#also i think this is the first time i drew jon smiling

[erikiara80]

A beautiful Byler-Polivia parallel, Will's truesight and other parallels with Fringe

I said I could make 50 posts after my rewatch of S4. I'm gonna start with the parallels with one of my favorite shows. Let's go! @lilitblaukatz

Olivia Dunham is Subject 13, and she has the ability to see and travel to the parallel world. In ST there are many mentions of number 13, and imo that's a hint that there are different timelines (not actual parallel worlds) and we've been seen them since the very first episode. In fact, Will mentions the number 13 in the first scene of the show.

Will-Olivia parallels

It was a seven. I read many theories about this moment and Mike's strange reaction. That maybe Will is in a Vecna vision, and that's why the lights flicker and "Mike" doesn't know what he is talking about.

Well, I think Vecna is spying Will; those eyes on the skis behing Mike! I think this detail proves that Will's abduction wasn't a coincidence.

But if this Mike is actually Vecna, shouldn't he know about the game and the Demogorgon? He can read minds, wouldn't he at least try to smile?

Then I remembered why this scene seemed familiar. It reminds me of a scene of Fringe, ep 3x15, when Olivia, who can't control her powers yet, travels to the parallel world and for a moment sees the other Dr Bishop, who is quite surprised by what she says.

(in 3x15 Olivia also meets Peter for the first time)

So, I don't know, maybe Will does have a Vecna vision later, at home. But when he talks to Mike, I think he's seeing a Mike from another timeline/or he ended up in another timeline (because the gate just opened?) I don't know. Maybe a timeline where Karen interrupted the campaign earlier, or Will rolled the dice and won. That would explain Mike's confusion, and the flickering lights.

And now I'm thinking about other parallels

The zeppelin and the Rainbowship

The first time Olivia sees the parallel world, she draws this

What if Will didn't just imagine the Rainbowship, but drew what he SAW, like he drew the vines?

Nina kinda looks like a little spaceship, so, maybe... I don't believe what Owens said. I think they were already using the silos before El lost her powers.

(EDIT: Spoilers of The First Shadow- Now we know that in 1943, the ship of Brenner's father wound up in Dimension X, during the Philadelphia Experiment, which was connected to the Rainbow Project. So, maybe Will's Rainbowship is a reference to that and a hint at different timelines)

But back to Olivia and Will. Here she's drawing while the adults are talking about her, and Will is drawing while Joyce and Hopper are talking with Owens, who gives major Walter Bishop vibes, and even has a son named Peter.

Byler and Polivia, the parallel of their first meeting

The Rainbowship is mentioned in the shed scene, the same scene in which Mike reminds Will of the first time they met.

In 3x15 Olivia draws the zeppeling, and in the same episode Peter finds her sketchbook and sees her drawing of the field of white tulips. Her drawings, that are connected to her powers and visions, help him to find her. And this is a beautiful parallel with Will and Mike, because Peter's life changes when she meets Olivia. They talk about her abusive father (in the shed scene Jon mentions Lonnie) and it's after they talk in that field that Peter decides to accept his new family and his new life.

Asking Will to be his friend is the best thing Mike has ever done, and their lives changed too, when they met.

I don't think there are parallel worlds in ST, just different timelines, because for some reason they're stuck in a loop. They mention time loops a few times, and Max even mentions it when they are in Henry's house.

In S2 Nancy tells Murray that his timeline is wrong, and in his letter Hopper says that you can't turn back the clock... But then Henry does it in the flashback. There's also this Back to the future line: The appropriate question is 'When the hell are they?'

And if there's really a time loop, I think Will and Henry can see other timelines or maybe the timelines are merging? There are so many hints.

From Will's Marty Mcfly outfit in S1, to Henry seeing the Mind Flayer when he was a kid. The crystal ball in the Will the Wise drawing, used by clairvoyants, the Forever Clock that Dustin gives to Will, Will's name engraved on the grandfather clock and him saying, in his Will the Wise outfit, that he's seen into the future. If they're stuck in a time loop, then the future is actually the past, since the story has repeated itself many times. Steve and Robin even mention the whole going back to future/present thing.

In 4x01 El says that they're all time travellers, so yeah, if Olivia can see and travel to a parallel world, maybe in ST people can see (or travel to) different timelines of the timeloop.

Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen

In the Nina scenes I noticed that Thirteen is often in the frame with El or Twelve (who I think represents Will). At first I didn't understand why. She never speaks or interacts with El. And I didn't know why they cast a girl that looks like young Millie. The actress said that the crew kept telling her that she looked like Millie, and before S4 many fans speculated that she would play El. Everything means something in this show, and the casting is always on point, so I thought maybe they want us to notice something? Then I remembered that Olivia was Subject 13.

So that kid could be a subtle hint that we're seeing different timelines in Nina. From the beginning, when El wakes up and see the rooms of Four and Nine. 4+9=13

Twelve and Thirteen

Twelve and Thirteen in the Rainbow Room. It's interesting that in both these scenes they focus on 12, "Will", and 13, who looks like little El, after they show the twins. Willel, twins, and different timelines...

Brenner and Thirteen's room

Thirteen and Eleven (and Twelve)

I really think that Thirteen is a reference to Olivia, and since Olivia can see parallel worlds, maybe this is a hint at the ability to see/travel to other timelines. I already thought that El was seeing different timelines, and that she was actually there, with her mind, but this is a nice detail.

*Another interesting 13 mention. The 13th birthday of a kid named Georgie. George, like George Smith in the play? We know that Will's birthday is important, and since this scene is about his parents, I think this mention is connected to both Will and Henry/Edward

Hm, a bit lost, because of other timelines/a time loop?

Anyway, I love Fringe and I love that ST has so many parallels with such a beautiful story.

[lovebaela]

Ice & Fire ༄ Pt. 11 (Bran Stark x Targaryen oc fanfic)

⋇ Chapter 11: The Wedding ⋇

Warnings: Smut (again I tried LOL)

Tsireya’s POV

A few days before the wedding, the houses of the North came to Winterfell to talk about the marriage. They were at first skeptical about me, until the Starks defended me. “She has been raised along side us before the war,” Sansa said, “we have full trust in her.” After getting that out of the way, I had to figure out which dress I wanted. Sansa and Arya, of course, helped me pick one.

We all met up in the godswood again, requested by Bran. He was really ticked off, he saw in the past all that Little Finger did. He told us and we were shocked. “So…he was the one who sent that assassin?” I asked. He nodded, “yes..” “I knew he couldn’t be completely trusted but wow, he started everything!” Sansa said, growing angry. We held a trial for Little Finger, of course he denied all the accusations, but Bran brought up everything he did from the past. He begged for his life, especially to Sansa, but that wasn’t going to work. Arya passed Bran a sword. He whispered to himself, “the man who passes the sentence swings the sword…” he sentenced Little Finger to death and sliced his head off. At least we don’t have to worry about him anymore.

The day before the wedding is Bran’s coronation. He had to proceed into the Great Hall on horseback like he did before. But instead of doing it as a Prince, he did it as a King. It felt like just yesterday when we had the harvest.

Before he trotted in, the Lords of each Northern house drew out their swords and rose them up. As he passed each Lord, they lowered their swords. Once he sat down at the high table, the maester placed the crown on his head. Everyone chanted, “King of the North!” Just like that, the day was already over. Everyone went to bed extra early for tomorrow.

My maids helped me get dressed in my wedding gown. Sansa and Arya were also in my room too. I decided to put my hair up instead of letting it flow.

“You look so beautiful,” Sansa said.

“Like a queen,” Arya smiled.

“Thank you guys,” I said. I gave them both a big hug, “well, I guess it’s time.” Sansa and Arya nodded and left the room so they could go to their spot outside in the godswood. I thanked the maids and dismissed them too.

When it was finally my queue to go, I took a deep breath and left my room. The sun was starting to go down, such a beautiful scenery. I walked in front of the trail that had lanterns on both sides leading all the way down to the tree. Everyone stopped talking and turned to see me. They all gasped in awe. Bran’s eyes widened as he saw me, making me grin a little. He looked so handsome, dressed in black, kingly attire. I started walking down the aisle, hearing people whispering compliments.

We are both 18 now, man and woman. If only everyone else could see us, how far we have come.

I started to imagine what the wedding also could’ve been like. I pictured Jon, Robb, Rickon, Lord Eddard, and the girls by Bran’s side. For my side, I pictured my mother and the rest of my family. What hit me hard the most was thinking about my father. He could have been the one to walk me down, giving me to Bran. I also thought of Hodor, Jojen, and Summer. I looked up and saw our dragons circling the ceremony, watching from above. I finally made it to Bran and the maester in front of the tree.

“We are gathered here today to witness the union of man and woman. Brandon of House Stark, King of the North, son of Eddard Stark and Lady Tsireya of House Targaryen, daughter of Daeron Targaryen.” the maester announced, “now, King Brandon Stark, do you take this woman?”

Bran looked deeply into my eyes, “yes, I take this woman.”

“And you, Lady Tsireya Targaryen, do you take this man?”

I never broke eye contact with Bran, “yes, I take this man..”

We both move closer to each other and hold each other’s hand. Then we face the tree and kneel before it, in prayer and meditation. We both stood back up. “Now you may take your bride under your protection,” the maester told Bran. He removed the cloak from his shoulders and placed it on mine. Then the Maester approached me with a crown, placing it on my head, “Tsireya Targaryen Stark, our Queen of the North!”

Sansa signaled a maid to grab a dragon glass blade. The maid gave it to the maester. The maester first gave it to Bran, he puts it against his bottom lip and slides it down, making it bleed.

He then cuts his hand before giving it to me to do the same. After I cut my lip and hand, he first rubs a mark on my forehead and then I do the same to him. This signifies the continuation of our bloodline. We both take each other’s bloody hand as the maester wrapped the wedding cloth around them.

Bran and I both pledge in Valyrian, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” We repeated the vows in common tongue for everyone else to understand.

The maester announced us as husband and wife, “you may kiss the bride.”

Our lips crashed together as the crowd cheered for us and clapped. Bran then lifts me up and carries me the rest of the way to the Great Hall, for the feast.

“To our new Queen of the North!” Bran shouts, lifting his goblet. The Lords begin to shout, “Queen of the North!” I giggled in embarrassment as I drunk out of my cup. We were presented with so much food! We wanted to try every dish, but we were full by the time we reached the third.

“How does it feel to be queen now?” Arya asked me.

“It feels nice,” I smiled.

“I have a wedding gift for you,” Bran said. He signaled the servants to bring it out. It was a Targaryen themed saddle! “I remembered when we talked about saddles for the dragons so…I had two get made for us! This one is yours!”

“Thank you, Bran!” I kissed him on the cheek.

The musicians played a certain song that sounded familiar. It was the song that played when Bran and I danced at the harvest. Bran smirked at me and offered his hand, “Kostagon eman bisa lilagon, ñuha dāria? (May I have this dance, my queen)”

“Kessa,” I accepted, placing my hand in his. We both went to the dance floor and did the same moves we did before as kids. This time, it felt so much more magical than before.

(Imagine them dancing like this)

Everyone watched as we danced in silence until we were finished. They applauded us and then everyone joined us on the dance floor. We did it the same way before, copying our dance moves and switching partners after we finish.

We were all having a blast! The feast started to get more hectic. The music was barely heard, the men were drunk and touching their women, and it was getting hotter. It was about time for bed.

“Now it is time for the bedding!” Bran announced, “but I will gladly carry my own wife to our bedchambers!” He picked me up as I giggled, blushing.

“Don’t be too loud now!” Arya shouted, making the hall laugh.

“Shut up!” We both yelled as we left.

For the bedding, we were given a special room. It sort of reminded me of Bran’s room, just filled with rose petals and nicely scented candles.

As soon as Bran shut the door closed with his foot, we immediately started to kiss each other, moving our mouths in sync. His lips were perfectly plump and so smooth, I could kiss them all night.

We were both waiting for this moment, just the two of us, alone with no interruptions. Bran gently placed me down, and we both started to remove our clothes. He finished a lot faster than me, leaving on his breeches. I insisted that I could do it on my own, so he went to his side of the bed and waited.

I placed the cloak and my white fur coat onto a chair. I started to remove my dress, Bran watched me in admiration as I gracefully removed it, revealing my corset, short braies, and high socks I had under my dress. Before I could hop into the bed, I seductively took down my bun and unbraided my hair, shaking my hair back and forth letting it fall on my back again.

I crawled to him from the foot of the bed. We were both blushing extremely hard. I took a moment to stare at his body. He was slim, but also had a slightly toned build. He was beautiful.

We both have been waiting for this moment, but it still felt a little silly and strange. We both laughed and giggled as I had my body over his.

Bran sat up and placed his hands on my hips as I straddled him. I wrapped both of my arms around his neck. We looked into each other’s eyes and then started to kiss again. The longer we kissed, the more hungrier we grew. This time, Bran opened his mouth more for my tongue to enter. He moaned as I explored his mouth with my tongue, whispering my name. He tried to find the strings of the back of my corset, but it was hard for him to see. He was too overflown with pleasure, keeping his eyes closed.

He managed to untie it and gently takes it off of me, tossing it across the room. He innocently couldn’t stop staring at my chest. I stop kissing him and giggle. I start to feel something strange under me. I glanced down at his breeches, noticing a bulge. I blushed really hard, chuckling, “oh, I guess you like what you see…” He turned completely red, “hey, stop picking on me!” He whined, with a slight grin on his face. I showered his whole face with kisses, making him giggle, “as my King commands.”

I took his two hands and placed them on my breasts for him to feel them. He looked from his hands to my eyes, his were filled with such curiosity and admiration. We started to kiss again, as he massaged my chest. Our tongues were dancing with each other as we kissed. I started to slowly grind on him, making him moan louder. We stopped kissing, out of breath, and I looked down at his breeches. “Do it,” Bran commanded desperately. “Yes, my king,” I tease, giving his nose a kiss.

I start to undo his breeches as he silently watched me. I threw them across the room like he did with my corset. I bit my lip as I looked upon him, blushing. His whole body is beautiful. “I guess you like what you see too?” He asked, laughing. “Yes, I do..” I proudly admit to him. “Alright, my turn!” Bran playfully yelled, switching our positions suddenly. “Oh!” I exclaim snickering, surprised that he did that. Bran started to carefully remove my white high socks and threw them at the side of the bed. He started to eye my braies asking, “may I?” I nod, letting him do the honors. He pulled down my braies and threw it at the side of the bed too. Bran scanned my face and body, “wow.” “What?” I asked. “You’re beautiful, Tsireya. Please don’t ever forget that. Inside and outside,” he said. I blushed replying, “thank you Bran, so are you…”

He kissed me slowly and passionately as I closed my eyes. I bit down on his bottom lip, making him groan in excitement. He positioned himself at a better angle on top of me and he looked at me, asking for permission, he didn’t even need to ask, I gave him a little nod as I panted. He tried to enter inside me, but it wasn’t going in. This was our first time after all. “S-Sorry…” he told me, embarrassed. I place my hand on his cheek giggling, “it’s okay!” After he kept thrusting a little more, I moaned loudly as I felt Bran unexpectedly entered in. Honestly, I didn’t care if people could hear us anymore. I started to whimper as he moved up and down on me slowly. “D-Does it hurt?” He asked me, worried. “No, no, it doesn’t hurt it just feels different,” I said, “but I like it…keep going.”

Without saying a word, he nodded and continued on. He kissed me again, traveling from my mouth to my neck, making me gasp. He started to gain more speed, thrusting harder and harder. I wrapped my legs around his waist, screaming his name in pleasure, “Bran!” I was a little embarrassed that I screamed but I was too in the moment to care.

As we released ourselves, both of us moaned extremely loudly. Bran then sighed and dropped right next to me, “well, we just did that.” We were both out of breath. “Yeah,” I chuckled, “Arya is going to tease us a whole lot tomorrow…” we both laughed. I turn to Bran, laying my head on his chest. “I can’t believe it,” Bran said, playing with my hair. “Us, King and Queen of the North, I never would have thought I would become king. Now, I must be like Robb. I have to be brave, we both do. We must protect our people from the Night King and the dead. No matter what happens, we go through it together.” “Yeah, together.” I agreed, “when will Jon and Daenerys be here?” “They’ll be on their way soon, when they do come, we must tell Jon. Tell him about who he truly is.”

We both just laid in the bed in silence, not sleepy. “So, what now?” I ask him. “Hmm,” Bran thought out loud, “you wanna do it again?” I giggled, “I’m up for it if you are…” I threw my leg over both of his. “I am all yours, my king.” I whispered, running my finger down his chest. I slightly winced as I felt him inside me again but quickly pushed the feeling aside. He gripped my hips hard as I began to ride him, “gods, I love you so much,” he moaned submissively.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

When it was breakfast, we were already expecting Arya to say something. “How did you sleep?” Sansa asked Arya. “Well it could have been better,” she replied. She looked at us and then smirked, “I mean, practically the whole castle could hear those love birds. How is one supposed to sleep when all you hear is screaming?” We rolled our eyes at her, but we still turned red.

I won’t lie, after our bedding, we made love many days after. We just loved each other so much. Arya continued to playfully complain about our sounds of pleasure. “What can I say, I love to ride,” I said jokingly yet serious.

One night before we could remove our clothes, we heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” Bran said. A man entered the room, but he looked familiar. It was the man who helped us get beyond the wall! “Samwell Tarly,” Bran stated. “I thought you would have forgotten me,” Sam said, surprised Bran even remembered. “I remember everything now,” Bran replied.

Sam noticed me in the room, “o-oh, am I interrupting something?” “No,” I reassured him, “please come sit.”

He nodded, smiling, and closed the door behind him. “Thank you,” Bran said, “for getting us beyond the wall, you’re a good man.” “Gee, thank you, your grace, though I’m not really sure that I am,” he replied, “what happened to you, outside the wall?”

“I trained to become the three-eyed raven.” He told Sam.

“Oh! I…don’t know what that means…”

“It means I can see the past and sometimes glimpses of the future. I can see what happens now, well when I choose to.”

“What brings you to Winterfell?” I asked Sam.

“Is Jon here?” Sam asked. “I came to see him.”

“No, but he is on his way back with Daenerys Targaryen from Dragonstone.” Bran answered.

“Did you see that in a vision?” Sam asked.

Bran showed Sam a little letter that was sent by a raven.

Sam, feeling dumb, chuckled, “oh.”

“When he comes, we must tell him the truth,” Bran said.

“About what?”

“About himself…no one knows, no one but me and Tsireya.”

“He isn’t the son of Eddard Stark,” I told Sam, “he’s the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

“They held a secret ceremony to get married, in Dorne.” Bran said.

“Oh gods,” Sam exclaimed, “then that would mean he’s…”

“The rightful king of the 7 kingdoms…” Bran said, finishing Sam’s sentence.

