of a choice. Until Ma died and Pa spiralled and ended up getting caught and shipped off to prison. So he went to live with his uncle Wayne. And he made friends, and told stories, and started writing.

And then he watched a girl die and got blamed for her murder. So he’s on the run, and he knows how to survive but not when he doesn’t have any supplies. And not in a town where everyone knows his name and his face. So he runs. And he hides. First in his friend Rick's, who’s away in jail or on a job or something. Eddie's not sure and he really doesn't care right now. But he gets close to getting caught again. So he runs again until he finds a barn, semi abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

He’s close to the Harrington’s land, this he knows. But everyone knows they travel for business all the time, so it’s fine.

Except it’s not.

He’s tired and hungry and scared and it’s dark. There’s a light in the distance - lantern. He ducks down, waiting. Except it’s not the Sheriff, or Jason Carver (who took it upon himself to become a bounty hunter, to avenge the death of his sweetheart). It’s Steve Harrington. The semi-estranged, semi-reclusive Harrington heir, who looks grim and angry as he storms across the field. And he doesn’t see Eddie, doesn’t look at the barn, doesn’t even have a horse.

Steve goes into the cottage and Eddie doesn’t know whether to stay put until he leaves in the morning or make a run for it. Eddie is still paralysed with fear and indecision when he notices the full moon in the sky.

He hears a guttural scream, the snap of bone, a howling; and Eddie remembers the stories his Uncle Wayne would tell him of the things that live in the woods.