#audibly moaned when she called me a very good subject

[kafka-pilled]

did glados praising you for being such an excellent test subject in portal make you so horny that you failed the final chamber at first because you were obedient and stayed in the incinerator or are you normal

[deobitchxx]

hyunjae tbz + smut + 62 and 70 please 🥺💓 thank you!

[ 21:09 // 06.09.2020 // R.SMUT ] This is the last time, you swear. It was hard how you have to be very delicate in-front of the man you’ve been adoring ever since he moved next to your apartment. He was a fine twenty two years old young man, who lived by himself since his family didn’t want to follow him to the big city. They said that they preferred it better if they lived in the countryside. They feel like breathing the fresh air is better than living in a complex city. However, it’s a different case for Hyunjae. He found a new job in the big city as a lawyer, a job he never dreamed of to have. He just decided to do well at his previous school and just went with the flow, it shocked him a lot when he got a call from the top ranking university and offered him the law subject. His parents advised him to accept it since it was once in a blue moon, so being the good son he was, he continued his studies in law that led him to who he was now. 

When your parents were informed about the new neighbour, your mother can’t be more excited. She had been dreaming of being a lawyer but since she got you at an early age, she had to drop out from her university and took care of you. She didn’t blame anyone about it though, but it still haunted her how she could’ve become the most successful lawyer ever if the accident between her and your father didn’t occur. However, she tried to side away all the negative thoughts and actually appreciate her life now even though she worked as an accountant. On this account, she advised you often to study well in order to get the law field in a higher institute. You didn’t really like the idea of being controlled, especially when your liking was leading towards interior designing. It wounded your mother a lot when she figured that you enrolled to become an interior designing student in a university, it almost took a year of her not communicating with you. In the end, she decided to be more open minded and let you decide with the life you wanted.

Hyunjae almost became a household member of yours when your mother had frequently asked him to join for dinner with your family. If he will be busy at night, your mother will ask him to join for breakfast instead. There won’t be a day pass by without seeing him on the same table with you. There won’t be a day pass by as well where he won’t catch you staring over him. A smirk would always escape from his lips afterwards, which excited you more and hoped for more things from him. “You should try this out, Y/N just learned this recipe from a friend of hers.” Your mother said, as she offered Hyunjae the clam chowder you just specially made for him. The corner of his lips raised once he tasted the soup, “That tastes very great. You got a talent in cooking, Y/N.” You smiled sheepishly like a 7 years old girl who got confession from a popular kid in the school, as pinkish blush was obviously painted all over your cheeks. 

“Thank you for giving me a ride, Younghoon.” The latter shook his head, as hands shoved inside his pockets while heading to the lift with you. “It was my responsibility to make sure you head home safe.” He pressed the up button for you, both of you waited for the lift to arrive. “I didn’t know you could actually work as a chef on a cruise. You should teach me more recipes.” You said, hoping the taller one won’t decline your request. He shrugged his shoulders, “Why not? It seems like you enjoyed it a lot when you learned more recipes. Is there any reason behind all of these?” Another sheepish chuckle came out from your lips. You had no other intention than receiving another praise from the neighbour sweetheart after tasting your meals almost every day. You wanted nothing but getting patted on the head and been complimented by Hyunjae. 

“Y/N!” The excitement in Hyunjae’s voice and the smile on his face faded as soon as he saw another man standing close next to you. Younghoon and you turned to face the owner of the voice, seeing the tired young man approaching you both. “Oh, Hyunjae. You were home early?” You looked over your watch, it was just 2pm. He would always come back home around 6pm or onwards. “Yeah. Your mother texted me that something happened with her father, so both of your parents rushed to see them. Your mother asked me to take care of you since there was a lot of bad news spreading in this apartment.” Your mouth shaped an ‘o’ once you listened to him, “Oh right, I forgot that there was a stalker in this apartment.” “A stalker?” Younghoon asked you and you nodded, “I heard a rumor saying that there was a stalker roaming around this neighbourhood from the security. He asked us to be more careful as he tried to overcome this problem as well.” “I’m glad that I dropped you off, or I might not be able to see you again tomorrow.”

Hyunjae raised his eyebrow, wondering what Younghoon meant. You saw the sudden change in his expression as you moved your attention back to Hyunjae, “This is Younghoon, a friend of mine since high school.” Younghoon’s lips formed a quick smile, “Nice to meet you, I’m Younghoon.” He took out his hand, as Hyunjae accepted his hand, “My name is Hyunjae.” The sound of lift arriving was audible, as Younghoon turned to you, “Should I accompany you to your apartment?” “I-” “It’s okay. I can help her. I live next to her door.” The worrisome on Younghoon’s face was clear but he tried to shrug it off, “I see. See you then, Y/N. Bye!” He bid a goodbye wave to you before heading back to his car. “Bye!” You waved back to him, as the figure of him walking away slowly vanished. “Are you going in or not?” The voice caught your attention, turning your back to see Hyunjae already got inside the lift. You nodded and rushed to the lift, standing next to him. You were hoping for him to say something since it was your first time being in the same space with him, only both of you. However, your fantasy became invisible once both of you reached the 27th floor without saying anything. 

You threw your back against the bed, groaning as your day passed by without having a proper conversation without him. You hate it a lot, but your body reminded you something else, The throb on your pussy made you realise how hot he was back then with his hair pushed back and his shirts underneath the suits unbuttoned one button. You released a sigh before opening your bedside table, holding the toy out from the drawer. The sound of it vibrating slowly dominated the room as you pulled off your shorts along with your underwear. A sharp groan escaped from your lips once you put the vibrator closer to your clit, slowly moving the toy against your clit. You started to produce uneven breath once you slipped the toy inside you. “A-Ah.” You bit your lower lips and gradually moved the toy into your pussy. “F-Fuck Hyunjae..” Your hand moved faster once the excitement spread all over your body as the name escaped from your lips aroused you more. Your other unbusy hand went up to your breasts, brushing your nipple to reach the cloud nine.

A sudden voice brought you back to reality, opening your eyes and saw the familiar figure near the doorframe. “H-Hyunjae.” You sat on the bed, covering yourself with the blanket. You tried to get rid of all of the evidence but it was no longer used when the latter already witnessed the sin you just committed. “I-I’m just do-doing so-” “Continue.” You could feel your breath hitched as soon as he gave you orders. “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.” That moment, you knew that he was no longer joking around. Your back slowly leaned against your bed frame, pulling the blanket away for the latter to see your half exposed body. You turned the vibrator again and before you could continue your session, Hyunjae interrupted, “No toys. Use your fingers.” You gulped and put the toy on your bedside table, eyes slowly looked up to lock with his. Your fingers went south and stopped right in-front of your clit. Your fingers started to rub it, leading you to leave another sharp moan. But this time it hits differently, especially when the man in your imagination was watching you pleasuring yourself. Your fingers draw eight on your clit, giving up from locking eyes with his as you shut your eyes tight, “Ah.” 

“Insert two fingers.” The voice commanded you, making you whipped over him more. Two fingers inserted your vagina, “Shit! Damn a-ah.” You stopped for a while due to the overwhelming pleasures. You tried to relax yourself for a while but the sudden grip on your wrist made you move your fingers in and out from your vagina, as you opened your eyes and saw Hyunjae on top of you. “I didn’t ask you to stop, didn’t I? Move.” You bit your lower lips and began to move your fingers, leading you to messy moans. A satisfied smile spreaded all over his face as he leaned closer to your face, “Can you handle three?” You nodded eagerly and without being told twice, another finger inserted and made you moan louder. “Move your fingers baby, I wanna see your fucked up face.” His lips crushed to yours, as you moaned into the kiss while fingers busy pleasuring himself.

The pace got faster as you felt the knot in your stomach. The uneven breath became obvious as Hyunjae smirked, “Are you close?” You nodded as his hand held your chin, forcefully made you face him. “Look at me while you chase for that cum my love.” You braved yourself as you tried to look back at him, his eyes filled with lusts. Your fingers moved faster, trying hard to chase the cloud nine. “H-Hyunjae.. I.. I’m close.. Ah fuck!” You back jerked upwards as you felt the hot liquid escape from your womanhood. Your breast moved up and down to chase the oxygen, as a snicker could be heard from the latter. “You even include my name in your moan, I like it.” The sudden grip on your wrist hitched your breath as he pulled your hand to his face, licking some of the cum off from your fingers. 

“Even your cum tastes good as your meals do,” he smiled once he witnessed another blush on your face, “But if I have to choose one, I would be willing to taste your cum for the rest of my life.” The ‘pop’ sound was audible as he pressed his lips on yours again harshly. Your hand went down to his waistband, wanting his short to be removed. “Eager huh?” “P-Please..” “Please what honey?” You bit your lips, not daring to let out the sinful words to make him be the big person. He raised his eyebrow, finger brushing against your lips, “You got your mouth hun. Use your words.” It took you a lot of courage before finally spitting out the words you’ve been dying to say it to him, “F-Fuck me..” “Did my princess say something?” The whines made him more aroused, as you avoided from looking into the eyes that were teasing the shit out of you. “Please fuck me.” “Make it specific, baby. You should tell me how and where should I fuck you. I wanted to fulfill that fantasy you’ve always wanted.” His hands went down to grab the end of your shirt before taking it off from you, leaving you only on your bra. “At least let the neighbours know how I make you feel good.” He whispered right next to your ear as his hand cupped your breasts under your bra, licking off your earlobe. “Fuck me Hyunjae! Shove your dick deep inside me and make me see stars.” A smirk escaped from his lips, “Good girl.”

He didn’t waste any seconds at all as he immediately pulled his boxer to his knee level and pressed his finger on your clit, which made your breath hitched for a while. He spreaded your cum on his fingers and used them as a lubricant to jerk his dick before guiding it into your pussy. “Ah!” You released a relief sigh once you felt the huge genital inside you, the grips on his shoulder got tighter and even the breath got faster. “Fuck.. I’ve always imagined being inside you. Didn’t know you could be this tight,” Hyunjae let out a sharp moan and locked eyes with yours, fingers brushing your cheek to comfort the pain you were enduring at the moment. “You wrap my dick so well, princess.” He left a quick kiss on your forehead, waiting for you to get adjusted with his size. The tap on his shoulder signalled him to move, as his hip thrusted forward. “Ah shit,” you pulled your lower lips through your teeth, totally enjoying the fantasy that you finally earned in reality.

“Fuck, you are so tight baby. Wrapping my dick so well as if your pussy is made just for me.” His shaky breath could be heard as the thrusts became faster and harder every time he jerked forward. “Ah! Hyunjae.. There! Oh god.” He hit the jackpoint as he moved further to the g-spot of yours, bringing you to see the stars that you dreamed of. “Cum for me my love, I know you can do it. Be a good girl and let me see that white liquid of yours again,” You could feel his fingers landing on your pussy before rubbing it, adding the pleasures to easen you chase your cum. “I’m close.” You chanted his name like a mantra as you cummed on his dick. The spasms inside made him no longer control his body, as he immediately slided out from you and replaced your wall with the grip of his hand. His hand pumped his dick for a few times as you lazily caught your breath on the bed, watching him edging himself. 

He moaned in relief, uneven breath followed behind. He put on his boxer back before taking the nearby towel to the bathroom. He came back with a wet cloth as he placed it over your back. “Didn’t know I could actually fuck you. I didn’t even dare to touch you before.” Hyunjae blurted out, making you giggled over his shy confession. Your head turned to see the man that just made you cummed twice just in time when he turned his head to face you too. “My parents should go to the countryside often so that you can fuck me again.” “How about you be the love of my life so I won’t have a problem of fucking you anytime and anywhere I want?” You decided to turn your whole body to face him since you found it difficult, “Is that a way for you to ask someone out?” His faintly smile made you smile as well, “Is that a yes?” “If you pull me into your arms and let me nap for a while, yes.” “Say no more.”

[amelinksanatomy]

Interrupted

A/N: This started as a continuation of the hot scene in 16x09 and then it took a turn so I'm not sure what this is but... WARNING: smut!!

“Dr. Shepherd” Link calls her name as he walks towards where she stands at the nurses station, she turns in his direction with a hand held underneath her growing baby bump.

“You paged me?” Link questions and she smirks,

“Yes, i did” Amelia turns to face away from him and begins walking “Follow me please”, Link has learnt it’s best to not argue with his pregnant girlfriend and so follows her without another word.

Link isn’t paying much attention, Amelia now has hold of his hand and is guiding him down the halls of the hospital when suddenly she opens a door to the on-call room and he’s being dragged inside.

Amelia closes the door quickly and immediately connects their lips, kissing him with urgency. It is at this point that Link understands why he had been paged, and he had no complaints. Amelia broke away to allow Link to remove his lab coat before reattaching their lips.

“I like the hormones” Link joked, smirking at Amelia causing her to kiss him deeply once again.

“Hormones are good” she states between kisses 

“You’re better!” Amelia runs her hands down his still clothed chest before pushing him towards the bed, causing him to stumble backwards.

Amelia wastes no time in removing her scrubs, revealing her black lace bra. Link was sat on the edge of the bed watching the urgency with which his girlfriend was undressing, the next thing he knew, she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but her underwear. 

It was no secret that during her pregnancy so far, her boobs had gone up a few sizes meaning they were spilling out of her bra, the sight of which causing Link’s pants to grow tighter. 

Amelia moved towards him, pulling at his scrub pants and underwear, signalling for him to remove them. As he did, Amelia worked to remove her own panties before pushing Link to lay on the bed, climbing over him and situating herself just below his erection.

Link groaned as he felt Amelia’s cold hand wrap around his length and begin to move up and down at a fast pace. His pleasure began building but she soon removed her hand. Amelia was in no mood for foreplay, she was fired up and craving release.

She hovered herself above his hard on, grabbing again with her cold hand and rubbing the tip through her folds, allowing Link to feel just how worked up she was. Seconds later, she began sliding herself down his length, the couple groaning at the sensation

“Fuck, Amelia, you’re so ti-“ his words getting caught in his throat as she finally takes his entire length inside her, stilling herself to adjust her position.

Amelia moves both her hands onto his still clothed chest, while his move to her hips. This had become their favorite position since her baby bump had grown and Link couldn’t complain, watching his pregnant girlfriend get herself off, completely in charge of her own pleasure, completely turned him on.

Amelia wasn’t quite sure when she started sliding herself up and down his length but she suddenly found herself rocking her hips against him.

Sometimes she would go slow and make sex last as long as they could, this was evidently not one of those times, this was hard, fast and passionate sex to get her what she needed.

“Oh Link-“ Amelia moaned his name as she picked up her pace, chasing her high.

Link knew he wasn’t going to last long with the way she was fucking him so decided to change the pace. He started thrusting his hips in time with her movement, balls beginning to audibly slap against her

“Fuck, you’re so deep” Amelia cried out, the familiar feeling building in her abdomen as their rhythm becomes faster.

Link moans in surprise as his high hits and he releases his hot liquid inside her walls, continuing to thrust his hips, aware Amelia has yet to join him. The couple are both so lost in their pleasure, they don’t even hear the door opening 

“OH MY GOD!” the couple jump, Link grabbing the blanket in attempt to cover them.

“Oh my god i am so sorry- I didn’t ummm-“ their eyes widening as they watch Owen shut the door quickly.

“Amelia! You didn’t lock it?!” Amelia’s mouth was wide open in shock as she realises her ex-husband just walked in on her as she was sat, pregnant and almost completely naked, on her boyfriends dick as they were having some of the most intense sex they’d had to date.

“Oh my god” Amelia made no attempt to get up and follow him, instead she stayed straddling her boyfriend with his length still inside her, sexually frustrated and mortified.

———————————————

Amelia had spent the past several hours deciding how she was going to apologise to her ex-husband for him walking in on her fucking her new boyfriend. It’s not like he hadn’t seen her naked many times before but this, was very different. 

Spotting him down the corridor, Amelia decides now is her chance and so she holds the bottom of her bump supportively and jogs after him

“Owen!” he turns to see Amelia quickly approaching him so he stops in his tracks allowing her to catch up

“Can we um-“ Amelia points to an empty exam room 

“Amelia, it’s fine really” Owen assures, wanting to avoid the awkward discussion

“Please just-“ Amelia opens the door and walks inside, Owen reluctantly joining her.

After closing the door, Amelia takes a seat, adjusting her shirt and resting a hand on top of her bump, pushing down where the baby was kicking

“So um” Amelia suddenly realised she didn’t know what she was supposed to say 

“I am so sorry you walked in on that this morning, i should have locked the door, i don’t know how i forgot, its just with all the hormones i’ve been so-“ 

“I get it, you don’t need to continue with that” Owen laughs awkwardly, pausing Amelia’s rambling

“I’m just so sorry you had to see that, i’m so embarrassed!” Amelia covers her face momentarily

“Amelia, its fine, really” Owen assures again, just wanting this conversation to be over

“How are you doing?” he gestures towards her swollen stomach, changing the subject swiftly

Amelia rubs a circle around her bump absentmindedly “Doing good, kicking all the time!” she laughs softly, still overwhelmed by the health of her baby

“That’s good! I’m glad” Owen smiles “I’m happy for you Amelia, you seem really happy”

“I am” she smiles back gratefully, while Owen didn’t react great to the news of her pregnancy with Link at first, the two had become closer friends recently

“Alright” Owen starts, standing from his chair “I’ve gotta go”

Amelia nods “Again, i am so sorry” Owen laughs “Don’t worry about it, it’s really alright” with that, he leaves Amelia alone in the room.

She looks down and rubs her belly, receiving a kick back causing her to giggle “God that was embarrassing”.

[elentiyawhitethorn]

The Bet | Chapter Eight

Day 16

Rhys is a prick. Rhys is a prick. Rhys is a prick.

This is what Feyre chanted to herself as she pumped her fingers into herself and rubbed furiously at her clit.

It was Friday. Therapy day. Also four days after the first wet dream about Rhys. She’d just had her second.

Feyre had awoken to a throbbing clit. She had proceeded to remember the barest details of her dream. It had been a little hazy, but there were hands running over her skin. An arrogant attitude. A lazy grin. Shit.

No amount of concentrating or fist-clenching could quench the ache Feyre was feeling. That’s how worked up she was. And she couldn’t just leave it.

So Feyre worked herself, pretending Rhys had nothing to do with it. Hence the chanting.

Rhys is a prick. Rhys... oh, fuck. I’m so close. Oh...

Feyre came with a quiet but still audible moan. Please tell me Mor didn’t hear that.

Feyre got out of bed slowly, then walked to the bathroom. She took a cold shower (once again), then got out and dressed. It was nearly eleven. Feyre hadn’t slept so late since high school.

She ate some cereal, having looked for Mor, who was already at work. Then Feyre got her purse and walked out the door.

-

Four and a half hours later, Feyre entered the therapist’s office. She had just finished up a painting and sorted through some bills.

Having already payed for the sessions, she sat on a chair like last time. Feyre was less nervous this time, but still fidgeting. She tried to still her fingers.

“Feyre,” called Dr. Suriel from the doorway, a welcoming smile on her face.

Feyre stood. “Hello, Liz,” she greeted as she walked to the door.

Dr. Suriel led Feyre down the hallway to her office and the two seated themselves. “How are you feeling today, Feyre?”

Feyre grinned. “Great, actually. I tried out self-defense like you suggested.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. How did it go?”

“Well, my friend Mor, the one I mentioned last time, suggested this one gym because her friend works there. Cassian. So he taught me the basics, which was fun, and then... well, actually, I saw Rhys there. Mor’s cousin. I guess you know him because he was here, um...” Feyre cleared her throat. “Anyway, I signed up for some more classes and left. It was good.” Feyre prayed she wasn’t blushing at the mention of Rhys’ name.

The doctor smiled kindly. “About Rhys...”

Shit. Feyre probably was blushing. “Yeah?”

“You seemed a little flustered when you ran into him last week. And now. Are you attracted to him?” Damned therpists and their questions.

Feyre hesitated. “Um, not really. No.”

That answer produced a raised eyebrow from Dr. Suriel. “Are you sure? He’s relatively handsome.”

Feyre was certain she had just said that to provoke her. Who knew therapists could be so sneaky? “Well, I suppose. But I don’t really like people based on their looks.”

Dr. Suriel smiled. “That’s a good attitude to have on the subject. Do you like him for any other reasons?”

“Uh, no.”

This got another smile out of Liz. “Alright. I’ll take your word on that. Is there anyone you do like romantically?”

Rhys. No. Fuck. Not Rhys. “No one comes to mind.” Feyre tried to sound convincing. She didn’t succeed.

“Okay.” Feyre could tell Dr. Suriel wasn’t buying it, but luckily no therapist was going to make her spill the beans. “If you did like someone, would you act on it? Or do you need more time after everything that’s happened?”

Feyre thought about this one. “I think I would go for it. My ex-fiancé doesn’t deserve my guilt. He doesn’t have the right to leave me miserable forever. But I would definitely take it slow. While the feelings might be easy, the trust will take some work.”

“I’m glad you’re not allowing your fiancé to damper your happiness. And that you realize you might have difficulty building trust. Self-awareness is very important when it comes to healing from trauma.”

Feyre gave a small smile. The she realized - she was not self-aware if she couldn’t admit she wanted to fuck Rhys. She did and there was no denying it. And, after all, a therapist isn’t allowed to openly judge you or tell anyone your dirty secrets.

“Actually, Liz, I... think I might want Rhys. Sexually.” Feyre was staring at her lap.

“Well,” started Dr. Suriel. Feyre looked up. “I must say, I figured. It’s alright not to want to tell me, and if that’s all you want to say about it, that’s okay. But why don’t you say something to Rhys?”

“Ah, you see, there’s this...” Feyre had been about to say bet when she realized - She may not inform anyone else of this bet in any way. That was from the contract. And shrinks counted as anyone. Fuck. “I actually can’t tell you about it. Like I swore not to. But there’s a reason and it means I can’t do anything with Rhys for the next... what eighty-some days?” Dr. Suriel raised her eyebrows. “But I wouldn’t anyway.”

“And why is that? I though you just said you’d go for it.”

“Rhys is... I don’t know. He’s not like that? He’s just annoying. That’s the word.”

Dr. Suriel chuckled. “He’s annoying. And yet you like him?”

“Not like him per se. More like want him, like... I’ve had dreams.”

“Oh?” The doctor had a knowing smile on her lips.

“I’m not going to go into any detail about these dreams, so let’s just say they were rather indecent.

“But he gets on my nerves! His smirking and the way he calls me darling just to annoy me and his entire manner is just aggravating! He’s your patient; surely you understand? Sorry, you’re not allowed to talk about patients. But still!”

Dr. Suriel was laughing with a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Feyre. I’m not supposed to laugh.”

“It’s alright,” Feyre said. “I would be laughing too. I know I sound ridiculous.” Indeed, she had a smile forming on her own face.

“Not ridiculous, exactly,” Dr. Suriel amended. “I do know Rhys, and while I can’t say anything about him, I understand what you’re saying.”

“Thank you! Gods, he’s so frustrating.”

Dr. Suriel grinned. “And how was the rest of your week?”

-

“Yes, thanks again. See you next week, Liz.” Feyre walked through the doorway into the waiting room.

“Feyre. Always a pleasure.” Rhys was lounging on one of the chairs. He stood when Feyre came in, it being time for him to go back with Dr. Suriel.

Rhys looked like his normal self: cocky, self-assured, smirky. He was obviously expecting to see Feyre, and she mentally scolded herself for not considering the possibility he would be here. He had been last week, after all.

“Rhys,” Feyre greeted curtly.

He just grinned and walked past her. Feyre caught a glimpse of Dr. Suriel’s face as her gaze followed Rhys. The doctor wore a kind smile as she said hello, which didn’t alter as her eyes turned to Feyre for a moment. Thank the gods for confidentiality and compassion; Mor would be waggling her eyebrows and Rhys would definitely catch on.

Feyre quickly turned and left.

She hurried to the subway and then walked the remaining block to Mor’s cafe. Upon entering, Feyre saw one of Mor’s friends seated at a window table near the door. What was his name? Azriel.

He glanced over and caught sight of her. A small but friendly smile lit his features as he recognized her. “Feyre, it’s nice to see you again. You should join me.”

“Oh,” Feyre said. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

Azriel shook his head. “You wouldn’t be. I’m in need of some company anyway.”

Feyre got the feeling he was a man who valued solitude, but he was clearly well-mannered and trying to make her feel welcome. “Thanks, I will. I just need to order first.”

Feyre greeted Mor at the register, who squealed and said, “Feyre! You’re here!”