A week later…

I’ve been starting to feel strange lately. I’ve been getting more cramps than usual, and my stomach has been making me feel queasy and nauseous. What’s going on? I didn’t let Bran know about anything, I just went to my maid about it.

“What does it mean?” I asked her. She began to cup my breasts, examining them. “What’s wrong?” I asked her. She looked up at me and replied, “your breasts, they are more swollen than usual. Does it hurt when I do this?” “It does feel a bit sore..” I answered. “When was the last time you bled, my queen?” She asked. My eyes widened, I’m pretty sure I was supposed to start bleeding by now. She took my hand and placed it on my flat belly, “my queen, you are with child, the gods have blessed you!”

I continued to sit there, thinking to myself, me, pregnant? When the Long Night is coming? I can’t believe it…he’ll never let me fight if I told him now. “Shall we inform the King?” She asked me. “No, it’s fine, I can tell him when the time feels right.”

┈┈┈┈﹤୨♡୧﹥ ┈┈┈┈

(a/n) Hey guys, sorry I’ve been slacking in posts but I started writing some chapters so they should be out soon! I hope you are enjoying the story! :)

Taglist: @icarusignite @rinisfruity14

[imaginespazzi]

GH Chapter 6 babyyyyy. Oooh girl, I needed this fluff! Feeling a little down in the dumps as our embryo transfer failed, and honestly this perked me up! No worries though I am remaining positive as we have a few more frozen embryos so we shall try again :) But truly reading this chapter yesterday gave me such a boost! Thank you :) REACTIONS - My only negative feedback/correction is that it is indeed, as easy for a literal child to buy alcohol in eastern Europe as it is to buy coke 😂😂😂 wild place. - The whole sequence of them in the gazebo, P bringing up the date, the angst, anticipation, butterflies brought me back to being 15. Which is a huge feat because girl, it was a while ago lol - "She does none of the above. Instead Azzi kisses Paige back." Oh thank the lord above Azzi Fudd LET YOUR LOINS LEAD YOU and chill a bit - Their hearts talking to each other. What a beautiful depiction of what it would feel like to be kissing your person again after all this time. Although I am firmly in the camp of them having had some sort of physical/sexual interaction either during Ps marriage or after her divorce teehee - “I- I broke your heart. I broke us. How could you possibly want that again. How could you possibly want me again?” AZZI does she have to spell it out in sky writing? She loves you and will always love you and will always want you. Forever. One step forward two steps back with this one eh - "Take it slow and see where it goes and maybe we’ll- maybe we’ll be even better this time.” See Paige is wise. Our dumb blonde is not so dumb when it comes to MATTERS OF THE HEART. And Vagina. - THE RULES. You been spending too much time w/ @pb524830 haha. Hopefully you don't EDGE US TO DEATH like a certain someone did for the first part of PnP. - I wanna know did they like sit down and have a formal conversation about what the rules are? Also what is within the kissing boundary lol Tongue? Little boob squeeze? Giving themselves blue-clits over here. Better buy batteries for their vibrators at Costco prob going through a couple double-As every 3 days. - But in all honestly the thought of them making out on Azzis couch after Stephie is in bed, then having to separate and have Paige go back to her house at the end of the night is very high school and precious and cute. - Ok girl you know the car seat thing was the highlight for me. You put a big smile on my face by including that I LOVED IT. And its pu-ple!!!! cute cute cute cute - “You look really happy today sweetheart,” Tim says softly. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 - Dying at the contrast of Stephie thinking the sun shines out of P's ass and she is the moral and Christ-like center of the universe while Jon and Jose are like um no this bitch is a menace you don't even know - Awwww are the 3 of them gonna sleep in a queen sized bed w/ Stephie in the middle. I can't. Lil family - “you won’t- you won’t run away again tomorrow morning will you?” make me cry again why don't you - I think hearing EVERYONE around her calling P 'Paige' has gotta switch up Stephies name for her at some point. Maybe hearing Drew call her Paigey will influence her? Overall this was such delicious fluff and perfect whisps of angst. Made my day- my week! Thank you for sharing your talent with us. Am I terrified for whats to come? YUP! But hopefully you can preserve our hearts a little bit by keeping up some tender fluff throughout 😭 <3 🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼🤱🏼

Aww bby sending you so much virtual love and hugs. I'm glad this chapter cheered you up and I'm manifesting so hard for it to work next time <3

LMAO I did actually think of this but then was like when would Paige have time to just walk around Minsk and find alcohol lol?

That whole scene is veryy vaguely inspired by my own first kiss so it was actually pretty easy to write and I just channeled my inner 15 year old (been a while for me too) into it

NOT THE LOINS LMAO I had a feeling you'd appreciate the "plot twist"

Azzi's just an overthinker BUT SHE'S WORKING ON IT! In the meantime I guess blondie has custody of their one shared braincell.

LMAO I don't think anyone will ever get to the level of edging that @pb524830 did like she's simply just the queen of sexual tension and making us suffer.

THE CAR SEAT SCENE REALLY WAS FOR YOU SO I'M SO HAPPY YOU LIKED IT

I'm so attached to Miss Buecks like I lowkey don't want to have Stephie call her anything else and I can't think of any other original nickname that only Stephie would call her.

[lycorim]

WIP Words Meme!

Tagged by @alleyskywalker - thank you!!

My words: kiss | gentle | dark | touch | laugh

1 - Kiss

“You skate beautifully.” The boy continues. “If you can’t perform like that today just because your laces won’t tie, that would be a shame,” he hands Theon the skates blade-first. “Try them on, at least. There’s an ice cut before my group, anyway, so you’ll have plenty of time to get them back to me.”

Theon could kiss this boy right now, this beautiful, selfless, ginger angel! Instead, he accepts the boots with a shaky smile and hopes it conveys the same thing. (From my self-indulgent Throbb figure skaters AU)

2 - Gentle

What I would give for half of that energy, mused a trudging Frodo. He made sure his cousin was safely distracted attending the hobbit that just walked in, a young man with gentle strawberry curls who he recognized from the flower shop next door, and pressed his forehead wearily against the espresso machine.

If I asked off now, would it sound like an admission of defeat? He pondered, eyes closed against the metal’s gentle heat. (From my only LOTR WIP, a SamFro reincarnation coffee shop AU thing that I started two years ago! Also bonus points because "gentle" appears twice in this snippet.)

3 - Dark

Robb scoffed. He pulled the blanket tighter around his bare shoulders in lieu of Theon’s body heat. “Maybe I would like it there. You don’t know.”

“Maybe,” Theon agreed. Upright on the mattress, his fingers traced over a well-faded scar on Robb’s neck. Neither were bereft of scars anymore. Dark eyes bore into his, but with a sorrow that fit Theon’s sharp face poorly. “But Harlaw won’t like you.” (Throbb elopement AU)

4 - Touch

The match was too easy. Theon might outclass the lot of them with even a poorly strung bow, but swords came to him as naturally as humility. He had expected a deterioration of the Ironborn’s brazen ego as his swings fell and landed; he had planned for Theon to grow more and more defensive as the fight drew on. What he had not planned for was exactly how long he could cling onto the shorn threads of his pride, beating after beating.

But that was no issue to Jon. He wore his frustration like the lining on a coat - subtle, and easily contained. Theon wore his like an oversized hat. “Damn you!” he shouted, gasping and ragged, as a labored swing just touched Jon’s leather pauldron. (ThJon/GreySnow/SnowJoy or whatever body-swap soulmates AU)

5 - Laugh

Sea Bitch, he named her, at the witty age of fourteen. Asha laughed and called it stupid. Robb probably would have done similar. Even his Uncle Victarion had a good chuckle at the poor Bitch’s expense. But Asha would never even have a ship of her own, none of them were the prince, thus Theon was left to name the vessel as he so pleased.

Of course, he agreed with his sister now, well into his seventeenth year and well above the crass humor of an adolescent. But the name stuck, and the ship remained the only bitch in Theon’s life. (Throbb Role-Swap AU)

---------------------------

Noticing now that pretty much all of my WIPs are Throbb oops. Also, I don't think I have any mutuals who haven't already been tagged 😭 So, in the spirit of not dropping the ball, if you want to do this meme, consider yourself officially tagged!!

Your words are: fall | hold | smile | care | treasure

[ellisnebula]

this is for @jonsimsbipride! I drew this thinking tim gave him the skirt and sasha the mug... no this isn’t out of character trust me

[landinoandco]

A Game of Chess

Carlos Sainz x reader

Request from @leesuhnakamoto-krys "Carlos Sainz x reader fluff"

Warnings: fluff, a slight reference if you squint.

Word count: 2.2 k

Requests are open :)

This year - due to the current pandemic - there were to be two races in Austria, however to keep with the theme of ‘no two races the same’ they were to be called different things: the Styrian grand prix for the first race and the Austrian Grand Prix for the second. This weekend saw the first of the two and your boyfriend Carlos Sainz finished a respectable 6th place behind his former teammate and current best friend Lando Norris. 

The majority of the grid had decided to stay in the surrounding area, making the most of the time they had - not only to keep on training but to explore. 

Travelling the world with Carlos was a dream come true and you were so lucky to be able to do your job on the move - you were a travel blogger/vlogger and were pretty well known for it as well. A large following of people that enjoyed watching your weekly lifestyle and travel vlogs alongside the photography that came with it. 

It was the Monday following the race so Carlos had taken it as a rest day, you had woken up that morning in his arms, tracing circles on one of them as you both spoke about your plans for the day. 

“And a haircut is what I really need.” He said to you, as you moved a strand that had fallen into his eyes. 

“No, I like it long, you look more -” You paused. “Mature.” Giggling, you moved your hands up to run your fingers through his hair. He shook his head at you, a large smile plastered onto his face. He leaned forward onto his forearms, connecting your lips together for a brief second before pulling away and rolling out of bed. Leaving you, still huddled in all of the covers, watching him as he strode across the room to the hotel chest of drawers, pulling out two t-shirts; one of which he put on and the other being chucked in your general direction. 

“So, cariño, what is your plan for today?” Carlos asked, flopping onto the bed and looking up to you.

“I think I’m going to go and explore the town, some of my followers have recommended a few places so I think I am going to check those out, take a few photos-” You trailed off as he began to draw patterns onto the palm of your hand. You smiled fondly at him, you had met just before lockdown completely by chance after you bumped into him in a train station. He had asked for your number and feeling like he had given you no reason to say no, you did and as it turns out, it was the best decision of your life. “What is your plan for the day ahead, mi Amor.” 

“I think I am meeting Lando this afternoon at a café down the road. I’m going to teach him to play chess.” He said proudly, emphasising the word ‘chess.’ 

“Chess?” You questioned, reaching over for the top and putting it on. It was one of his old team McLaren t-shirts, you scoffed at his still apparent loyalty to the team; admittedly it was your favourite but Ferrari didn’t need to know that. 

“Yes.” Carlos stated, he then pointed at the t-shirt you were wearing. “I would recommend not leaving the hotel room with that t-shirt on. I don’t want to get into trouble.” He fought to keep the smile off of his lips. Your eyes lit up, “I wouldn’t even dream of it, mi Amor.”

You had agreed with Carlos that as soon as you had finished what you had set out to do that morning, you would meet him in the café alongside Lando. “Do you fancy playing a game of chess with me, later?” You had asked before you went your separate ways. 

Carlos gave a lopsided grin and kissed your forehead. “We will see, cariño, we will see.” With that he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked down the street. Styria was a beautiful town, a handful of buildings situated in the mass of rolling hills and mountain tops that covered the landscape for as far as the eye could see. 

You had walked up to a stone viewing point at the peak of the town, a small bench that overlooked the south past Styria and into the Austrian countryside.

You loved this time you got to yourself, it allowed for you to sit and reminisce; bathing in all of the memories that lead up to this point in your life. You thought back to the day Carlos asked you to move to Italy with him - due to him changing teams. It almost broke your relationship, the thought of leaving all of your family and friends behind in England but in the end you decided it was an adventure too thrilling to pass on...

It was a breezy summer evening in London, the clouds had blanketed the city and a faint rumble of the traffic could be heard from your apartment. Carlos had messaged you earlier that day, asking if he could talk to you when he got home - for the remainder of that afternoon nerves had settled comfortably in the pit of your stomach. At last you heard the unlocking of the door, your head whipped around to see a tired looking Carlos to fall through the door with a sigh. As soon as he looked up and saw you sat on the sofa, his eyes gleamed. “Mi amor.” He said tiredly, his brows knitted momentarily before he nodded his head. “Right, my text message.” You nodded unsure of where this conversation was heading. It was early days in your relationship so anything was possible. 

“I got an offer from Ferrari-” He started, making his way over to you, you watched him intently, nibbling on your lower lip. “It’s an offer that in this industry you don’t turn down, obviously there is a lot to consider because it would mean leaving McLaren and-” He sighed, “This country behind.” 

A line appeared between your brows, you didn’t speak for fear of interrupting his train of thought. He took your hand in his. 

“If I signed with Ferrari, I would have to move to Italy-” Your mouth made an ‘o’ shape. “Which is why I wanted to ask you if you would come with me.” 

You definitely didn’t expect him to ask this, any expression that was on your face before had been wiped as you took to staring. “I’m asking a big thing and obviously you don’t have to answer straight away.” He rushed in response to your dumbfounded expression. 

For the next few days - after that conversation - the atmosphere between the pair of you had become tense, you had decided to call your sister and explained the whole situation to her. In a nutshell she called you an idiot for not saying yes immediately.  

“I’ve been thinking-” You began to Carlos that evening . “I would love to move to Italy with you. It’s a good opportunity to really write our story, explore the world - together. It will be such a great adventure.” Carlos didn’t need to ask you twice and he enveloped you into his arms and span you around, meeting your lips with his. 

“I love you.” He said, placing his forehead on yours. That night was also the first time those three words were exchanged. “I love you too.” You replied sweetly, your lips brushing his as you did so. 

You smiled fondly at the memory. You were so lucky to have found Carlos - actually you found each other - you like to believe that it was the universe who had a hand in it. Carlos was your soulmate and you were honoured to be able to call him that. 

Deciding it was time you made your way back to him, you started on your journey back to the main town - down the steep, winding path, birds darting overhead and the chirp of crickets sounding in the hedgerows. 

You reached the café and as soon as you opened the door, you were hit with the smell of warm coffee, you went over to the counter and ordered yourself a latte - casting your gaze around the old fashioned shop, you were surprised to see that only a few people were sitting inside; an older couple, who had taken extreme interest in the pair you were here to see. You chuckled to yourself as the barista placed your drink onto the counter in front of you. 

“Drew quite the crowd earlier.” He leant over the counter, pointing to the pair, they were stuck in an intense game of chess and by the looks of it - Lando was winning. Carlos looked up, shaking his head as Lando moved another one of his pieces off of the board; as he did he noticed you standing there and waved you over. 

“Yes, I bet they did.” You chuckled, taking the drink and nodding ‘thanks’ to him. Carlos pulled a chair up for you and motioned to the chess board in anguish, “You will not believe it, mi Amor. He is beating me.” Lando was sat on the other side wearing a cocky grin and his arms crossed onto the table. 

“So what you are trying to tell me, Carli , is that you taught Lando too well and now he is beating you.” You pointed out, the corners of your eyes crinkled. Carlos only glared at you, sighing dramatically. Lando played incredibly well and did take the victory, punching his arms in the air as he called out ‘checkmate.’ 

“The student becomes the master.” He cheered, high fiving you and offered to shake Carlos’ hand but Carlos pouted and pushed it away with his index finger. “No. How on earth did you win? I’ve only just taught you.” He cried out. 

You looked at Lando as Lando looked at you, both fighting the urge to laugh. You couldn’t hold it in as you held onto the table - both doubling over. 

“I love you, Carli, I really do but - boy - are you a sore loser.” You managed to say. 

“Well, cheers, mate.” Lando said getting up, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes. “I’m going to head off now. Dinner with Jon.” You waved as he left, fist bumping Carlos on his way past. 

“Do you fancy a game with me now?” You asked, your elbow was resting on the table so you leant on the heel of your palm. 

“On one condition.” Carlos said, setting the chess board back up, “As long as you promise not to beat me like Lando just did.” 

“Of course, mi Amor.” You said, a hint of mocking in your tone. You admired the way he scrunched up his nose as he concentrated, working out what his first move was going to be. 

“The aim of chess is to be in control of your opponent, you want to be able to trick them into doing exactly what you want them to do.” Carlos said, moving his first piece. “You have to play with dominance.” He added theatrically. 

“You want me to be dominant?” You repeated incredulously, a smirk toying with your lips. “Well, why didn’t you say so. After all this time-” 

“Mi Amor.” He gasped, lowering his voice. “Not like that -” He stammered, a pink flush rising up his neck. You only winked in reply and made your move. 

“Go on, tell me more about chess.” You urged him on, watching as he went to make his move. He paused, met your gaze and narrowed his eyes. You shrugged innocently and he carried on; his gaze softened as a reminiscent haze coated his eyes. 

“You know,” Carlos began, placing the chess piece down and resting both of his elbows onto the table. “When my dad first met my mum, he taught her how to play chess and they used to sit in the kitchen on a Sunday morning after church and play. It was then my mum who taught me, on the weekends when my dad was away racing; we used to sit in the kitchen together on a Sunday after church and play. It was always the highlight of my weekend.” You watched as he fondly spoke about his family, warmth filled your chest. 

“You teach me well then and maybe we could turn it into a tradition.” You spoke gently, reaching over the table to take his hand in yours. Awe transformed his face as he gazed at you. 

Many years later you would end up making it a tradition, as you taught your daughter how to play on a Sunday after church as she watched her daddy race. You would tell her the story every time you would go to play and every time you would think about how lucky you were to have bumped into that stranger in the train station. They say that you will find your soulmate when you least expect it and after all these years - you would have to agree. 

[magalidragon]

#20 and Puppy Love! Please!

it must be puppy love is a favorite of mine! It was fun to return to my favorite neighbors/enemies-to-lovers and their silly dogs. This is set in chapter 2 of that fic, between when the puppies are born and they first smut it up and the vet visit six weeks later when Jon realizes his feelings. It's a smutty little drabble with some of their banter and also their sneaking feelings :) Enjoy!

20. Things you said I wasn't meant to hear

“How’s your baby mama?” 

Ghost plopped down in the center of the kitchen, his muzzle wet from his water bowl, drool and water droplets forming a puddle near his paw on the floor.  He had his lips pulled back, tongue out, and was “smiling.”  He’d just come from the backyard, where Jon figured he was greeting Drogon through the fence.  

The puppies were still in the whelping box with her, but they were starting to move a bit more, one black and one white, their little eyes opening and tiny yips tugging on whatever thing in his chest might be called a heart.  He even thought they might have proven that Daenerys Targaryen had a heart too, when he caught her once wiping at her eyes when she’d been holding one.  Like she was crying.  Although she insisted she wasn’t.  