Feyre grinned. “You make it seem like you haven’t seen me in years. We were together just last night.”

Mor smiled sheepishly. “Doesn’t hurt to spread the love.” Feyre snorted.

“Ordering today?” Mor asked.

“Surprise me.”

Mor smiled. “That can be arranged.”

“Why do you make it sound like you’re going to poison me?”

A chuckle escaped Mor. “I promise to serve you a lovely dish. You might want to watch the drinks, though. We put arsenic in all of those. Speaking of...”

“I’ll just have a water, please.”

“Coming right up.” Mor winked at Feyre, who just rolled her eyes.

Mor looked behind Feyre and said, “Azriel’s over there. You should go sit with him. I think you’ll both really like each other.”

“Yeah, he invited me to. Is he single?” Feyre asked for the sole purpose of annoying Mor. But she kept her voice serious.

Mor frowned. “Um, you’re not really...”

“What?” Feyre asked. “He’s handsome.”

A small noise came out of Mor. She blinked. “Well, yes he’s single. He kind of had a crush on me before I told him I’m gay. But he hasn’t really had any serious relationships that I know of. Though it wouldn’t surprise me too much if he did and hasn’t told us; he’s very secretive. But really, I don’t think the two of you would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Feyre was not letting this go. Like hell she would forget the teasing and the trying to set her up with Rhys. And the laughing attack when Mor was told about the wet dream. Revenge.

Mor frowned again. “I should go make your food or something.” She turned and walked away.

Feyre walked over to the table where Azriel was seated. “Hello again. Thanks for letting me sit with you.”

Another of Azriel’s small, kind smiles appeared. “We haven’t seen each other since the day you got here. It would be nice to get better acquainted.”

Feyre agreed and smiled warmly at him. Just before she could respond, she noticed his hands. Scarred. Badly. What the hell had happened? Damn, Feyre, don’t you realize how rude staring at his hands like this is? Turn away!

Feyre lifted her gaze back to Azriel’s face, who was watching her with a knowing look. She hadn’t been staring for more than a few seconds, but she felt bad all the same. Whatever had happened to Azriel was none of her business. She gave what she hoped was an apologetic look. It probably was more of a wince.

Feyre was searching her thoughts for something to break the silence when Azriel said, “What was that with Mor? She seems a bit mopey.”

Feyre grinned, grateful for the attempt at easing the tension and amused at the topic. “She’s trying to set me up with Rhys so I asked her if you’re single. If she asks, I’ve totally been flirting with you. And you’re into me.”

Azriel chuckled, a soft, musical sound. “I will most certainly tell her that. Her matchmaker skills have been known to annoy the most calm-tempered of people. Payback is necessary.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow. “You’re rather calm-tempered. You wouldn’t happen to be referring to yourself, would you?”

“One time Mor thought I had a crush on a woman, so she all but threw me at her. I knocked the both of us down and spent the next fifteen minutes handing her napkins to wipe her coffee off of her blouse and telling her how sorry I was that I tripped. She wasn’t pleased. Thank the gods I didn’t actually like her.”

Feyre gasped. “I didn’t know that! My gods, it sounds like her, though. Shoving people. She’s not awfully tactful, is she?”

Azriel grinned. It was a rather unexpected grin, full of teeth, and Feyre liked it. “Not at all. We still love her, though.”

Feyre snorted. “It is hard not to love Mor.”

“Did someone say my name?” Mor walked over with Feyre’s food: a very extravagant-looking omelette.

Azriel smoothly replied. “We were just talking about how grateful we are for you. You know, encouraging Feyre to ask me out.” Bless this under-appreciated man.

“You’re going on a date?” Mor squeaked.

Feyre smiled. “We are.” She (barely) lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned toward Mor. “I think we might be in love.”

Azriel snorted. Feyre hadn’t expected such a sound to come of this genteel man, but she liked him all the better for it.

“Feyre Archeron!” Mor gasped. “You’re messing with me! You too, Az?”

Azriel responded, “You deserved that. You’re trying to set Feyre up with Rhys, I hear. Why am I not surprised?”

Mor stuck out her tongue.

“Very mature, Mor,” Feyre said with a smile.

Mor flipped Feyre off. “How’s that for mature?” She had a grin on her face.

“Well,” said Azriel, “if you didn’t own the place, you would definitely be fired, treating customers like that.”

Mor sighed. “I recall telling you, Feyre, that Azriel is the only nice one of the group. I take that back.” She turned and walked back behind the counter, throwing them a glare she looked over.

Feyre and Azriel both laughed.

“So what do you do for a living, Azriel?” Feyre asked.

Azriel smiled. “I work for the CIA. That’s about all I’m allowed to tell you.”

“Really?” Feyre gasped. “That’s so cool!”

“Painting is cool too.” This man just kept getting better and better. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, but I like admiring art.”

Feyre smiled. “Well, I appreciate it, but I still think being a CIA agent is fucking awesome.”

Azriel chuckled.

-

“Feyre, what did you think of Az?” Mor asked when they walked out of the cafe together. Feyre had waited until Mor’s shift ended to leave. “Other than being in love with him,” Mor added.

Feyre giggled. “You’re so easy to annoy. He was very nice, actually. I think he’ll make a very good friend. And he works in the CIA! You didn’t mention that sooner?” Feyre thought about asking why his hands were so scarred, but that was private.

Mor smiled gleefully. “Doesn’t it feel great to be friends with a real-life spy? I keep begging him to take me on a mission.”

“He goes on missions? What exactly does he do?”

“Well,” Mor started. “He disappears sometimes and won’t say where he goes, so one can only assume. Other than that you know as much as we do. Confidential, apparently.”

A sigh arose from Feyre. “I want to be a badass spy.”

“But you’re already a badass painter.”

Feyre glared at Mor. “Stop preaching and agree with me. You know he’s cooler than the both of us put together.”

“Fine.” Mor giggled. “Okay, he’s totally cooler. Makes me look back on my life and wonder what I did wrong.”

Feyre snorted.

“Seriously, Fey, what do you think? Solid black ninja suit. High ponytail. Maybe some leather. Like a female James Bond.”

“Absolutely sexy. You’d rock it,” Feyre agreed.

Mor giggled. “You would too.”

They kept discussing all of the extravagant, and probably untrue, details of being a spy. But Feyre was just happy to have made a new friend.

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Present

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC)

Story Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff / Romance / Domestic

Story Warnings: Bondage, Sex (vaginal and first time anal), Anal Toy Use, Dirty Talk, Degrading Names, Master / Slave Roleplay, Choking, Tit Fucking, Throat Fucking, Spanking, Quirk Play, Squirting, Overstimulation, PWP 

Words: 4,245

Written for the @bnhabookclub​​ ‘s members bingo event!

Crossed off: Ass Play

Bingo Masterlist

BTW, please blacklist the tag cutesuki-lemons if you do not want to see this content from my blog. I will no longer be tagging with specific keywords for this type of content.Thank you~

Due to the nature of this post, the characters are 18+

Art in banner by me

“You’re finally home, Master. Please untie me, you promised you would!” 

Bakugou stood in shocked silence in the doorway to the bedroom he shared with his lover, unable to truly process what was happening. Sure, he and Koge enjoyed making love with each other, and even more they liked to play a little rough. Koge, he had noticed over the years, had quite the affinity for being totally and utterly dominated, to be treated as roughly as he wanted. She would let him do nearly anything, and they both loved it. 

Roleplay was never something particularly high on their list of things they enjoyed, but bondage was. Now, he was suddenly subjected to both things, propped up on the bed and displayed to him. How in the hell she had gotten herself that tied up, he was unsure, but he found he couldn’t quite get his eyes off the way the rope squeezed the plush areas of her body. Arms behind her back, Koge had her backend up in the air while her upper body rested down onto the mattress, completely helpless with the way she was bound. She even had rope running right between her legs, fit snuggly into her sex and between her cheeks. 

Damn it was sexy. It hit him so hard that he didn’t even care about how, when or why, finding that he only wanted to push her around a little. Well, more than a little, if he were honest with himself. He truly wanted to use and ruin her, and if he were her ‘master’ as she had said, then that gave him full permission to do as he pleased. A little roleplay mixed in there couldn’t hurt, either. Being called something like that brought a fire to his chest, very similar to when she called him by his hero name during sex and… praised him. He liked it.

“I promised no such thing, you little fucking slut.” Bakugou dropped his duffel bag onto the floor, leaving his belongings from the day discarded to be dealt with later. He shut the bedroom door behind him out of habit, even if they did live alone in their apartment. “What gave you that idea?” 

“I-I’m sore from the bindings, Master.” Koge looked upon him with pleading eyes, giving him a bit of a show as she struggled against the ropes. He did have to admit she was very convincing, but if she truly wanted out, she wouldn’t keep up the farce. With a scoff, Bakugou made his way over, letting his hand slide across her backside. She was dressed in his favorite pair of leggings that showed off her curves just right, and from what he could see, the only thing she wore on top was a sports bra. In particular, it was the blue one that didn’t fit, and he couldn’t wait to flip her over to see. 

He let his hand come down hard onto her ass, making her squeak in surprise. “Good. But that means you had tried to escape. Did you?” 

“W-what? No, no I would never-- a-ah!!” She gasped out loudly as Bakugou slipped his fingers beneath the two strips of rope that was settled between her legs, pulling it tighter against her sex. 

“What’s that, my little whore? Are you lying to me?” He continued to pull up, lifting her hips as Koge’s body trembled, struggling to speak through the mix of pain and pleasure. 

“I-I’m not, I swear! I didn’t struggle at all Master!” An audible sigh of relief left her lips as he released her, though it was immediately swallowed by another yelp as a new firm slap was given to her. “I sat here like a good girl, just like you told me to!” 

Unable to help the smirk on his lips, Bakugou ran his thumb down the length of the rope, pressing against it with a firm touch. He could feel that it was slick and wet with her essence, as were the pants she wore. How badly he wanted to rip a hole in them and fuck her senseless was nearly unbearable, but he held himself back. If not for the fun, then for her, to make sure she got the most out of this experience she had brought upon them. 

“And what did you do all day, hm?” He let his thumb slip between the strips of rope, teasing and rubbing her clit. He let his other hand travel up the curve of her backside, loving the soft feeling of the fabric beneath the rough texture of his palms. 

“I-I laid here and thought about you, Master. I always think about you, about how good your cock feels when you fuck me. I’ve imagined what you would do to me after you came home.” Koge couldn’t help but let out a soft moan at his touch, rocking her hips back against him. The slight pain of the rope digging into her skin and the pleasure from his touch was euphoric, excitedly awaiting every new moment. She knew that she had taken a risk with this whole adventure, but she was glad he hadn’t laughed at her or been angry when he came home. Now all she wanted was for him to touch her, to use her and degrade her as he pleased. 

“And what did you imagine.” Bakugou gripped the rope that tied her arms, pulling her upper body off the bed and back against him. With the movement, her ass pressed into his hips, prompting her to grind against him just to feel his member that was straining against his pants. He was so turned on by the way she looked and how she acted, her pleading gaze filling him with a fire he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Feeling very dominative, he reached up and wrapped his hand around her throat, giving her a decent squeeze as he growled in her ear. “Don’t fucking move your hips like that, you little whore. I’ll decide when you deserve to feel pleasure. Now tell me what you imagined.” 

Koge’s rocking instantly stopped at his command, gasping a bit against the grip on her neck as she struggled to speak. “I-I imagined you throat fucking me and letting me taste your cum. It tastes so good and I’m so thirsty, Master.” She eagerly licked and sucked on his fingers as he slid them up to her mouth. “I imagined you finally fucking me in the ass. I’m all ready for you.” 

This was something that caught Bakugou a bit off guard, as anal sex was something they had only talked about. Koge had always enjoyed using the occasional toy along with regular sex for a bit of double penetration, but they had yet to take the full plunge. Curious as to what she meant about being ready, he let his hand slip between her legs, moving the rope aside as he ran his finger along her sex. When he got to the hole in question, he quickly found himself presented with a hard object, which was round with an uneven surface. 

So, this is what she bought that plug for. How long has she had this whole thing in mind? 

With a bit of off and on pressure to the base of the plug, he moved it around inside of her, instantly making her shudder and moan softly. “I wish that was your cock inside me!” 

“Well if you’re a good girl, maybe you’ll get your wish.” Bakugou nipped at her ear as he roughly moved the rope back into place, giving it another good tug to force a sharp gasp out of her. “But for now, I want to fuck that pretty little throat raw.” He forced her down onto her back and into the position he wanted, where only her head was hanging off the side. Since he had been standing at the edge, she was at the perfect angle. He could tell that her arms behind her back had her a bit uncomfortable, but the eager way she kept her eyes on the bulge behind his jeans told him that it didn’t matter. 

They weren’t new to this position, so when his member was finally exposed, Koge took him into her mouth with ease. Though, this required very little participation from her, as Bakugou propped himself up on the edge of the bed and began to slowly thrust his hips. His t-shirt making it hard for him to see her, he was quick to rip it off, keeping his eyes on her neck and the way it bulged with each thrust. “Oh fuck, that’s it… You’re such a cum thirsty little whore.” As his thrusts became rougher, he wrapped one hand around her neck, loving to see her body bounce. She was so submissive and receptive to anything he wanted, and he had to admit that he already wanted to cum. He knew that he could last a couple of rounds, especially if she kept it up, which he knew she planned on doing no matter what. 

If Koge could talk, she would surely let him know that she was absolutely elated. She adored having his dick in her mouth, completely smitten with his taste and the way he pulsed against her tongue. Sure, it always made her mouth horribly sore, but that was of little consequence. Just to have him like this was enough to fulfill her, even if he decided that’s all he wanted to do. It seemed, though, that the plug in her ass excited him enough to go further, so she would gladly let him have his way with her. 

Feeling himself getting too close, Bakugou removed himself from her mouth, smirking as she coughed and the sight of the mess he made. “Not so fast. Your tits are way too fucking irresistible to ignore.” Stepping out of his jeans and boxers completely, Bakugou shifted her body fully onto the bed, straddling her torso once she was in place. The sports bra she wore was too small, so it squeezed her breasts to where there was overspill on the top and bottom, threatening to burst free at any moment. Tugging the bottom up a bit, Bakugou slipped his cock between her breasts until his tip was visible on the other side. The fabric of the bra didn’t touch him, so he began to thrust his hips again. 

Koge kept her pleading gaze locked with his, soft gasps and moans escaping her lips. Her eyes were teared up from the rough throat fucking, making her look even more irresistible to him. He did have to admit that her tits were feeling oddly better to him in that moment, and he found himself needing to cum just as quickly as before. 

“Please Master, please give me your cum! I want it so bad!” 

“Then open your filthy mouth.” The instant Koge obeyed, Bakugou let go of his control, spraying his cum all over her face, neck and chest. Licking what she could from her lips, Koge swallowed her prize before smiling up at him. 

“Thank you, you’ve made me so happy. Did you enjoy it?” 

“Yeah, my little slut, I enjoyed it.” Keeping his still hard cock nestled between her breasts, Bakugou took hold of the zipper at the front, slowly pulling it down. He didn’t even have to unlatch the zipper at the end before it burst free from the pressure of her breasts, which spilled out with a light bounce. A deep groan escaping his lips at the sight, Bakugou took hold of them both in his large hands, squeezing and massaging them against the girth of his cock. Holding them tightly in place, he began to rock his hips again, his cum and her sweat that coated her skin making it nice and slick for him. “Such sexy fucking tits.” 

Koge gave a soft whine with a particularly rough pinch to her nipples, biting down onto her bottom lip as she watched the tip of his cock vanish and reappear within the soft plushness of her chest. “Please, Master. Do what you want with me. I’m only here to make you feel good.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because I’m your little slave. I’m nothing but your personal cum dumpster, for you to fuck and use however and whenever you want!” Koge turned her gaze up to her lover, gazing up at him with a pleading, tear filled expression. His blunt nails digging into her soft flesh and the increased pace of his thrusting told her he was into what she was doing, and so resisting letting a smirk cross her lips, she continued. “I’ll do anything for you! You’re so perfect and you fuck me so good, all I ever think about is your cock!” 

“Damn right. You’re mine. All mine. And I’ll make sure you never forget that. Now,” Releasing her chest, Bakugou flipped her over, propping her back up the exact way he had found her. Spreading open the rope to expose her cunt to him, he dug his nails into the fabric, getting hold of it before ripping it apart with ease. The glittering blue jewel at the end of her buttplug immediately caught his attention, glistening and complementing the shine of her essence that coated her skin. Her cunt was absolutely soaked, clit puffy from the abuse of the rope and her own need for pleasure. “You have such a pretty pussy. But I think I know where I should fuck you today.” Taking hold of the base of the plug, Bakugou began to pull it out slowly, smirk crossing his lips as Koge moaned and shivered with its removal. 

“Damn, you little slut, that’s a big plug you’ve kept up your ass. So fucking hot.” When it was completely removed, he tossed it aside on the bed, using his thumbs to instead spread her cheeks apart and open her up wide for him. Just watching both her now vacant holes twitch in anticipation of his touch brought a fire to his chest, licking his lips as he shifted himself in closer. “I hope you’re ready for me to ruin that cute little asshole of yours.”

“Do whatever you want with me, Master.” Koge’s voice trembled with her excitement, unable to properly see him from her position bent over with her head resting on a pillow. How badly she wanted his cock inside her was making it difficult for her to keep up the roleplaying, already to the point of screaming his name and sobbing in her anguish. “P-please, put it in me!” 

“Put what in you?” Bakugou began to torture her with slow, teasing rubs of his tip up and down along her sex, stroking her clit and putting light pressure against her holes. “And where? Tell your Master what you want.” 

Koge whined and wiggled as his tip slipped into her cunt, using the tightness of her entrance more to pleasure himself than her. “I want your fat cock! I want you to fuck me in the ass- a-ah!” Koge’s voice spiked as he sunk his entire length into her pussy, his hands holding onto her hips tightly while he gave her deep, slow and rough thrusts from the tip to the base. Each snap of his hips pushed all the air out of her lungs, and since her arms were tied together, she had nothing to grab to anchor herself. “M-Master, please--!” 

“Beg harder, slut!” Bakugou leaned over her, digging his fingers into her hair to grab a fistful, pulling her head back and forcing a gasp from her throat. “You want me to fuck you in the ass, you had better convince me.” 

“I want it!” Voice cracking, Koge was completely at his mercy, unable to move an inch. As his thrusts became faster, her eyes rolled up as the sparks of pain and pleasure attacked every nerve in her body. “Please! Please fuck me in the ass! I’ve been waiting for it all day, Master, I just can’t wait any longer! I want to feel that fat cock stretch me open and fuck me until I can’t breathe!”

Seemingly satisfied, Bakugou shoved her face back down into the pillow, and in one swift movement, he removed his cock from her pussy and slipped his tip into her ass. A sharp gasp erupted from Koge’s lips the instant he was barely inside, the body tensing and trembling. Hissing through his clenched teeth, Bakugou had to pause for a moment, giving a low groan into her shoulder. “Fuck, relax, you stupid bitch!” 

“I-I’m sorry!” Koge closed her eyes tightly, taking in deep breaths to do as she was told. “It’s just… It’s bigger than the toys-!” Whining into the pillow, Koge’s toes curled in as Bakugou began to sink his cock into her slowly, unable to stop her hitching gasps with every breath. “Fuck, fuck-!” 

“That’s it, my little slut.” Bakugou used his grip on her hair to force her head to turn a bit, placing a rough kiss against her flushed and tear stained cheek. “Take your master’s fat cock like a good girl. Take it,” Right as his hips met with the plush form of her ass, Bakugou didn’t waste another moment in beginning to thrust, instantly sending Koge into a new round of strangled moans. “Take it! You want it so fucking bad, I’ll give it to you!” 

“Ka- Katsu-!” Koge found herself unable to think with only the wave after wave of new pleasures fogging her mind, moaning and crying freely into the pillow. His cock was so deep inside her and his balls slapped against her clit with each thrust that she could already feel the hints of an orgasm building up rapidly, though it wasn’t anything like she was used to. It was so hot and rough, paired with the painful rubbing of the rope against her fair skin and her hair balled up in his fist, and she could already feel her mind slipping into that familiar and suffocating haze of intoxicating pleasure. 

“You know damn well you’re not allowed to say my name, whore.” In punishment, Bakugou’s large palm came down onto her ass, activating his quirk just enough to create light crackles to bring just the right amount of heat and pain that he knew she loved. The burning smell of charred sugar and singed fabric filled his senses only for a moment, his focus completely centered on the sounds she made and the sight of her submissive body. “Who gave you permission?” Another crackling slap had her crying out, moans mixed in with frustrated sobs. 

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Master! I’ve been bad-!” Koge was cut off as Bakugou snatched her by the arms, pulling her body up off the bed and back against him. With her back arched, he was able to reach even deeper inside of her, his pace quickening as he wrapped one hand around her throat, the other holding her hips firmly in place. Pressing his lips against her ear, he took a moment to bask in the pleasure, her body only further squeezing and sucking him in. 

He was beginning to feel close to his peek, but this time, he refused to cum until she finished first, and by the look of absolute pleasure on her face, he knew she was close. She needed just a little more pain, he figured, so he tightened his grip on her throat. “You have been bad. So impatient and trying to weasel your way into getting what you want. I shouldn’t even give it to you.” 

“N-no-!” Koge was barely able to squeak out a single word, her eyes rolled back and mouth open in endless choked moans. “Don’t… Please-!” 

“You want to cum, huh?” Bakugou slid his hand around to the front of her hips, beginning to rub her clit vigorously. “You want to cum all over my cock like the little whore you are? Come on, then. Fucking cum, you dirty slut-” As her body began to tense with the building pressure, Bakugou slipped three of his fingers into her dripping wet cunt, digging them in as deep as he could and curving his fingers to make sure they rubbed against her inner walls with each thrust of his hips. “Come on! Cum for your master!” 

Unable to move and unable to resist him, Koge’s entire body erupted with an overwhelming rush of pleasure, not even able to make a sound against the twitching and arching of her body. So lost in the pleasure, she didn’t even feel the rush of liquid that gushed out of her pussy, but Bakugou was quick to take note as he cursed in satisfaction of the incredible release. 

“Oh fuck, that’s it! Squirt for me,” Since his fingers had been pushed out of her with the pressure, he instead slapped and rubbed her clit, finally forcing cries from her throat and sharp jerks of her body as she tried to shift away from him and the overstimulation. “No way, you whore, you stay right there. I’m not done with you yet.” 

The pleasure still ripping through her body with each thrust, Koge couldn’t move or even think of how to respond, her core aching with the intensity of her release. She didn’t have to wait long, however, as Bakugou buried his face into the side of her neck, completely taking over her body for his own pleasures until he finally peaked. His release inside her was hot and deep, his last few thrusts snappy and rough, though he was quick to calm and slow himself down. His groans and grunts of pleasure with his release filled Koge’s mind, pulling her out of her haze enough to lean her head against his, finally taking in deep and steady breaths as they came down from their high together. 

His hand releasing her throat, Bakugou let his fingers softly trace along the curves of her body, his lips leaving soft trails of kisses along her neck and up to her wet, flushed cheeks. “Mm… Fucking hell, Utsuro… You made me go a little wild.” 

Koge nibbled at her bottom lip as he slowly pulled his softening cock from her, the hot feeling of his cum leaking out of her sending goosebumps along her skin. “A little wild is exactly what I wanted,” she paused to clear her throat, her voice hoarse from the throat fucking, choking, and endless moaning. “But damn, Katsuki. I didn’t expect all of that.” 

“Did you even notice that you squirted?” Sitting down on his legs and allowing her to rest on his thighs, Bakugou went to work untying the ropes at the source around her arms, working with careful and gentle fingers. “That was damn incredible.” 

“I did? Really?” Koge struggled to keep herself sitting up, trembling from head to toe. “Wow, no wonder it’s all wet. I thought I died and went to heaven with that orgasm, babe. Fuck.” 

Bakugou chuckled, carefully pulling the rope off her body in sections as they loosened. “Well, I guess your ass is really fucking sensitive, then. All this time now knowing how to do it, and all it took was a good ass fucking.” 

Koge stretched her arms out to her sides, letting her sports bra fall off her arms to discard it off to the side before leaning back against him. “A good ass fucking is an understatement. Katsuki, that was damn incredible.” 

Kissing her shoulder softly, Bakugou ran his hands up and down her arms, rubbing the dark red marks where the rope had rubbed her fair skin a bit raw. “You’re the one that’s incredible. How the fuck did you even get all tied up like that?” 

“Guess.” 

“Curls came over and helped you, didn’t she?” 

“She did,” Koge leaned her head back, smiling up at him. “Nene left about ten minutes before you got here, actually.” 

“So, you weren’t tied up all day? You lied to me.” Caressing her neck softly, Bakugou placed a kiss on her lips, before scooping her up and laying her down on a clean area of the bed. “And why the hell are you letting her in on our sex shit?!” 

“It was something I wanted to try, but I couldn’t tie myself up like that! And I wanted it to be a surprise.” Koge shifted her hips up as Bakugou removed her ruined leggings and the rest of the ropes around her legs, leaving her bare. “It’s not like she was all in on everything that was gonna happen, I just needed her help tying me up.” 

“Tch, well next time, I’ll do it.” Bakugou caressed her cheeks, leaning in to kiss her lips gently. “She didn’t tie you up very well, anyway. The ropes were too loose. I’ll be sure to really bind you up.” Smirking against her lips, Bakugou gave her cheeks a playful pinch, bringing soft giggles from her. “Maybe hang you from the ceiling if you let me.” 

“Ooh, sex from a swing, huh? That’ll be fun!” Koge let her weak arms wrap around his neck, keeping him down so she could pepper his lips and cheeks with more sweet kisses. “We can do whatever you’d like. Master.” 

“I think right now, your Master wants to go take a hot bath and scrub his obedient little woman clean. What d'ya say?” 

[monstaxardeur]

Warnings: Mature, Angst

𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 - 𝚒𝚒

His black chipped nail brushed the small chit of paper in his hands as he was questioning himself… 'was this necessary?' He looked out the window of his cab, the early morning wind greeted him but there was no sun in sight…in fact it looked like a storm was brewing. 'Wasn’t there enough rainstorm last night?' he wondered blankly watching the cityscape pass him by, his thoughts starting to tangle in last night’s aftermath.

'She' was gone, just like that, leaving a little pricking void in his heart, no..not just his heart, he was sure she took his soul too, sucking the life out of him. She wandered into their lives one fine day and disappeared one night as if the dark skies swallowed her whole, her being now lay atop the cosmos as perhaps the beautiful moon he witnessed every night…along with her stars she oh so lovingly called 'her little moonbeams'.

Last night had been difficult, his fingers grazed over the frayed edges of the torn fabric, he hated it…how she had intoxicated him, her existence, her touch…her kisses in the dark like a pretty little secret. He may or may not have pleasured himself to the swaying memories of 'Queenie'. Her words, the soft nothings would haunt his nights and keep him from peaceful sleep but it had been a while, a good while and she hadn’t been around anymore. Sometimes it felt like a lucid dream he had, it won’t be long when the affects of her drugging existence wear off and it may just feel like it was never real.

'Why am I even doing this?' He bemused himself staring at the small piece of folded paper. He was sure he wasn’t the only one she left small favors with, but why? Its like she left the boys with her fragments to finish what she couldn’t.

“Will you do me a favor my love?” Her words were soft like velvet, her lips barely away from his, both of their lips swollen from the feverish kiss they shared. “Hmmm?” He had replied and all she did was slide a small piece of paper in his palms. He briefly looked down to inspect it but she closed his palms into a fist and captured his lips onto hers, resuming their romantic escapade.

He bit his lip at the sudden memory vividly playing out in his head and sighed throwing his head back and pulling the hoodie over his face, but his moment of tranquil came to a halt as the cab stopped at the destination.

He hesitated before turning the knob…'this doesn’t feel right' his mind told him but Queenie gave him the keys herself, entrusted him with it for this very purpose. He walked into a room greeted with soft music playing, he recognized the song, 'Art Deco by Lana Del Rey' but his feet stopped at a canvas before him. A beautifully haunting image was splayed in freehand strokes on a dark canvas that lay there. An image of a silver cloaked goddess caressing the cheeks of a butterfly winged human. He could recognize her face anywhere, the goddess..was Queenie, but this other person wasn’t completely visible yet, probably an incomplete artwork?

“It’s still in progress.” You spoke startling him out of his trance and he swallowed a lump he didn’t know was in his throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He flashed a faint smile and held up the chit, “She sent me.” You paused and he turned and pointed at the goddess in the painting, “I meant her, I know its her you painted.” Your gaze shifted away as you rubbed the back of your neck sighing….you missed her dearly at times. Right now was one of those times, for your home was the definition of grief, it was messy and unkempt and your appearance looked like you were yearning for the moon’s touch, this moonbeam looked drained of her beams, he could see it in your eyes.

~

His fingers dug deep into the skin of your bare thighs and his lips moved feverishly over your hot skin as he trailed them all mottled to find that one spot, on the left of your chest…where your heart beats, he knows the goddess lives there and what was meant to be a soft bruise was a harsh mark, a love bite perhaps? You panted and winced at the sudden surge of pinching pain and your own hands tugged and pulled at his blonde locks. His brows knitted and he growled in frustration….he could feel Queenie all over you, he was convinced you were a vessel. What looked like a drained little moonbeam turned out to be bleeding moonlight the moment your skins touched. Like a butterfly so still but at a mere touch it’s wings were spread wide, shimmering it’s vibrant colors and beauty as it fluttered about.

He dragged his lips back to to the sweet spot under your neck to hear those soft moans that were like comforting music to his ears. One of his hands grabbed hold of your neck in a low squeeze and your eyes met his again as you panted and held his hand that was over your pulsing veins. “Please…let me..” your words barely audible against him in close proximity and he loosened his grip over you, softening up and your lips requested entrance at his own and he greeted yours with a needy urge. Holding his face in your palms, you shifted to sit up closer in his lap and your core could feel his hard on but you were patient and just kissed him the most mind numbing kiss, just as his entire existence was mind numbing to yours.

You wanted out, you wanted it all out, the moonlight in your veins that was injected by 'her' loving words and caring notions, by her presence….by her mere existence. You knew you had soaked in a lot of her essence maybe a little more than what you bargained for and he wanted it like a drug, why else would he wander here upon Queenie’s request, you knew despite your overflowing emotions underneath the moonlit facade…that he was here for her, he envisioned her in your stead, all he wanted was to feel 'her' under his skin and you were radiating with her essence…dripping moonlight at his mere touch.

'What an odd place to find your heart at?' You thought pushing back tears so forceful that your throat hurt and a whimper escaped your lips as he broke the kiss letting you breathe. You had hoped to find the other side of him when you looked into his beautiful dark eyes but all you saw was a disciple’s yearning for his goddess and you let go of yourself to his dark desires..

~

It was nightfall, a silent beautiful night, the moon was full and the starts winked from beneath the floating clouds. He lay bare under the sheets of the bed, he had slept his aching soul away and it was late. '00:00′ the time struck. Was it the witching hour? Did it feel like Walpurgis Night? Sort of, but not in the most devious ways only in the most lulling ways as if the witches themselves descended to sing their lullabies.

When he came to, his nose caught the whiff of scented candles but a very non conventional one, you lived in a beach house but couldn’t get enough of the scent of the ocean. His eyes were greeted by your bare back that had your floral print tattoo, it was so delicate like an old lovers kiss~ When you felt him shift you put on your little crop top sweater and turned to see him, for a moment your breath was stuck in awe as you saw his naked form that lay moonkissed before you. The way the moonlight touched him made you wonder he was perhaps truly made for his muse.

“Were you crying?” His deep low voice was raspy from having just woken, the reason he asked was your glistening cheeks, “I finished the painting.” You changed the subject wiping off your semi dried tears. The painting of the butterfly human was no longer the same, it was in fact everything like him. Changkyun’s eyes were fixated on the painting of what was now the moon goddess and himself…~ “Take it with you.” Came your voice from inside the room, you wanted nothing to do with it anymore, they belonged with each other and you wanted nothing in between their love story, the ache was too much to bear.

The mattress depressed beside you as he sat down next to you in nothing but his undone jeans, he followed your gaze to the night sky outside your window from where you sat. “Isn’t she beautiful?” You asked smiling melancholic. “And haunting.” he added as his fingers traced patterns on your arms trailing them to your wrist. “Do I still bleed her soul?” You asked looking at him, your expressions always softening up while looking at him. He hummed a nod still playing his fingertips on your skin. “Just a little though but it’s always there, like a dormant demon wanting out….I felt it in your heart beat.” and his eyes glance at the mark under her left collar bone, a deep bluish purple bruise and he couldn’t help but feel a little smug for his doing. He marked your heart so harshly, you’ll probably remember it for days to come.

You felt defeated at his reply, “I’ll always be with you my little moonbeam, shhh don’t cry now. You’ll see me again, I promise~” were her words and back then they felt like warmth, comfort & home but never did you ever thought that too much of even such a deep unexplained love could leave you scarred and over flowing with her memories. It’ll take forever for someone to find the real you deep down trapped under the smothering love of your Queenie~

Just as he came, he had left, leaving you in your sheets bare and bruised with his love marks. His touch always burned, always left indents because he was always searching for someone within you. You lay fast asleep exhausted from your little sexual escapade but in the dead of the night you may have felt a comforting touch stroking your head as if a guardian angel watched over you. “I’m so sorry my little moonbeam.” The muse softly kissed your head and fixed your covers, “My poor baby, I’ll tell him to be kind to you hmmm?” she cooed. “I’ll have to pay him a visit though.” her words trailed off as she looked up at the sky and the moon was now completely covered in clouds….almost as if it was never there in the first place~

…𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚍𝚎

mood song: art deco by lana del rey

[kandoesfanfics-writes]

Hello I love your work Can I requested 16, jasonette, with a happy ending please? Have a nice day

Prompt 16: “I’m sorry, but…I don’t remember you.” Jasonette. 

This took forever and a day, and I do apologize. HOWEVER, I had to figure out how to make this happy at the end. Hope I did a good job with it.

—————————————————————————————————-

He felt like someone had twisted a knife into his chest as he looked down at her. He was holding her wrists, confused and frightened himself. He wasn’t sure who she was or what she wanted. The only thing he knew was she looked devastated, and was sobbing her pretty eyes out... and it made him want to cry, too, for some reason.

She was so tiny compared to his hulking frame of six feet, two inches. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder, stopping more at his sternum. She had black hair that fell loosely around her heart-shaped face, a cute button nose and a pair of soft-looking lips finished it off. 

Jason knew he wouldn’t sleep well for a while. Her eyes would haunt him. 

Those soft grey-blue eyes were full of anger, sorrow, and betrayal. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Those eyes were begging him to do something, but what? He didn’t know what he could do. He didn’t know how to make her feel better. He didn’t even know her.

But apparently she knew him.

“Jason… Jason, please! It’s me, Jase! It’s Marinette! Why are you looking at me like that?” Her begging voice was absolutely broken, garbled with sobs.

“I’m sorry… but I don’t remember you,” he told her softly. “I’m really sorry.”

He repeated over and over that he didn’t remember who she was, but all it did was make her look more desperate — and the more Jason’s heart shattered in his chest. 

He wasn’t sure why he was so affected by her tears. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to care about her. Jason hadn’t cared about anyone in years, save for maybe Dick.

“But Jason… Jase… Why did you stop answering me? Why are you pretending like you don’t know me? You were my best friend… I loved you. I loved you, Jason. Hell, I thought I still loved you! I was so excited to see you because I knew you, I love you!”

Jason winced, the ache in his chest growing.

“I’m sorry.  I’m really sorry…”

Eventually, the sobbing woman was pulled away by a black-haired woman with the most vicious looking eyes he’d ever seen. Her lips were pulled into a snarl as she addressed him, clearly not afraid of him despite being about a foot smaller than him. 

She gently wrapped her arms around Marinette and guided her away from him, which filled Jason with relief as well as extreme apprehension.

The dark-haired man was relieved — he no longer had to stop this foreign woman from hugging him, nor did he have to deal with her tears. But Jason was also apprehensive. This Marinette woman knew too much about him to be a stranger to him.

She knew he loved classic literature. She knew his favorite subject in school was English. She knew he wrote poetry. She knew he loved Alfred like his own grandfather, that Alfred had taught him to cook. She knew his favorite type of baked goods were conchas because they were sweet and slightly crispy. She knew that Dick had bought him the Lord of the Rings novels for his birthday (and Jason had cried over it). She also knew that he had a collection of works written by Edgar Allen Poe… and claimed to be the one to have given it to him for his twelfth birthday.

Jason could feel himself trembling a little bit as fear clawed at his chest. No one could have known that unless they talked to either Jason himself or Dick. Dick wasn’t there. Dick was in Bludhaven. Dick couldn’t have talked to her. 

He doubted that Bruce or Alfred would have told anyone private information like that either. 

He needed to go home. He needed to find that collection, needed to know the truth. 

Jason rushed past Bruce and the tide of people around him. He let his feet carry him towards the exit, forgotten voices ringing in his ears. He burst through the door, sprinting out into the busy street. 

He took a few gulps of air as he adjusted to the sunlight, his lungs burning as frigid air entered. Because he was looking frantically for a cab or anything else that could take him home, he could barely hear his name being shouted until a hand grabbed his wrist. 

Jason spun around, ready to fight. His other fist flew towards the person who grabbed him, but the person was faster than him. They had released his wrist and dodged his swing. 

"Jason, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?!" an annoyed voice snapped. "Bruce is going to call Dick at this rate!"

Jason blinked a few times before he was able to refocus. He noted the speaker had chin-length black hair and cobalt blue eyes. He recognized the face as his replacement, one Timothy Drake.

"Jason! What's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jason shook his head violently, feeling his throat closing up. How could she have known all of that? How did she know him? Why didn't he remember her? Why couldn't he figure this out?

A horrible laughter rang in his ears.

Why can't you remember, Boy Blunder?

Why can't you remember, little bird?

Did Uncle J hit you too hard?

I know you're tougher than that!

C'mon, you're the Bat's junior detective! Can't you figure out anything?

Then again, you didn't realize your mummy dearest was working for Uncle J—

Then everything went black.

—————

When he woke up, a pair of concerned green eyes was gazing down at him.

Green eyes? No one in his family aside from him had green eyes. He blinked a few times before noting the person also had bright red hair. Confusion littered his thoughts as he struggled to remember where he was and what had happened. He tried to sit up, but two quick hands stopped him, gently pushing back down on his chest. 

“Easy there, Jay. You fainted on the sidewalk. Timmy and Diana brought you home, and I brought Dickie back home. We were really worried about you.” This voice was familiar. 

Ah, that would explain it.

Wally must have been visiting Dick in Bludhaven. Once Dick heard that something had happened to him, he must have asked the speedster to bring him back to Gotham. Wally, being Dick’s best friend, would have brought him without question. The only remaining question to be answered at the moment would be Dick’s whereabouts, and why Wally was the one sitting with him.

A few bangs and a crash later, his elder brother came barreling into the room. Dick was a mess, only in his pajamas and his hair an absolute mess. He looked stressed, dark bags under his eyes making him look like a raccoon. His familiar sky-blue eyes found Jason, and once he realized he was awake, Dick raced over to him.

“Little wing!” Dick breathed, hugging his little brother tight. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Jason looked around in confusion as he spotted Tim and Diana walking into the room. Tim’s face was paler than normal and his eyes were narrowed, as if he were trying to solve the most difficult puzzle he’d ever encountered. Diana looked relieved to see him awake, giving him a gentle smile. They both waited for Dick to be done fussing over Jason to speak.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, Jason,” Diana said softly. “You gave Tim quite a scare when you fell on him.”

“Who was that woman, Jason?” Tim asked. “The one who tried to hug you. The one who was crying.”

Jason’s blood turned cold as he remembered just what he’d been thinking about before he spiralled.

“Dick, I need you to get something out of my old room,” he whispered. “I need you to get a book. The collection of Edgar Allen Poe’s works.”

“Little wing, are you sure? Don’t you want to rest—”

“Dick, the book. It’s important.”

Dick gave him a confused look but went to fetch the book. Once Dick had left the room, Jason turned his attention towards Tim.

“You’re tech-savvy, aren’t you, Tim? Do you think you could find records or traces of an old email account of mine? One I had before the Joker canned me?” Jason asked, trying to control his racing heart.

“...Depending on the server and whether or not they’ve wiped it, maybe,” Tim replied hesitantly, chewing on his lip. “I could try.”

“Please?”

Tim grabbed his laptop. For the next ten minutes, the only things audible were the tapping of keys on the keyboard and the blood roaring in his ears. Jason remained silent as he waited for Dick to return with his book. 

He needed to see it, needed to see the inside cover. The inside cover would, at the very least, give him a starting point to go off of. He didn’t need to panic just yet.

Dick came back a few moments later with the well-loved and worn book. He went to hand it to Jason, but paused as he noticed his brother’s hands were now shaking violently.

“Little wing...what’s wrong?”

“Dick, open the cover.”

“Jason—”

“Just open the fucking cover, Dick! Read to me what’s on the inside!”

Dick slowly opened the cover, not understanding what the hell was going on. Why would there be something on the inside cover? Did Jason write a note there? Was there something hidden or taped there? Did it have anything to do with what had happened to Jason earlier?

His eyes locked onto the message, written in red ink, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Dear Jason, I hope this present gets to you on time. I don’t know how long it takes mail to get to Gotham from Paris, so I apologize if it’s late. I also hope this is the correct copy! I wanted to send you macrons, but Maman said that would be very hard and there’s lots of rules. You’ll have to come back to Paris again if you want more of our macrons. I miss you a lot. I hope I’ll get to see you again soon!

Happy twelfth birthday!

Love, Marinette.”

Jason covered his face with both hands and moaned.

“God, I did know her…”

Tim and Dick exchanged a look with each other before asking Jason about what had happened. Jason launched into his explanation of how the young woman had called his name and ran up to him. She’d tried to hug him, but Jason had grabbed her and not allowed her to touch him. She said her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and according to her, they had met when Bruce took him to Paris for a business trip.

“She knew personal details about me,” Jason choked. “I knew she couldn’t be a stranger because she knew stuff that only Dick would know about me. She told me she gave me that book for my birthday. She told me she wrote a note in it...and it’s there. It’s really there. I knew her… I knew her before the Joker killed me.”

“...That’s why she was crying,” Tim said quietly, putting the pieces together. “You didn’t remember her.”

Jason nodded, feeling his body go numb.

“I tried remembering. I tried, but I remembered him instead.” 

Dick gave Jason’s shoulder a comforting squeeze as he continued.

“I must have spiralled from there. Did you find my email, Tim?”

Tim nodded before replying, “You emailed back and forth for a few years. You have over forty emails from… from after you died.”

Jason gestured for the computer, and Tim handed it to him. He sat up more before looking at everyone in the room.

“Can I be left alone? I want to read these.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Dick asked, his eyebrows furrowing together. “What if another email sets you off again?”

“Then just one of you stay with me. I want to try to remember her. I need to.”

Tim saw the look on Dick’s face and quickly grabbed Wally’s arm. He gestured to Diana, and the three left Dick and Jason alone in the living room. Tim knew that Dick was going to try and dig into this, and he wanted to be nowhere near them when Jason exploded. He suggested that they all go get some cookies from Alfred, and that Diana should distract Bruce when he came home.

“Why is it so important that you remember her?” Dick asked quietly. “This could dig up things—”

“I have to, Dick.”

“Jason, you don’t have to do anything.”

“Yes, I do!”

“No, you don’t!”

“YOU WEREN’T THERE, DICK!”

The older man took a step back, slightly shocked about Jason’s outburst. He knew the young man had had an emotional night, but he wasn’t expecting this at all.

“You weren’t there,” Jason hissed. “You didn’t see her. She looked so betrayed, scared… sad. She looked like I’d ripped her heart out of her goddamn chest, Dick. Her friend glared at me when she led her away. She was sobbing, and it wasn’t fake. You can’t fake that shit.”

Tears stung his eyes as he barely managed to choke out his next words. “She said she loves me, Dick. She loves me, and I don’t remember who she is. I need to find out who she was to me. I feel like she was important. Really important.”

Dick fell silent. Jason watched his big brother rub his eyes and sigh in exhaustion, before sitting down beside him. He wrapped an arm around Jason’s shoulder in his brotherly way before telling him that he was here for him, no matter what the emails said.

Jason nodded grimly before going back to the beginning.

——————

It didn’t work.

He still couldn’t recall who Marinette Dupain-Cheng was.

Reading their emails felt like reading through someone else’s letters, not his. 

He couldn’t recall inside jokes that they had shared. 

He couldn’t recall the events that they had shared together. 

He couldn’t recall the emotions attached to the emails. 

She felt like someone completely separate from him, as if the Jason Todd who existed before the Joker’s crowbar was someone completely separate from the Jason after. 

But he knew more about her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was kind.

She was supportive.

She was creative.

She was intelligent.

She was a problem solver.

She was the kind of person Jason Todd had always respected, the one who put others' needs before her own. She was the one who came to save the day. She was the one who would come up with a creative solution to a seemingly impossible problem. She was the one who would listen to your concerns genuinely and soothe your fears. She was the person who loved so fiercely no matter how many times her heart had been hurt.

The Jason Todd that was here and now could not remember who Marinette Dupain-Cheng was, but he wanted to change that.

And damn whoever came in his way. 

Tim had hunted down her phone number and gave it to him. The only thing left to do now was for Jason to call her. He hoped he could still make this right. 

From her emails, Marinette did seem like a good person, and Jason couldn’t help but feel terrible that he’d hurt her. He knew he couldn’t get his memories back, but he could make new ones. Hopefully, she’d give him the chance to do that.

He held his cellphone in a vice grip as it rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello...my name is Jason Todd. When I was fifteen years old, I was in a car accident that nearly killed me. I lost… I lost a good chunk of my memories of things that had happened before that. I found your note in my book… and I found our emails.”

Jason could hear the intake of breath on the other end of the phone. He could also hear muffled sounds, and he prayed that she wasn’t crying again.

“I’m really sorry, Marinette. I don’t remember you, and I can’t get those memories back. The only thing I can do is apologize and hope that you’ll let me make new memories with you,” he said, his voice strained. 

“I’m sorry I dropped off the face of the earth. I’m sorry that we had to meet this way. I’m sorry that I still don’t remember you even after reading all of our emails… but I want to change that.”

“How? How can you change that?” Her broken voice replied.

“By seeing you again. This… this isn’t going to be easy,” he warned her. “This is going to be hard. But you are a good person. You answered my emails with such kindness and compassion. You always took care to think about my needs and feelings — you’re the kind of person I’d want as a friend. I want to restart, if you’re willing.”

A broken sob echoed on the other end before a watery voice replied, “Hi...my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m twenty years old. I work for Style Queen in New York City as an apprentice designer.”

A smile broke out on Jason’s face as he said, “Hi, Marinette. My name is Jason Todd. I’m twenty-one years old. I work freelance security in Gotham City. It’s very nice to meet you.”

[onceinsomniac]

hello, I would ask for a red velvet reaction to their gf coming home beaten by an "fan" who doesn't approve their relationship, a little angst with a fluff ending please

Author’s note: Hi, I really liked this request so thank you so much for requesting it. I hope you enjoy it :)

Red Velvet Reaction to their girlfriend being beaten up by a sasaeng fan

Irene

Irene was in the kitchen cooking dinner when she heard the door to the apartment opening. “I’m in the kitchen” she called out, knowing it was you. She stopped what she was doing, confused, when you didn’t answer her after a few seconds. “Jagi?” she called out again.

Silence met her question and she quickly turned off the stove before walking into the living room. The sight of you sitting on the couch, looking at her with a huge bruise already blooming over your cheek and a broken lip completely broke her heart.

She quickly snapped into her mother mode, taking your hand and leading you into the bathroom, where she then proceeded to sit you down on the covered toilet before taking out the med kit you guys kept in there. “Hold still” she told you as she carefully grabbed you by your chin in order to be able to have a better look at your battered face.

She fixed you up as well as she could, only breaking the silence to try to convince you to let her take you to the hospital but you adamantly refused. Afterwards, she led you back to the living room, sitting next to you on the couch. “What happened?” she asked, her voice soft and gentle. You hesitated briefly but eventually told her the truth, knowing that honesty was extremely important to Irene. “Some fans recognized me as I was walking home and thought it was their place to let me know how unworthy I am of you”, you told her bitterly.