He checked his watch, a little antsy.  He was going to go over there if she hadn’t knocked on his door by eight.  He had a busy day tomorrow; they had to get this thing going. 

“I cannot believe I’m fucking her,” he said out loud, to no one in particular.  He opened the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Stark Whiskey, a decent age, and two crystal glasses etched with wolves that he’d nicked from his aunt and uncle’s house last time he was up there.  

It was really quiet in his house, since he’d flicked off his music after sufficiently annoying her.  The weather was decent too so he had the doors open to the garden.  He moved to shut them, in preparation for whatever might happen in the next fifteen minutes, whether he went to her house or she came over to his, when he paused, hearing Dany talking.  “Hmm,” he murmured, stepping out onto the patio.  

Ghost, thank gods, with his muteness didn’t bark and give him up when he moved a little closer to the stone wall that separated their gardens before it switched into a wooden fence.  There was greenery overgrowing the wall and up the side of her house, despite teh fact he’d argued to have her cut it back.  He leaned back against his house, listening to her; she was so bloody loud.  

“Missy I’m being safe, stop being such a mom to me.”  She laughed, high and light, and his toes curled in his boots, a smile pulling on his face at the sound.  “Missy, you’re crazy.  I’m not in love with him.”

He glanced at Ghost, pointing to his chest, mouthing.  Is she talking about me you think?  Ghost cocked his head, listening too.  He was now intrigued and moved as close as he dared, not wanting to clue her in as he was eavesdropping.  

“It just sort of happened, I told you  The night Drogon had the puppies…yes, it was amazing.”  Jon grinned, pumping his fist back in silent bragging.  Dany snorted.  “Okay fine Missy I’ll admit, it’s really the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He threw his hands up, silently screaming.  YES! Fuck yes! This was bigger than he ever could have thought.  Holy shit, he was the best sex that she-dragon ahd ever had!?  He deserved an award.

Dany laughed again.  “I mean, yes it’s great, but…I mean…sometimes it just seems too fast.”

Jon froze.  Ghost drew his head back, almost flipping it upside down in confusion.  He scowled.  What the fuck was she talking about too fast?

“No, no not like that, he definitely has stamina, it’s just it’s like…he comes here or I go over there and then we have a drink and we fuck and yeah, his tongue is like…seven hells it’s like…it needs a monument to it, it’s the best ever, but I mean, it’s fast and angry and I like that, you know I do, and I like it with him, because he’s hota nd it’s hot and it feels so good, but sometimes I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind it taking its sweet time.”  

He furrowed his brow.  Sweet time?  He took his time!  He spent like an hour between her legs the night before, his jaw locked up!  He’d brought her over twice in the meantime but what the fuck?  He huffed and moved towards the house, calling out purposefully.  “Alright Ghost!  Get in here boy!”

Dany cursed in Valyrian. “He’s home! I’ll talk to you later Missy…shut up, I am not desperate!”  She giggled.  “Bye, I’ll talk to you later.  Love you…no Missy I am not in love with him!  Shut up!”

Jon shivered; love?  Who said anything about love!?

He swept into the house, grabbing the whiskey and glasses, and with Ghost on his heels, left his house and stomped up to hers, banging on the door.  She swung it open a minute later, her face impassive, not at all like she was throwing him under the bus to her friend, whoever Missy was.  He held up the whiskey and glasses.  “You want a drink before?”

She cocked her head.  “I had a weird day, was kind of hoping we could just fuck.”

“Too bad.”  He was taking this slow.  

He was going to prove her wrong.  His mad dragon queen was going to be eating her words when he was through with her.  

After they had a drink– or two– he pulled her towards him, taking her mouth with his, kissing long and slow.  When she tried to push his shirt up, he stilled her and pushed her away from the counter where she’d been tugging him back.  “No,” he breathed, holding her face gently in his, blowing lightly over her cheek, pressing gentle kisses there towards her ear, before he gathered her into his arms and kissed at her pulse, his tongue pushing against it, eliciting a long moan from her.  He pulled away briefly, kissing her again.  “Not here.  Upstairs.”

He took his time, kissing her thoroughly and picked off each piece of her clothing, bit by bit, and reclined her back onto the bed after he carried her up the stairs, still kissing her.  Each time she tried to pull at his clothes, he stilled her and he forced himself to keep from just taking her, as much as he wanted to.  

Gods, it was bloody painful, but he did it, dragging out each touch, each kiss, and teasing her up to her peak before bringing her back, only to do so again.  Soon, he had her eating out of his hand, panting and crying out, his name breathless on her lips.  He gathered her up after her first climax and soothed her a bit in his arms before he took off his clothes and kept her from grabbing at him, pushing her arms up over her head, taking her hands in his and smiling over her lips again.  “Not yet,” he murmured.  

“What’s gotten into you?” she sobbed, slithering against him.  “Oh gods, this is killing me!”

“Maybe I just wanted to try something different.”  

When he finally slid into her, after he thought she was sufficiently tortured from the slowness, he bit down so hard on his tongue to keep from slamming into her and pounding her into the mattress.  He squeezed her hands, bringing them beside her head on the pillow and then let go to stroke at her thigh, lifting it up over his hip, moving slowly inside of her, each moan from her lips a satisfying ‘ha!’ in his head.  

He took his time, touching her here and there as he kept moving over her.  She tried to pick up the pace, but he would stop and wait for her to calm, before he started again.  It was killing him too and at one point he thought he might have died from spontaneous combustion, but he kept going.  He was sweating, he was holding back, his hair damp and his skin sticky.  

Finally, finally, finally he let go and once he did, she was already gone, sobbing his name, her nails digging into his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life.  

When they calmed down from their peaks, he rolled to his side and dragged her against him, idly stroking her feverish skin, sweat beading int he small of her back, and her breasts rising and falling rapidly as she gulped in air.  “Oh gods,” she mumbled, lifting her eyes up to meet his.  They were soft, melting, and she sighed, satisfied.  “That was amazing…I needed it.”

Jon gazed down at her, unsure what he was feeling.  His stomach hurt.  He wanted to hold her forever.  He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.  “Aye.  Me too.”  He bit his bottom lip, wanting to say I told you so! but he couldn’t even begin to think about how he had one-upped her and she didn’t even know it.  

He pulled the covers over them, but even as Dany dozed in his arms, he remained awake, staring up at the ceiling, very disconcerted in these rising feelings inside of him.

[astradrifting]

 AGOT - Jon I (Chapter 5)

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

I don’t know why D&D decided Jon could never lie, when literally the first line in his POV is a lie. He’s so good at it he can even lie to himself!

****

A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

A singer with a high harp and a ballad seems like a vague Rhaegar allusion. That Jon can’t actually hear him makes me happy in a very petty way.

****

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

I think this part is actually Jon being indignant on Ned’s behalf that Cersei was rude to him, by not looking at him when he escorts her, not that she never looked at Jon. Also, there’s those observation skills. He’s never been taken in by a pretty smile.

****

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit.

Adorable!!!

****

Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

Jon’s a mean drunk I guess 💀

****

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

Joffrey according to Jon: 👁👄👁

But Sansa looked radiant 🥰

****

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen’s brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered “Kingslayer” behind his back. Jon found it hard to look away from him.

This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Giving me big ‘muscled like a maiden’s fantasy’ vibes there, Jon.

Also, curiously enough Jaime’s introduced wearing black and red, Targaryen colours. Maybe a nod to the incest storyline, possibly leftover foreshadowing from when Jaime was going to become king, as per the outline.

Otherwise this means that, like everybody else in this story, Jaime is a secret Targaryen. He and Cersei can join the ranks of Jon, Tyrion, Varys, Mance Rayder and while we’re at it… *spins a wheel of names* Meera too.

****

His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke.

Jon spends half this chapter on the verge of tears, my angsty little lad.

****

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf’s.

They actually call him Ben and ‘uncle Ben’ a few times in the series, which I honestly think might be a Spider-Man allusion. Surrogate father figure Uncle Ben’s early disappearance/death kicking off the plot… There’s also a saying that nobody stays dead in comics except for Uncle Ben - considering all the other resurrections in the books, metaphorical and literal, yet GRRM says that Benjen isn’t Coldhands, it might be the same for this Uncle Ben too.

****

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

"[Garlan] is a great knight," Ser Loras replied. "A better sword than me, in truth, though I'm the better lance." (ASOS, Sansa I)

Love a Jon-Garlan parallel! Also thinking about Garlan being the older brother made me realise - in the story everyone thinks that Jon is younger than Robb, but timeline-wise, he has to be older, because Robb was conceived in the two weeks before Ned left to fight at the Trident, and Rhaegar must have at least already been in the capital by then to rally the loyalists, so Jon was conceived weeks, if not months earlier. Which means that Ned has definitely lied about when Jon’s birthday is.

Jon being the product of a ‘youthful indiscretion’ before he was married is less of a stain on Ned’s honour than him betraying his marriage bed but I imagine Catelyn’s fears about Jon usurping her children might have had more basis if he was known to be the eldest, so maybe that’s why Ned lied about how old he is.

****

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes. 

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

Jon is unfortunately, a jock. And a bit of an idiot. 

There’s something about Jon’s hero dying at 18, Waymar dying at 18 just a few chapters ago... Jon has them all beat by dying at 17.

****

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. “More’s the pity.”

Establishing Benjen as a somewhat contentious father figure to Jon - even more fuel for my brand new Uncle Ben ‘theory’.

****

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. 

"Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

Possibly he and Sansa are the only ones who properly trained their direwolves, considering how the rest of them will end up behaving.

****

“If I wasn’t here, he’d tear out your throat,” Jon said. It wasn’t actually true yet, but it would be.

Pffffft! Edgy edgy edge-lord 💀

Though I also always feel like issuing casual threats to Tyrion Lannister so I can’t really blame him.

****

Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.

He’s got a weird preoccupation with comparing his height to Lannister men in this chapter. My headcanon for the books is that Jon’s quite tall by ADWD but evidently he’s tiny in AGOT if he feels strange being tall next to a dwarf.

****

final thoughts:

Believe it or not, I didn’t actually have Jonsa in mind with my new Uncle Ben theory, but I did just remember that brown haired Peter Parker’s main love interest is red-haired MJ :P

[bobathots]

smokescreen

i wrote the first draft of this in a lust-fueled haze in less than 24 hours a few weeks ago and then i watched a movie where tem was just absolutely off the rails h word and my brain went “haha smoking kink go brrrrr again” so literally this is just an excuse for boba to smoke. @jon favreau give him a cigarette u coward mob boss! boba/female reader. smut 18+  ~10k tags: pwp, smoking, oral sex, shotgunning, at one point u give boba a blowjob while he smokes also on ao3

He wasn’t expecting anyone — or at least, he wasn’t expecting you , that much was clear from his body language. You weren’t even sure it was him until you got close enough to see the dim streetlamp cast a familiar shadow across his face, until you could make out his staple leather jacket wrapped around his form. The tip of his cigarette stood out cherry-red in the evening light, hanging loosely between his index and middle finger.  He tensed and turned his head as you approached.

“Boba!” You kept your voice light and even; you didn’t know how to talk to the man at work, much less in a situation like this. You hadn’t exactly expected to come across him in the middle of the night, in a dark alley situated neighborhoods away from where you both worked. But, then again, it wasn’t as if this was part of your normal schedule.

He dipped his head toward you in greeting, then brought his hand up to his face to take a drag from his cigarette. Your gaze remained transfixed on the motion, how he rested his index finger on his tip lip while his hand remained splayed, as if he was trying to hide the action. You spoke before you could think, the words tumbling out of your mouth, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

His inhale sounded like a sigh. Dropping his hand back to his side, he courteously turned his head away from you and exhaled billows of ash-grey smoke from his mouth. “Meant to keep it that way, too.” Oh. You winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head as if to waive away your concerns. “Don’t. I’m the one smoking outside in public.”

“At midnight,” you added, knowing that he probably chose this time and place specifically for privacy. Privacy that you were now infringing upon.

“...At midnight,” he echoed, the beginnings of a wry smirk on his lips.

The conversation died out there, but you remained standing next to him, casting your gaze out onto the buildings. Distantly, you could make out drunken conversations from the surrounding busy streets so filled with nightlife, mixed with the occasional prickle of Boba puffing his cigarette. A cool breeze swept through the leaves and across your skin, causing goosebumps to pimple out in response. You hugged yourself tightly, palms wrapped around your bare arms, as if you could chase away the evening chill.

“Speaking of midnight —” You glanced back at Boba; he pinched the end of his cigarette between thumb and forefinger and dropped it to the ground, crushing it underfoot with his heel, “— you shouldn’t be out alone this late.”

“It’s not so bad in this part of town.” It felt weird having your boss express concern for you, as subtle as it was, even if it was in his nature to take care of his own , as he put it. You figured you were more like a blimp on his radar; it wasn’t like you were a crucial employee. You hardly ever needed to interact with him at work. “The streets are always lit,” you continued, “and always crowded.”

“Right. Which is why you decided to go down a dark alley in the middle of the night.”

Heat rose to your face. “Because I thought I saw you!”

He let out a sound which might have been a chuckle — god, it was so hard to tell with him — and he pushed off the building he had been leaning against. “Let me walk you home, then. An apology for causing you to make a stupid decision.”

You can’t tell if he’s being mean on purpose, but regardless, you didn’t want to impose on him. “Boba, it’s okay, there’s no —”

“Start walking,” he ordered. His voice was stern, commanding; the tone he took when giving instructions at work, and that meant there was no room for argument, no wiggle room to barter or bargain. The words yes, sir sat on your tongue, burgeoning with desire, but you swallowed them down back to the pit of your stomach where they belonged.

Another breeze blew in. You shivered, both from the temperature and from Boba’s intense presence, but finally nodded in acquiescence. “It’s not far,” you assured him, turning to walk back the way you came. “Maybe like five minutes or so.” Then, something heavy and warm draped itself over  your shoulders and you paused, turning back once more to look at Boba.

A now jacket-less Boba.

“I...oh. Um. Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” He kept walking the direction you set out, leaving you to play catch-up. You took a moment to slide your arms through the sleeves, and it thrilled you to find out just how much extra fabric hung past your hands. Even bunching it up at the wrists caused it to slide down from how loose the jacket sat on your body, so you simply clutched the hems in your palms to keep the fabric from slipping over your fingertips. The rest of it draped over you, his frame much larger than yours, and you felt weirdly protected in his jacket. It smelled like leather and faintly of cigarette smoke, but most importantly it smelled like him, a scent you had no other words for. It was the same smell that lingered in his office long after he’d left, something masculine and oddly comforting. Wearing your boss’ jacket was like being wrapped in a second-hand hug, and you were ashamed to admit how much you liked the idea.

You had to do a little jog to catch up to Boba. Maybe it was the night air, or maybe it was the fact that you had genuine one-on-one time with the man you’d been admiring for so long, but you were suddenly emboldened to nose into his personal life. “So...am I allowed to ask why you don’t smoke with the others?” The “others” you referred to were a sizable group of Boba’s underlings that you often noticed smoking together by the backdoor. 

“Not a social smoker.”

You wouldn’t call Boba a social anything , to be honest. “Okay, so why not in your office? I mean, you spend a lot of time alone there anyway.” You would have remembered if he kept an ashtray or a pack of cigarettes anywhere visible, and his office never smelled like smoke.

Silence stretched out between you. You thought maybe he was done with your invasive line of questioning — after all, this was the first “real” conversation you had had with him that didn’t involve work-related topics — but he spoke up after an elongated pause.

“It’s a nasty habit I can’t kick. I try not to indulge if I can help it.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Boba almost sounded embarrassed at having a vice. “My turn to ask a question.”

“Hm?”

“There a reason you’re leading me through back alleys instead of taking the main streets?” He cast a sidelong glance at you, and even with the glint from the streetlamps you couldn’t place whatever subtle emotion danced in his gaze.

“Oh, uhm. It’s just a faster shortcut,” you said, hesitating despite your honesty. “I...normally don’t feel safe enough to do this at night, but…” The implied since you’re here hung heavy in the air between you. You drew his jacket tighter around your body, relishing in the shield it provided against the chilly evening air.

Seemingly satisfied with your explanation, Boba lapsed into silence beside you. You lead him around a corner and stopped at the base of a sloping hill, turning to face him. “Um, the house I’m renting is just up the road from here,” you started, nerves sitting at the base of your chest. The thought of Boba — your boss , who you were crushing on hard — knowing where you lived? It was almost too much to bear, because you were certain you’d do something stupid like invite him in for a drink, which would naturally lead to you into shamelessly begging him to do unspeakable things to you. You couldn’t. 

Instead, you shrugged off his jacket, internally mourning the loss of warmth and security it radiated. “Thanks again. And thanks for walking me home.”

Boba acknowledged you with a slight dip of his head as he pulled his jacket back around his own shoulders. You gave him what you hoped was a natural and normal smile that didn’t let your nervousness show, and turned to walk up the long sidewalk that led to your ramshackle house.

His gaze burned on your back the entire time, only letting up when you unlocked the door and stepped inside the safety of your home.

The second time had to have been a coincidence, an alignment of your schedules, because you found him at the exact same spot at the exact same time a week later. The only difference was that this time, he was grinding out a cigarette and raising a zippo to light another in the same moment.

You never took him for a chainsmoker.

“Boba —”

“What did I say about walking alone at night?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, necessarily, but neither was it condescending or patronizing. It was almost concerned, if you could call it that.

“I only have the same excuses as last time,” you admitted. He made that noise again, the little huff you’d taken to mean he’s amused, and your chest did a funny little skip in response.

“Means I’m responsible for walking you home again, then.”

“I - no! Not if it’s some sort of imposition. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I’m sure of that, kid. But,” he paused to inhale, and deeply: his chest visibly expanded to fill out whatever room was left in his leather jacket, and he held it there for a beat, savoring the burn, before he breathed out in one fell swoop. “I’d like to see you safe with my own eyes.”

The white smoke obscured his gaze for just that moment, and all you could see was the bright burning end of his cigarette like a wine stain on a white tablecloth, like a gunshot wound through a white shirt.

You swallowed thickly. “Y-yeah, okay. Thanks, Boba.”

Something like gratitude settled over your shoulders, but there was also something else there, something you didn’t know how to describe. It meant enough to your lovesick heart to know that he cared , at least in some capacity, about your well-being. Enough to walk you home twice .

Even when Boba looked away, gaze on some distant point down the alley, you couldn’t keep your eyes from him. He looked so good , so imposing at all times, and the cigarette only helped add to his appeal. He was every bit like an intimidating mob boss, like he might decide to put his cigarette out on some thug’s eye for mouthing off — and you were only a little ashamed to say that the mental picture made you want to squirm.