Irene gasped when she heard what had happened. She couldn’t believe someone who called themselves her fans had dared lay a hand on the most important person in her life. She couldn’t help but feel responsible that this had happened to you. “Jagi, look at me”, she told you. Once you were meeting her eyes, she cupped your cheek, careful not to hurt you any further. “Whoever thinks you’re unworthy of me clearly doesn’t know you at all. You are the single most important person in my life and I’m so sorry that some idiots are too blind to see that. I promise I will do whatever it takes to make sure this never happens again.”

You knew from the tone in her voice that Irene was angry and for a brief second, you almost felt bad for the ones who had hit you. “I know”, you assured her. “I love you.” “I love you too. So much.” She told you, wrapping you in a hug, careful not to jostle your injuries.

Afterwards, she talked with her managers and her company and, with the help of your descriptions, they managed to find the ones who had beaten you up. You honestly didn’t care what happened to them and just wanted to forget about the whole incident but they had gotten on the bad side of Irene, and nothing could protect them from her fury. She made her company take legal action against them to make sure they never again touched you.

Seulgi

You knew Seulgi had the tendency to blame herself for things that were out of her control so you initially tried to hide what that “fan” had done to you, not wanting to cause her any pain or guilt. Unfortunately for you, Seulgi quickly realized you were avoiding her when you didn’t answer any of her video calls during the day while she was at practice. Especially since you had a fixed schedule for video calls when she was practicing and you never missed one before.

She spent the rest of the day anxious and wondering if she had done something wrong. After their choreographer finally called an end to the practice, she asked their manager to drop her off in front of your apartment after dropping the other girls off at the dorm. She quickly made her way inside, using the key you had given her a long time ago.

“Y/N?” She called, wondering where you were. It was already late at night and she knew for a fact that you were usually always home at that time so her worry started increasing as she got no reply. She walked towards your bedroom, thinking that maybe you were asleep and hadn’t heard her. She opened your bedroom door and felt relief rushing through her at the sight of a body lying under the covers.

“Jagi, you worried me”, she exclaimed, making her way to you. Her worry however, returned when, instead of answering, you covered your head with the sheets. “Y/N, what’s going on?” she asked, sitting down next to you on the bed. She started thinking that you were sick or something. It explained why you were hiding away, since you’d always hated people seeing you when you were sick. She let out a small chuckle, used to this. “Jagi, how many times do I have to tell you that you have to tell me when you’re sick?” she asked you, taking ahold of the sheets and ripping them of off you.

The sight of your broken body shocked her beyond belief. Both your eyes were black and your nose was clearly broken. The way you were curling into a ball made it clear that your face wasn’t the only part of you that was hurt. “What happened?” she exclaimed, feeling tears stinging her eyes at the moan of pain that came out of your mouth.

She immediately took out her phone and started dialing 911 when your hand shot out to stop her. “Please don’t” you said, the pain audible in your voice. Seulgi hesitated for a moment before pocketing her phone again. “Okay but I’m going to need you to let me take care of you then”, she bargained. You nodded your agreement. “Good, now I’m going to move you to the bathroom so I can take a better look at your injuries, okay?” she said. She waited for your nod of consent before putting an arm under your neck and the other under your legs and gently hoisting you into her arms.

She carried you into the bathroom where she then sat you on the counter, her heart aching each time you winced. “I’m going to need to take of your clothes to see the injuries”, she warned you, waiting for your agreement before slowly easing you out of your hoodie, leaving you in only a bra. She gasped at the sight of your black and blue skin, the result of the vicious beating you’d been subjected to. “I’m sorry”, you said, hating yourself for being the cause of the sadness on Seulgi’s face.

Seulgi looked at you in disbelief. “Why are you sorry? Unless you somehow beat yourself, you have nothing to apologize for”, she admonished. You didn’t answer and Seulgi then proceeded to take out the cream she often used on the bruises she got from their harder choreographies and begin to apply it to your skin, being careful not to hurt you.

Afterwards, she took a pair of your pajamas and changed you into them, hoisting you back into her arms afterwards and carrying you back to bed. Once she made sure you were comfortable, sitting against your headrest, she sat in front of you, taking your hands into her own. “Who did this?” she asked, getting right to the point.

“Some stranger on the street”, you answered, still trying to protect her. “Y/N” she warned. You winced at the tone of her voice, knowing she knew you too well and that lying to her was just a waste of time. “A sasaeng of yours”, you admitted, hating the way guilt immediately filled her features. “Hey, this isn’t your fault, okay?” you told her.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you”, she told you, shooting you a small smile as you wiped away the stray tear that had been making its way down her cheek. You let out a small chuckle, which you immediately regretted at a fresh wave of pain hit you making you gasp. “Hey, don’t move, okay. I’m going to stay over and you’re not moving a finger anytime soon.” Your girlfriend told you. You simply nodded your consent, knowing you couldn’t choose anyone better to take care of you.

The next day, Seulgi called Irene for advice on what to do, not wanting to let the sasaeng escape without consequences. Irene went to talk to the company for her while she stayed with you. She also wrote a very long letter which she posted on her Instagram, scolding all the people who didn’t agree or support her relationship with you. She was so angry at what had happened and would do whatever it took to make sure it never happened again.

Wendy

You and Wendy were having a date in the park, celebrating the fact that she had just gotten back from tour. You were sitting on a park bench, watching the ducks swimming in the water, when you got a sudden craving for ice cream. “Be right back”, you told her jumping up from your seat and running towards the ice cream truck that was always located at the end of the park. Wendy chuckled, knowing perfectly well where you were going, used to your antics. “Bring me back my usual”, she shouted at your retreating form.

A few minutes later, you stood in line, waiting for your turn, you were already drooling at the thought of a cookies and cream cone, especially considering the hot weather. After a few minutes, it was finally your turn to order. “Hey Mr. Kim. I’ll have the usual please” you ordered. You and Wendy visited the park so often that you had become acquainted with the old man who owned the ice cream truck a long time ago. “Hey Y/N. Here you go”, he told you, handing you a cookies and cream cone and a strawberry glaze one. You thanked him and paid him before starting to make your way back towards the park bench. You could see her in the distance, still watching the river and you smiled at the thought of her. You were just wondering how you got so lucky with her when a foot suddenly came out of nowhere, making you fall headfirst into the cement. Your ice cream flew everywhere and your nose cracked painfully against the concrete.

Your hands immediately went towards your nose, clutching it in pain. “That’s what happens for thinking you’re good enough for Wendy”, a voice taunted you. You looked up to see a woman about your age standing over you, a proud smile on her face. You were saved from having to respond by a sudden scream. “Hey, what the hell are you doing?” your girlfriend’s voice suddenly rang out.

Wendy had seen what had happened from the distance and was running over, a furious expression on her face. “oh my god, Wendy… hi” the fan mumbled, clearly starstruck at the sight of her idol standing right in front of her. Wendy, however, was not having it. “Why the hell did you do that”, she shouted, getting right in her personal space. “She deserves it.” The fan said, clearly not understanding why the other woman was so angry at her.

“Get away from us. I swear I will make sure you get thrown in jail if you ever come near either of us ever again”, she said, turning back to you and helping you stand up, ignoring the fan’s pleas for forgiveness. She wrapped an arm around your waist as you walked off. “Let’s get you to a hospital Jagi”, she told you, clearly still fuming.

“Hey, wait, stop” you told her once you were far from the sasaeng, stoppinh in your tracks and forcing her to stop as well. “Take a deep breath”, you told her. Wendy looked annoyed but did as you asked. “There, better?” you asked her. “Jagi, you’re the one who’s hurt here, not me”, she deadpanned. You let out a small chuckle, wincing at the pain the action caused you. “Well yeah, but you’re the one who looks the most affected” you reasoned.

“Wow, I knew you were a cheerful person but this is just getting ridiculous. That woman hurt you. You have the right to be mad right now”, she told you. She loved your never-ending positivity so much but it sometimes bothered you the way you tended to let people get away with hurting you. “I don’t know. You look mad enough for the both of us”, you joked.

Wendy only stared at you, her gaze hardening. You got serious, knowing your joking around was not making things any better. “I know, believe me, I know. And I am angry, honestly. The only thing I wanted was an ice cream and now I have to go to the hospital instead. But I feel like being angry is just letting her win. And that’s not worth it.” You explained.

Wendy was still furious but she could understand your reasoning, even if she disagreed. Moments like this only reminded her why she had fallen in love with you in the first place. “Come on. I’ll buy you an ice cream after a doctor checks out your nose.” She promised, wrapping her arm back around your waist and trying to fight back a small smile at the excitement that immediately lit your face at her words.

Joy

“Baby, I’m home”, Joy called out as she opened the door to the apartment. “In the kitchen”, you called out. Joy followed your voice, entering the kitchen to the sight of you cooking dinner. “Mmh, smells delicious”, she said as she came up behind you and wrapped her arms around your waist. Only to immediately let go when she felt you wince in pain. “What was that?” she asked you cautiously.

“What was what?” you asked, playing dumb and continuing to stand over the stove, refusing to look at her. “Y/N” She said. You gulped at the warning in her tone but continued what you were doing, acting like you hadn’t heard her. It was only a few seconds later that you felt hands grasping your waist and turning you around forcibly.

Joy wasn’t sure what she was expecting but the sight of a black eye and a bruise blooming over your cheek was definitely not it. A hand immediately went up to cup your cheek, only to fall away seconds later when you let out a gasp of pain. She remembered your earlier wince and her hands fell to the bottom of your shirt, lifting it up and gasping at the sight of the ugly bruise on your stomach.

“Baby, what happened?” she asked, voice soft but you could hear the anger underneath. “It’s stupid. Some guy who apparently doesn’t like us being together recognized me on the street”, you explained, trying to brush the whole subject away. You didn't do well with being vulnerable in front of people, not even your girlfriend. You hated being vulnerable.

Joy, however, wasn’t about to let the subject go. “Where was it? What did he look like? We’re going back there right now to see if he’s still there”, she said, already dragging you half-way to the door by the wrist. “Wait, Joy stop”, you said, struggling to stop her in her tracks. “I just want to forget about everything”, you explained. Joy immediately turned around to face you. “What, and let him get away with hurting you? No way in hell”, she scoffed.

Joy loved you wholeheartedly but it sometimes angered her your tendency to let people step on you. She knew you hated confrontations so she took it upon herself to become your protector. To stand up for you when you refused to stand up for yourself. And she wasn’t about to let someone get away with hurting the love of her life. She was about to tell you just that when she noticed the tears you were holding back.

She immediately softened, pulling you into an embrace. “It’s okay” she whispered. “It’s okay. We don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.” Joy knew that she couldn’t let this go but what she could do was leave it for tomorrow. Right now, her main priority was taking care of you.

But make no mistake, she would make sure that the bastard who had done that to you ended up in jail.

Yeri

Yeri found out what had happened after she got a phone call from the hospital. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach when she heard that you were in the hospital, after being found beaten up by some strangers in an alley.

She immediately started crying, much to her member’s worry. Once she told them what had happened, they dropped everything and had their manager drive them to the hospital, desperately running up to the man sitting in the desk in the lobby and asking for the room you where in. Once she had the number, Yeri ran through the hospital, ignoring her member’s calls telling her to slow down. She needed to see you.

She ran to your room but stopped in her tracks once she laid eyes on you. You heard her come in and turned to smile at her, motioning for her to come closer. But Yeri couldn’t take her eyes off your bruised face and from looking at your body, knowing the dressing gown probably hid even more injuries from sight.

“Jagi, come here”, you said, breaking her out of her stupor. She slowly made her way to you, quickly falling into your arms once she was within arm’s reach. You ignored the pain that came from the contact, instead enjoying the warm embrace of the woman you loved. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry”, Yeri kept mumbling into your head.

She knew you had been attacked by a sasaeng and she blamed herself, knowing that if it wasn’t for her, this would have never happened to you. You quickly shushed her, reassuring her that she had nothing to do with this. You saw the other girls of Red Velvet watching you both from the door. They saw you comforting Yeri and decided to go back to the waiting room to give you guys privacy.

After Yeri had finally calmed down, she took a step backwards so she could face you. “Y/N, I promise you that I will never let this happen again”, she said, seriously.

And she didn’t. She didn’t leave your side until you were discharged from the hospital and then she made her company put out a very serious note from her, warning any fan from ever doing something like that again. Her protectiveness also went up for a while after, barely letting you leave her sight. Not that you were complaining.

[deans-baby-momma]

Mommy’s (Not So) Good Girl-Ch 16

A/N: My home computer wanted to be a butt today and kept restarting, even when I was no where near it. So I apologize that this update is so late. 

"Yea. Dean, I am so sorry. I-"

"You let him fuck you?"

"No," I answer.

"Yea, like I can believe that," he scoffs. "Abby, I saw the video. I saw you grinding on him. Don't try to deny it. No boy in his right mind is going to resist something so freely offered."

"We didn't fuck," I try again, begging for him to trust me. "You are still the only one I've been with."

The silence in the garage is deafening as I stare at him, wordlessly pleading that he understand that I am telling the truth. 

"That's good to know," Dean says, finally conceding with a sigh. "But Abby you could've messed up everything."

"I know," I say low, hanging my head.

"If you had said my name at any point in that video," he pauses and sighs. "We would've both been in a world of trouble."

"I know." I still won't look at him.

"Lis bout went ballistic hearing you talk like that. Practically interrogated me, trying to find out who Daddy is."

My head snaps up at that. "Wha-what did you say?"

"I played dumb, of course. I told her I had no idea."

"Thanks for that I guess," I tell him, a small grin on my lips.

"Hey, I was covering my ass too baby."

The smile on my face grows as he calls me by my pet name for the first time since this whole debacle began.

"I'm still your baby?" I ask, hopeful.

"Of course," he answers smiling back at me. "Which is why Daddy got so pissed seeing you rubbing his pussy all over that kid."

My whole body heats up and I step closer to him.

"Still your pussy Daddy."

"Damn right," he says as he reaches out his hand toward me. I take it and he pulls my body to his. "Now, let's talk about your punishment."

"But Daddy," I whined. "I didn't…."

"No, but you wanted to. Were going to. And I had to watch it. You've been very naughty,  lil girl."

I nod and look up at him through my lashes. "So you gonna spank me?"

"Well," he says, dragging the word out. "Since you seem to have a big mouth and like to tell all your friends about me….You're gonna use that mouth to suck Daddy's cock until he cums down your throat."

I smile as Dean steps back and pulls me around to the other side of his car

"On your knees little girl," he demands and I hit the floor.

I watch as Dean unbuttoned and unzips his jeans, opening them and reaching in, pulling his member out. 

"Now put those loose lips of yours to good use."

I lick my lips as I wrap my fingers around the base of his dick.  Talking a deep breath, I open my mouth and let him slide in.

Dean's flavor hits my taste buds and I moan obscenely loud. I have missed his taste, the heft of his cock on my tongue,  the tip breaching my throat as I take more of him in. 

Dean begins panting above me while my head bobs on him. He places a hand on the top of my head and splays his fingers across the crown, putting slight pressure there. 

"God, I missed that mouth!" Dean exclaims in a whisper. 

I smile as best as I can with a fat cock between my lips. Hollowing my cheeks, I suck as he begins thrusting his hips, pushing further and deeper into my throat.

"Holy shit! Fuck, I'm gonna-"

He gets cut off when my mom knocks and steps into the garage. "Dean, hon? You out here?"

I immediately take my mouth off him and drop to the floor, looking up at him wide-eyed.  Holy fuck!

He nods his head to the side, silently telling me to crawl around the back of his car.  I hurriedly do as he suggests, sitting on the floor, hopefully out of sight.

My heart's beating erratically and it's hard to breathe, but I hold it in, barely exhaling through my nose.

"Dean?!" My mom chuckles. "Are you seriously out here jerking off?"

"Uh…...yea?" Dean answers sheepishly. 

"Need some help?" Mom asks and I have to suppress the urge to gag. If only Mom knew that it was my saliva on his dick! 

"Uh…..not here. It's all dirty and greasy and smelly out here, let's take this inside," Dean suggests and I hear the audible sound of his zipper being done up.

I wait until I know good and well that they've made their way back inside and to their room before I move.

I walk back in the house,  knowing it is going to be another night of hearing Dean and Mom going at it, knowing that could've been me. 

Christmas break

Two days before Christmas, I pull into the driveway and my mouth falls open. The house that I grew up in and always had minimal decorations at this time of the year is decked out in lights everywhere. There are strings of lights around every window, the door and hanging from the eaves. 

Mom has never been a big fan of this holiday and to see the house decorated as inanely as it is is bizarre and insane. In the picture window of the front room, there appears to be at least a 7 foot tree standing there with every limb decorated. There’s even a wreath on the front door!

Has my mom been possessed? Did someone, or something, take over my mom’s body and personality? Someone who is actually fond of Christmas. 

I walk into the house and can hear the rest of the family in the kitchen so I head that way. As soon as I walk in, I see Dean at the stove stirring eggs, Ben is setting the table and Mom is getting everyone’s drinks.

“Hey Abs,” she says as she passes by Dean who almost hits her with the pan of eggs when he turns around. 

“Who are you all and what have you done with my family?” I ask, astonished. The three of them laugh and, after sitting the drinks on the table, Mom comes over and hugs me.

“We’re making breakfast, silly.”

“Ooookay,” I say, still shocked at the sight before me. Dean looks over and winks as he serves the food onto individual plates. 

“Want some?” he asks. “I made plenty.”

The four of us sit at the table and enjoy the food, which apparently was all made by the man sitting at the head of the table.

“So, what’s up with all the deco? We have never celebrated Christmas like this.”

“A new tradition,” mom says. “Dean’s family didn’t ever celebrate and we’ve never really, so I thought it was time for us to start.”

I look between the three of them and then nod my head. They all look so happy and jovial. Okay, then new tradition I guess.

“Food’s good,” I say, changing the subject and looking toward Dean, who just smiles shyly.

“Yea, who knew Dean could cook!” my usual silent-unless-he’s-playing-a-game brother pipes up.  I look at him, wide-eyed and surprised he said words to us, to me. “What? It’s true.” he says and then goes back to eating.

Later that afternoon, Mom comes into my room while I’m reading and sits at the foot of the bed. I close my book and sit up. “What’s up?”

“I think Dean is going to propose,” she says nonchalantly and then looks at me and I can see the excitement in her eyes. 

‘What? No! He can’t propose...no, no no!’ I think to myself but force a smile on my face.

“Oh my god! That’s great,” I lie, convincingly because then Mom goes into a diatribe about how someone has seen Dean at the jeweler’s in the next town over for a week straight, everyday. 

“I mean, it has to be because he is trying to get the ring perfect, right?” She asks, the hope in her voice evident. 

“Sure. Yea, I’m sure that’s what it is,” I continue my fibbing. I hug her although my heart is breaking. 

The next morning, Christmas eve, I wake up and am met with the same thing as yesterday. We all gather in the kitchen and sit down for a family breakfast, this time the scrambled eggs are red and green. I quirk an eyebrow at Dean when he sits the plate in front of me and he smiles. “Food coloring. It’s festive,” he tells me and when I keep looking at him like he’s got a second head he rolls his eyes. “Just eat ba-Abby.!” He winks and then continues to give everyone else their plate.

The food is delicious again today. Ben was right when he claimed Dean could cook. Is there anything this man isn’t good at?!

As we are finishing up, Mom begins to discuss what is still needed for tomorrow’s dinner and Dean offers to go to the store for her. 

“Wanna go with me?” he asks, looking at me. I can tell he is silently pleading for me to agree so I nod.

On the way to the store, Dean turns his truck down a street I know for sure isn’t a shortcut or a faster way to the grocer’s.

“Um, De? Where’re you going?” I ask, a laugh in my voice.

“Just wait a second. There’s something I have to do.”

Dean pulls off to the side of the road into a wide spot where there is no traffic and not a single house in sight.

“If you brought me out here to kill me-” I begin but Dean starts laughing. 

“I didn’t bring you out here to kill you baby.” He reaches over and opens the glove compartment. Pulling out a brown paper bag, he sits it in his lap.

“I wanted to give you your present, just the two of us.”

Oh. OH!

I watch as he pulls a rectangular blue velvet box out of the bag and looks at it for a moment. I can see the name of the jeweler’s on the lid. The same one that he apparently frequented for a week straight. 

“Baby,” he pauses and then hands the box toward me. “Here. Merry Christmas.”

I take the box in my hand, the velvet is soft to touch. I slowly flip open the lid and my mouth drops at what is inside.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​ @spnbaby-67​ @tftumblin​ @sea040561​ @delightfullykrispypeach​ @larajadeschmidt13​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @squirrelnotsam​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @sandlee44​ @blacktithe7​ @deanwanddamons​ @hoboal87​ @marvelfanbrenda​ @vicmc624​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @elliloumom @stoneyggirl​

[orangeflavoryawp]

Jonsa - “From Instep to Heel”, Part 10

Rated Explicit.

“From Instep to Heel”

Chapter Ten: In Pieces

"In pieces does it go.

He may collect them bit by bit – he may clutch them tight to his chest, settle them side by side hoping for them to slip into place like jigsaws, but they will always stay as pieces.

This is how longing goes." -

Jon and Sansa. Like the curve of the horizon, when the moon breaks from beneath its bow.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 fin

* * *

"I hope you are enjoying Winterfell, my lord," Catelyn says with a nod Jon's way, eyes warm about the hall as their guests dance. Three days after he and Sansa's arrival, the Tyrell procession had made its way to Winterfell as well, and the festivities had begun in earnest. Amid the flood of bodies engaged in the hall, Robb twirls Sansa around merrily, and Lord Stark dances with Lady Margaery, while the rest of the Starks watch on from their places at the head table.

Jon raises a cup to Lady Stark in his seat beside her. "You've all been very welcoming, I thank you, my lady." Not that he would expect a Targaryen prince, even a bastard one, to ever be turned away. The Starks are too honorable for that, and too keen to the North's already shaky relationship with the crown.

Catelyn smiles shrewdly at his compliment.

Jon catches the motion, and thinks perhaps she understands better than any of them.

"You haven't even been to the training yard yet, Jon," Bran bemoans, picking at his meal.

Arya raises a brow at the casual address. "Oh, 'Jon', is it?"

Catelyn sends a reproachful look Bran's way. "That isn't proper, Bran."

"Well, he's our brother now, isn't he?" Rickon asks around a mouthful of food.

Catelyn tuts at her youngest's manners, a sharply raised brow sending the boy scrambling for a napkin to cover his mouth, a sheepish look adorning his face.

Jon chuckles beneath his breath.

"He lets me call him Jon," Bran argues, turning to him then. "Don't you, Jon?"

Jon leans back in his chair, setting his wineglass back to the table. "Aye, that I do."

"Except, of course, when we're sparring," Bran continues, attention turned back to his meal nonchalantly. "Then it's always 'my lord'."

"You could still do with a bit of deference, after all, little lord. And sparring requires discipline," Jon chuckles, bringing his glass to his lips when he sees Lady Stark glance his way again curiously.

"Ha! Discipline," Arya scoffs, head cocked Bran's way. "I'd pay to see that. This one has all the discipline of an ass – and the stubbornness, too."

Catelyn's chiding 'Arya' is a soft hiss of breath, and Jon wonders if this is what all Stark dinners are like. Something about it settles steady in his chest, an anchoring – an ease.

Bran glares at his sister. "Ser Jaime thinks I'm coming along well," he defends. "And he certainly knows better than your 'dancing instructor'," he mocks.

Arya's eyes narrow so quickly Jon almost misses it. The look is so strangely reminiscent of Sansa, but in a blunted, imprecise kind of way, that Jon is actually taken aback.

"Syrio could wipe the floor with your precious knight," she sneers back.

Bran opens his mouth to retort but Catelyn's voice cuts through the conversation then.

"Ser Jaime Lannister?" she asks, lips pursed tight.

Jon glances to her, watches her shoulders bunch minutely.

She wipes her hands over her skirts demurely, brushing away imaginary lint when she fixes Bran with a raised brow. "Your father hadn't informed me of that."

Bran almost looks contrite. "Jon helped me get the position. And Father did approve, eventually. Really, Mother, it's a good arrangement."

Catelyn shifts her gaze to Jon, cool and unaffected, but the lift of her chin tells Jon to be wary. "You had a hand in my son's squiring?"

Jon nods, fingers thrumming along the stem of his wineglass. "I did."

She purses her lips, hands bunching in her lap. "Ser Jaime Lannister, hmm? And you thought that wise?"

There's a current of something in her voice then, something Jon cannot identify, but it makes him no less apologetic. "It was the boy's wish," he tells her, no appeasement in his tone. Only truth.