At the same time, you could tell there was a different edge to him tonight. Something more coiled and tense, like he had a bundle of energy he needed to burn off and burning a cigarette was the closest he could come.

If he had been savoring it that first night, he was flat out devouring it now. It was aggressive, in a way; how he’d barely let his lungs take in a full breath of oxygen before he filled them with nicotine and tar again.

“You smoke?”

His voice startled you from your thoughts, bringing you clear back to the current moment. “N-no. Why?”

“You keep staring. Made me wonder if you wanted a puff.” He had caught you red-handed in your shameless oogling, and you supposed you should’ve felt embarrassed, but you were too enraptured with the way he spoke with his cigarette hanging from his lips, how the smoke leaked out in little wisps with every word. Deftly, he thumbed the filter to flick ash from the butt and immediately brought it back to his lips again. Your eyes followed every movement. “But it’s a good thing. Don’t start.”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” you said, which was the truth — the truth that existed before you knew Boba was a smoker, anyway. It wasn’t like you had a craving to smoke for smoking’s sake. Instead, you wanted to taste from the same filter that sat in Boba’s mouth, imagining it stained with the imprint of his lips; you wanted to inhale the same smoke that he exhaled and pretend that you were sharing breaths like lovers, or fuckbuddies; you wanted to kiss him and taste the nicotine on his tongue —

— but he was your boss, and a good deal older than you, and he’d never be interested in the first place. Instead, you had resigned yourself to watching him in the act with the hopes that you didn’t give off creepy vibes and that he’d fire you. It’d be best if you could turn your mind away from more unsavory thoughts, you decided. You would rather be a friend to him than someone he cast aside. You figured his stress came from the current negotiations between him and a potential business partner, but said partner was well-established in this area and, to the best of your knowledge, kept raising their “prices.” You didn’t know much about it because it simply wasn’t your job to know, but word did get around. “Are the talks not going well?”

He let out a derisive snort. “Hardly.” He exhaled and smoke escaped through his nostrils, giving him the momentary impression of a dragon. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“It’s just…” You paused to search for the right words. “You seem very stressed. I thought it might be because of that.”

Boba grunted in response. He held his little nub of a cigarette between forefinger and thumb as the smoldering end continued to eat away at the filter. For a moment, it seemed like he was honestly considering trying to finish it off, but then he breathed out a quiet sigh and tossed the butt to the ground. 

“....So it’s a stress thing, then, huh? The reason you smoke?”

Boba crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his full weight against the building behind him. “Supposed to be,” he answered. “But then I got addicted.”

“You picked up smoking to cope with stress?” You couldn’t keep the incredulity out of your voice if you tried. Your response to stress was just to cry, something arguably way healthier than what Boba was currently doing.

He breathed in deep, then out, and caught the tail-end of a worrisome cough as he exhaled. “Stress used to make me angry,” he explained, taking a moment to clear his throat. “When I was younger, I picked a lot of unnecessary fights, broke a lot of bones.”

“Yours?”

“And others’.” You didn’t miss the uneven slant of his mouth, the slight grin he wore at the admission, as if he was proud . “But it was a dangerous outlet, so I found something else.”

“Like smoking is any less dangerous,” you pointed out.

“A cigarette kills slower than a bullet, kid. And besides, you’re...what, half my age? Maybe more?” He lifted himself off the building and beckoned you to follow him with a jerk of his head. “I’ve been smoking longer than you’ve been alive. There weren’t many other options beside violence or drugs when I was younger.” “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry,” you said lamely, not really knowing how else to respond. “Don’t be.”

He was leading you home, you realized with a start, both amazed and terrified that he remembered the route you showed him exactly once. As you walked, you stayed close to his side; the evening was no less chilly, and even though you were wearing a thin windbreaker of your own, you were still cold. Boba radiated body heat, and you tried to soak up some of his without being in direct contact with him.

“You don’t look stressed,” you offered after a minute of companionable silence. 

He turned to look at you fully, an obvious cue to continue, but his unwavering attention made you nervous, and you started to blabber. “I-I mean, like… just in case you were worried that you were projecting the wrong image. Whenever I see you on base I just think you look so cool and intimidating, so even if these talks are stressing you out, it doesn’t show, and you still look as powerful and scary as ever, and so —”

“Thanks.” His voice made you shut up instantly , though there was no harshness or anger behind his tone. You were glad that he stopped your rambling; you were certain that if you had continued, you would’ve said something you couldn’t come back from.

You stopped at the same place last time, at the base of the hill, and turned to Boba with a slight smile. “Well, thanks again —”

“No, kid.” His hand fell to the small of your back, so big and solid and warm , and for a moment your brain short circuited as you tried to process the contact. “I said I wanted to see you safe with my own eyes. I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Uhh, y-yeah, okay. Yeah. Good. Sounds good to me.” To your surprise, as you started walking again, Boba’s hand remained a constant on your back. Were he any closer, you could pretend he had his arm slung around your waist as if he were a lover, or your boyfriend, your partner — but, desperately, you attempted to put a stop to those thoughts. They were all fantasies, anyway, unreachable things that you were never meant to hope for.

You stopped in front of your house steps. They were shoddy and showed more tear than wear, and the building clearly needed some love and care. It was, however, home , for the foreseeable future.

“Um, this is me,” you said awkwardly. Boba’s hand finally fell from your back, unfortunately not stopping anywhere on the way down, and he glanced up to take in the state of the building. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not — his expression was virtually unreadable — and you didn’t want to imagine what he was thinking, or what information he could extrapolate about you based on your residence. “I wanted to say thanks for walking me home. Again.”

“You shouldn’t be walking alone in the first place,” he said in lieu of acceptance, his brows furrowing ever-so-slightly.

“I know, I know, just —” You shuffled awkwardly, half-wanting him to leave, half-wanting to invite him to stay. “Thanks.” You hoped it was obvious that you weren’t just thanking him for seeing you home, but for sharing pieces of himself with you, for allowing you to see the bits of himself he never showed at work.

For a moment, his eyes seemed to look you over, top-to-bottom. He dipped his chin slightly in response. “Get some rest, kid.”

And then he was gone, the phantom touch of his hand hot and heavy on your back.

You formed a ritual together after that.

You’d meet him at the same place every week, always around midnight, and he’d smoke while you had an easy conversation. He smoked depending on his mood: sometimes, it was just one cigarette, enjoyed slowly, the stick held between his fingers more often than his mouth. Other times, he’d smoke multiple in quick succession, never more than three, but always with a sense of quiet urgency, like he wanted to finish them as fast as possible. He’d usually smoke them down to nothing, too, leaving barely anything left to count as litter.

Consequently, you grew closer to him than your schedule at work would ever have allowed. Some nights, the conversation would stick to work or work-adjacent topics. Other nights, you’d talk about more personal things, like when Boba revealed how his father died and you stepped in to overshare about your own sob-story childhood — but no matter the topic, there was a general acknowledgement that your relationship had Shifted, with a capital s . The dynamic between you two was no longer strictly boss and employee, but neither was it just a friendship. It was something precarious, dangling over the edge, desperate for something to disrupt it.

And you were desperate to keep it there. Sure, Boba had gotten a little more physical with you in the sense that he always had a hand or an arm touching you as he took you home, and maybe he gave you his jacket more often than not these chilly evenings, but otherwise he was still...Boba. Still kind of hard to read, still a little emotionally closed off, and most definitely not into you. It sucked, but you had learned to be content with the crumbs you got, and it came with the added bonus of having a secret together that no one else at work knew about. It wasn’t scandalous, or taboo, but it definitely felt a little gratifying knowing that you got to see a side of the boss that most everyone else wouldn’t know existed.

Your weekly meeting was a ritual. A sacred thing.

Until it wasn’t.

One night, Boba simply wasn’t there .

His silhouette was missing . There was no figure leaning against the building, there was no cherry-red glow of cigarette embers, there was no one.

You checked your phone: just a little past midnight. Was he sick? Or busy? He had your number for work-related reasons, so surely he would have texted you if —

But why would he? It wasn’t like this was anything serious , right? It wasn’t a meeting he needed to cancel, or a failed date you could excuse your way out of. This was just… a thing . A repeated thing with a date and a time and a place, sure, but…

Nonetheless, you found yourself drawn to your phone, the screen casting a soft blue glow across your face as you waited for a notification to pop up over your messaging app. You wouldn’t call yourself a romantic, but surely expecting a courtesy message wasn’t beyond whatever little ritual you had going on, right? At least, as your employer, he could treat it like —

A hand grabbed your shoulder. On reflex, you twisted around and flailed your arm wildly, hoping to hit whatever would-be assailant in a place that would hurt.

He caught the fist you carelessly slung in one broad hand, his fingers wrapped around your wrist tight to hold it in place.

“ Boba! ” you gasped, both relieved and irritated at the same time. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

  He let your hand slide from his grasp, and if you were in the right mind to pay attention, you would have noticed how he purposefully let his fingertips ghost longer on your skin, how they ran from your wrist to fingers instead of dropping away outright. “Don’t stand oblivious in an alley. At least keep moving if you’re alone.”

You slid your phone back into your front pocket. “I was waiting for you . I didn’t think you were coming.”

At that, he raised an eyebrow ever-so-slightly. “Wasn’t aware I could be late.”

And, well — he was right. This was his thing, after all, his late-night smoke break that he just happened to be so kind as to let you participate as a spectator. Of course he could change his mind, of course he wouldn’t think to let you know. It was your fault for getting attached and thinking it was something more —

“You should stop walking alone so late at night.” Boba was close , you realized. The brief panic earlier had drawn you two together and you hadn’t parted very far, your chests merely inches from each other. It was closer than you had ever been to him before, at least face-to-face, and as a consequence he spoke quieter, his voice coming out as more of a husky rumble than an actual vocalization.

“I’ll stop when you stop smoking,” you countered, your mind too focused on your proximity to Boba to filter your words properly. You were worried he might pick up the true meaning, that it was the act of Boba smoking that lured you to him each week, but instead he huffed out a chuckle.

“We’ll see about that, princess.”

Princess . That was... oh . It sounded like a proper pet name, and the realization made a rush of heat go to your face.

“P-princess?” you finally squeaked out. “Really?”

“You’re spoiled often enough,” Boba said plainly, though the hint of a grin pulling at his lips made you realize he was teasing you.

Something overwhelmingly warm and pleasant tugged at your heart, replacing practically every negative feeling you’d experienced in the past ten minutes. “I’m spoiled, huh? How am I spoiled?”

“You usually get what you want.”

You hummed at that, trying to think of something he might be referencing. He didn’t interact with you much at work, and typically it was usually the opposite in your experience. “I don’t think so,” you finally said, drawing up blanks.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Oh.

Oh.

You hadn’t considered that maybe he kept up with the ritual for your sake. Maybe he didn’t smoke at the same time and at the same place on a weekly basis, but instead decided to show up because you expected him there. Because that made sense.

Guilt ate at your heart, replaced quickly by a sense of affection.

It meant he enjoyed your talks, then, right? That he at least enjoyed your company? You couldn’t think of anyone he might just hang out with other than Fennec, and even then, you couldn’t picture him going through the trouble of all of this just to talk with her.

“Boba…” Tentatively, you reached out and placed your palms against his chest, looking up at him. He smelled like leather and smoke and himself , and you were so close that if you wanted, you could… you could….

Thunder crackled sharply overhead, and you jumped back in pure surprise. Boba’s hands came to settle around your elbows, keeping you from fully peeling away.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathed. Ozone filled your nose — the threat of rain.

“Didn’t think it was supposed to storm tonight,” Boba admitted, and the change in weather made disappointment surge through your veins. You doubted he was the type to enjoy smoking while soaking wet, meaning you’d likely have to call it quits for tonight.

Unless…

“You could…” Oh, god. You already knew that the offer would be a mistake, but you swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat. “You could smoke. In my house. If you wanna.”

He regarded you quietly. “If I want, huh?”

��I-if you want,” you repeated. “But would a ‘please’ help influence your decision?”

“No.” And oh, that made your heart drop in your chest — but then he curled a finger under your chin and applied enough pressure to keep you gazing up at him. “But I want to hear one anyway.”

You couldn’t look away if you wanted to. There was something in his eyes that had you absolutely mesmerized , something burning like the smoldering end of a cigarette. God , you wanted to fucking kiss him. “Will you please come to my house?”

His lips curled into a small, self-satisfied smirk that bordered on a grin. The way he allowed you to see a flash of teeth seemed almost predatory , and it made you want to run away, or run toward him. “I’m not in the mood to get soaked,” he finally said. “Let’s go.”

You thought he would pull away from you entirely, leave you wanting and waiting,  but instead his arm curled itself around your waist to pull you against the warmth of his side. The gesture was so obviously possessive that it made your heart swoon . You tentatively leaned into him, a hand braced on his chest, but he took your weight easily, as if it were nothing.

The walk to your house was usually a quick affair, a five minute walk at most . Yet, now it felt like you were getting there at a snail’s pace, your body and brain hyperaware of your surroundings, dragging the walk out into one long punishment. Boba’s hand had slipped underneath the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin and it burned with promise. His body was so warm, and so solid, and he smelled so good that you just wanted to bury your face in his chest and just breathe. 

To anyone else, you would’ve looked like a typical drunk couple enjoying the evening together. You were invisible, and that knowledge made you almost giddy . He was no longer your boss and you weren’t his employee. The circumstances of your relationship didn’t matter, and for a moment you could pretend that you two were just —

Well, that you two were something together. Something with a future.

Too held up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the pebble in your path, and you caught your foot on it and stumbled. Boba’s arms wrapped around you before you could pitch forward and he dragged you up to hold you against his chest, one strong arm braced around your middle. “Easy.”

His lips were right by your ear, so close that his voice had come out as barely more than a low rumble. You instinctively tensed in his arms, one hand resting atop his own, and turned your head back to look at him.

Christ , you were impossibly close. The angle meant that there were scant few inches separating you from him, and that a small adjustment would be enough to allow your lips to brush his, to allow you to have a taste of him that you’ve craved these past few months —

Thunder boomed overhead and you startled in his arms, enough so that you jerked away from him. You gave a nervous laugh moreso to assure him that nothing was actually wrong than anything else. The first few fat drops of rain splattered your skin, shockingly cold, and you both looked up at the sky in unison.

“We’d better hurry,” you suggested, knowing how easily torrential rain began in storms like these.

You reached for his hand this time, settling your small hand in the palm of his own, but it was Boba that pulled you along to your house with a renewed sense of urgency as rain began to darken the concrete in small splotches. The clouds threatened to open up and drench you both, but there was something a little more primal in the way he handled you, like it wasn’t just the rain on his mind.

By the time you reached the steps leading up to your door, he was practically manhandling you up them, and instead of allowing you to stop and fish your keys from your pockets, he kept himself in your space, crowding into you, forcing you back against your door. He braced an arm over your head, the other settling on your hip, and when he pressed his knee between your thighs you parted your legs willingly for him.

Boba stared at you. Water droplets dusted the shoulders of his leather jacket, shining dimly in your porch light. The same light reflected warmly in his brown eyes, eyes normally so hard and closed off, but soft for you , like he was sharing a secret, like he was barring some hidden part of himself just for you. Only you.

His thumb skimmed your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up, drawing slow and smooth circles that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze or the way your heart pounded in your chest. When he swallowed, you watched how his adam’s apple bobbed and longed to put your mouth there, to feel the motion against your lips.

“You gonna invite me inside?”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to give him a snarky reply for all but forcing you up your stairs, or call him something that involved the words cheeky and asshole — but his breath kept ghosting tantalizingly across your lips and his damned smirk was so attractive and you felt like you had been waiting for this for literal years, desire and want and longing all bound up fit to bursting in your chest. “Only if you kiss me,” you challenged breathlessly.

Boba surged forward, hands sliding to cup your face between his broad and calloused palms, and he kissed you with more teeth than lips, something ferocious and desperate . His knee slotted itself higher between your thighs, purposefully rubbing against your center, and you moaned into his mouth, clutching desperately at his wrists. Against the awning, the spattering of rain turned quickly into a flood and for a moment you couldn’t differentiate between it and the blood rushing in your ears.

You never thought you’d find the taste of cigarettes appealing, but you did — at least, you liked them combined with whatever it was Boba tasted like. Maybe it was your attraction to him warping your senses but you couldn’t get enough. You licked into his mouth, sucked lightly on his tongue, teased his lip with your teeth — literally anything  to keep him pressed against you.

His hands left your face which made the chilly air feel all the more cold against your cheeks. Instead, they ran down the length of your torso, mapping out the curves and planes of your body. You arched willingly into his hands as they reached around to your backside, sliding into the pockets of your jeans —

— only to be met with disappointment when you heard the jangle of your keys as he pulled them from your pocket. “Could’ve —  asked ,” you managed between breathless kisses. Boba hummed into your mouth as he reached for the doorknob to your side. Reluctantly, he pulled away just long enough to slot the key correctly into the lock, and you busied yourself with tasting the expanse of skin on his throat that the new angle provided.

One hand still remained cupping your ass, and you squeaked when he suddenly grabbed a handful and squeezed. As he turned the doorhandle, he used his hand to pull your weight forward against him so that you wouldn’t fall backward into your house, which had the added advantage of pressing your chest to his.

“C’mon,” he murmured lowly, playfully swatting your ass. “Inside.”

You barely registered the sound of your keys hitting your tiled floor as he ushered you indoors, because the moment you both were safely inside you fell on him again, lip-to-lip, hands trying to work off his leather jacket. He took the hint and shed it quickly, letting it fall to the floor, and immediately he urged off your own shirt, breaking away from you long enough to pull the fabric up over your head.

His hands felt so big against your body like they were everywhere, his rough palms a stark contrast against your smooth skin. He thumbed just under your breastband, one hand settled on your back to keep your pelvis pressed to him as his other hand groped your chest over your bra, rough and demanding, and you whined into his mouth. The pleasure threatened to sweep your thoughts away, to turn you mindless and dumb and completely receptive to his whims. You turned your head away from his lips, trying to find the words to speak as he continued to grab handfuls of your flesh. “Boba —” you started, cutting off abruptly with a whine as he teethed at the delicate skin of your neck, each nibble a promise of a later bruise. “W-wait, Boba, I thought you came here to smoke?”

In an instant, his hands fell to his sides, leaving you completely untouched. If you weren’t keyed up and desperate, you might’ve appreciated the gesture, but now it just left you feeling frustrated and unfulfilled. He looked down at you in concern, brows slightly furrowed, but all you could focus on were his lips . They were slick with saliva, kiss-swollen, and you felt a twinge of regret that you had pulled away at all.

“....Do you not want —”

“No! No, I do, I just thought that maybe, y’know…” You gave him a sheepish grin, aware of how hot your face felt.  “I thought that maybe you could...do both?”