Catelyn watches him for a moment longer, and then she offers a tight smile. "Sometimes it does to deny a boy's wish, my lord," she says meaningfully. "They do not always understand what they ask for, after all."

Jon nods, rolling the words along his tongue, before tilting his head toward her when he speaks, "The men they become understand well enough, my lady, one way or another."

A smile cracks the edges of her lips, a faint nod offered in his direction before she's reaching for her mug of ale. "I suppose you are right."

Jon takes another swig from his own drink in acknowledgement, a thrum of understanding passing between them unspoken.

"I'm not a 'boy'," Bran grumbles from the other side of Lady Stark, hardly audible.

Arya beams victoriously at him.

"I thank you all the same, my lord, for your attentions to my sons," Catelyn says, her shoulders easing somewhat as she settles back in her seat, her heavy mug held surprisingly delicately before her lips. "It was not them you were wed to, after all." She releases a graceful chuckle with the words.

Jon allows a small smile in return. "No, but," and he looks at Bran then, face softening, "They are my brothers as well now, are they not?"

Rickon beams around another mouthful of food. "Hear that, Mother? I'm brother to the prince!"

"You're an animal is what you are," Arya laughs. "Come here." She wipes at Rickon's cheeks with a napkin, shaking her head at him. He only takes another forkful, eyes bright as he watches her tend to him. She rolls her eyes and gives up, napkin thrown to the table, though she's trying desperately to hide her own amusement at his antics.

Jon watches the youngest Stark girl, her impulsive mothering of Rickon at strange odds with the snappish, forceful young woman he's seen of her thus far. It has him stilling his wineglass at his lips, gaze thoughtful, remembering –

My mother was a Tully, Sansa had told him once. Is a Tully, she'd corrected. As much as she is a Stark.

Jon thinks he understands now.

Family, duty, honor. Those were their words.

And all these last moons it's been Winter is coming. But perhaps they aren't so different.

(Yes, he thinks he understands now.)

For what does one do when winter comes?

You seek warmth. You seek each other.

Family – pack.

No, not so different. Not so blaringly apart. But Jon has been living in the in-between (between Targaryen and Stark, between Fire and blood and Winter is coming) for so long. that he doesn't know how to exist fully in either, how to be anything but split apart, a jumble of pieces. He doesn't know how to be one as much as the other.

(And maybe that is the point. Maybe they aren't supposed to exist equally. Maybe this is the choice he was always meant to make.)

Arya rolls her eyes at her youngest brother, but she's already shoveling the rest of her unfinished pot roast onto his plate. Jon notices Catelyn smiling fondly at the motion, hidden somewhat by the mug in her hand.

Jon clears his throat, squashing the tumult of emotions lighting in his chest. "You train, Lady Arya?" he asks instead, brow piqued.

Arya gives him a devilish grin, settling back into her seat now that Rickon has tucked into his food once more. "I do, my lord."

Bran scoffs, drawling his response with a fork waved vaguely at his sister. "Our father's indulgence."

"Don't be jealous," Arya says primly.

Bran shakes his head, fork tipped back to his plate. "Jealousy requires an envious subject." His eye roll is accompanied by a faint smile though, and Jon's chest aches inexplicably at the sight.

He glances to the Lady Stark to find her rubbing at the space between her eyes. "Seven, give me strength," she mumbles, barely audible.

Jon barely suppresses a laugh.

Arya leans forward suddenly, arms linked over the table, eyes bright. "Would you spar with me, my lord? I should like to test myself."

Jon's eyebrows rise into his hairline. "You wish to spar?"

Rickon looks up at the exchange with a mouth full of pork.

Arya is practically bouncing in her seat. "If you would have me, of course. I daresay I'd present a far better challenge than my brother here." She hooks a thumb toward Bran and ignores his glare, even as he stuffs a buttered potato into his scowling mouth.

Jon does laugh this time, raking a hand through his hair. "If your lady mother should approve," he grants, eyes flickering toward the Stark matriarch.

Catelyn's shoulders pull back, lips pursed at the address. She arches a brow Arya's way, only to find a pleading expression that instantly has her shaking her head and chuckling, eyes heavenward. "I suppose I can hardly decline a prince," she says with a mock sigh, eyes glinting when she looks back to her daughter.

Arya's mouth breaks into a wide grin, words at the tip of her tongue, sitting straighter in her seat when –

"After, of course, you finish your sewing lessons with Septa Mordane," Catelyn finishes archly.

Arya slumps back into her seat, instantly deflated.

Catelyn takes a sip of ale to hide her smile. "You see, my lord," she begins, eyes glancing back to Jon, "Parenthood is often compromise."

Jon is quiet then, fingers tightening over the stem of his wineglass. He thinks of his father's hands at his shoulders, along his cheeks, eyes set on his.

Not so much a compromise as a demand.

One he would have been eager to meet, before.

Before –

"Something you may learn yourself, soon enough," Catelyn finishes, a nod set his way.

And then it is Sansa's hands at his shoulders, at his cheeks, eyes set to his. The warmth of her beneath him, the spread of her copper hair along his pillows, the hook of her legs around his waist, the throaty moans she never bothers to smother, the heady flush of her pleasure at his fingertips, along his tongue, wrapped tight around his cock, the unspoken promise between them, when his hands light along her stomach and she presses flush against him, when he's spilling hot and frenzied inside her, the slow-growing hope branching through his lungs each time he spends his seed within her.

Jon shifts in his seat, throat clearing subtly. He glances across the floor for her form, catches a flash of red along the dance floor, his chest rising steady and slow with his inhale.

"'Soon' is exactly the word," Bran bemoans, his fork speared through a potato, "If what I've heard is anything to go by." He fights a grimace.

Jon snaps his gaze to the young man, heat rising to his cheeks without his bidding. His mouth tips open but no words follow.

Bran scrunches his nose. "You can only be so quiet in tents," he supplies, returning to his food.

Jon takes a long, deep swig of wine, decidedly not looking at Lady Stark, especially when Rickon bursts into laughter and Arya releases a disgusted noise.

Gods, but he could kill the boy.

Jon barely resists the urge to push from the table and never look back, or perhaps to slink down beneath it.

"Bran," Catelyn censures dryly, "You're being too informal. And your sister is a married woman now. She has a duty to her husband."

Jon's throat tightens, his wineglass stilled halfway between his mouth and the table, a grimace overtaking his lips before he can stop it, the word a visceral reminder.

Duty,

It seems a dirty thing, now. To think that anything between them could be described as 'duty'.

Not when she rests her fingers tenderly along the nape of his neck, and not when she presses her mouth to the hollow of his throat, and not when she curls into his side and rakes a hand over his chest when they are sated and drowsy.

Not when she falls asleep facing him, implicit in her trust, her openness, her wanting of him.

Not when he wakes with her bundled in his arms and the light of dawn cascading over her form and every line of her body is molded perfectly to his.

Not when she is every horizon he never dared to reach for.

Jon's eyes wet instantly, without warning. He blinks it back harshly, mouth a tight line, and when he glances back up, he finds Lady Stark staring at him, an unrecognizable look to her face. Her mouth tips open, but then –

"She likes you."

Everyone stills.

Jon blinks unfocused eyes toward the youngest Stark, watches as he shovels another forkful of pork into his mouth.

Arya raises a brow his way, patient for his explanation.

Catelyn shifts in her seat, her mug of ale returned to the table.

Rickon looks about the table, at the expectant faces turned his way after his comment. He shrugs, swallowing back his food. And then he motions to Jon. "She made it for you, didn't she? That cloak?"

Arya glances back to Jon with a perusing eye. Bran is silent as he eats, a knowing smile at his lips. Lady Stark is unnervingly still, her gaze settled on him once more.

Jon finds his hand reaching for the strap at his chest, fingers edging over the leather gently.

The wolf beneath. Just on the flipside.

Jaw clenching, hand retreating from the strap, Jon nods at Rickon. A single, swift assurance.

Rickon waits a moment, head cocked. And then he smiles – brilliant and wolf-bright. "She likes you," he says succinctly, turning back to his plate without preamble.

Jon feels the breath rake from his chest without warning. He watches the boy, throat parched, words stilted along his tongue.

Catelyn taps a thoughtful finger along the handle of her mug.

"She doesn't sew me cloaks anymore," Rickon tacks on grudgingly, suddenly sullen.

Arya barks a laugh, and it's like a crack of wind, a welcomed rush of air.

Jon feels it unwind from his chest, suddenly - a slow-thawing winter.

Catelyn sighs. "Perhaps if you stopped ruining them," she replies sagely, a meaningful look her son's way.

Rickon grins cheekily at her. Bran snorts a laugh into his fist.

And Jon is blessedly, inexplicably –

Content.

* * *

"Oh Sansa, it's beautiful," Margaery sighs beside her, trekking into the clearing of the godswood, eyes alighting the heart tree.

Sansa watches her make her way toward the ancient weirwood, a subtle smile gracing her features, following shortly after her.

Margaery glances back at her, silken hair slipping over her shoulder. "You were right. I would love to be married here."

Sansa settles along the edge of the pond just inside the clearing, a thin layer of ice already forming over the water, a gentle drift of snow layering everything. Sansa takes a deep, crisp breath, lets it fill her lungs, exhales it just as cleanly. She bundles her gloved hands before her, looks up at the overarching branches of the weirwood.

A red shadow overtakes her vision, slips of light falling in prisms through the blood-toned leaves.

It is not the temple of her mother's gods, not the sept where she falls to her knees in worship, but there has always been something ancient and intimate here, something greater than oneself. She understands the draw of it, the weight of it, the way it fills the lungs with wonder.

Margaery presses a gloved hand to the rough bark and stares at the touch. Sansa watches her from her place at the edge of the pond.

Someplace greater than oneself. It always seemed an appropriate place to marry, to become something greater than oneself. A part of a whole.

Sansa's throat tightens, her smile watery.

Would she have taken Jon for her husband here? Of her own choice? Would she have wed him in the sight of the old gods?

"May I tell you something, Sansa?"

Margaery's voice is soft, brittle in the gentle wind. It barely reaches her ears. Sansa takes a step closer. "Anything," she promises her.

Margaery's hand slips from the tree, but she stays turned to it, gaze shifting up to glance overhead at the swaying branches. "I don't think your mother likes me overly much." It's a chuckle that leaves her with the words, but it's far shakier than Sansa expects.

Her brows furrow. "Robb is her firstborn. Her son." Her gaze turns soft. "She is cautious."

"Does she find me scheming, do you think?"

Something about the words throws Sansa – the tremor with which they're said.

Margaery still will not look at her.

"Margaery - "

"She would be right," she gets out, strikingly sure, finally turning to Sansa. Her eyes are wet, her smile like glass. "She would be right, you know."

The wind seems to stop. A steady beat of silence passes between them. They stay staring at each other through the filtering snow, still and waiting – precariously close to a ledge Sansa has only ever glimpsed at from a distance.

She sucks a shallow breath between her lips. "What are you...?"

And then Margaery clears her throat, stalking back over to her, taking her hands in hers suddenly. "Sansa, I love your brother. I love him so dearly now, but I – I did not always." She shakes her head, takes a breath, looks back up at her. "Do you understand me?"

Sansa stares at her, watches the shadow of flickering leaves break across her features, tendrils of hair sweeping across her earnest face with a Northern gust. Her heart clenches in her chest.

She went for the next best thing: the heir to Winterfell.

Sansa remembers the words, even now. Hadn't admitted to the home they made in her heart, even as she refused them. That lingering doubt.

But Sansa has always taken people at more than their intentions.

Margaery shifts her eyes between hers, searching, narrowed. "You must know, Sansa. Somewhere inside, even if you won't admit to it, you must know." She swallows thickly, hands tightening over hers. "That I approached you with this goal in mind – from the very start." Her gaze breaks, her eyes fluttering down, focused on their joined hands. A heavy breath leaves her.

She understands though. She gets it now. There is no protection for women in this world but the kind you marry into, and is it a sin for a woman to choose that protection? To have a hand in it? To not sit idly by?

She is a faithful daughter, yes, and she heeded her parents' wishes for her own marriage. Her father's wishes. And perhaps she is luckier than most that her husband seems genuine in his regard for her, in his desire to protect her, but this cannot be the case for all. She sees this now.

Her own mother had no guarantee of love or affection when she married her father, but protection at least, was ensured. Her father has always been an honorable man, after all. And maybe Sansa had always taken that for granted, had always found the ease in such a marriage, never knowing the trials.

King's Landing was an awakening, to say the least.

Part of her resents that Margaery had such designs on her brother, of course, but she thinks she understands now. That resentment is more for her situation than it is the woman in particular. For the world that forces her hand so. For the cage she is just now seeing the bars of.

And yet always, her words echo in her ear.

Duty is all well and good, Sansa, but will it keep you warm at night? Will it weather the years with you? Will it grow old and grey beside you?

They each long for love, even if Margaery does not say it in so many words. They will do what they must to survive in this world, yes, but she knows Margaery has tasted loneliness. She knows she has yearned for more.

Anyone who could say such words, after all, must yearn for more.

It is not a crime Sansa finds unforgivable.

"I would be lying if I said I hadn't suspected it," she says slowly, finally, licking her lips with her trepidation. She takes a breath, lets it taste air. "But I would also be lying if I said I hadn't suspected more."

Margaery glances up at her again. The snow falls soft around them.

"I chose to believe you were more than that, and you have proven that belief worthwhile."

A sound escapes Margaery's throat, her lips parting. She shakes her head again, a sharp furrow to her brow. "Sansa, how can you...?"

Sansa steps into her. "I was right to trust you. So trust me now."

The other woman blinks salt-tinged eyes at her, mouth pursing closed, riveted.

"Give her time. My mother will see what I see. She will see the love you bear her son, and she will welcome you whole-heartedly. Family, duty, honor, you remember? Always family first." Sansa sets an imploring gaze on her, nodding, a steady smile branching across her lips. "So love my brother. Just...love him. The way I know you already do. And everything else will follow, I promise."

"Sansa - "

"You did not have to tell me this, and yet you did. I thank you for that."

Margaery wipes at her eyes, heaves a breath. She keeps her other hand firmly clasped in Sansa's. "Gods, but can you forgive me?"

Sansa laughs, short and bright – nothing incredulous about it, only warm. "I don't think you need my forgiveness, but you have it nonetheless."

Margaery nods, thumb grazing over Sansa's knuckles. She glances back to the weirwood, steady and looming behind them. The snow never stops falling, and the cold stays always in the bones up here, but it is an embrace Sansa has missed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she finds Margaery swallowing back a shaky breath, her eyes wet, her shoulders tight. Sansa uncurls her hand around the other woman's so that she may instead thread her fingers through hers.

She sighs, the air crisp on her tongue. "You make my brother happy," she says, surprised at the choke behind the words, the threat of tears lining her voice. "And for that, I think I could forgive you anything."

Margaery's free hand goes to her face, covering her sob, her crumbling features. Sansa tugs her toward her by their joined hands, embracing her before the watching weirwood, letting her bury her face in the fur at her shoulder. "Welcome to the North," she breathes into her hair, smile widening, "Sister."

Margaery curls her hands around Sansa's shoulders, sighing against her, a watery laugh leaving her.

The shadow of the heart tree stretches ever wide across their forms.

* * *

"Not much for snow, are you, my lord?" Robb jests as they ride their horses along the banks of the wolfswood.

"It is...cumbersome," Jon grumbles, hands twisting in the reins.

Theon barks a laugh on his other side. "I think the capital's made you soft, my lord," he sneers.

Jon throws him a baleful look. "And you're a Stark now, are you, Lord Greyjoy?" Jon snaps back, irritated at his presence already, and their hunt has only just begun.

"Iron and snow, my lord," Theon replies glibly. "The two go hand in hand. Takes a special sort to weather either."

"Aye, you're a special sort," Robb laughs, shaking his head.

Jon's mouth opens in retort but then Ned's horse goes thundering past. "Quickly now, boys, if we plan to bring anything back in time for dinner."

Bran and Rickon follow shortly after, taunting each other as they race, and Robb glances back to Jon one last time with a wide-set grin, before urging his horse on.

Jon sends a final glare to the smug-looking Theon before he's off as well, his horse's hooves kicking up snow and dirt. Hounds and men follow behind them, racing deeper into the wolfswood in search of game.

Jon clenches his jaw at their company. Men of the North. Some of whom have made their distaste of a Targaryen bastard, even one of Northern blood, not so hidden. Jon hardly expected a warm welcome when he'd arrived, but in some small measure, he'd hoped for it.

Perhaps it's the Starks who've made him soft.

Jon urges his horse on.

Lord Stark had made it abundantly clear that his nephew was welcomed amongst Winterfell's halls during the first night's feast, and Jon had glanced around the room at Lyanna's mention, cups raised solemnly in answer, before hearty men dipped their heads and downed their glasses in thunderous remembrance, bellows echoing throughout the hall, fists on tabletops, and Jon had never seen such a thing before.

Even when they still sent him wary glances, even when they grumbled their distaste, even when they refused to be shy about their opinions on his presence when he attempted to converse with some of the lords, even then - for all its boisterousness and impropriety – Northern court felt uniquely intimate. They would follow their lord, that was abundantly clear, but they didn't have to be quiet about it.

It almost makes Jon want to laugh.

And yet, there is no true dissension in their ranks. Ned had not bothered trying to silence them, and though Jon first took this in with a mark of concern, he finds now that he should have taken it with a mark of respect. For so long, he's watched his father silence his opposition with a ruthlessness he once admired, a single-minded vision, and consequently, he has watched their empire crumble, bit by bit, with whispers and deception, with his family's own weapons used against them. There is nothing of the sort here. Here, a man says what he means. And he says it loudly. There is no intrigue or courtly manipulation. There is no hidden meaning beneath one's words, nor hidden ambitions beneath one's actions. There is only a man and his lord. A service unto each other.

And he finds his father was right to fear the North.

"She make that for you?" Theon asks him when they've slowed to a trot, motioning to the heavy cloak adorning his shoulders.

Jon remembers the smell of her when she'd wrapped him in the cloak's warmth, the feel of her cheek against his beard, the soft curl of a smile tugging at her lips.

He arches a brow Theon's way.

"Sansa," he clarifies, though it needs no clarifying.

Jon doesn't like how he says her name, nor the casualness with which he says it. He grumbles his ascent, wondering why the Greyjoy has lined his horse with his. Up ahead, Bran and Ned are trailing the hounds, and behind them, Robb is teaching Rickon how to sit astride while pulling a bow.

Theon tips his head in thought, mouth pursed. "Figured she'd always make a dutiful wife."

"Not yours though." It's petty of him, he knows, but he can't help the words as they leave his mouth.

Theon rests his arms over the horn of his saddle, leaning forward slightly with a glint of amusement in his eye, the reins held leisurely in his hand. "No, she was never meant for me," he says.

Jon is acutely aware how the man does not deny any desire on his part though, and his hands tighten over his reins at the thought.

"Always thought she'd be a queen though," Theon continues, glancing ahead.

"Not a bastard's bride, hmm?" Jon says archly.

Theon laughs. "Your words, my lord. Not mine."

Jon leans back in his saddle a bit, watching him. "And you think you could offer her better?"

Theon glances back to him, straightening in his seat atop the horse. "Does it matter now?"

Jon clenches his jaw, teeth grinding, eyes flitting ahead at Lord Stark's hollering. The hounds have caught a scent.

Jon takes a deep breath, gathering the reins in his fist. "She deserves far better than either of us," he answers beneath his breath, before he's digging his heels in and racing after his uncle.

He misses the look of surprise on Theon's face.

Later, when they're chasing down an elk, his arrows missing by a hair's width, Robb's teasing egging him on, he's not particularly surprised when Theon's arrow hits the mark right between the eyes.

He glances across the snow-capped ferns at the Greyjoy, Bran and Rickon already bounding over to the felled beast. But Theon isn't looking at him. He doesn't look at him the entire ride back.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf is howling.

"Direwolves," Rickon tells him as they make their way back to Winterfell, nodding up toward the far hills, the sun dipping down along the horizon in a streak of red against white.

Jon glances up to where the youngest Stark motions, eyes scanning the horizon, but nothing emerges. Even still, he knows he is right. Something tells him to trust the boy.

Something tells him to trust the North knows how to bare its teeth as well as any beast.

* * *

"Ha!" Arya shrieks, her sword clashing against Jon's, before she's pushing off, twirling her sparring blade in her grip, taking a lower stance.

Jon shakes his head, smile blinding, curls clinging to his forehead with sweat. He changes sword hands, notes the flicker of unease in her eyes when he does so. "Never let your enemy read your movements."

Arya purses her mouth, a frown marring her features, and then she's lunging again.

Jon pivots away, striking out, catching her swing mid-arc, but she recovers quickly, thrusting again, and Jon barks a laugh as she pushes him back, pure delight at her enthusiasm, swift and agile as she is.

She tips left, and he catches the arc of her blade with his own, stepping into her lunge, grabbing at her other wrist with his free hand, ignoring her shriek of surprise and yanking her off balance. She stumbles toward him, sword up, but he's braced for the impact, twisting to use her momentum, letting her tumble into the dirt, his sword swift at her throat when she scrambles onto her back.

She lays there huffing, staring up at him, and Jon's chest is heaving as well, he must admit.

A mischievous smirk breaks across her face and she shoves a hand into the air, expecting his assistance without word, and he grants it, grasping her arm, hauling her back to her feet with practiced ease.

Arya dusts off her leathers, picking her sword up off the ground. "Alright, Jon, time to come clean,"

Jon wipes at his sweat-laced brow, leaning back on one foot with an inquisitive brow arched her way. "About what?"

"After all these spars, you've got to see that I'm better than Bran."

Jon chuckles, waving her over to the nearby bench. Along the yard, Rickon trains with Ser Rodrik, and on the other side, Bran is sinking arrows beneath the deriding teachings of Theon. Jon places his sparring sword back along the rack, taking up his own sword as it lays unattended along the bench, unsheathing it and laying it in his lap. Arya watches him quietly a moment, following suit shortly after. Her own blade is thin and short, closer to a dagger than a sword, and though Jon had, at first, chuckled at the sight, he sees now its value in such a hand as hers. Not all blades are made for blind destruction. Not all warriors are made for blunt force. This teacher of hers, Syrio Forel, knows more than he'd originally given him credit for.

Jon takes an oiled cloth to his blade, the motion always soothing to him after a fight. Clean. Clipped. A smoothness to the even swipe of his hand along the blade, something grounding. His heart settles back into an easy pattern quickly, gentled by the motion. Arya takes after him almost on instinct, and he smiles inwardly at the sight, watching her unsheath her blade with a reverence only a true swordsman would have for their weapon. But he keeps these musings to himself. He doesn't think his wife would particularly appreciate his encouraging of her sister's aggressions.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her own oiled cloth gliding smoothly over her blade. "It's true though, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm better than Bran."

Jon spares a chuckle. "You're...different."

Arya huffs, eyes back on her blade. "That doesn't mean 'better."

"Doesn't mean 'worse' either."

Arya silences then, continuing in her cleaning. She straightens suddenly, hand stilling while she glances out across the yard. "You know, it took me years to convince Mother I could train as well as the boys."

Jon hums a noise of acknowledgement. "I can imagine."

Her face narrows, a scoff leaving her. "I doubt it. Men have never had to prove themselves like women have."

"No, but bastards have." He doesn't know what compels him to say the words, but they make it to air regardless, and he cannot take them back.

More than that, he doesn't want to take them back.

Arya glances at him a moment, silent and musing.

It's unnerving, he realizes. And he finds he's not particularly fond of Stark women peering at him. Makes him feel undone in his own skin.

Jon clears his throat suddenly, hand harsh in its swipe down his blade. "I mean, I think I understand you."

Arya nods slightly, a thoughtful lilt to her mouth. "Aye, perhaps you do."

"And what, you never thought to live the life of a lady? Never thought to make yourself comfortable in some man's castle?" It's not said derisively, just curiously, and he wonders at this newfound ease he finds with her.

"Is Sansa comfortable?" she asks without pause.

Jon stills at the question, shifting toward her.

Arya does not look at him, just continues the motion of her hand along the blade.

Jon swallows thickly, glancing out over the yard, eyes alighting on Rickon when he falls back into the dirt, a frustrated grunt breaking from his mouth.

A lick of his lips, his gaze flickering away, his hand resuming its motion, Jon replies, "I should hope so." It's not said with the sort of confidence he would have liked.

"Shouldn't you know? Being her husband and all?" she asks derisively.

Jon sighs, shaking his head. "Marriage isn't so clean cut, Arya," he says lowly, "Especially not in the capital."

"Then make it clean cut," she pushes.

He arches a brow at her.

Arya huffs, focus resumed on her blade. "You're pack now – to each other. And the lone wolf may die but the pack survives, so...survive. Whatever you need to do. Survive. Together." She glances at him with a dark look, the familiar grey of her eyes startlingly clear. "She can be a wretched thing, believe me, I know, but – but she's my sister. My sister. She's..." Arya trails off, glancing away from him, mouth pursed in a tight line.

Jon heaves a breath, finds the word easy on his tongue. "Pack?"

She looks back at him with a raised brow.

Jon nudges at her shoulder, turning back to the cleaning of his blade, unable to keep her eye. "You Starks aren't so hard to read," he says on a laugh, throat tight without knowing why.

Arya releases a similar chuckle, shaking her head. "We Starks, you mean."

She says it so easily, and there again, that clench in his chest, that hitch of air in his lungs.

Jon swallows back his retort, because it seems pointless now – now when he's sitting here with his little cousin, polishing blades, sweating even in the frigid Northern air, the laughter of her brothers filtering through the chill toward their ears. A great many things seem pointless suddenly.

Jon breathes deep, lets it fill his lungs, exhales slow and steady.

They continue on in silence for a time, a contented silence that Jon doesn't remember ever feeling in his own home, especially not in his own training yard. No. That place is reserved for sharpened barbs disguised as brotherly taunts, for an overseeing eye, for scrutiny in every corner and praise so hard to come by he'd beamed beneath even the faintest of his father's smiles.

Jon doesn't know how long they sit like this, only that the shadow of the sun has shifted over his shoulder, blaring bright even through the crisp winter air.

"You trained under Ser Arthur Dayne, didn't you?" Arya asks softly.

Jon is grateful he doesn't falter in his motions, nor stutter in his words when he answers her. "For a time."

"He why you're so good?"

Jon laughs at the question, even more so at the unladylike way she pieces the words together. And yet, it suits her. It suits her just fine. "He's a large part of it, yes."

"And the other part of it?"

Jon's lips thin into a tight line, his teeth grinding. "Ambition." He swallows, glances to her. "Perseverance."

She considers him quietly, returns to her blade with a thoughtful look. "I hear he was a great swordsman." The words are soft, compassionate.

Jon is grateful for it.

"He was more than that." His words are a croak, and he has to clear his throat before he continues, eyes focused on his blade lest he lose himself. "He was the greatest man I ever knew."

Arya stills her hand along her blade, watching him. "The greatest man you've ever known?"

Jon nods silently, throat bobbing.

"Not your father?"

Jon's hand halts mid-swipe, his lips parting. He turns to her swiftly.

She's looking at him expectantly, one brow raised, eyes unblinking.

Jon swallows thickly, schooling his features back to impassiveness. "My father is a king," he grinds out.

Arya turns to him more fully, her own blade forgotten in her lap. "Is he not also a man?"

Jon sends her a warning look, back straightening.

Arya seems to read the stiffness in his posture, the furrow in his brow, because she's turning away from him then, disappointment shadowing past her features, a resigned scoff leaving her. "Are you not also a man, simply because you are a prince?" she grumbles out.

Jon stares at her, mouth parting over words he doesn't know how to bring to air. But he doesn't get the chance to voice them, nor the tangle of emotion left withering in his throat.

"Targaryen."

Jon looks up to find Robb's grim face framed by sunlight. He nods for him to follow. Jon grabs for a clean cloth to wipe down his blade. "What is it?"

"Deserter from the Night's Watch," he says solemnly. "Come on. Time you saw a bit of Northern justice."

Jon stands, sheathing his sword. He glances back to Arya, who's already standing herself, sighing as she tosses her rag aside. "Not that Father would ever let me join."

"Arya," Robb admonishes, but it's with a tender sort of resignation Jon hasn't heard before.

Arya waves him off easily. "I know, I know." She sighs heavily, nodding up at her eldest brother. "I know, Robb."

Robb chucks her beneath the chin, a soft smile sent her way, before he's urging Jon after him. "Bran, Rickon," he calls across the yard. The boys look up simultaneously. Theon seems to somber when he catches the look on Robb's face. "Father needs us."

Jon follows the Starks and Theon wordlessly, Ser Rodrik sighing as he racks the sparring blades and trails after them. Glancing up, Jon catches sight of the afternoon sun hanging low over the ramparts. Even now, he can tell the snow will still fall come nightfall.

Even now, he can feel the crawl of winter.

(It is coming.)

He looks ahead, keeps his stride.

(It's been coming for such a long, long time.)

* * *

Sansa trails her hand over the hilt of Jon's sword as it lays sheathed along the rack in their chambers. She'd known about the execution earlier that day, known about Jon's presence with her father and brothers when the sentence came down. Arya had told her upon her entrance to the hall midday, where Sansa sat sewing with Jeyne, shoving a bread roll into her mouth after the news.

Dinner was a quiet affair.

Now, alone in their chambers once more, Sansa can't help thinking of it. In the flicker of firelight from the hearth, she can see the etched lines along the hilt of his blade, the simple decoration. No dragons. No flames. Nothing to tie it to its master, truly. In a way, it's settling, though she can't precisely determine why.

"There's a thought in that head dying to get out, I can tell," Jon chuckles from his seat at the edge of the bed. He drops his boot to the floor, finally free of the day's trappings, his leather jerkin laying over the back of the nearby chair, clad now in only his breeches and untucked tunic.

Sansa turns to him at the comment, a brow raised.

He quirks a smile, leaning back on his hands, watching her. "I'm not completely unobservant, you know."

Sansa shakes her head, a soft smile at her lips. "No, you certainly are not." She turns back to the sword, hand gliding over the thick sheath, contemplative.

Jon watches her in silence, taking her in.

And then she sighs, turning back to him, her hand slipping from the blade. "I don't understand Arya's fascination with it. With killing, fighting, all of it."

Jon nods thoughtfully a moment, eyes drifting to the racked sword when he asks her, "Are you sure that's what the fascination is?"

Sansa furrows her brows, mouth pursed.

He glances back to her, straightening up. "Take it."

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. "What, your sword?"

Jon chuckles at her, motioning toward it. "Aye, the sword."

She eyes it doubtfully a moment, giving him one last incredulous look, but at his expectant expression, she squares her shoulders, brushing her hands over her shift in nervousness before reaching for it. It's far heavier than she expects, and her elbows buckle slightly as she lifts it from its place on the rack, unprepared for the strain.

Behind her, Jon smothers a laugh into his fist.

"Don't you dare mock me, Jon Targaryen," she warns him with a sly look over her shoulder, hefting the sword in her grasp.

Jon clears his throat, looking abashed, though amused still, and Sansa finds it in her to smile at the expression when she turns fully to him. She grips the blade by the hilt, the other holding up the sheathed end of it. She tips it back and forth in the light, glancing down the length of it. When Jon continues his silent watching of her, she peers up at him, shoulders shrugging. "What now?"

Jon shifts so that he's leaning with one elbow over his knee, dark curls falling over his brow, and the way the fire flickers over his face, suddenly somber and focused, has Sansa heating in her own skin. "You feel the weight of it?" he asks her, low and steady.

She nods, voice lost, taken abruptly by the image of him.

"That weight means something. Something more than the killing or the fighting. It's a responsibility."

"What responsibility?" she whispers, swallowing thickly when she finds her voice hoarse.

Jon tips his head, eyes intent. "To protect what you love."

Sansa clamps her mouth shut, unable to say more.

Jon leans back, motioning toward him. "Come here," he says softly, the words a gentle entreaty. It still feels like a command though, when her limbs go to him of their own accord. He stares up at her, hands going for her hips.

Sansa continues to watch him in keen anticipation, his sword still gripped tight between them, and then he's turning her, edging back along the bed a touch, drawing her down to sit between his legs, his chest pressed to her back through the thin material of her shift and his tunic. Sansa settles the sword in her lap, throat parched as Jon drags his hands down her arms to clasp over her own hands, pulling the blade slowly from its sheath. She feels his breath at her cheek, the scratch of his beard along the juncture between shoulder and neck, and she stiffens at the intimacy of the position, her chest constricting.

Jon seems unaware of her state, continuing to draw the sword out until it pulls fully from the sheath, glinting in the firelight, and he tosses the sheath aside. Sansa draws a deep breath in, eyes fixing to his hand when he takes her free one and turns it palm up, settling the cool steel of the blade atop her palm, the hilt still held tight between their joined grasps. His fingers thread through hers, hand braced beneath hers to hold the weight of the sword.

She can't deny the sense of potency she feels with it in her grasp, the might that fills her, a dark kind of satisfaction with something so deadly cradled in her palms.

"You see that?" he breathes at her ear.

Sansa nearly jumps at his voice, so lost in the sensation she had been. She licks her lips, turns slightly to him over her shoulder. "What?" It's a breathless exhale that passes her lips.

Jon's hand leaves hers beneath the blade, gliding up the length of it, skirting the edge, just a slice away from bleeding. Sansa's breath catches in her throat at the motion.

"The sharpness of it. The thickness of the blade," he rumbles at her ear, hand treading back to hers. "There's power in such a thing. The kind of power that can end a man's life."

Sansa sucks a sharp breath between her teeth, twisting to look at him, but his eyes aren't on her. They're fixed to the blade as he settles it along her lap, dark and glazed over, lost somewhere she may never know.

"It's not a light burden, believe me. And it never should be."

Sansa stills at the words, watching him, face softening when his gaze flickers back up to hers, seemingly just noticing her attention on him, and he dips a reassuring smile to her shoulder, lips warm even through her shift.

"Jon."

"You know, today, when your father had me accompany him to sentence that deserter," he begins, stopping suddenly, licking his lips before he continues, "He told me 'If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

Sansa blinks at the words. She's never heard the like from her father, but even now, she can hear his voice in them, his solemn bearing, his noble urging. Yes, it's exactly something her father would say. She finds a warmth in her chest she hadn't thought to find before. Gently, Sansa extracts her hand beneath Jon's around the hilt, lifting it to his cheek instead.

He glances at her, their faces only a breath away.

"I think I understand," she whispers, hand cradling his jaw, and she catches the way his gaze falls to her lips briefly, before shifting back to hers.

Jon clears his throat, looking back down to the sword from over her shoulder.

Sansa's hand slips from his cheek, her fingers tingling, winded somewhat. "Where did you get this sword?" she asks in a breathy whisper, cursing her faltering voice. She winds her hand back around the hilt, anchoring it to her, anchoring him to her.

Jon unthreads his hand from hers and slides his calloused palm over her thigh, up toward her hip, settling there with ease. He sighs into her shoulder, watching the shadows that flicker over the blade. "Ser Arthur commissioned it for me." His voice grows small, his hand curling over her hip. "Years ago. Before I was truly ready for it."

Sansa leans back against him, taking a deep breath. "You miss him."

There is silence at her shoulder for many long moments, his thumb rubbing circles along her hip in some measure of comfort, she knows. And then his other hand leaves the hilt of the sword in her grasp, fingers gliding over the tops of her thighs, and then dragging back along the swell of her hips, rolling her into him, a low groan leaving his chest at the motion.

Sansa arches slightly at the touch, mouth parting.

"Aye, I do," he rumbles into her neck, nosing at her hair. "But right now," he gets out on a rasp, fingers tugging the edge of her shift up over her thighs greedily, "I'm missing something else."

Sansa hums appreciatively, head lolling back along his shoulder, as she rolls her hips in his lap, reveling in the impatient huff that leaves him. "And what is that?" she manages through her hitched breath, lip caught between her teeth.

He bunches her shift at her waist efficiently, hand dipping down between her thighs. "This," he groans out, fingers sliding over her slickness, a curse grit out against her shoulder when he finds her without her smallclothes.

Her smile curls devilishly across her lips, unseen. She arches back against him, mewling when he slides a finger into her cunt, and she can feel his hardening cock at her backside, bucking against her with a low moan.

"Sansa," he manages in a croak, lips at her throat, a second finger sliding alongside the first.

She gasps, legs spreading over his lap, eyes slipping languidly shut. "Hmm?"

"Put the sword down," he growls out, pumping his fingers slowly in and out of her, his other hand dragging her back along his cock in a steady motion.

She hums in thought a moment, turning her head so that he has better access to her throat. "I don't know," she gets out between pants, smirk rising. "I rather like the feel of it in my hands."

Jon presses a long groan into the skin of her throat, teeth baring over the flesh, his fingers digging painfully into her hip when he grinds her back along his length, hard and aching for her. His fingers curl inside her, his chest pressed tight to her back when she gasps at the touch, at his hungry mouthing at her neck. "Careful," he snarls beneath the cover of her hair. "You might hurt yourself."

Sansa blinks back the haze, one hand leaving the sword in her lap to wrap around his at her hip. "I trust you," she whimpers, cunt clenching around his fingers.

Jon's hand stutters in its motion for the briefest second, his breath catching at the shell of her ear, and then he's pressing into her, forehead braced to her temple, a ragged sigh leaving him, and Sansa feels it all throughout her, a quiver beneath her skin, an ache between her legs that thunders all the way out, to the edges of her fingertips, to the tips of her toes, to the place where his mouth stays pressed to her sweat-dampened skin.

"I trust you," she whispers again, hand leaving his to tug pointedly at the material of his breeches, lifting her hips at the motion, and his hand leaves her hip to tug at his laces immediately, already keen to the meaning, fumbling to rid himself of them, and she laughs at the motion, leaning over the side to set the sword down as gently as she can against the edge of the bed with his fingers still inside her and his breeches being dragging down over his thighs, Jon unwilling to lift her fully from his lap and lose the feel of her. "But just to be safe," she giggles, releasing the hilt and letting it fall, forgotten, jostled to the floor when he tugs her back against him, fingers driving deep inside her, eliciting a sharp gasp when she braces a hand along his thigh to steady herself.

"Fuck the sword," he growls out, grinding against her, panting into her neck, and Sansa laughs again, fumbling for his cheek at her shoulder – anchoring.

* * *

The night before the wedding, Ned takes Jon down into the crypts.

He'd seen the entrance before, caught sight of the twin direwolf statues standing like guards before the darkness.

"The family crypts," Sansa had told him at his side, arm in his as they made their way toward the main courtyard upon the Tyrells' first arrival. He'd slowed to a halt at its edge, her whisper still in his ear.

"And all the Kings of Winter," she'd gone on to say, something wistful about the words, and he'd turned to her, recognized the tender look on her face, that one she always donned when recounting her tales and songs, her age-long loves. He'd been unable to do anything but share her awe, and he hadn't even stepped foot in them.

And yet now, when Ned claps a hand along his shoulder, a heavy sigh leaving him, nodding toward the darkened entrance with a gravelly "Come on then", Jon finds his feet rooted in the dirty snow. He stares long down the corridor, the flicker of torchlight casting faint, eerie shadows across the threshold, and he thinks maybe some things are supposed to stay dead.

But he can't seem to stop drudging up graves he hadn't meant to ever dig, and his mother's is only the first.

He thinks Ned knows this, in some regard, in some small measure. Because he stops to look back at him when Jon does not follow, and the sharp crease to his brow, the gentle dip of his frown, it all seems terribly, terribly unfair.

And Jon could laugh at such a thought.

"You owe this to her, boy," Ned says in a rough voice, and Jon hasn't even the mind to rankle at the address. Ned softens then, a hand wiping down his mouth with a sigh. "You owe this to yourself," he finishes, and after a moment's pause, he turns back to the crypts, striding in without waiting to see if Jon will follow.

He must know he will, though. He must know.

And he would be right.

There are torches propped along the wall at intervals all throughout corridors, the heat of them bleeding into the dirt and stone, suffusing him as he stalks on, following the dark image of his cloak-lined uncle, eyes flitting to the stone statues all along the way.

He does not recognize any of the faces, and he wonders if he should. But then, stone has never done a man justice, and so Jon looks on, follows Lord Stark silently through the turns of shadowed halls, until they slow finally, coming upon a woman who must be his mother, he knows, and yet, could be anyone down here in this haunting tomb.

Jon swallows thickly, coming to stand beside his uncle as he looks up, notices the fresh wreath of winter roses placed along his stone mother's hands.

Ned releases a soft chuckle beside him, and Jon glances toward him, brow raised in question.

Noticing his look, Ned nods to the flowers atop her open palms. "Must've been Sansa," he says.

Jon's eyes prick with tears before he can stop them, his gaze shifting back to the stature with a swiftness, his throat tight when he sucks a harsh breath between his teeth. He rocks back on his heels, bunches his hands into fists at his sides, takes a moment to steady himself.

They stand staring at the statue for an immeasurable amount of time.

Jon is beginning to think it's up to him to say something, but nothing makes any sense to say, and so he stays quiet. And so, he just breathes in the dark.

Lyanna, they called her.

The name feels wrong in his mouth. Nearly as wrong as 'mother', but for none of the right reasons.

Jon hangs his head.

"You know," Ned begins, voice hoarse from disuse, clearing it before he continues, "I realized today that I'd been angry with her for all this time."

Jon looks up at him.

He's staring at his sister's stone visage, chin high, eyes blinking furiously. His mouth is a thin line, a winter's cut, and there is grief there, Jon realizes suddenly. The kind of grief that never leaves.

The kind you lay down beside your bed at night and take up again every morning, like a mantle.

"For leaving us," he says, jaw clenching.

Jon turns his gaze back to the floor. "And angry at me," he finishes for him lowly, barely a whisper.

For killing her, he doesn't say.

Ned turns his heavy grey gaze upon him, jaw still clenched. "For a time," he tells him.

Some part of Jon is grateful for the admission. Grateful that Ned does not spare him the lance of his honesty, biting though it is.

The torches flicker around them. The heat settles slow into their bones.

Jon stays staring at the ground.

"I almost lost my wife when Arya came into this world," Ned says suddenly, voice tight.

Jon licks his lips, takes a steady breath. He does not lift his gaze.

"I remember thinking," Ned begins, throat constricting, shaking his head, "'How can such a small...such a small, helpless thing, ever be a killer?'" The words are a struggle, his voice cracking with them, his hand going over his face for a blinding, breathless moment.

Jon finally looks up at his mother. She is unmoved. Everlasting. He imagines she is cold to the touch, even with the blaring heat of the torches at their sides.

Something comes undone inside him, splintering out.

"You didn't take her from me," Ned says finally, hand drawn down over his mouth. "The gods did. And for whatever reason, I cannot fathom, but – but this I know. You did not take her from me." He turns then, watches Jon in the dim shadows, eyes a harrowing grey.

Jon takes a breath, holds it tight in his lungs, uncurls the fists at his sides. He can only nod, his voice laying slaughtered in his throat. He does not trust it to air.

Ned sighs deeply, turning back to Lyanna's statue. "I know you have questions. And I'm afraid I have very few answers. I never saw her again after she left Winterfell with Rhaegar. I never...never got to say goodbye. I mean, I don't - I don't even remember what words we last spoke to each other." He shakes his head, clears his throat.

Jon finally looks to him, and when their eyes meet, he finds the tears are already hot along his lids, his mouth a trembling line, the breath raking from him in short, shallow bursts.

It's a keen sort of longing. The regretful kind.

Jon feels it curl tight around his heart and tug, splitting all those years of resentment into shards that will never fit together properly again – that will never make a whole.

In pieces, Jon realizes.

In pieces does it go.

He may collect them bit by bit – he may clutch them tight to his chest, settle them side by side hoping for them to slip into place like jigsaws, but they will always stay as pieces.

This is how longing goes.

It is never whole.

"I cannot tell you what she hoped for in leaving, or what she hoped for in your father," Ned says on a rough exhale, shoulders pulling back. His eyes return to his sister, eyes softening somewhat.

Jon is lost somewhere between them.

The shadows make for fine comfort here.

"But I can tell you this," he says, voice sure suddenly, a step taken toward him, the brush of his shoulder just barely registering to Jon, his hand anchoring along the back of Jon's neck like a ghost, "She would have loved you."

Jon blinks up at him, unable to stem the sob that tears through his exhale, nor the quiver to his lip. "Uncle."

"As fiercely as she loved any of us, she would have loved you," he tells him, hand tightening over his neck, "Above all else," he promises, eyes intent on his, head dipped toward his nephew's, the tremble to his jaw staggering Jon where he stands.

He misses her, Jon realizes. And he doesn't know how.

He misses her more than he's ever missed anything.

'Lyanna's boy', they call him.

And oh, how he yearns for it now.

Lyanna's boy, Lyanna's boy, Lyanna's boy.

Like a song. Like a promise.

He thinks he would have liked to have a mother, after all. Maybe especially her.

Ned takes a soldiering breath, drags his hand from Jon's neck. Many moments pass as he stands staring at his sister's statue once more. And then he takes a step back, glancing at Jon one final time. "Take your time," he says, and nothing more. He lays a hand along his shoulder, a gentle squeeze, and then he's gone, disappearing the way he came, and Jon is left staring at his stone mother, this silent ghost, this reminder of everything he'd never thought to want.

He doesn't know how long he stands there. He only knows that the shadows of the torches have shifted when Sansa makes her way slowly toward him. He sees her in his peripheral, has become attuned to her footsteps.

He would know her anywhere, after all.

"My lord," she greets, voice a gentle lull, and he cannot help the breath that leaves him at the words.

Like a lullaby. Like a cradle of winter wind.

Jon closes his eyes and breathes deep.

"I'm sorry if I've intruded," she says, halting just out of reach, her hands bundled tightly before her.

"You haven't," he tells her, a slow shake to his head, and the words are raspy for their disuse.

Sansa stays standing just outside his reach, watching him quietly, and he stretches a hand out toward her, eyes opening to fix once again on his stone mother.

She comes dutifully, a whisper of a promise. She takes his arm, settles against his side to stare up at her aunt, a reverent silence overtaking the both of them.

His eyes drift to the winter roses immediately, but his tongue is still heavy with loss, still unused to these words. They start and stop and start again along his tongue, only to be swallowed back with uncertainty.

Sansa stays quiet at his side, mindful of his turbulence, unobtrusive in her presence.

He grips at her arm with a need he doesn't know how to voice.

"I don't know what to say to her," he croaks out finally, a breath catching jagged and tear-laced in his throat.

Sansa tips her head up toward him, gazing at him quietly, before she brushes a loose curl back from his forehead, her hand grazing his temple in a slowness that has him leaning toward the touch, his mouth parting silently.

She settles her hand at his shoulder, her gaze still fixed to his profile. "Then say nothing," she tells him. "Or say everything – all of it."

Jon clenches his jaw, eyes blinking furiously through their salt-sheen.

Sansa sighs beside him, her hand dragging down from his shoulder, along his arm, settling against her other hand held in the crook of his elbow. "Say what you must. There is no need for more."

Jon screws his eyes shut, a shuddering breath leaving him.

Did you know all this would happen? he means to ask her, as though that is the question that matters.

Jon shakes his head, frown deepening.

And more than that –

More than that, he cannot stop the way it all comes frothing to the surface.

Did you know what you risked when you did it? Did you ever regret it? Did you wish for me, or was I simply an accident? Did you welcome me when you finally knew? Did you sing to me? Did you laugh when I kicked? Did you call me yours?

And this is where he breaks.

Did you suffer, in the end? Did it hurt beyond imagining? Did you resent me for it? Did you wish I'd never been? Did you even hold me before the end? Did you want to?

Jon sucks a sharp breath through his teeth.

And did you cry?

Gods, but he hopes she didn't. He hopes beyond anything else that she didn't cry for him. Not for him, not for – him.

Jon's head dips down, a hand braced to his mouth.

Sansa stares at him with tear-filled eyes, a soft sniffle leaving her, and then she wipes at her eyes, pulls her hand from the crook of his elbow, smoothing down her skirts in a nervous, self-conscious habit that he has grown far too accustomed to now to ever dismiss again.

"I'll not intrude any longer, my lord," she says on a shaky whisper, turning to leave him.

And did you hope, in the end? Even through the pain – did you hope? Like I have?

Jon reaches out, snatching for her hand before she can step any further.

Sansa stills in his grasp, glancing down to his touch, to the needy curl of his fingers along hers.

"Stay," Jon rasps, eyes still fixed to the statue before him, still unwavering, still tear-laced.

Sansa opens her mouth, closes it, stares at him in the flickering torchlight of the crypt.

"Please," he manages, voice barely more than a choke, "Will you stay?"

She stays watching him in the faint light, her hand limp in his trembling grasp, in his fervent grip.