Concern gave way to slight confusion, then he chuckled in amusement. “I should have guessed.” Boba reached back into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his lighter and a carton of cigarettes and carefully shook one free. “You have a thing for smoking, huh?”

“No!” It was a gut-response to deny; smoking was gross . It was yucky . It did awful things to people’s bodies and it stained clothes and fingers and yet — “Or at least, I didn’t,” you amended, voice softening. “Not until I saw you that night.”

He paused, lighter halfway to his mouth. The cigarette dangled attractively from his lips. “You should have better taste.”

You choked on nothing. “Wh — you should have better stress relievers!” “Are you offering?”

That made you stop, heat rising to your face at the implication. Sure, you wanted him — but the thought of being his little toy , someone he came to when he needed a quick fuck to ease his frustrations — you liked the thought of it a little too much. Boba was smirking at you, but he seemed to understand to leave well enough alone, at least for now.

There was a flash of light, steel hitting flint, and then the familiar smell of smoke filled the air, more potent in your tiny house. He motioned his head toward your couch as he breathed out a mouthful of smoke. “Go sit.”

The command was almost unneeded; Boba practically steered you there himself, hot on your heels, his hand right back on your lower back like it belonged there. You settled yourself on the cushions, half expecting him to sit beside you, or maybe cover your body with his own — but when he sunk to his knees in front of you, nerves bubbled up in your stomach.

“Oh, Boba, I’ve never...No one has...gone down on me before.”

He grunted, deft fingertips already at the button of your jeans. “Don’t see how that impacts me.” You raised your hips to help as he tugged at the hem of one pantleg, and he slid your jeans off in one smooth movement. He placed your legs over his shoulders and jerked you forward so your ass was off the couch, hips suspended in midair by his arms hooked underneath your thighs. It left you trapped and pinned in place, your back slouched awkwardly against the back of the couch. He puffed on his cigarette before transferring it between his first two fingers, the burning tip pointed away from you as he gripped your thigh. Smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke, “Unless you want me to stop?”

You shook your head, and whatever nervous thoughts you had about tasting or smelling weird, or not looking the way he expected, or not being groomed the way he liked instantly left as Boba ran the flat of his tongue against your clothed cunt, so hot even through the fabric of your panties, and you jerked your hips both in surprise and want .

“Be still ,” he growled, so close that you felt his breath against your center. “I don’t want to burn you.”

“You won’t,” you breathed. You trusted him not to even accidentally harm you, like accident wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. Instead, you felt his arms clamp down on you harder, giving you even less potential wiggle room than before.

A moment later, his mouth was on you, his tongue licking broad stripes against your panties. It felt good even without direct contact; you had never had someone’s mouth on you before, and it had been a long time since you had anything but your hand to pleasure yourself with. 

“You’re already so wet.” He turned his attention to your inner thighs, and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your heated skin. His free hand rubbed you through your panties, spreading your slick into the fabric, and you moaned . “Is it because of me, or are you just excited?”

“You. It’s you.” He hooked his thumb under the edges of your panties and pulled the fabric away from your crotch, exposing your heated core. Your breath came in short puffs as he finally touched you, skin against skin, his thumb dipping into your folds to collect your slick on his fingertip. “I’ve — thought about this for so long.” “About me eating you out?” You were so wet; you could see how your juices glistened on his thumb as he brought it to his mouth, letting his tongue loll out lewdly as he licked your taste clean from his finger. You whined at that sight alone and imagined his tongue tasting you for real, imagined how wet and hot it would feel against your bare cunt. He brought that same hand down onto the meat of your thigh, slapping you light enough to get your attention but not enough to leave a lasting sting. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“About this,” you repeated, as if it clarified anything. “About you.  About — Boba, please —” You tried arching your hips off the couch to tempt him, tried to explain without words what you wanted as your voice died off into a needy whine.

His hand returned to your cunt, fingertips grazing over your clit through your panties. They were so soaked with his spit and your slick that it was barely a barrier at all, made translucent by all the fluids. “Don’t make me guess what you want,” he said. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Frustrated, you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “It’s embarrassing to say it.”

“It’s embarrassing, huh?” Boba teased the edge of your underwear, flicking it against your skin as a reminder that his fingers were right there , that you could have what you were desperate for if you only asked. “Is it embarrassing if I say that I love how you taste?” 

“Boba….” you whined weakly.

“I want to taste more of you,” he murmured, voice growing husky. He nosed against your clothed mound, breath fanning hotly against your core. “I want to bury my tongue in your little cunt and take everything from you. I want you to come undone on my mouth, princess.” He pressed an oddly-sweet kiss to your thigh, his lips lingering on your skin. “But I can’t unless you tell me what you want.”

You felt hot and extremely bothered by the casual way he said those things, how he just uttered his desires as if they were nothing. It wasn’t embarrassing to ask him to eat you out, but you found it embarrassing that you wanted it. You swallowed thickly, and when you finally looked out from under your hands you found Boba looking up at you through hooded eyes, just waiting. Watching.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please eat me out.”

“ That ’s it." In a blatant show of strength he ripped your panties right from your hips, tearing the cloth with one strong pull. You didn’t even have time to articulate a response, because a second later his mouth was on your bare pussy, his tongue eagerly lapping up the liquid that glistened on your folds. 

“ Boba! ” You jerked hard in his grasp but he pinned you down with his hands alone, his grip on your thighs so tight you knew that there would be ten marks in the shape of his fingers the next morning. He was relentless, lapping and slurping at your cunt like a man starved, and the sounds were so lewd and so pornographic that you’d have found them gross were you not so aroused. 

You wanted to snap your thighs closed and rut against his mouth so bad , but his hold on you was unforgiving. He kept you spread and held in place, completely at his mercy as he licked and sucked and devoured you. Little gasps and moans kept escaping your lips, mixed in with mindless repetitions of Boba and please and yes, yes, like that.  This was the loudest you had ever been; months of pent-up desire and sexual frustration had you quickly approaching an orgasm, vastly helped by Boba’s skillful tongue. The urge sat heavy in your gut and only grew with each passing second until you were frantically trying to grind into him, hips moving minutely in his iron grip.

And then he began to pull away. Your hand shot out to grab the back of his head to hold him in place, a desperate whine leaving your throat. “No! No, Boba, please, I’m so close, please —”

“Shhh.” He turned his head to place a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Relax, princess. I’m not going anywhere.” His assurances were enough to cause you to let go, and he rewarded you by peppering more gentle kisses to your slicked skin.  “You got an ashtray?”

You had to think through the haze of want that clouded your thoughts. “A... huh? Why?”

“Don’t want to burn you.” He motioned toward the cone of ash on his cigarette, which had been steadily burning the whole time his mouth was on you. Carefully, he unwound his arms from around you and you slumped, boneless, back into the couch. “Unless you want me to use the carpet?”

“N-no, god, my landlord would kill me.” You spotted an old mug sitting on the endtable right next to the couch and reached for it, almost spilling the scant liquid left inside as you haphazardly handed it to Boba. “Use this.”

Sitting back on his haunches, he flicked the excess into the mug and then brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. You watched the fabric of his shirt stretch across his chest as he breathed in, how his shoulders seemed to broaden with the action. When he exhaled, he blew from the side of his mouth, keeping the smoke from reaching your face.

Which was considerate and all, but… “ Boba .” You stretched your lower half toward him in need, letting your thighs fall open. “Please?”

“You invited me here to smoke,” he reminded, even as his free hand slid up to brush tantalizingly close to your slit. “You gonna make me waste a cigarette?”

“N-no, but…” Tears pricked the back of your eyes; you had been so close , and the longer you went without his mouth on you the more you worried you wouldn’t get to come at all. “ Please .”

Boba flicked ash into the mug again and set it aside on the floor, out of reach of flailing arms and legs. “Spoiled little thing,” he said, so affectionate, and then he was upon you, his head back between your thighs. And, fuck, maybe you were spoiled, but it was his fault for indulging you and giving you an inch so you could take a mile. His tongue just felt so good, and without his arms pinning your legs open you rutted freely into his mouth, moans and pleas rolling off your lips anew.

Boba turned his head to the side as he took another drag from his cigarette, holding the little nub a safe ways away from your skin. He exhaled before he wrapped his mouth around you again, hotter than before, and his lips latched around your clit.

“Fuck!” Pleasure shot up through your spine and you moaned shamelessly, your eyes shutting tightly against the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you. “Fuck, fuck , Boba, please, oh my god —”

“Gonna come from my mouth alone?” His lips barely left your cunt as he spoke, his hot breath only serving to further tease you. “Wanna come for me, sweet thing?”

“ Yes ,” you hissed. “Yes, Boba, please , wanna come on your tongue —” You weren’t even wholly aware of what you were saying, just babbling mindlessly as he kept torturing your clit with attention. The urge you were chasing earlier came back full-force, leaving you teetering on the edge. “Please, please , Boba, Boba —”

“Then come,” he ordered. “Come for me.”

It might have been his voice, it might have been because his teeth skimmed your clit, but you came and you came hard . You think  you screamed, or blacked out, or screamed and then blacked out — and when you finally relaxed, body no long tight and taut, you opened bleary eyes to find Boba’s face still buried between your legs, his tongue lapping at your sensitive pussy in slow, languid movements.

“Boba,” you whimpered, pushing at him weakly. “‘S’too much, please …”

He peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses on the heated skin of your inner thighs as he pulled away, settling back on his knees. To your embarrassment, his mouth and chin shined with your juices; he turned his head to wipe himself clean on the sleeve of his shoulder and replaced his cigarette back between his lips. It was evident he’d enjoyed himself, too, because there was a sizable bulge tenting the fabric of his jeans.

“Hey.” You stretched a leg out, brushing a toe across the top of a clothed thigh. “It’s not fair you’re still dressed. Take off your shirt.”

He exhaled slowly, smoke drifting lazily upward from his mouth. “Take off your bra if you want it to be fair.”

You had completely forgotten that you were still wearing it, and you realized how ridiculous you must look: stripped nude with your bare pussy on display, but still wearing your fucking bra. It wasn’t even cute .

Sitting up, you hesitantly reached behind yourself and unclipped your bra. You let the straps slide down your shoulders but left the cups covering your chest, suddenly very acutely aware of everything: the couch beneath your bare thighs, the drying slick on your skin, Boba’s warm eyes focused intensely on you .

“Don’t get shy on me, now.” Gentle and slow, he reached a hand up and helped ease your bra the rest of the way off your chest. He palmed your bare breast, pebbling your nipple underneath his thumb. “Beautiful.”

You flushed at the compliment but gently pushed his hand away. “Your turn. Fair’s fair.”

He extended his cigarette out to you as he stood up from his knees, and you didn’t miss the quiet noise of exertion he made at the effort. “Hold this.” It was burned down to almost nothing, wasted, but as you took it from his fingers you remembered how often you’d imagined holding the filter between your lips, how often you dreamed of tasting him second-hand.

“Want to try?” He must’ve caught you staring; when you glanced back at him, he was bare-chested, and you marveled at the power that flexed underneath his skin, at the tattoos that spanned his chest and upper arms. You’d have to ask about them later.

“I thought you didn’t want me to start?”

“You’re an adult. I’m saying the offer’s there, if you want.”

You considered it — you really did — but then you thought about how sweeter it would taste coming from his mouth, and you passed it back to him.

“I...can we try something?

The end of it burned red-hot as he inhaled. “What?”

Your earlier shyness came back, your nerves sitting heavy in your chest. “What if...you kissed me, right? But with your mouth full of smoke? And then...y’know….” You wrung your hands in your lap as your confidence died out.

But Boba merely chuckled and took a seat on the couch next to you, the cushions dipping under his weight. “You won’t like it,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” Half-surprised he agreed, and half-giddy with desire, you crawled loose-limbed into his space, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth as you settled into him. “If it’s from you, I don’t care.”

You had tucked yourself into his side, but Boba hauled you into his lap instead, swinging your legs across his own. His clothed erection pressed into your hip and you had half a mind to ask if he wanted his pants off, too — but then he grabbed your chin between one large hand and held you in place as he puffed from his cigarette. His lips ghosted across your own, soft and tentative, and then he kissed you for real.

Unlike before, this was gentle and sweet, the slow molding of his mouth to yours, until he urged your lips to part. On instinct, you inhaled, and the smoke that entered your lungs was hot and spicy . You coughed once against his mouth before you had the chance to turn away. Your lungs and throat burned and tears quickly filled your eyes as you coughed away the sensation.

“I told you,” came Boba’s smug reply, and you narrowed your leaking eyes in a glare even as small coughs wracked your body. Gently, he smoothed his hand up and down your spine. “Wanna try again?”

“So you can —” you stopped, coughing, “— laugh at me?”

“Not laughing.” He wiped away some spittle on the side of your mouth. “It’ll be easier if you just hold it in your mouth. Don’t breathe it in.”

You nodded. After he took another drag from his cigarette, well and truly burning it to the filter, he kissed you again. This time, when you felt smoke fill your mouth, you fought off the urge to inhale. It almost tasted sweet beneath the bitter burn. You forced yourself to breathe out, the smoke pouring from between your connected mouths, but despite your best efforts you ended up inhaling a little anyway. You pulled away and coughed to clear your throat.

“Better?

You shook your head. “Not really,” you said sheepishly. “At least I know there’s one fantasy I don’t want to try again.

Boba extinguished the nub of his cigarette between forefinger and thumb and tossed it to the mug he left on the floor. “You fantasized about this?”

“Well, duh.” You sunk down against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder as he drew you close. “What else am I supposed to think about at work?”

It was a tease, mostly, but Boba pinched the soft skin of your thigh. “Naughty thing,” he admonished. “I pay you to fantasize, huh?”

“You occupy my thoughts even when I’m off the clock,” you admitted. As you shifted a bit in his lap, his erection pressed into your side, and you remembered another worktime fantasy and spoke before Boba had a chance to reply to your honesty. “Hey, you brought a whole pack with you, right?”

He huffed out a chuckle. “You trying to give me lung cancer?”

“No! No, no, just —” You squirmed. “Do you maybe want a blowjob? While you smoke?”

He answered you by reaching into his back pocket to pull out his lighter and cigarette carton. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“W-well, I mean, I thought you might like it. It’s supposed to be every man’s fantasy, right? A good blowjob and a smoke?” You eased yourself onto your knees before him as he lit up another cigarette, smoothing your hand over his broad thighs.

“Never considered it before,” he said as he began to undo his belt, “but I won’t say no.”

Your deft fingers helped undo the button on his jeans, and you pulled the waistband down just far enough to free his aching cock. “Oh, fuck ,” you breathed. He was big . Bigger than anyone else you’d taken, and you felt a phantom twinge of pain in your jaw just imagining him in your mouth. 

“Like what you see?” Boba grinned down at you, his freshly-lit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. Oh, he knew he was big. He knew it, and he knew you liked it.

You wrapped your hand around him and almost moaned when you realized you were barely able to touch your thumb to your middle finger around his girth. “Holy fuck , Boba.” You had never wanted to suck a dick as badly as you did now, even if you were questioning how any of it would fit in your mouth. Would he even fit in your cunt? If things escalated to that point, would you be able to take him, or would he just split you in half?

You subconsciously squeezed your thighs together and leaned in, pressing kisses up along his shaft. He smelled good , like musk, like Boba , the scent that you could never name. You parted your lips and dragged the tip of your tongue along his shaft, feather-light, stopping to take his leaking head into your mouth. He tasted salty on your tongue and you braced your hands on his thighs as you leaned in farther, relaxing your throat as his girth stretched you mouth impossibly wide. Already, it was almost too much, your jaw threatening to ache, and you worried you’d have to give him a handjob instead.

“‘Atta girl,” Boba praised, and oh if that didn’t make you feel like you could do anything . He ran a hand through your hair and settled a palm on the top of your head — not pulling, not pushing, but a comforting weight that held promise. Potential.

You pulled off his cock, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes. “You can be mean,” you breathed, cognizant of how his hand tightened in your hair. “It’s okay.”

Boba hummed low in his throat, as if he were considering it. “Some other time,” he promised. “You have to learn to take me. I can’t break you on the first day.”

His words made you whimper automatically with want as your brain immediately filled in the gaps. Boba exhaled a mouthful of smoke around his cigarette and applied a little pressure to the top of your head, encouraging you to bend down again. “C’mon, princess. Take me into your mouth.”

You held his gaze for as long as you could manage as you wrapped your lips around his cock again, sinking down on his length. Despite his size, you wanted to take him deep in your throat and feel his jeans rub against your chin. You tried to relax as much as possible as you sunk lower but he was just too much , and you ended up gagging audibly.

He gave a sharp tug on your hair, pulling you off his cock. “Go easy ,” he stressed. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Spit dribbled down your chin. “I want to take all of you,” you whined.

Boba’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb smearing your saliva across your lips. “Be patient. I’m not a small man.”

“You make it sound like I’ll get another chance to do this.”

“You will. If you want.” Ash fell from the end of his cigarette and onto the cushion below, but in that moment you couldn’t care less about your stupid couch. “I’d like to have fun with you again.”

You hid your grin behind kisses as you peppered them along his shaft. “Okay,” you finally said. “Okay, I’ll go easy.” Boba made it sound like you’d have all the time in the world later to train your throat to take his cock — and hopefully there’d be time to train other things, as well.

No longer focused on deepthroating his entire cock, you worked on fitting as much as you could comfortably handle into his mouth and settled into a rhythm as you sucked and licked. You stroked the rest of his shaft with your hand, aided smoothly by your excessive saliva that drooled down his length.

You took a chance to look up at Boba, and found him with his eyes closed, an arm thrown over the back of your couch. The cigarette bobbled in his mouth as he inhaled around it. “ There you go,” he murmured, smoke trailing from his lips. “Just like that. Easy.”

You swallowed around him and his hand tightened in your hair. The taste in your mouth grew saltier with each passing second as his precum leaked from the tip of his cock and mingled with your spit. Boba groaned above you, something guttural and almost primal , and you felt the ache between your own legs grow in response.

“Want my cum, princess?” 

Grateful for the chance to give your aching jaw a break, you lifted from his cock and licked a broad stripe up from where your hand had been. “ Yes ,” you plead. “Yes, please, will you come in my mouth?”

“Gonna swallow me, huh?” At your enthusiastic nod, he grinned. “Good girl. My good girl. Scoot back.”

He moved to stand up from the couch and you realized at once what he intended to do as you shifted backwards, sitting pretty on your knees. He towered over you in this position and you couldn’t take your gaze away from him; at this angle, he seemed larger than life, intimidating and scary and huge , and the cherry-red of his cigarette burned brighter than ever. 