Eons and epochs and the long wind of winter passes through them before she breathes again, before she steps toward him, before she turns her palm and threads her fingers through his.

"Okay," she says simply, stepping into his side.

Jon nods, unable to look at her, face crumbling, hand over his eyes when the first sob takes him. "Okay," he says, a tremulous gasp, hand gripping hers.

Sansa nods, nose pressed to the furs at his shoulder. "Okay," she says.

And so they stay.

And so he weeps.

And so it goes – in pieces.

(Bit by bit, it falls away. Bit by bit, they make a whole.)

[rrkzarena]

A SHORT LOVE

It was bone chilling winter in Jaipur that year, I was dreaming in my blanket when someone knocked the door I thought it as part of my dream. After multiple knocks she called me but I reject the call at first instance and when second call was vibrated I immediately rushed to open the gate.

As I opened the gate she was angry and hot, her face was red due to anger but I acted innocently in order to avoid any scene or fight between us.

“Sorry, I forget that you are joining me in morning studies.” I said and invited her in my room.

“You also forget to instruct me proper way to your new room.” She responded.

I changed my accommodation two months ago from last flat to a small and compact room.

She didn’t say anything and stepped in the room. I asked her to settle herself.

“Where I will study in this mess?” She asked as she stepped in.

She was expecting the room to spacious like last room but new room was one third in size of last room, as she had a look at props in the room she was totally exhausted.

“I came here to study not to clean you room but in order to study here I have to do that. What the fuck is that!” She scolded me.

“I am here to study not to clean the rooms, the room is in well condition to survive next six months” I said and went to wash room for morning routines and when I came back I found a new look of my room and lot of dust at gate. She was holding broom in her hand.

“How can I help you shanta bai?” I teased her

“You better shut your mouth and let me arrange the things properly, stay out of room till I call you.”

I just took my towel and went for a bath, after bath I was invited in room.

“Where I will sit?” she asked

“We have two locations either table or bed, you choose yours I will manage at other.”

“I will sit on bed.” She said and occupied bed.

“I am going for breakfast, anything for you?” I asked her

“What will you have in breakfast?” she asked

“Poha and bread.” I replied

“Bring one plate poha for me and if possible also bring tea.”

“Affirmative ma’am, will get that for you.” I said and left.

I brought breakfast from market along with her tea, we had breakfast and later we decided to study but I want to smoke prior sitting. I looked at prescribed location for the box but didn’t find it, I got that Manali would have thrown it.

“Where are cigarettes?”

“To their perfect location.” She replied

I checked dustbin and found them there, I just took out them and put it in my pocket. She caught my actions but she didn’t respond in order to avoid any quarrel between us. I moved out of room and did my work.  I was sitting on table but problem was that bed and table were parallel to each other so I wasn’t able to concentrate on my books.

I was pretending to study whereas my eyes were just capturing her frames in my mind, she was hiding herself in blanket as much as possible, red woolen cap was like a topping of cherry to an ice-cream, only her face and fingers were visible rest all body was covered. Her face was light pink, today she was wearing no make-up but there was a different glow over her face, I wished to kiss her but I controlled myself.

“Will you stop staring me?” Manali said

“Staring? Who?”

“Please Rounak from past half an hour you are doing that.”

“You tell me when a beautiful girl is sitting in front of me then how can I concentrate on my books?”

“I know you very well darling, turn your face on other side of table and you can have a look of the beautiful wall, that will help you in concentrating on your books.” She said and giggled

I did as she guided and now she was at my back, trust me that worked. We didn’t talk for next 2 hours and were occupied in our respective books. I moved out to use washroom and on return found her occupied in books, was staring her like a goon when she noticed she immediately started arranging herself.

She looked at me and her eyes asked ‘What happened?’ and mine eyes replied ‘nothing’.

“What are you occupied into?” I asked

She lifted her book and shown me book of “Digital electronics”

“Ohhkk that’s too easy subject.”

“Ghanta easy, hitting one topic from last 20 minutes”

“Which one?”

“Star-Delta circuits”

I smiled “That’s again an easy topic, you need to learn the simple trick behind it.”

“What’s that?”

I stepped forward and sat near to her and taught her the whole trick behind the circuits and she learned the trick in 5 minutes and thanked me to help her getting out of this tough topic with easy solutions.

“Can we get a break for 10 minutes?”

“Yeah, I was also thinking the same”

I sat behind her and she leaned on me, I was sandwiched between wall and Manali. I and Manali were in same shawl and we both didn’t talk but were feeling each other presence around our self. In my mind a fight was going on

‘Don’t disturb her, you have promised her to provide a safe environment for her studies.’ THOUGHT 1

‘Are you a fool, a beauty is sitting in front of you, still you want to put your efforts in books instead of loving her’ THOUGHT 2

While the thoughts were fighting in my brain she was making herself comfortable in my arms. I didn’t say anything and started kissing her nape, she gripped my thighs and I started kissing her with more intense but very soon she broke the contact.

She rotated her face and said

“You promised me to let me study but now you are not.”

“Is that so?” I teased her

“Yes it is dear.” She replied

“Ok, I am going back to my position.” I said and was moving for my chair when she pulled my shawl.

“Did I ask you to step away from the refreshments?” she asked

“No”

“Then why are you going away. We are on recess break and going for refreshments.” She said

I again was sandwiched at my position and started licking her ear, she moaned and with the increasing moaning, intensity of the actions increased. She rotated but her eyes were not able to make contact with mine, I lifted her chin to make an eye contact.

“What happened?”

“Jaan nikaloge kya?” She said

“Meri pyar ki jaan itni sasti nahi.” I replied “Are you comfortable?”

“I am always when you are around me, happy to have you in my life.” She said and hugged me.

Our lips locked and we were into arms of each other, none of us was in mood to separate. As the clock was ticking passion for the love was growing exponentially among us. We want to step ahead but there was a fear within our minds.

Slid her pull over and started licking her naked shoulder, she was going crazy and want me to step ahead, she removed my jacket and we were into shawl sticking to each other with lips locked. Only her bra was present between our upper bodies and within seconds that was also removed in between but we didn’t stop kissing.

With each kiss the body’s temperature was rising and blood started running at a speed which is beyond this world’s measurable parameters.  I was stepping ahead but she just pushed me on bed and gripped my hand and seduced me from top to bottom.

For every action there is equal and opposite reaction she did her actions now it was my part of reaction. I started licking her navel and she was squirming but she wanted more pleasure. Landlord was also not available so sound of our fast breathing was clearly audible to each other as there were no disturbing elements around. I was feeling like summer and was sweating in this chilling month due to expression of love.

We were about to enter the final phase of love when she asked me

“Will you love me like this always?”  It was like from where the hell this question came.

“Why you are asking this now?” I asked

“Just to confirm whether I am on right track or not.” She responded

“I will say a big no for your question.” She was blank by mine reply “Mine love for you will grow day by day and bond between us will become stronger with every passing day without any further notices and demands.”

I moved my face away and her head was still pinning on my chest. She hugged me tight and pulled blanket. She moaned when she attained orgasm. At finale tears rolled down her cheek when we tasted the pain of love, for the first time I saw tears of love in my life.

Around 4PM her cell phone beeped for first time in the day, it was Nidhi, she asked her to go home and she decided to stay. For next half hour we slept with each other without any spoken word and she wake up and kissed me

“It’s time to go jaan.”

“I won’t allow you for that.”

“I know that you won’t, so I am just informing you.”

“That’s rude of you.” I said and started kissing her. She also proceeded for the same. Our lips measured every corner of possibility.

Again a text beeped on her cell phone and broke the contact between us.

“It’s too late, it’s already dark and I should leave.” She said and arranged her clothes and bag.

“Kaash yeh pal yahin tham jae.” I said and she smiled and kissed my forehead.

“Can’t forget this day till my breathes are alive.”

“Get used to it highness, it is the beginning, many more to come in your life.”

While she opened the door to exit I pulled her and kissed her, which was the longest kiss of the day and our heart beated at maximum pace. If the kiss lasted 2 seconds longer, one of us would have fainted due to lack of air.

Waived good bye to her at taxi stand and lit the cigarette. We both had great memories of the day with us which will be alive in heart of the duo till we are alive.

[youarejesting]

Quarantine.7

[Masterlist] Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers But as slow as you can go until the anticipation kills us all… Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS BUT IT WILL BE BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME!!! Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 2.7k Announcement: Sorry that I posted this late the reason why is I had this complete at 8:30pm but my google doc decided to take my edited version and my unedited version and layer them on top of each other so naturally, I wanted to knock myself out with a hammer. After a long shower, I painstakingly worked on it as even the google docs history hadn’t saved the edited version. 

[Part 1]  [Part 6]  [Part 8]   [Tag Yourself Here]

You had a major major breakdown. Why did it hurt so bad? Was it the disappointment on Hoseok's face? You crawled out of your makeshift tub and wrapped yourself in a towel. Slipping on clean underwear and a hoodie you trudged back into your little home if you will. Eyes which were swollen and red from your tears becoming heavy. The door to the storage room opened, there in the doorway stood Taehyung “Annyong,” his deep tone filled the room as you watched his tiny gestures. He had wrapped himself in his blanket and hugged his pillow. 

“What is it,” You were finding it hard to be blunt with him as he was so gentle and innocent. He was a fully matured young man, he had his moments of perversion or pranks but overall he didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. 

“Can I sleep beside you?” Nodding too exhausted and sad to say no. He shut the door and waddled over, laying down beside you and making himself comfortable. After a few minutes of fluffing his pillow and removing your blanket and laying his bigger blanket over you both. Despite the extra room his blanket gave, he pulled you close wrapping his arms around you. You fit perfectly in his arms, letting out an audible whine as your breasts felt so soft behind your hoodie. He tried to think about other things like his favourite painter’s while singing under his breath anything to distract from your presence. The plain vanilla scent that emanated from your skin had him pressing his nose to your neck. 

Every time you started to fall asleep he would moan your name and hug you tighter. Only settling when you wrapped him in your arms. His face up close was so inhuman, his sharp jaw and angular nose, the ratios between his eyes nose and lips were perfect, the symmetry everything. It was too good to be true. His personality was so gentlemanly as well it was like he just stepped out of a romance novel. Not the fifty shades kind where they have a haunting and mysterious backstory no this was the kind that is always there and the female lead doesn’t notice how good he is until the end and everything has a happy end.

Except this wasn’t the case, there was no love story here. People as perfect and gentle as Taehyung, they end up with; kind, generous and drop-dead gorgeous people. Even you wanted that for him. When you finally managed to fall asleep you were trapped in some romcom nightmare. Where your hunky neighbour and best friend Taehyung was trying to get you to fall in love with him. You had given in towards the end when he had saved your life in the dream. Taehyung lent in to kiss you, however, an inch away he pulled back and it was actually Hoseok. He looked at you in disgust and hurt. “I guess we weren’t friends after all”

Ripped from your dream with a jolt you accidentally startled Taehyung. It was useless to try to get out of his grip, you were supposed to be forgetting about them. You weren’t supposed to be worrying about Taehyung’s need for skinship and you definitely weren’t supposed to be hung up on Hoseok who was all you could think about. Him repeating those words ‘I guess we weren’t friends after all’.

“I missed you, why have you been hiding from us?” Taehyung hummed, finally addressing the subject of your disappearance the days prior. His hands slid up under your hoodie and his soft fingertips drew soft circles on your back. You don’t know if Taehyung knew the things he did were very romantic gestures one might do with a lover. Or if he just did whatever he wanted because it felt nice. You didn’t stop his gentle caress’ it felt too amazing on your jelly-like muscles. Instead, you pretended not to particularly enjoy the time you spent with him. Not saying anything that could ruin his innocent and happy bubble so early in the morning. 

“Tae I have to go for a shower,” You thought this time a hot shower was needed, your muscles were in quite a bad way. The journey to the bathroom and shower and the actions required to get there and undress seemed both impossible and daunting. 

“No don’t leave, I want to hug you” Did he not realise he was already hugging you? Your resolve wavered for a moment with the idea that maybe you could let him in and be nice. But the moment passed quickly and you sat up out of his arms he had rolled onto his chest pouting and kicking his legs under the blanket. His fake square mouth crying almost made you laugh and he noticed sitting up with a smirk. 

“Tae it’s just a shower”

“Take me with you,” he pinched your hoodie between his thumb and forefinger, you blushed causing him to beam a brilliant megawatt smile, maybe he knew what he was doing all along. You tried to get up eyes watering in pain, he held on firmly to the hem of your clothes. “Take me with you, it’s not the first time we have showered together” 

“Fine come on let’s shower, grab some clean clothes,” you said trying to pull his hand off your hoodie without flashing your underwear. He was frozen, his mouth falling open as he licked his lip, the idea of showering with you had been stuck in his mind ever since his drunken ordeal some nights ago. You managed to slip away from his grip and ducked quickly to the bathroom, remembering to lock the door behind you. 

You were shampooing your hair when you heard him try the door and whine “you're a liar!” His cry made you unknowingly smile from safe and unseen behind the bathroom walls. Your brassiere was still drying after you showered in your clothes. Dressing in black shorts and a white button-up you decided to go without, to be safe you threw on a black blazer. You didn’t want for any reason the shirt to become see-through and reveal your thing is if you were going without a bra it had to be a look. 

You put your hair in a business-appropriate style, your makeup was done with a dark lip tint and a slight bit of contouring of your cleavage. Adding jewellery you had found in the boxes. Simple geometric chain earring and layered geometric shape necklaces that had a chain that fell between your breasts both in silver. After slipping on some black heeled boots and looked in the mirror. 

This was the look. You were fierce and ready to take on anything. When you left the bathroom Taehyung wasn’t there. Walking down the corridor you called for the elevator checking yourself out in the stainless steel doors. You couldn’t stop the small amount of concern that coursed through you for the boys to be impressed. 

The people in the cafeteria were staring at you. Acting like it was no big deal as you confidently strode across the floor. The servers looked you over, shifting almost ashamed in their tracksuits, You made sure to be polite and compliment them. You weren’t a total bitch, nor did you think you were better than anyone here. They were talking hastily in Korean. Collecting your meal you turned to face the room. Areum waved at you from across the cafeteria. She was such a nice young woman, she had a boyfriend who face-timed her daily he was stuck in their apartment with their cats. She listened to your problems and even gave you great advice. 

Waving back, she looked pretty in the dresses you had given her which were too small for you. She looked a lot less dishevelled having access to your secret shower you had given her a time slot where she could shower, in hopes that it was never congested in the basement. You didn’t want people to start wondering why everyone was hanging out down there. For the safety of the bathroom, you removed the sign on the door. So if anyone happened to go down there it looked like just another storage room. Aiming to sit next to your brother for lunch. He had, of course, threatened you to come out of the basement or he would give your secret shower location away to all the employees. 

You carried your tray, walking slowly across the cafeteria floor. Still not spotting your brother. You ignored Taehyung's wave from their table. Someone snatched your tray, looking at them you saw Jungkook running towards the band’s table. Yoongi and Jimin wrapped their arms around your shoulders and waist, leading you without a chance to escape. Sitting you down trapped between them. Namjoon and Seokjin sat across from you both scanning your face and outfit. 

“Ya don’t pout we aren’t that bad,” Seokjin said pointing his chopsticks at you and snapping them threateningly. It wasn’t a real threat he looked rather amused, his eyes glancing to the unbuttoned section of your shirt every now and again. Hoseok refused to speak while eating his breakfast and whenever he was spoken to he merely shrugged. You ate your breakfast in mostly silence, answering them only when they asked you a question. 

Once breakfast was over you handed your tray over to the kitchen helpers and when you turned you saw Hoseok tongue pressed against his cheek staring at your ass in the shorts you were wearing. Whoever Gfriend was? They had some cute and stylish outfits. The others announced they were going to go get ready for the day, You went to the dance studio followed by Hoseok who sat at the back of the room watching you. You danced for about half an hour before the rest of the boys came in sitting beside Hoseok and cheering you on. The song you were halfway through dancing to had a lot you could relate to in your current situation. Dancing out your feelings. 

Hoseok had seen it the moment it started the regression and depression in your eyes, he knew when you stopped leaving the basement, that something was wrong. When you started hiding from them in the halls and dodging them he knew they must have said something to hurt you. He thought it showed how much they cared, how completely wrapped around your finger they were. When you came back from the supply run gasping and begging for water he was the one to get it. But hearing you say that they didn’t care because they were famous. He wasn’t expecting that at first, he was hurt and mad because none of that was true, but the more he thought about it he knew you were right about one thing. Without the quarantine, you might not have met. 

He wondered how he could make you trust them, that they wouldn’t just leave you when this was over, but he didn’t know for sure if they would even have time to hang out after. You had a right to be upset. No amount of makeup you wore could conceal the puffiness around your eyes. And here you were again a few tears falling as you put your soul into your dance. 

You spun a complete circle ready for the chorus, only to spot Hoseok in the mirror dancing beside you. Copying some of your choreography that you had been repeating every chorus and when you kicked your leg up he caught it. Pulling you forward to fall against his strong chest. They all didn’t look like much but they were all so very strong. While still holding your leg he wrapped his free arm around your back. Lifting you slightly and walking you back towards the mirror, you were both panting chest to chest your leg secure in his hand above your head. 

You felt the stretch in your hamstring and groaned. Your muscles were still sore. Turning your head away, not wanting to be a part of whatever it was he thought he was doing. He whispered in Korean his thumb brushing your cheek which you hadn’t realised was damp from tears. Pushing him away you straightened up both feet firmly planted on the ground. 

You grabbed your things and tried to leave, you were getting too emotional. They were trying to get close to you again. Didn’t Hoseok say that you weren’t friends? Namjoon stopped you grabbing your arm. “Did we do something wrong?”

“No” You refused to look at him and his grip tightened slightly as he tried to stop you struggling. “Look, I am just preparing for when the quarantine is over and we never see or speak to each other again because you boys are Korean celebrities and I am just a random foreigner who took your interest for a few days”

“Hey that’s not how we see you,” he said but you didn’t want to hear it, it could only make it worse if he actually said they thought of you as their actual friend. Because then you would get attached and when this was all over you would have to learn to cope never being able to see them again. Because of their crazy work schedule. What was the point of being friends? You knew you didn’t think this way, you would happily wait for them no matter how long their schedule was your whole life would be on pause for them. It was a dangerous way to live.

Passing Areum your head down, she called to you. Ducking into the elevator the doors closed on the shadow of a figure running towards it calling your name. The doors shut giving you a place to let your guard down, except when the door opened once more and you were met with the gorgeous sight of Kim Seokjin. He stepped inside and closed the doors. He hit the basement button and leaned back against the wall panting. 

“I got to work out more” you passed the second floor and he turned walking over. “You are right we Korean idols, we aren’t allowed to date, or hook up with anyone”

He tucked your hair behind your ear. “But that doesn’t mean our feelings aren’t real we are human” he reached up his palm covering the Elevator camera and he tilted your head up with his free hand. His face was so close and his eyes burning in anger. Anger that you could only assume was aimed at the very same idol status that was holding back from life. His breathing shook either from the chase or from the raw emotion he was feeling. “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to”

You were struck once in the chest, it was like the strike of lightning. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it once more unsure of the right words. The problem with the service elevator is it moved slower than the others, so you finally passed the first floor. And like that his lips were on yours. They were so soft and slid with such ease across yours. His warm tongue joining in and he tilted his head deepening the kiss and pressing you further against the wall. You felt helpless like Seokjin and the boys were an ocean at high tide and what was once shallow water had risen up around your knees and pulled you in. But every time it pulled you in it pushed you back. You were going to drown you just knew it. He was breathing heavily and audibly. Not wanting this to stop as he was finally feeling free, he finally was able to act on something. 

All too soon the elevator slowed. He placed his free hand on the wall beside your head and pushed against it, straightening himself back up. Looking up at him, he seemed to recall his blank demeanour now that his hand was removed from the security camera. Feeling your heart drop, disappointed eyes stinging as you tried to hold back tears. You punched Seokjin in the chest, you were too exhausted and weren’t particularly trying to hurt him. “Stop playing with my emotions. Is this funny to you?”

Storming off you went to your ‘home’ and curled up in your blanket, your hand drifting to your lips as you could still feel him there. You could still taste him. The memories wouldn’t stop replaying and you hated how it felt so good. You were having a panic attack and as luck would have it, your asthma puffer was four floors above you.

[Part 1]  [Part 6]  [Part 8]  [Tag Yourself Here]

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[dopescotlandwarrior]

Beauty Chooses Part II

On AO3

Ch-1  Ch-2  Ch-3  

Chapter 4 The MacKenzie Calls

Hearing the voices of many men downstairs I quickly got up to dress and left Faith with Glavia while I went to investigate. There were men all over the lower level and my heart started pounding with this intrusion. I pushed through them to the kitchen where misses Crooke was pressed against the counter while men searched the cabinets.

“What do you think you’re doing! Misses Crooke come with me please.”

The man in the cabinets was Angus, I remembered from our wedding. I assumed all these men were with the MacKenzie clan. They sort of gathered around me looking quite menacing if I didn’t know better.

“What is it you men want? Sorry, it’s lovely to see all of you again, now what do you want?”

“Colum wants to see Jamie, mistress, so we’ve come to get him and bring him back.”

“Do you always use so many men to deliver a message?” I remembered this man as well, Rupert. He held my hand when I felt ill at my wedding.

“No a message, mistress, we’re takin Jamie back with us. Where might we find him?”

“I imagine he is out in the fields, let me think, sorry gentlemen I don’t remember but he is on the property. They started to move to the outside and I counted twenty-five in all. The door was open for so long the cool April air filled the lower house so I was shaking from the cold. Maybe I was shaking from the dreadful foreboding I felt from the visit. If Jamie was leaving Lallybroch to speak with Colum I wanted to get Faith ready to say goodbye.

I opened the door to the nursery and found misses Crooke and Glavia standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the cradle. With wide eyes, they looked behind me, for a monster by the look of them.

“What on earth are you two doing?”

When they didn’t speak I figured it out. They were expecting to be invaded by bad men and were standing in front of Faith to protect her.

“It’s alright ladies, I promise. They look worse then they are but they are friends to Lallybroch.”

I gently moved them aside and scooped Faith out of the cradle kissing her cheeks and smiling at her precious yawning face. I bundled her up for a trip outside in the fresh air and walked out to find Jamie. He wasn’t hard to find surrounded by so many men. Even now he was commanding and showed no fear of the twenty-five swords and dirks that surrounded him. Jamie turned toward the house when one of the men grabbed him only to be knocked to the ground savagely by Jamie. I could see his face suddenly and felt alarmed.

“Sassenach, come, get into the house.”

Glavia took Faith and Jamie led me into our room. He was moving very fast, putting heavier clothing on and better boots.

“I have to go and speak with Colum. I hate to leave ye but I must. I will be home tomorrow night and I’m leavin Murtagh here to watch over ye.”

“What is this about?”

“Jacobites.” he spat the word out and looked murderous doing it. “They are gathering the clans together to fight for Prince Charles. I expect they want my commitment to bring my men. He pulled me to his embrace and I held him so tightly.

“Are you going to lead your men to battle Jamie?”

“No. I stand by my promise not to participate in this blood bath they’re walkin into.”

“I love ye Sassenach. If ye need anythin Murtagh will be right here.” He kissed me like he wanted me to remember it forever and then left.

I forced myself to get busy and not dissolve into frantic tears. That would not help anybody. Today we will gather all the items in the house that have value to Jamie, sentimental or monetary and bury them in the priest hole, tomorrow I will get Murtagh to ride with me to the gorge and look for one bright blue rock. The mere thought of taking this family into the future was preposterous and I should concentrate on passage to America but it would be nice to have a backup, just in case.

We gathered all the silver objects in the house and put them on the large dining table. Anything that had been handed down through the generations was placed on the table. Murtagh set to work deepening the priest hole and long after dark we packed our treasure deep in the earth.

“Ye ken what’s comin and its a bad thing for Scotland, am I right?”

“Yes, Murtagh.”

“How bad? Red coats patrollin and causin trouble for the farmers and tenants? What else?”

“Murtagh, please don’t make me answer you. Jamie promised we would be leaving for the new world before the uprising and I believe him. Can we leave it at that?

Murtagh stopped walking and stared at the ground.

“Nae lass, I think we’ll be talkin about what er makes Jamie turn his back on Lallybroch.”