Boba cupped your jaw in his hand, tugging at your bottom lip. “Open your mouth.” You whined and clutched at the fabric of his pants as you obediently parted your lips, moving your head so that the tip of his cock was pointed at your mouth.

He fisted his cock in one hand, jerking himself hard and fast, and with the other he gripped the back of your hair and held you in place. “Gonna come, princess. Stick your tongue out for me.” 

You stretched your tongue out of your mouth as far as it would go, lips parted wide, and stared longingly up at him. Each of his exhales contained a mouthful of smoke, and it gave him the impression of standing in a translucent cloud, the tip of his cigarette standing out amongst the white.

He grunted something unintelligible and you felt something warm and thick land on your cheek. The next one hit your upper lip, and Boba drew you forward so that the head of his cock sat on the tip of your tongue. The rest of his cum landed hot and salty on your tastebuds.

Boba jerked himself from base to tip, coaxing out whatever droplets he could give you. “You look so good,” he murmured, voice husky. “Good girl. Swallow.”

You obeyed, opening your mouth wide after to show him. His thumb came up and helped guide the mess he left on your face into your waiting mouth, where you sucked his tongue clean each time.

“You did so well,” he praised, and even though your jaw ached and there was a dull throb between your legs, you beamed . You pressed your face into his clothed thigh and sighed happily as he rested a hand in your hair, stroking down the strands he’d mussed earlier. He took his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ashes off into what you hoped was the mug.

A sort of quiet peace settled over you, and even though you were completely nude and it was late and you kind of wanted to invite Boba to stay the night (or forever), you were content to just sit there on your knees as he ran his fingers through your hair.

Besides. He told you there would be a next time — there was no reason to rush.

[aflashofgreen]

Sansa + kissed by fire

Joffrey drew his sword. The pommel was a ruby cut in the shape of a heart, set between a lion’s jaws. Three fullers were deeply incised in the blade. “My new blade, Hearteater.”

He’d owned a sword named Lion’s Tooth once, Sansa remembered. Ar*a had taken it from him and thrown it in a river. I hope Stannis does the same with this one. “It is beautifully wrought, Your Grace.”

“Bless my steel with a kiss.” He extended the blade down to her. “Go on, kiss it.”

He had never sounded more like a stupid little boy. Sansa touched her lips to the metal, thinking that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than Joffrey. The gesture seemed to please him, though. He sheathed the blade with a flourish. “You’ll kiss it again when I return, and taste my uncle’s blood.”

– ACoK Sansa V

Four chapters later in Tyrion XIV, the phrase “kissed by fire” appears for the first time in ASOIAF, during the Battle of the Blackwater:

Tyrion lifted his axe and shouted, “King's Landing!” Other voices took up the cry, and now the arrowhead flew, a long scream of steel and silk, pounding hooves and sharp blades kissed by fire.

Thus we can recontextualize the interaction between Sansa and Joffrey to mean that Sansa, who kissed a blade, is the fire in “kissed by fire.”

But then comes this quote in ASoS Jon II, next appearance of the phrase and the most well-known:

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky.

Meaning Sansa, a redhead who kissed a blade, is actually both the fire and the one kissed by it in the phrase “kissed by fire.” She’s at both ends of the kiss as it were, as giver and receiver.

Ygritte, a redhead, was only ever the receiver, notably kissed by Jon as we all know.

Jon already thinks on the similarities between Ygritte and one of his sisters, namely Ar*a, twice in ASoS, but Ygritte and Sansa are not completely dissimilar, not only because of some key physical features they share. There are countless metas about it so the only thing I wanna add is, when the text first suggests Jon is attracted to Ygritte in the next paragraph, this is what is said:

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well that stirred some things as well.

Since we’ve established Sansa is kissed by fire and is fire itself, the bolded phrase here gives us that double allusion to Sansa in a context that is definitely not platonic or brotherly. To be clear, I'm not saying Jon is/was attracted to Sansa - I'm saying this is a hint he will be.

Let me also point out that the specific blade Sansa kisses in ACoK is called Hearteater. In ADwD Jon VI, Jon mistakenly sees Ygritte, who is symbolically the girl in grey who there's evidence is actually Sansa (I talk about it here and further develop how this chapter actually gives a lot of hints wrt romantic entanglements between Jon, Sansa and D*ny):

The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s HEART leapt into his MOUTH. “Ygritte,” he said.

Jonsa kiss confirmed?

[targaryenimagines]

Tempering the Storm

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Summary:

Notes: For @alphawolfworld— I hope you enjoy it. I decided to make my own little spin on it, which I hope you enjoy.

The harsh winds of the North whip at your face as you step from the rowdy Great Hall. Your eyes watering slightly because of it. Pulling your cloak tighter to your body you begin to make your trek back towards your room. Thick plumes of your breath being the only thing that accompanied you on your journey. 

You could still hear the faint sound of laughter and drunken shouts. Something that brings a small smile to your lips. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around the drunkards that inhabited the Great Hall, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth that they were able to be so happy. That they were able to find something to be so carefree about. You just hoped that they didn’t end up regretting it in the morning. 

With a smile, you hunker down against another strong surge of wind as you cross the courtyard. Your body canting to the side as you tried to right yourself. Alas, your body wasn’t used to the conditions that you had put it in. Something that you quickly discovered as your foot hit a patch of ice underneath the snow and your entire world flipped upside-down. The breath leaving your lungs in a whoosh of air as your back made contact with the cold stone of the ground. Thankfully it was slightly cushioned by the snow that made up the entirety of the North. 

Groaning, you flop your head down-- not having the energy to rise from the ground. Trying with all your might to ignore the cool liquid seeping into your clothes. Your eyes slip shut on their own accord as you imagine that you were simply resting against the warm sands of Meereen. The sound of crashing waves taking the place of howling wind. The harsh bite of the weather giving way to the gentle touch of the sun. When your eyes open once more you could feel the way your mood drops when you’re not met with the crystalline blue sky of Essos. A sight that you never knew you would miss so much. What I would do for this snow to become sand.

The soft sound of laughter pulls you out of your thoughts. Craning your neck, you had to squint through the thickening barrage of snow to see the figure approaching you. Even though as it drew closer and closer you could make out the familiar silhouette of Sansa Stark. A woman that you had grown rather fond of during your time in the North. You watch as she stops next to you with a gentle smile curling her lips. The blue of her eyes standing out against the stark fairness of her skin. Familiar waves of auburn being kept in a simple braid. Her soft voice filled with both amusement and concern. 

“Are you doing alright? I can’t imagine that you’re comfortable laying on the ground like that.”

You allow your own smile to appear as you looked up towards her. “I am doing quite alright down here. Why don’t you join me?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the offer. Her blue gaze tracing the lines of your clearly soaked cloak with a disgruntled air. “I would much rather stay where I am.” She turns her head towards the Great Hall-- a slight frown furrowing her brow. As if she was piecing together a puzzle that didn’t make much sense to her. After a moment her gaze meets yours once more. “Where is Lady Daenerys? Should she not be out here with you also?” 

A surprised look blossoms on your face at the question. Your own frown appearing as you mull over the words. The familiar warmth spreading through your chest as you thought about your dragon-- your Daenerys. But it quickly turns sour when memories of recent events come to the surface within your mind. Seemingly sensing your mood change, Sansa glances at the snow-covered ground with a pointed glare before she gingerly sits. Her back ramrod straight as she tried to ignore the feeling of it melting underneath her. 

Offering Sansa a weak smile, you begin to speak. “Dany has a lot on her plate right now. With the impending battle with the Night King and Cersei being a constant threat in the background.” You pause as a small sigh escapes your mouth. “It’s enough to make anyone feel pressured.”

“Has she been neglecting you?” Sansa seemed enraged by the thought. 

“No.” You shake your head at the mere thought of Daenerys doing so. “I just don’t see her as much I used to, but I know she tries her best to make time for me.”

Blue eyes darken at the thought. An expression flashing across her face that you couldn’t quite decipher. “I see.”

A silence settles over the two of you-- only the howling of the wind and far-off laughter permeating it. Opening your mouth, you try to figure out what you could possibly say to Sansa to soothe the situation. Even though you weren’t exactly sure what situation you were in. However, before you could, Sansa turns to you with a slight smile. Her expression much clearer than it had been a moment prior. 

“Why don’t we start heading towards your chamber? I think a change of clothing and wine between friends is more appealing than sitting out here. Don’t you agree?” 

Not knowing what to truly say, you simply nod. 

And with more energy than you were expecting, Sansa springs to her feet and holds out her hands towards you. Her normally closed off eyes sparkling with affection. 

“Then let’s go.” 

---------

“Did Jon truly do such a thing?” You ask in an incredulous tone. Not believing that the silent brooding man could ever do something like that. 

Sansa lets out an airy laugh. “I promise you it’s all true. Jon and Robb got into such mischief together.” A sad look flashes across her eyes before she can hide it. “I miss those days.”

Setting down your goblet of wine, you gently take Sansa’s hand in your own gentle grip. A look of complete understanding washing over your face. “I can understand that, but do you know who can also understand that. Better than anyone I have ever met?” 

She shakes her head in response, but there was the same look in her eyes from before. 

“Daenerys.” You frown at the small scoff that Sansa lets out in response. “I’m serious Sansa. Daenerys knows better than anyone how it feels to long for days long passed. To wish for a different future than the course you have been put on.” 

Sansa lowers her head-- her voice dropping to a low whisper. “You seem to old the Dragon Queen in high-esteem.” 

“I love her, Sansa,” you whisper back. “She has saved me more times than I can count. Has been there for me when I didn’t even know I needed someone. She has never given up on me. Has never faltered in her devotion for me. And I will never do so either.” 

An almost pained look appears on Sansa’s face at the clear conviction within your tone. It was a look that you suddenly understood. For it was a look you had seen many times before. A look that many potential-suitors held when they finally understood your complete devotion to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. 

Sighing softly, you offer Sansa an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

She offers a weak smile in return. “Not as sorry as I am.”

Tightening your hold on her hand, you pull Sansa into a warm hug. Wrapping your arms securely around her as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. A silent understanding passing between the two of you in that moment. That everything was going to be okay in the end. 

The sound of your chamber door causes you both to jump away from one another. Your eyes widening at the slim figure standing at the threshold of the room. A furious violet gaze meeting your shocked one. 

Standing you take a slight step forward. “Daenerys?” 

You pause when her gaze seemingly freezes you in place. Her eyes turning to the woman behind you. A harsh look taking over her features at the sight. 

“What in the Seven Hells is she doing here?” 

With widening eyes, you begin to speak-- desperately wanting to salvage the situation. “Sansa and I met earlier in the courtyard, and after a brief discussion we decided to convene in my chambers for some wine.” You gesture behind you towards the goblets. “And after another brief discussion I decided it best that I should hug her farewell.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrow. “Then why is she still here if you were simply hugging her farewell?” 

You flounder for an answer. Your brain seemingly short-circuiting as you tried to speak. Luckily, a soft voice speaks up behind you.

“I was just leaving.” You wince internally at the sharp quality to Sansa’s tone, but you smile gratefully towards her as she passes you. Thankful that she was able to speak when you couldn’t.

Pausing for a brief moment beside you, Sansa murmurs. “I shall see you tomorrow.” She shoots Daenerys a thinly-veiled glare. “I hope you sleep well.” 

With that she exits the room. The banging of the door being the only sound in the room for some time. Taking a chance, you glance towards Daenerys’s still figure. Only to find that she was still staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher. 

You take a small step towards her. Your expression open and honest. “Dany, I promise what you saw isn’t what you think it was. I was simply offering her a hug as a friend. Nothing more.”

Her mouth twists down in a frown. “I am well aware of your intentions, my love.” She turns from you and moves towards the window. Her expression pensive as she takes in the sights just beyond the glass. “It’s hers that I am vexed with.” 

You frown. “What do you mean, Dany?” 

She turns to you with a slight smile curling her lips. The first she had offered you since entering the room. “Oh you must realize how she stares at you, my love. Must realize how she speaks towards you without a care of who overhears.” She turns her gaze back towards the outside world. “Her gaze is filled with that of longing. A deep-rooted longing for something that she can never have. The type of longing that keeps one awake at night. Her words simply highlighting the fact. For they show no inkling of self-perservation as she tries to take something that is already someone elses.” Sighing, Daenerys moves towards the bed where she gingerly sits down. “So, no, it’s not you I am worried about, my darling.” 

Clearly seeing the anguish within Daenerys’s violet gaze, you move to sit beside her. Taking her still gloved hands in your own. Your eyes pleading with her to listen to you. 

“Dany,” you mumur with a soft look on your face. Your hand coming up to caress her cheek. “There is no other person that I could ever see myself with. No other person that I could ever see myself loving as much as I love you.” You dip your head as your next admission comes out. “I am aware of Sansa’s feelings towards me. Even though I had no knowledge of it when I entered this room with her. She has since become aware of my complete devotion towards you. Something that will never change.” 

Daenerys’s eyes flash with various emotions. Though you could tell clear as day that her insecurities were eating away at her. 

“Truly?” She asks with a small tilt of her head. “Even when my plans have to take me away from you for long periods of time? When I can’t spend time with you like I used to?” 

You smile. “Even then. For I know that you will be just as miserable as I am. That we will both be wishing for the day that we can be in each others arms once more.” You bring your lips to hers in a small, chastised kiss. “I am yours, Daenerys. For now and forever.”

Daenerys smiles back at you. Her violet eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. “And I am yours, my love.” She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls your body flush against hers. Her mouth ghosting across your cheek towards your ear. Her warm breath fluttering against the shell of your ear. “I just hope you realize that the next time Sansa Stark tries anything I won’t be so forgiving.”

Chuckling, you turn your head and press your lips against hers. Relishing the feeling of having her in your arms. Any other thought leaving your mind as your hold her tightly to you. 

For there would never be anyone else you would ever need.

Not as long as you had her.

[dickwheelie]

by popular demand on the discord server, a jonsasha fic! this incorporates a few different requests from the discord buds, but it boils down to: jon and sasha are on a "stakeout" for a statement and jon thinks it's purely for work but sasha is treating it like a date without him realizing.

this was my first time writing jonsasha and I gotta say it was super fun! I'll have to do more with these two in the future. please enjoy!

___________

"Anything yet?" Sasha asked.

Jon's leg had begun to fall asleep, and so he shifted his weight, leaning closer to the windshield. He squinted through the darkness at the doorway across the street, but it was as empty as before. "No, nothing," he said with a sigh.

Sasha shrugged. "Time to dig into the sandwiches, then." She reached into the backseat and retrieved the cooler she'd brought along for their overnight stakeout. It was two in the morning and they'd already gone through a packet of crisps and a candy bar each, as well as a handful of oranges, because Sasha thought they should try to be at least somewhat healthy. Now she pulled out two wrapped sandwiches, which looked like they'd come from Tesco's. She handed Jon the tuna one.

"So you can keep kosher," she said as she unwrapped her ham and cheese.

Jon looked at her in surprise. "Oh, er," he said, "thank you." Usually people forgot.

"Course." Sasha flashed him a smile. She'd been smiling a lot that night; Jon had no idea Sasha enjoyed stakeouts so much. He'd have to invite her to investigate statements more often in the future. He liked seeing her smile; she would scrunch up her nose slightly and it was very cute.

Almost as though she were reading his mind, Sasha said, "Thanks for inviting me out tonight, Jon. This has been fun." She craned her neck towards the passenger's side window. "Even if we're not having much luck. It's nice just to spend time together."

"O-Of course," Jon said. "Thank you for joining me. And for bringing the food." He paused. "And the car."

Sasha laughed. "Least I could do, really."

The truth was, Jon had asked her to join him mostly because Sasha was the best researcher he knew at the Institute, definitely better than himself. It didn't hurt that she was also a good friend, and one of the few people at work who seemed to like Jon. The only other one he could think of was Tim. But Sasha was . . . she was just different, somehow. She understood him, in a way very few people did. Now that he thought about it, not since Georgie had he so thoroughly clicked with someone. He was unaccountably relieved when she'd agreed to join him on what would have been a very lonely and very dull stakeout. Then again, Sasha had never shied away from a chance to do more thorough research.

The passenger's side window nearest to Jon was cracked open, and a sudden draft of night air blew in, making him shiver.

"Oh, are you cold?" Sasha said, and before Jon could answer, she removed the wool jacket she was wearing and placed it around his shoulders. Sasha was about the same height as him, perhaps an inch or two taller, but she was much broader-shouldered, and her jacket was large on him, encompassing him in its sudden warmth. He couldn't help but notice it smelled like her perfume. "Better?" Sasha asked.

Jon felt heat rise to his face, and drew the jacket a bit tighter around him. "Er, yes, much better." He definitely wasn't cold anymore, at least. He looked down at the jacket, running his finger along one of its many tiny enamel pins. He'd never tried to get close enough to look at them all. Now he could see, among others, a trans flag, a pan flag, an anarchist symbol, a pin with a drawing of the globe that said "Give Earth a Chance," and one that just said "int elligent;". He didn't understand that one but he supposed it meant something to somebody.

"I wonder how legal this is," Sasha was saying. "Staking out someone's flat like this. I mean, technically we're not breaking any laws, just sitting here in the car . . ."

Jon nodded. "Considering the kind of stuff I usually do, this is on the lower end of the legally dubious spectrum."

Sasha laughed. "How many carparks have you jumped the fence of again?"

"I believe the last count was six," Jon said, allowing himself a satisfied grin.

"Next time I expect you to invite me along to one of those 'research outings.' "

"Deal," said Jon, and they shook on it.

"Either way," Sasha said, settling back in her seat, "this has definitely been one of the more interesting dates I've been on."

Jon froze in his seat. Date? He had invited her out to help with investigating a statement, not for a date. His mind flashed back over the last three hours. Had he been on a date with Sasha this whole time, without realizing it? Had she not realized that this was a work thing? Oh god, what had he said to her when he'd asked? Had he made it sound like he was asking her out?

"Sasha," he said slowly, mind racing to figure out how best to break the news to her, "I . . . I'm so sorry, but I didn't--"

"Didn't know this was a date?" Sasha didn't seem angry. In fact, she was grinning at him. "I know. When you asked me to join you tonight, I said to myself, Sasha, this is the closest Jon is gonna get to asking you out. You better make it easy for him." She shrugged. "So, I made it a date. Assuming you're okay with that. If not, then it doesn't have to be one. Simple as that."

Jon stared at her, with her bright eyes and expectant smile. She really was very beautiful. He didn't ordinarily notice things like that, about anyone, but now that he was looking for it . . . And what an efficient way to go about things. It would be so much simpler if all dates could be arranged so easily. "Yes," he said, surprising himself at his own words. "That's . . . that's okay. A date is okay."

"You're sure?"

There was a spark of anticipation in his chest. "Yes."

Sasha's face lit up. "Brilliant." She leaned a little closer to him, resting an elbow up on the dashboard. "Is this alright?"

"Is what alright?"

"This." Sasha leaned across the gearshift and kissed him on the cheek.

Jon sat there for a moment, his heart racing. "I--um." He didn't have to give it much thought. "Yes." He leaned towards her. "Do it again?"

Sasha grinned, and pressed her lips to his. They were very soft. He could taste her chapstick, which was coconut flavored. It was wonderful. Her mouth shook under his for a second, as she tried to stifle a laugh. He pulled away, indignant, but Sasha was shaking her head. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just--you're so gentle. You don't have to be all careful with me." She pointed at herself. "It's Sash, remember?"

"I'm sorry," Jon said. "It's . . . been a while."

"Ah, same here. But I don't accept your apology."

Jon cracked a smile. "Can't get anything past you, James."

"No," Sasha said, faux-primly. "You can't." And then she kissed him again, and despite her insistence that he needn't be gentle, Jon melted anyway. Even with the both of them sitting down, Sasha's couple of inches on him were evident, and Jon gladly let her tower over him. He had always been a little self-conscious about his height, and having a partner that was taller than him was extremely welcome.

When they finally pulled apart, Jon said, "You're a genius."

Sasha looked puzzled. "I didn't know I was that good of a kisser."

"Oh, no, that's not--You're a really good kisser, yes, but I meant about the date thing."

"Ohh. That makes more sense. Yes, I am a genius. And a great kisser. Thank you for noticing," said Sasha, and Jon laughed.

The rest of the stakeout was, unfortunately, a bit of a wash. Neither of them spent much time watching the doorway, and they fell asleep on one another's shoulders around three in the morning. As a date, though, Jon would have to say it was a complete success.

[duvetsandpillows]

Lucky One

Pete Davidson x Reader 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of needles, slight angst, drug use

A/N: This is my first Pete fic but I think I will definitely be writing more. Please let me know what you think!

I sat in bed, joint in one hand, lighter in the other. I’d been staring at the wall for the past half hour or so, drowning in my thoughts, forgetting the joint I’d been fiddling with was there to be smoked.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Have I taken my antidepressant? What do they do with the bagel holes? You’re gonna be alone forever. Don’t forget your earring is behind the back left leg of the desk. New thoughts beginning before the last one could end. I was exhausted yet I hadn’t done anything to warrant feeling so drained. I’d only left my bed to piss.

“Hey you home?” I glanced over at my door, reality setting back in, before realizing how messy my bed was; sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere, weed crumbs and ash from not paying attention to what I was doing and empty monster cans. I kicked as much as I could off the end of the bed before putting the long forgotten joint to my lips and sparking it. The door slowly opened, Pete standing in the doorway holding a bag and a coffee.

“Whatcha doing in bed B?” he asked climbing into the bed handing me the coffee. I took a toke and thanked him while passing him the joint.

“I just don’t feel like moving. I feel like shit, my brain won’t stop for just a second. I just want everything to stop.” My voice breaking as I began to fight back tears. He blew smoke into the air, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side, handing me the joint.

“Breathe B, you’re gonna be okay. I know that sounds like bullshit but I’m here to help you through it.” I took a take and wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It’s always been me and you hasn’t it, that’s not gonna stop now. Did you take your antidepressant today?”

“I can’t remember,” I squeaked, letting the tears win the battle. Pete put his other arm around my chest and squeezed tight, resting his hand on the back of my head and rubbing his thumb.

He would whisper little pick me-ups every few minutes while I cried. “At least you didn’t walk straight into a street light like I did.” I looked up to see him pointing to a small bruise on his forehead. “I saw a woman carrying a dog in a baby sling thing and then boom! Street Light.” I giggled before taking a deep breath and wiping my tears with my sleeves.

“I guess you could say she threw you off your rhythm.” He rolled his eyes and pushed my head playfully before chuckling.

We’d been friends practically our whole lives, yet it was rare for us to talk about deep shit. Not because we didn’t care but we were good at talking each others minds off all the bullshit. 

“Movie, smoke, munch? I brought gushers and twizzlers.”

“Only if I get to pick.”

“Obviously, you always pick.” I scoffed and sat up, rolling my eyes.

“Bullshit, we constantly watching The Mule.”

“Not my fault you can’t appreciate a masterpiece,” he said as he grabbed my rolling tray from the end of the bed and I began flicking through Netflix for something to watch.

“Your hair looks nice by the way,” he mumbled, eyes focused on rolling the joint. I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror, I looked as if I’d just climbed out of the hedge. I smiled and thanked him, deciding to put on Knocked Up.

Pete told me what he’d been up to all week and who the guests were gonna be while we watched the film. I made him a twizzler ring and he attempted to make me a bracelet but he couldn’t work out how to get the knot to stay tight.” After a couple more joints I sat up on my knees and faced him.

“Could... I maybe colour in your tattoos?” I asked, placing my hand on his leg to stay balanced, realizing how high I was after not moving for so long.

“Yeah of course, which one first?” I smiled and pointed to the unicorn on his arm and leant off the end of the bed to grab my pens, Pete grabbing hold of my foot as I almost fell off. After I’d finished the unicorn I moved onto the direwolf underneath. Pete was flicking through the pages of my sketchbook as I added icy blue to the eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, passing me a joint, “I reckon you could be a tattoo artist. You could even practice on me.” I stopped and looked at him a bit taken back.

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe you should.”

Once I finished the direwolf I looked up to see Pete had dozed off, I smiled and pulled a blanket over him, moving the sketchbook off his lap. I rolled a joint and glanced at the open drawing of a group of clouds I’d been working on but hadn’t yet worked out what should accompany them.

I thought about what Pete said and picked up the sketchbook and a pencil. I smoked while drawing Frank the bunny’s head from Donnie Darko. It was my favourite film and Pete had watched it with me countless times.

After an hour or so I finished the outline and most of the infill with different shades of blue. I felt Pete roll over and put his arm across my lap. I looked down to see him, eyes half open, observing my drawing.

“That’s amazing.” His voice gruff and low.

“Thank you,” I said passing him a monster from my bedside table. He sat up partially and took a sip before handing it back to me. “Good nap?” He nodded and laid back down into my side.

“You should put that on me,” He kicked his leg out from under the blanket and pointed to the side of his thigh. “Here would be perfect.”

“If you’d like.” He sat up again and gently tore the sketch out of the book.

“Come on then.” I frowned and tilted my head slightly. “There’s a guy that could do this now, you could get one too?”

I stared at him in a bit of shock, not expecting him to actually want one of my pieces on his body. I thought he was saying it just to be nice. Also as I’d never considered getting a tattoo before. Not because I didn’t like them but more because I was nervous; I wasn’t great with needles and if tattoo’s would suit me.

“You up for it?”

“What if I look awful with one?” I blurted, Pete’s smile morphed into confusion.

“Why would you look awful?” You always look great.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm and I couldn’t help but ever so slightly smile. “Plus I think you’d look hot with one,” he mumbled handing me the sketchbook, open to a small drawing of a sheep I’d done high while watching Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s small, if you want it to be hidden then it’s easy.” I looked down at the doodle and thought about it for a moment.

“Fuck it lets go.”

I sat on a chair next to Pete watching as the tattoo artist, Jon, carefully traced over the light purple outline in dark blue ink. I began adding to my sheep. A few clouds in the background, similar to the ones on Pete’s.

“What you doing?” I handed him the paper, glancing over at his leg, in awe at how it was turning out. I looked back at Pete who was smiling at the drawing. I held out the pencil to him, when he didn’t notice I poked his arm with it.

“Ow, dick,” he said pouting and rubbing his arm. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“Add something to it, you got a piece of me,” I pointed to his leg. “Your turn.”

“I can’t draw like you and-”

“And I don’t care. Draw.”

While Pete drew, not phased at all by the needle going in and out of his leg, I chatted with Jon, asking him question about how he became a tattoo artist and what it’s like. I was slowly becoming more interested the more I watched him work. Once he was done he turned to me.

“You ready?” he asked, I nodded nervously and Pete passed him the design. Pete swapped places with me after taking a look at it in the floor length mirror. I decided to get it on my arm as I decided I wanted to always be able to see it now Pete had added to it. I told them I didn’t want to see it until it was finished, wanting Pete’s addition to be a surprise. I looked over at Pete, nerves starting to kick in a little.

“Have I ever told you I’m not brilliant with needles?” He chuckled and took my hand in his.

“Yep,” I winced as the needle hit my skin. “Like the time you gave blood because you thought that nurse was cute and threw up all over him before fainting.” I chuckled before biting the inside of my cheek and gripped his hand tight. “You’re good, just keep your eyes this way,”

Pete kept chatting with me and rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, keeping me distracted from the pain.

“Should I be nervous with what you drew? It’s just clicked how much trust I’ve given you.” He pursed his lips, holding back either as smile or a laugh. “Pete...”

“Nah nah nah, it’s not that bad, but you said to add a bit of me. Trust me you’ll love it.” I raised my eyebrows before gripping his hand again, feeling a muscle in my arm unintentionally spasm.

“You’re good, it happens sometimes, we’re almost done here.”

After ten more minutes it was all done and he was wiping it up. It was aching it a little but I was really excited to see it.

“You ready to see it?” I nodded and looked at my arm to see the best tattoo I could imagine. The clouds were a beautiful combination of greys and whites, my sheep now with a spliff in its mouth and a second, slightly wonky looking, sheep with a spliff also in its mouth and sunglasses on. It kind of looked like a child drew the second sheep but I loved it even more for that.

“I put our initials at the bottom so we don’t forget who is who.” I giggled looking at his scruffy handwriting underneath. “So... what do you think?”

“I fucking love it!” I said wrapping my arms around him hugging him as tight as I could. “Thank you Pete.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and let Jon wrap my arm up in cling film.

We grabbed some Taco Bell on the way home, I was designated DJ and he driver. I was, questionably, rapping along to Colson and Corpse’s new song while Pete laughed at me. He slipped his hand into mine, giving it a small squeeze and continued driving and started rapping along as if that was a normal for us to hold hands. I smiled and gave his a squeeze back even though I was a bit shocked. Shocked but yet it felt normal.

“You can roll the next one, my arm aches,” I said flopping onto my bed.

“Is that gonna be your excuse for the next week?” 

“Did it work?” I looked up to see him shaking his head and chuckling as he picked up the rolling tray.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I smiled and winked as it sat up. 

“You’re lucky too, you get to look at this cute face all the time.” Pete leant forward and took my hand, pulling me into his lap.

“What would you say, if I asked you out... to dinner or something?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What like a date?” His smile and confidence drained from his face immediately and I had to force myself to hold back a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be no, I just- aw fuck.” I started pissing myself laughing, holding onto him tight to keep my balance.

“Yes I’d love to go on a date, if you hurry up and roll that joint, I teased winking at him, swinging myself off his lap. “I’ll even put on The Mule yeah?”

“I’m definitely the lucky one.”

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

⛽️ 🔥 FIRE AND GASOLINE 🔥⛽️ (PART 2)

Prompt: Y/N’s life has changed drastically, precisely 10 years ago and all because of an adorable lunatic and two little maniacs. But what will happen when a divergency of thoughts leads Y/N and her lunatic to say some pretty harsh words, that they know they will regret it later?

Word count: Definitely too long!

Pairing: Jon Moxley (or even Dean Ambrose if that’s your liking) x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy, a lovable mutt named Moxley

Tag: @jibbles26 and some lovely folks who wanted to see the part 2: @drew-is-boo , @amandalynngraves , @bellalutionn , @moxleybabe

Notes: FINALLY!!! I KNOW PEOPLE, I KNOW...LET’S ALL SING HALLELUJAH! Sorry this took me so long, but I hope is worth it ☺️ Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories on my Masterlist and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

I was saved from given them an answer by my phone ringing, I looked down and saw Nancy’s name. Without thinking twice I answered

“Yeah?”

“Y/N, is everything ok? You said you’d be here in 10 minutes and it’s passed 30 now”

“Yeah I’m good, I just got caught up in something with Jon and the kids”

“So you figured things out with him?”

“No, I just” I look at the kids and Jon who were all still kneeling on the floor “I don’t know” I whispered

“Y/N, dear” Nancy starts “You don’t sound like you wanna come over and no offense, pumpkin...but you’re not 15 anymore, you can’t run away from your husband whenever you guys have a disagreement and by the looks of it, it was a mixture between Jonathan and his temper and you and your mouth! Fire and gasoline if I remember correctly” She angrily said, making me laugh lightly

“See, I knew it!” I heard her clapping to herself “Do you want my advice?”

“Sure” I answered

“Stay there tonight, talk to Jon like a GROWN UP COUPLE WOULD and if you still feel like you need a break you can come by tomorrow and stay as long as you’d like, how does that sounds to you?”

“Sounds good, Nance” I smiled

“Nice, now go on, stay with your family and call me tomorrow to say how long did the make up sex session lasted”

“You’re so unbelievably disgusting! Love ya Nancy”

“Love ya pumpkin. Bye bye”

Once I ended the call I looked at the kids and said

“Well, I think it’s better for us to go downstairs and grab some popcorn so we can watch Moana” I smile fondly

“YAY, MOMMY IS STAYING” They scream and jump as they run towards me, hugging my legs

I laugh “Ok, let’s go stinky bumbs! Choose your sits on the couch”

With that they ran downstairs. I look at Jon, who was still knelt down on the floor.

“Jon, get up please”

“Are you really gonna stay?” His voice is low

“Yes”

“Are you gonna file for divorce?”

“Jon, please” I plead

The hope in his eyes died a little “Can we at least talk about it?”

“We will, later. Once we put the kids down for bed”

“Ok, thank you kitten” He caresses my belly and we hear two impatient kids screaming for us to come downstairs

......................................................

“They’re asleep” Jon says once he comes to sit by me on the couch

“Good, so we can talk now”

He stares at me and I started

“We can’t do this anymore, Jon”

He looks at me with pure fear upon his eyes

“The arguing, the yelling, the saying bad things just to spite each other...never being able to understand each other’s perspective whenever the subject of having more kids appears” I sighed “I just wish you would understand that sometimes it’s difficult for me, difficult for the kids to not have you around. When they have a bad dream they want you to protect them. Last week, Rosie had a nightmare about a man taking her away and she screamed for you. Do you know how much it hurt me seeing her sob because she wanted daddy to scare the mean man away, but daddy couldn’t because he wasn’t here? Sometimes they cry on our way back home from school because they wished daddy was there to pick them up. Things like ‘why is everybody’s else daddy comes to pick them up and ours doesn’t?’, ‘he doesn’t like us?’, ‘did we do something wrong?’, ‘does daddy not love us?’, ‘why daddy has to travel so much?’, ‘can’t he have another job?’...Things like that end me every single time, Jon. Even more because I know the father that you are, I know you love Atticus and Rosie more than your own life! It’s not fair to them but is also not fair to you” I whispered as tears roll down my cheeks. I look up to find Jon’s eyes filled with tears as well.

“Why did you never told me, doll? You should’ve told me that they were thinking that, that you had to explain to them over and over that I don’t leave them because I want to. That is not that I don’t love them but because I love them so much I want to give them everything I’ve never had as a child” Jon’s voice cracks and he begins to sob.

The vision is too much for me to handle it, so I pull him towards me and he hides his face on the crook of my neck.

“I don’t want them to go through what I did Y/N” His muffled voice comes out in hiccups

“I know baby, I know” I caress his hair and all I can do is cry with him

“I’m sorry” He whispered now calmer

I cup his cheeks on my hands “I don’t want you to apologize Jon, I just want you to try to understand that is not that I don’t love you or don’t love our family is just that sometimes it saddens me to hear those things from two kids and I wouldn’t like to hear it from a third one as well” I caress his beard

“I know but, it’s just that, I’ve always wanted this! The wife, the home sweet home, the kids..” His voice fainting on that last word “And when we met I knew that I wanted all of that with you, so I got kinda upset when you said that you didn’t wanted more kids because in my head that was some sort of sign that you regretted” He whispered

“Regretted what Jon?” I ask soothingly

“Us...leaving your family for me, moved in to that shitty one bedroom apartment, running with me to the emergency room because I overdosed on speed, eating tuna sandwiches for a year because you couldn’t find a job and the money I made at CZW was pathetic...getting married, helping me go through abstinence when we found out you were pregnant with Atticus, having the kids, still being married to me after all the shit I’ve put you through” He looks into my eyes “I regret everything I’ve said to you earlier, I was always the selfish one not you! It’s time for me to man up and take responsibilities for my words and actions. It’s time for me to be an actual husband to you and for once let you lean on me and not the other way around” He pressed his forehead to mine “Please Y/N...please kitten, let me make it up to you for all these years. Let me show you how much you really mean to me. How important you are to me, the difference you make in my life! I love you, cherry, please let me fix it..just give me one last chance, I beg you! I promise you I’ll never talk about having another baby ever again, but please” He whispered against my lips

“Jon” I pleaded

“Please, don’t do this to me. I’m so sorry. Don’t leave me...I-I wouldn’t...I couldn’t live without you. I can’t take it, kitten. I just can’t” He’s sobbing again while begging me to forgive him

I pull him towards my chest as I lay us down on the couch. His head is resting on my breasts as he silently cries, murmuring apologies and pleads. I’m caressing his hair and upper back, whispering to him that ‘we will work it out’. Once he’s calmer I ask him to look at me and he obliged

“Promise me Jon, promise me that we will never go down that disrespectful and spiteful path again”

“I promise you! I-I promise you kitten, on my mother’s life” Hope slowly returning to those beautiful blue orbs

“Promise me that whenever one of us feels like is loosing control we will ask for a time out and there’ll be no pressure from the other person to work it out at that moment”

“I promise” He pecks my lips repeatedly “I promise, I promise, I promise”

I can’t help a light chuckle that escaped my lips “Ok Jon, I see you agreed”

“Whatever you say kitten, whatever you want, I’ll do it!” He continues to peck my lips “Tell me you love me, please Y/N, I just need to hear it”

“I love you Jonathan, always have and always will!” I smile fondly

He sighed in relief “I’ll never talk about babies ever again! I promise you that!” He’s eyes had the same sparkle of determination as Atticus’ and Rosie’s

“We can talk about it if you want, but in the future, once the kids are a little bit older, how does that sounds to you?” I offered

I’ve never seen Jon’s eyes acquire such a pure happiness glimpse so fast

“Really?” He asks

“Really. BUT it’s a future thing, not right now!”

“Ok, in the future” He eagerly kissed me

“But can we at least do some training for when the time comes?” He smirks

“I swear you‘re just like those punk ass teenagers! The pain in the ass ones” I laugh

“What? It’s just for practice you know, I don’t wanna mess it up when the time comes” He kisses my neck

“How could you mess it up? You’ve made two already” I softly moaned

“Still...I don’t wanna miss my shot” He says as he pushes my jeans down my legs

......................................................

*FOUR MONTHS LATER*

“Cherry? Where are you babe? And where are my little manics? This house is too quiet for my liking” Jon yells as he searched us through the house.

*Finding me in 3, 2, 1* I thought

“Hey kitten, where’s my welcome home crew?” He opened the door to our bedroom “Why are you on the bed? Are you feeling alright? Did something happened?” He runs towards the bed, sitting down by my side

“The kids are at Nancy’s because I need to talk to you”

“Uh Oh, those are the six words nobody wants to hear it. Did I do something wrong?” He asks, slightly scared

“Yes you did, Jonathan” I try to hide my amusement

“What did I do?” He faintly asked

“You impregnated me, you fucker!” I laugh as I throw the pregnancy test at his chest

“Impregnated? What do you-“ He looks down to his lap, to the pregnancy test “Holy shit!” He laughs “You’re pregnant?” Jon looks at me for confirmation and I just nod

“YES!!!! MY KITTEN IS PREGNANT!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT” Jon screams in excitement

“How far long are you?”

“15 weeks, according to the doctor”

“That’s the best news I’ve ever had since Rosie!” He smiles widely as his hand caresses my belly “Hello there baby, daddy loves you so much!” He whispered to my bellybutton “I can’t wait to meet you! Come out now, so you can meet mommy and your siblings Rosie and Atticus” He nuzzles his nose on my belly

“You know there’s still like, 7 more months until you meet her right?” I chuckled

“Her?” His head shot up

“Yep, apparently she wanted to make her debut already letting us know that she is a girl!”

“Another little princess. I’m cursed to be surrounded by beautiful and strong women” He jokes

“Yeah you are” I laugh as I let my fingers comb through his hair

“Do you think I should give her one of my Mox t-shirts so she can wear it?” He sincerely asks

“Now?” I laugh

“Yeah! I need more beautiful girls in team Moxley” He teases

“You’re the worst!” I giggled

As he engaged a very serious conversation with his future princess about the ‘no other prince but daddy’ rule.

If you feel comfortable with it, please let me know your thoughts? Feedbacks are always so appreciated 🥰😘

[sherlokiness]

Drowning + fool

Hizdahr will bring me peace. He must…. Beneath her coverlets she tossed and turned, dreaming that Hizdahr was kissing her … but his lips were blue and bruised, and when he thrust himself inside her, his manhood was cold as ice.

So I gave a little hint about this on my last meta and how this could be Jon

The popular theory is that this is Euron which is acceptable

Euron turned to face him, his bruised blue lips curled in a half smile.

He's the only person described as having bruised blue lips but isn't really related to the cold as ice bit unless we equate this with the quote below.

It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue.

This is how Tyrion was described when he drowned in The Sorrows. He both checks the blue lips and cold as ice description in Dany's dream. Well, Euron is an ironborn thus a drowned man even a "drowned" crow. (Jon is a man and also a crow. Add the One-Eye Jon theories and boom) Anyways, the dream revolves around some kind of drowned man. The take away from this Dany dream is she will be fucked. Good or bad? BAD! Euron or Jon. Both are bad news.

"The Maid brought him forth a girl as supple as a willow with eyes like deep blue pools, and Hugor declared that he would have her for his bride.

He drowned while posing as Hugor Hill who fell in love with a willowy blue eyed woman.

"In Pentos I am Yollo," he said quickly, to make what amends he could, "but my mother named me Hugor Hill."

"Are you a little king or a little bastard?" asked Haldon.

And like Hugor, he too fell in love just like him.

Tyrion remembered how shy she'd seemed as he drew her dress up over her head the first time. Long dark hair and blue eyes you could drown in, and he had. So long ago . . . What a wretched fool you are, dwarf.

He drowned in someone's eyes and thinks it makes him a fool. Recall Patchface who drowned in the sea and was reborn as a fool.

But what about Jon?

"You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes."

He says a man will drown in her eyes. And then Jon said

The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and drown.

It literally doesn't make sense for Jon to say this to that old man unless he's talking about "those eyes" as Sansa's. Let's note that the drowning both involve water- sea and wells.

To drown in someone's eyes is to fall in love. Multiple proofs:

No, she was one of mine, gods love her, black hair and these sweet big eyes, you could drown in them. Yours was … Aleena? No. You told me once. Was it Merryl? You know the one I mean, your bastard's mother?"

There's a hint of Lyanna here. She was also supposed to be Robert's.

By night the prince played his silver harp and made her weep. When she had been presented to him, Cersei had almost drowned in the depths of his sad purple eyes.

Cersei and Robert never married their supposed betrothed. (Could drown+almost drowned)

She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.

Sansa too would like to drown in someone's eyes.

Tyrion says he had[drowned] while Jon said he will[fall and drown].

Tyrion married Sansa and Jon will marry her too.

"Tyrion?" she said, shocked.

"Do you have another husband?

@agentrouka-blog A longer version for you.🥰🥰🥰

[sea-glass-and-fire]

Meditations On Being A Monster

Woke up today filled with anxiety, so naturally I wrote tma fic. I did not work on the fic I already have started and have not updated in half a year, because of the previously mentioned anxiety. Instead I wrote a short thing about who is a monster and who is not. I did absolutely zero thinking about, like, the plot repercussions of the several random choices I made, so don't think too hard about it.

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It’s all still going to plan, Sasha reminded herself as Jon’s eyes shot open. The brown was replaced by a radioactive green, not so much glowing as seeming as though they should be glowing. Yes, this is a gamble, but we need a gamble, and it’s all still going to plan. A faint voice at the back of her head pointed out that just because events were going to plan didn’t mean that the plan wasn’t shit. She ignored that voice. Instead, she tentatively drew closer to the center of the library, where Jon was now sitting bolt upright.

(It felt weird to be doing this in the main library, where none of them had ever spent much time, but this, too, was a part of the meticulously crafted and possibly insane plan.)

“…You okay?” she ventured.

The eyes in Jon’s face snapped to her.

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            Three pairs of eyes went to the door of the Archives as it slammed shut of its own accord.

            “Well!” Tim said, voice full of forced cheer. “I guess it’s starting!” He slapped his hands on his thighs and rubbed briskly. “Anyone want to get the ball rolling?”

            Gerry looked at him with bemusement. Daisy looked at him with bored vitriol. Neither said anything.

            “Guess I’ll go first, then.”

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            The green eyes that had replaced Jon’s – Sasha could not make herself think of those eyes as Jon’s, could not accept that they belonged to him or that he belonged to them, plan be damned – were quickly making her feel sick. Not the nauseated sickness of the Spiral or the Flesh, but an anxious sour knot that started in her stomach and spilled up the back of her throat. She knew why, which made the feeling worse, so she ignored it and returned to the plan.

            The plan. What was the next step of the plan? Sasha ran through it again in her head. Right, phase 2 step 1 subsection B: shepherd Jon through his apotheosis while ensuring he didn’t shed entirely his last vestiges of human morality.

            It was possible, Sasha reflected, that the little voice in her head had a point about the plan being the tiniest bit shit.

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            Tim had kind of expected to feel the compulsion as he talked. Had been relying on it, even. If he was being compelled, this whole endeavor was a spooky supernatural Encounter, his ramblings the food sustaining the nascent god of fear being born over their heads.

            Without the compulsion, Tim was just baring his heart to his most judgmental colleague and an unimpressed dead guy.

            “—and then he opened the door and saw me and I died a little inside!” Tim finished, and gave a bright brittle smile.  Neither Daisy nor Gerry gave any appearance of listening to him, which Tim sort of appreciated. But also, like, was this not awkward enough without being ignored?

            Something slammed into the floorboards above them, and all three heads jerked towards the noise in unison. There was nothing to see, of course, not even for Gerry. That was sort of the point of this all.

No noises followed the bump, though, and Tim relaxed. Only to see Daisy staring at him, which made him jump again. Tim offered her a polite, close-lipped smile – a white person smile, Sasha would call it – which Daisy of course did not return. Instead, she continued to scrutinize him. Tim respected that about her. Most people would pretend not to have been looking, or immediately start a conversation to downplay the social faux pas. Daisy just watched him with those pale blue eyes until she saw…whatever it was she was looking for.

            “Tim,” she said. “Do you like being an avatar of the Spiral?”

            Tim considered this for a minute. Nobody had ever asked him that before. They’d asked him why he joined the Spiral, or what it was like, or please can you get your hands to stop doing that or is that just part of being an avatar. But not if he liked it. Gerry and Daisy sat in silence as he thought it over. Another thing he liked about them.

            “I guess I do,” Tim said finally. “’like’ isn’t maybe the right word for it. It’s not like I roll out of bed every day, especially psyched out of my mind to go work another day at the gaslighting factory. But it…it’s freeing, I guess. Like a Bacchanal. The idea that I’m so lost in madness that I can’t be responsible for anything I do. Or that…that I don’t have to be myself, I guess? Like, I don’t have to decide what to do with my future or worry about my credit score or carefully monitor how other people are perceiving me. I’m just freed from society. I don’t know, I don’t think I’m explaining it well. I sound like some rich asshole who lets the Bank of Mum and Dad buy him out of trouble.”

            “It’s the feeling of relief,” Daisy said softly, and Tim’s eyes snapped back to her.

“Yeah, that’s it exactly! Relief.”

Daisy’s eyes were fixed on a point in the distance, and her face was full of some strange and foreign joy. “It’s how I feel on the hunt. The hunt is the only thing that matters, so I don’t have to worry about if my actions are good or moral or whatever. I do what needs to be done for the hunt to be successful, and that’s all there is to it. No worrying about the unintentional consequences or trying to predict what someone else secretly wants me to do. Just the prey in front of me.”

Tim knew he should be concerned by that – Daisy had a track record of picking humans of various levels of innocence as her prey – but honestly, he got it. “It’s not all the time,” he said. “But when you are submerged in it…”

“It’s pure relief,” Daisy whispers.

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            Sasha tried to focus under the onslaught of the Eyes, to pull herself together. Yes, alright, the plan was a bit sparse on actual details. More of an outline than an actual plan. But that’s just because an outline is all they needed. Tim, Gerry, and Daisy didn’t need micromanaging to figure out how to divulge secrets in the basement, and the rest of the team was operating more based off of instinct than any “How To Stop The Apocalypse Now That The Fear God Who Was Watching You Has Been Replaced By Your Friend” guide. Really, it was only Sasha who could have perhaps used a few more steps. But it was HER plan, and she didn’t need anyone holding her hand as she executed it. If the plan was short on details, that’s just because she didn’t need to keep anyone else on track. She could do this. Sasha took a deep breath and approached Jon again.

            “Jon. Can you hear me?”

            “Of course I can hear you, Sasha.” Jon sounded so much like himself – amused, stuffy, slightly condescending but not meaning to be. The familiarity made Sasha’s utter conviction that this was no longer Jon so much worse.

            “Do you- what’s the last thing you remember?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

            “I remember the plan,” Jon said. “I remember that Martin, Melanie, Basira, and Georgie are trying to stop the Unbecoming. I remember that Tim, Daisy, and Gerry are in the Archives, feeding the Eye. I remember that I was meant to become the Eye’s Avatar, to usurp Elias so he wouldn’t See our plan. I remember the ceremony. I remember the moment I ceased to be Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. I remember how afraid you were when my eyes opened, how you knew what had happened, how you suddenly realized that your plan was laughably flimsy. I remember the spike of adrenaline that washed through your bloodstream when you heard about what happened to the others, how it joined all the adrenaline and cortisol already in your blood and nearly saturated your adrenergic receptors. I remember-“

            “Stop, stop, stop.” Sasha said, the anxious slick rising further up her throat. “Jesus.” She sank into a crouch, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. She had to breathe. She had to- “You know what’s going to happen?” she demanded.

            “Your plan called for you to be my handler. You realize now how ridiculous the entire premise was.”

            “That’s not an answer. Do you know?”

            “Yes, Sasha, I know how your plan will play out.” Jon’s voice suggested he was humouring her, which ordinarily would have pissed Sasha off.

            “And it’s…bad?”

            Jon considered. “Depends on your point of view. From yours? Yeah, probably bad.”

            Sasha took a few moments to breathe in 4 hold 4 out 4 hold 4. It didn’t seem to do anything. She sat down from her crouch in an ungraceful sprawl.

            “Do you want to know what happens?” Jon asked politely.

            “I don’t know,” Sasha said. “Do I?”

            “Ah, probably not.”

            Sasha tried a few more breaths, with even less success. She could feel Jon watching her, could feel him rifling through her memories and her secrets. She waited miserably for him to do something, to tell her anyways or to force her to tell him something, but he just kept watching her, tilting his head as if he was trying to figure something out. She shook her head.

            “I just- I just didn’t think you could stop caring about them. About us. I thought that even if you went fully to the Eye, some part of you would remember how much you loved us. How much we loved you.”

            Jon approached Sasha with slow, measured steps, crouched down to her level. She met his eyes – they were becoming easier to bear, just a bit. Then Jon spoke.

            “Do you think I’m a monster, Sasha?”

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Gerry shifted, and Tim abruptly remembered that he was there. He waited for the condemnation, the familiar refrains that Basira and Melanie have been aiming at Jon, the implorations to leave his monstrousness behind and run back to humanity with open arms. But there was no sign of that in Gerry’s face, no sign of anything other than a frank curiosity.

“Is that what it feels like for you?” Tim asked, clearing his throat.

“Sort of,” Gerry said. “It’s like…have you ever gotten so into a book or a TV program or something that you can’t put it down and you stay up half the night?” Both Daisy and Tim nodded. “It’s like that. I don’t quite lose sight of other people when I’m wrapped up in the Eye, like you two with your Fears. But it’s a similar feeling, that the only thing that matters is Seeing more and more and more. Less freeing, I think, but you do sort of forget that you’re also a person who can live stories, the same as the people you’re watching.”

Tim pondered this for a while. He knew the others regarded Daisy as dangerous, unredeemable no matter how sorry she was. And while nobody really knew what to make of Gerry, Tim knew that Melanie and Basira hated Jon a little more every time he was pulled closer to the Eye. Tim also knew that if any of the others knew the details of his involvement with the Spiral, they would probably hate him too, hate him as much as Tim hated himself. But listening to Gerry and Daisy talk, Tim couldn’t find it in himself to hate them. Sure, maybe it was a bit selfish to chase the relief of freedom from consequences. But plenty of people were selfish. Did that make them all monsters?

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            Sasha gaped at Jon for a bit. “What?” she asked, less articulate than she usually aimed for.

            “Do you think I’m a monster?” Jon repeated.

            Maybe it was compulsion, maybe it was confusion, maybe Sasha had just been wanting to say it for a while, but she found herself answering honestly and immediately.

“Yes.”

            “Why?”

            “You- you’re no longer human. You feed on the pain and the trauma of others. That makes you evil.”

            “I don’t.”

            “What?”

            “I don’t feed on the pain and trauma of others. I feed on watching them. It’s not my fault if they sometimes end up traumatized.”

            Sasha squinted at Jon. “That’s a very selfish way of looking at it.”

            “What is more human than elaborate, convoluted ways of excusing our own selfishness?”

            Sasha rolled her eyes. “That’s a very cynical way of looking at it.”

            Jon smiled slightly. “Fine. Selfish and cynical, I’ll accept. But I’m not a monster. You would do the same.”

            “I would not.”

            “I think you would, so let’s put it to the test. I have a proposition. I’m no longer Jonathan Sims, Head archivist of the Magnus Institute. I’m now the Head of the Institute. I’ll need an Archivist, and I understand that you were being groomed for the position before Elias found me. So become my Archivist, receive the power from the Eye. If not-"

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            Maybe there was some compulsion in the air, because Tim said what he had never said out loud before: “I hate myself a lot of the time.” Gerry looked at Tim quickly, but neither he nor Daisy interrupted, so Tim continued. “Not all of the time. Sometimes I get distracted and don’t think about it for a while. But I hate myself more than I’ve ever hated anyone else.”

            “Why?” Daisy asked, when it was clear Tim wasn’t going to say any more.

            “I just- I disgust myself. Every time I return to the Spiral. Every time I decide that I don’t care if someone else is driven insane by fear, as long as I can keep feeling that freedom. I don’t deserve to be happy. I deserve to be devoured by fear like my victims are.”

            “What if it was Sasha taken by the Spiral?” Daisy asked. “Would you care then?”

            “Of course I would care,” Tim said, a little taken aback by his own vehemence. Daisy just shrugged.

            “Well then. You’re not a monster and you shouldn’t hate yourself. If it was Sasha in danger, you would use your power to keep her safe. Maybe it would be nicer of you to save everyone, but we can’t all be saints.”

            “So you think it’s okay that other people are getting hurt because of me, as long as I have people I love?”

            “Yeah, pretty much. We all make decisions that hurt people. We’re all hurt by other people’s  decisions. As long as you have lines you won’t cross, people you won’t hurt, you’re a human the same as the rest of us.”

            “I feel like a monster,” Tim whispered.

            “Well, maybe you are a monster. But life isn’t some fairy tale. You’re not part of the dark forces of evil just because there are some people you don’t love. Sometimes it’s good to be a monster.” Daisy sighed. “Listen. If you ever become so corrupted that there’s nothing left of you, I promise I’ll take you out without even hesitating. I’ll enjoy it, in fact. And that might make me a monster, but you know what? I don’t care.”

            The silence rose again as Tim turned this over in his mind. Daisy’s philosophy was comforting, but he couldn’t tell if it was comforting because she was right or if it was comforting in the way of someone else saying they haven’t started the homework yet either. He wasn’t sure if he believed in life after death anymore, but he was starting to suspect that wherever he ended up, he would have plenty of friends there.

             Above their heads, a battle raged on.

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            Jon finished telling Sasha what would happen if she stuck to her plan, and she leaned back against the wall. She was suddenly exhausted. The pain and fear and trauma that Jon described were only too easy to picture; she had felt them enough in the past to be able to extrapolate to what was in store. Jon leaned forward to swipe away the tears on her cheeks, and she didn’t even flinch.

            “You think I’m a monster,” he said. “You think that I’m no longer human and that I’ve forgotten my friends. But sometimes power means that you can damn the consequences, you can be selfish and only take care of what you care about. And I care about you, Sasha. I care about all of you. So it doesn’t bother me that a few people end up seeing me in their nightmares for the rest of their lives. I have enough power now to keep you all safe, so frankly, everyone else can get fucked.”

            Sasha laughed a bit to hear Sims swear, in spite of herself. Jon grinned as well and continued.

            “So. Continue on with your plan. Go through all that horror and grief, just to move the needle a scarcely perceptible amount towards the good side. Or become my Archivist, be cynical and selfish and ignore everyone except the ones you care about. Become a monster with me.”

            And how could Sasha say no?