We sat near the fire and moved our chairs close together so as not to be overheard. I explained everything I knew about the Jacobite preparation and the ultimate conflict on Culloden Moor. Then I told him about disbanding of the clans and making kilts, bagpipes, the Gaelic language, clan tartans and owning weapons illegal by order of the king. Highlanders that joined the uprising are executed and their lands turned over to the crown.

Murtagh stared straight at the fire while I talked. When he looked at me I could see the pain and anger in his eyes. He stood up and banked the fire and said goodnight. My breasts were painfully engorged with milk by that time so I ran for the assistance of my sweet Faith to help ease my discomfort.

Later I laid Faith on my bed sound asleep and a belly full of milk. I blocked her in with pillows and fell asleep beside her.

The following day I asked Murtagh to take me to the gorge, well, where ever things land that are thrown into the gorge. We mounted and rode for maybe an hour when he pointed straight ahead and then up to where Jamie would have been standing when he threw the blue rock. I tied my horse and ran through the rubble looking as quickly as possible while I dodged Murtagh’s questions. I was bitterly disappointed at not finding a single shard of blue and vowed to come back another day alone. Most of the ride home we were silent.

“So what’s to become of Jenny when we leave for America?”

“I have asked Jamie many times to check on Jenny and Ian but he still refuses. If I can’t change his mind I imagine we will leave them behind. I won’t stop trying Murtagh, I promise.”

The day dragged on and on and I became more agitated with every passing hour. Where was Jamie? The men he left with were like his brothers they say and I have no reason to fear them in his regard but he should have been back by now. At ten o’clock I fed my smiling daughter and again laid her in my bed. Sleep would not take me so I turned the lamp up just enough to see her face and I slowly calmed down and slept.

Jamie made his way home after a full day of arguing with the clansmen of Leoch who wanted to fight and agreeing with Colum who stood firm on neutrality. It was cold and damp tonight, conditions that were comfortable and reassuring to him. The crisp night made the stars twinkle above him in absolute silence. It was good thinking weather so he made his way slowly and thought about his options.

If the Highlanders took up arms to fight for the freedom of Scotland how could he turn his back on defending the land he loves. He wanted to work with his men and prepare them to survive but how could he on a ship bound for America. He was the Laird of Lallybroch and a warrior. Deep inside he wanted to fight and win by crushing those who oppressed Scotland and especially the Highlanders. If Sassenach was right, many of the Highlanders will die, along with their way of life. If he survived the battle he would be hunted as a traitor to the crown and his family subject to the harsh justice of the British.

His beautiful Sassenach made full disclosure of what lies ahead and still, he committed her to a century that was not her own. He was bound to her by love and now by promise to see her safe with their daughter. He wanted to spill English blood on Culloden Moor but love was by far more powerful. His baby daughter had opened up a whole new level of love that added so much depth to his existence. Faith had the power to drop him mid-stride with gurgles, or bubbles, or a smile. It was not a decision to be made, whether or not to fight for Scotland. The love he had for his family eclipsed everything. He nudged Donus into a lope wanting desperately to hold his wife and forget the rest.

Jamie pitched hay into Donus’s stall and grain in his feeder. “Yer a good lad Donus.”

He made his way through the house and up the stairs without making a sound. When he looked down at Claire, Faith had wrapped her fingers around her mothers pinky and both were lost to their dreams. He felt the tears well up in his eyes because of this beautiful sight and all he had to lose with the coming war. He was desperately tired and slid into bed behind Claire as quietly as possible.

Jamie tossed and turned for the rest of the night. He wanted to bury himself in his wife and feel her grip him. He pushed back on his need because Faith was in their bed but he could not stand the throbbing in his groin. Jamie touched Claire’s leg and the feel of her skin helped him calm down. He reached between her legs and touched her making her squirm against him. He continued his light assault of her skin until she was breathing audibly and he would drag her to the floor if he had to. All stop….

Faith was feeling her empty tummy and started making her little noises. The first warning to adults it was time to act fast or pay the price of a punishing volume. Claire pulled the baby to her lap and leaned against the headboard as Jamie’s hand caressed her inner thigh. He watched Faith suck at her breast and surrendered to the pull of his arousal.

Claire felt the warm wet tongue touch her most sensitive skin where the nerve endings were already screaming to be touched. She forced herself to remain still as he pressed his tongue into her and moaned. Claire moved Faith to the other side as Jamie’s fingers and tongue made his intention clear. As soon as Faith closed her eyes she shot out of bed and put her down in her cradle where Glavia slept peacefully beside her.

Claire jogged back to their room pulling her rail off and jumped on Jamie kissing him with the intensity of her love and her need. She could not get close enough to him and held his face to hers for kisses that were sustenance to the starving. She felt the length of him push into her body and he pressed her knees open and watched her face as he pushed into her again and again.

“Come for me Sassenach.”

Jamie ground into her core and kissed her deeply until he heard her moan low and slow, the signal of her surrender to the bliss. He fought his need to crash into her and kept his pace slow enjoying every second of this delight. When Claire opened her eyes and touched his cheek he fell in love all over again.

“I love you so.”

He laid in her arms panting and wiping sweat off of his face. He would forever be astounded by the power she had over him. How a statement of love whispered so quietly could make him shatter and grip her for dear life. He would not question his decision. The arms that held him were stronger than the entire British army. He would prepare to depart for America in the coming months and leave his homeland forever. 

There were many demands placed on the mistress of Lallybroch and Claire’s proficiency in planning, executing, greeting, and helping the tenants made Jamie very proud. The months flew by and there was a loving peace that descended over their home that reminded Jamie of his childhood.

Many times she would try to discuss Jenny, Ian, and their son but her stubborn husband would not engage in the conversation and Claire was desperate for word of them. When Murtagh went into Edinburgh to sell grain Claire asked him to find Jenny and make sure they were safe. When he returned his scowl would have scared a blind man to death. She learned they lived in a single room above the tavern she worked in. Ian cared for the baby during Jenny’s twelve-hour shifts. They both looked pale and soulless, hollow eyes, expressionless faces.

Claire’s heart broke for Jenny. The next time Murtagh went into town she took as much money as she dared from Jamie’s desk and gave it to Murtagh asking him to give it to Jenny. She didn’t much like the look on his face and brushed it off in her need to help them.Claire continued to take money from Jamie’s desk when Murtagh was heading into town. She just didn’t think about it, about her betrayal. Murtagh’s request for her to stop fell on deaf ears and she would include notes to Jenny but never received a reply. She couldn’t stop, even if Jenny refused to write her back, she couldn’t stop.

One Saturday afternoon Jamie asked Claire to meet him in the study. She noticed Murtagh sitting in front of the fire and thought it odd with the warm temperatures outside. She was walking into an inquisition where she would be tried and found guilty and did not even know it.

“Sit mo chridhe.” Jamie stood up from behind his desk and walked behind her chair to lock the doors. No one would enter, no one would exit until he said so.

Claire sensed the heavy energy in the room and although Jamie was using his terms of endearment she heard them as empty words. Jamie was being diplomatic, as he was with tenants before he ruled against them charging fines and other penalties to restore what was lost in the wrongdoing. Claire figured this out very quickly. He discovered the missing money and would find her guilty of conspiring against him. She lifted her chin in defiance and waited.

Jamie stared at his beautiful wife and watched the color drain from her face. She knew what this was about and was posturing defiantly. He could not let this go, the offense was too great, so he would make her miserable in any way he could short of physically striking her. He took a deep breath.

“There is money missing from my bank Sasenach. Do ye ken about it?”

She didn’t move or speak and he watched her with a pinch of respect she didn’t try to lie to him.

“Sassenach?”

“What?”

“Do ye ken where the missin money is?”

Again, no answer, just defiance. She was forcing him to lay out his evidence and accuse her before she committed to anything. Very smart, he thought, but still a tiring game. So be it.

“Sassenach, I believe you stole money from me and to what end I cannot imagine. It matters not in the eyes of the law and ye will be jailed for thieving. I wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself before the bars on yer cell slam shut and you are lost to yer family.”

Claire was a monument of strength as she listened to her husband. To look at him would be an admission of guilt so she stared out the window and struggled to control her breathing. When he mentioned jail she almost fell out of her chair. How could he give her over to the law, the red coats, for justice. He knew the fate of women prisoners and was willing to condemn her to the same. She felt hot tears coming down her cheeks and dropping into her lap but she did not move or look at him.

Jamie was getting concerned that she would stonewall him all the way to Fort William. This plan had backfired because she was not talking and seemingly accepted her punishment. He already knew what she had done. Given money to Glavia or misses Crooke because a family member was destitute or convicted for debt. Her heart was huge but her remedy would not be permitted. He watched her tears fall off her face continuously as she stared straight ahead. Her face was sheet white and Jamie’s heart broke.

“Sassenach.”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“I would like you to confess and talk to me about why you took the money. Your punishment would not be so severe but you have to be honest with me.”

“I’m afraid my honesty will make you shoot me in the head and forget about Fort William. I would rather not.”

“It’s yer decision lass. We leave in an hour.”

“Jamie! Let me hold Faith until then, please.”

He watched her sobbing uncontrollably, looking at him pleadingly.

“Fine.”

Claire ran for the doors to the study thinking she would open the door and run up the stairs. When the door didn’t open she hit her head soundly on it creating a river of blood down the middle of her face.

“Claire!”

“Open the door Jamie, please just open the door!”

Jamie grabbed her and held her so she couldn’t run. He half dragged her into the kitchen for a rag and water for her face. If he eased up on his hold she would bolt for the stairs so he kept a crippling hold on her waist.

“My sweet Sassenach, this has gone too far. I did not expect your bravery or strength or silence for that matter. I could never hand you over to Fort William. I was just tryin to scare the truth from ye. By your words the truth is somethin dark so I got to hear it. I’ll remind ye that I forgave ye anythin ye have done, or would do, in the presence of God. Ye will be forgiven.

Jamie looked at her sad bloody face and waited for what looked like a gathering of courage. He was perplexed at her unwillingness to speak about it and suddenly his mind went to certain places and saw her doing things that filled with red rage.

“Now Sassenach, do not test me anymore, speak yer truth,” he growled.

“I gave the money to Jenny and Ian. They are suffering and starving and they are all alone. They live in a small room above the tavern where she works. Ian takes care of the baby and Jenny works, all day every day. I had to help them.”

Jamie left the kitchen quickly and the door slammed behind him. Claire raced upstairs and grabbed Faith clutching her close to her body. Glavia was startled by Claire’s face but she had no chance to ask about it. Claire was gone with a swirl of skirts.

Once Faith was fed Claire cried her eyes out. Deep, gut-twisting sobs that broke her heart. After an hour she wiped her face and paced her room. She was desperate to feel Jamie’s strength and love. She believed she would cease to breathe if she didn’t see him.

Claire peered into the barn and saw Jamie sitting on a hay bale. She timidly walked to him and said she was sorrier than she had ever been in her life. The sobbing made her breath come in hiccups and she tried in vain to breathe normally. Faith was bundled up against the cold and blew bubbles at Jamie making what noise she could to get his attention.

Jamie could see how Claire was shaking and standing bravely in front of him. There was not a thing more she could do to show her contrition and in that instant, he was over her betrayal. He pulled her into his lap and kissed Faith causing her little legs to kick and her hands to seek him. Claire was silent and stared at the ground just so happy to be in his lap.

Punishment was given so the offense would stop and he would bet his life she would not betray him again. It was time for love and forgiveness and his bride was running very low on both at the moment.

“Suppose ye give Faith to Glavia and come for a ride with me before supper?”

[b-kitsune]

Many ways to say I love you: Day Fifteen.

Kidge-a-palooza 2019 Prompt: Towering. Pairing: Kidge (VLD) Universe:  Canon.  Status: Part 4/7.

''Pidge, can you scan the atmosphere of this planet?'' The static in the communications was present while Keith waited for the response from the side of the green lion. ''Pidge, are you there?''

''Will she have fallen asleep?'' Asked his mother from the side of the cabin of the black lion, Keith shook his head after considering it for a couple of seconds.

''No, she must have left the autopilot and engaged in a conversation with Shiro.''

''How are you so sure?'' Krolia tried to see if she could find the green lion around the formation they were following in space. She listened to her son sighed tiredly as he continued to insist, without an answer.

''Pidge, I'm talking to you.''

''Hey Keith, do you think it would be very bad if you let me explore on the next arriving?''

''Yes, it would be.'' They all affirmed as soon as the message resounded in their communicators. Lance moaned wounded.

''I can also be pretty good at directing!''

''Surely we will end up in something as dangerous as the yelmors of the last time.'' Hunk replied with the annoying moan of Romelle resonated in the communications before the memory.

''Yeah, I definitely wouldn't follow him.''

''Allura, do you think the same?'' Lance asked, but the princess's nervous laugh made it clear that the answer was implicit. Lance grumbled.

''This is unfair, Keith just returned a couple of weeks ago and now everyone following him.''

''And even then, it's much safer than following you, Lance.'' Pidge argued at last. Krolia didn't miss the quiet air of his son when he heard the green paladin through the helmet. ''Keith is the leader, you're the shooter, remember?'' Lance hummed a few moments before nodding satisfied with the title that now everyone accepted openly.

''I agree.''

''Well, then stay in the rear and don't fuck again.''

''Pidge, take care of your language!'' Shiro answered the words of Pidge, who only apologized quickly.

''Pidge, answer.''

''Oh sorry, did you say something, Keith?'' When Keith connected the video call to the green lion, he could see her returning to her seat with Shiro following behind her. ''I was talking to Shiro, I didn't know you were talking to me.''

''You have to be more careful with that, you should always be alert in case there is an attack in space.'' He said patiently as if explaining a rule to a small child. She just nodded disinterestedly and opened the message Keith had sent her minutes ago. ''They are the closest planets in the orbit of this galaxy, scans which are the most suitable to get new resources.''

''More vegetables! Choose the one with more vegetables!'' Hunk asked anxiously when he heard the word resources. They had been flying for days and their supplies began to decline rapidly thanks to the new crew and the cosmic wolf.

''Although food is scarce at the moment, I believe that the collection of drinking water is much more significant. Since the last time, we weren't able to find any source or civilization to help us.'' Pidge argued when she finished scanning the three planets they had at their disposal. ''Keith, this planet is surrounded by a dangerous nature where it will be a bit difficult to get food resources, but it has freshwater wells inside caves that are accessible from the surface.''

''Wait ... The planet at your side indicates that it has a much more peaceful fauna and probably apt to harvest delicious things. Let's go to that first one.'' Hunk asked audibly scared at the idea of ​​going down to a jungle planet, to which Keith shook his head.

''I know is important Hunk, but Pidge is right. The amount of water at this time is too low, we will first go to the dangerous planet.''

All nodded as they followed the established coordinates. Meanwhile, Krolia thought carefully what had just happened in front of the team dynamics.

 ...

 When they arrived, they were immediately attacked by an unstable ground that tried to swallow them while the surrounding vines made their way through the legs of the lions, pushing them into the jungle. Quickly Lance began firing to burn the nature that threatened them and they headed towards a height that they were sure that there would be nothing that would attack them for many hours. The atmosphere was quite clean given the lack of civilization close to its surroundings, but Romelle and Coran preferred to stay above the blue lion while they were completely sure that they would be safe once below. They had had enough with the last adventure a few weeks ago.

Pidge would also have liked to stay upstairs, trying to hide somewhere in the green lion playing while they collecting what they needed, but she armed herself with energy to descend with the others.

When she began to observe around her while Hunk and Allura tried to devise a plan to get to the aqueducts that were below them, was intercepted by Krolia, who for Pidge knew that she was part of the Blade of Marmora and the apparent Keith's mother, she seemed overly towering. She usually didn't smile or speak more than usual, and she usually referred to Keith when she was talking about a particular subject, and again she just kept quiet most of the time while they were traveling. She was kind enough when they went towards her while Lance and Hunk talked about anything, but the feeling of the stoic image didn't melt under any circumstances.

Basically, Pidge was scared of her. Something about her reminded her of her own mother.

''Pidge, isn't it?'' Pidge nodded when she stood in front of her and took out of her pocket a kind of compact screen that gave different types of signals.

''You need something?''

''Yes, you will come with me to monitor a base of the Blade's that are hidden in the center of this planet, it doesn't seem to respond to my signal no matter how hard it tries.''

She agreed again to be part of something she was interested in doing instead of crawling through wet caves with the others. But Keith approached slightly as soon as he heard his mother, with some concern in his eyes.

''It's better if I go with you, Pidge doesn't know very well the bases of the Blades...

''She will be Ok.'' Answered Krolia concise, stopping any argument from Keith when she began to walk in the opposite direction. ''Let's go.''

Pidge began to run as soon as Krolia made her way quickly into the jungle, giving a quick glance at Keith who watched in dismay. She gave him a final greeting to reassure him before entering the jungle that awaited them.

The trip had been quite silent, to Pidge's liking, Krolia was good at avoiding the dangers that were found through the brush and the animals that tried to stalk them in the dark. It took them about three hours to finally find what Krolia had mentioned on the cusp of a rock that was cunningly hidden around numerous giant trees, intercepting alien signals that weren't previously known.

It seemed that it had been evacuated for many years like the vines of the roots curled around the entrance with force.

''It seems to have been abandoned for a long time.'' Pidge commented while using her bayard to cut the roots.

''Is a central reservation for some of our infiltrators in the empire to hide for a while when they are discovered. Be alert, although it is highly possible that it is abandoned, there may still be enemies who have found it.''

Pidge nodded as she fell with Krolia into the bunker that was curiously well arranged. Boxes of possible reserves and clean walls while in the deep, a simple central generator dictated signals occasionally with multiple encryptions. Pidge liked the place she was observing while Krolia sent a few signals possibly to the central command of the coalition.

''It hasn't been updated for three years, that's weird.''

''Maybe three years ago that no one galra had to use it.'' Pidge said when she approached the screen. Krolia nodded and she unloaded the information she needed. ''Why did you need to come?''

''Protocol of the Blade. We need to evaluate our hiding places occasionally.''

''And why did you need me to come with you?''

Asked a little more curiously, Krolia however just watched her for a few seconds before heading towards one of the boxes to take a pair of cylindrical bottles from a cooling system, and deliver it to Pidge while there would be one with her hands in silence, Pidge preferred to do the same while the silence again became present around them.

It was water, a lot sweeter than she had drunk in the castle before it was destroyed.

''You have the smell of Keith on your body.'' Pidge coughed audibly as soon as she heard Krolia's words, making her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

''What?''

''Keith's smell is around your whole body.''

She repeated as if the question had been directed toward something Pidge hadn't understood. She tried to see if something in her eyes indicated that it was a strange bad joke on her part or some kind of suggestion. But she found nothing, Krolia was as distant and stoic as ever.

How could she respond to something like that!?

''Excuse me ... But I'm not understanding what you're trying to say.''

''It's possible that no, you're not galra.'' Her words weren't directed towards any insult, Pidge felt that Krolia was trying to understand how she would say what was in her head. ''We have a unique way of matching ourselves, we leave our essence around the couple we have decided to have in our life. We are not so ... Open about our displays of affection like you people. And that is a way in which others know that there is a special connection.''

Pidge nodded, getting an idea of ​​what Krolia was trying to explain. And vaguely remembering, the last time she had been alone with Keith before fully integrating himself into the Blade's missions and disappearing for months.

The memory after what happened in Naxzela was constantly turning over her mind when his kisses and caresses felt like a phantom memory under her skin, especially during the moments of silence in the castle when everyone was sleeping, and she tried to make herself an idea of ​​why Keith didn't reply to communications once Kolivan said he had left for a secret mission during the last talks with the coalition.

She lowered her gaze in distress when she felt Krolia's eyes on her. It was not a conversation she knew how to deal with, much less with a woman who was a little afraid of her.

''I don't want you to think I'm trying to corner you, Pidge. But I need you to know, that we are governed by a code with all our life decisions.''

''Veprit Sa.'' She mumbled barely, Krolia nodded patiently.

''You know what it means?''

''That you prefer to die before giving give up for anything.'' Pidge smiled sardonically at the thought that came to mind. ''Are you trying to tell me that Keith has decided to be with me for his whole life only because his galra race demands it?''

''Not yet, but he's considering it.'' Pidge opened her eyes with surprise, it had only been a guess for her. But Krolia was recognizing her it was a truth. She saw her look away from the floor with regret. ''I wasn't the best mother for him when he needed me, but I can do it now when I have him by my side. And what I least want is that he get hurt because he doesn't know what his race imposes on him.

Krolia approached her side to place her hand on her shoulder as a sign of comfort, causing Pidge to lift her chin to look directly into the eyes of the galra woman. She knew she wasn't trying to sound intimidating or aggressive so she wouldn't take it the wrong way. In the background, Krolia was just a mother trying to avoid greater pain than her only son with whom she had reconciled after many years without seeing him.

But Pidge? She was not sure about how she felt about Keith. She loved him so much that she considered him part of her family and missed him all these months without knowing him, it made her happy to see him again after all the events that had happened in such a short time. It reassured her to hear him from the black lion commanding orders as a natural leader, something that felt strange since Shiro came back after disappearing, and that Pidge knew it didn't have much to do with the fact that it was a clone who was piloting all this time.

She was just a sixteen-year-old teenager who hadn't had the chance to fall in love as befitted her age, but ... Could she see herself capable of loving a single man all her life?

''Pidge, do you think you can match the feelings of a galra once Keith made the decision to ask you?''

''I ...'' She swallowed hard a few seconds before answering, staring into Krolia's dark eyes. ''I don't know.'' She said at last. ''But I know I'm not able to see a future without having Keith by my side. Humans are not monogamous, but ... I think I've broken the rule of what is expected of my race too many times during all this time in space.'' Smiled determined. ''When the time is right, I think I'll know.''

Krolia was not particularly satisfied with her question, but she smiled in the anyway when they started back to the lions.

There was only one way to know how it would all end between Keith and that tiny human girl, but at that moment ... She couldn't be less proud of the woman her son had chosen to court.

[nitewrighter]

Happy Flush-Day

I started writing this on impulse when I got that Moira and Aedan ask a couple days ago.

Content warning for some uh... matrix-esque sci-fi grossness featuring a lot of artificial amniotic fluid.

---

“You’re flushing it now?” Reaper walked after Moira down the hall.

“He’s a him. Not an ‘it,’” said Moira, walking a few brisk steps ahead of him, “And stop calling it ‘flushing.’ It’s birth.”

“No, no, birth is birth. This is flushing a child-clone out of a tube,” said Reaper.

“You’re terribly old-fashioned sometimes, do you realize that? There’s only so much Mnemosyne can influence his mind. He needs actual experiences. He needs to acclimatize. He needs to imprint,” she pressed a panel on the side of the door entering her lab and walked in.

Usually she had a handful of labtechs assisting her, but apparently when it came to her clone, she took very few chances. There was only an omnic lab assistant, overseeing the monitor that displayed Mnemosyne’s current input tucked off into a corner of the lab. The center of the room was dominated by a massive amnio-tank, lighting the room up in a sickly yellow biotic light. What looked to be a ten-year-old boy floated in the tank, his red hair nearly shoulder-length save for a shaved section where Mnemosyne’s needle was inserted in the side of his head, along with several EEG nodes. An intravenous nutrition tube was  inserted in a metallic port just below his collarbone. He was skinny and pale like Moira, dressed only in black shorts with electrodes tucked into his skin all over his body, and his face half-covered by a breathing apparatus.

“Let me guess,” said Reaper, stepping around the tank, “You’re flushing him because Akande won’t let you get a bigger tank.”

“No, if he’s going to experience adolescence, it’s best he experience it standing on his own two feet,” said Moira.

“Can he even stand?” Reaper tilted his head.

“I suppose we’ll have to see,” said Moira, stepping over to her omnic lab assistant, “How stable is he?”

“The subject continues to show exceptional vitals and a healthy growth pattern,” said the omnic, not looking up from the screen, “Certain stimuli from Mnemosyne have triggered nanite-clouding, but he has regained solid physical form with ease despite his unconscious state.”

“So he can fade on instinct,” said Moira, looking back at the tank.

“You didn’t have to give him that...” Reaper spoke quietly next to her.

“We had to prove our enhancements are capable of adapting from infancy without destroying the host,” said Moira, “I’m not just doing this for you, Gabriel.”

Reaper could have said, ‘It only took you five tries,’ but thought better on it. Instead he went, “Hm,” then said, “You sure you want to do this?” 

“Are you suggesting I abort in the 118th trimester?” said Moira glancing over her shoulder at him with a smirk before turning her attention back to the data on her tablet, “Have you been reducing the sedatives?” she said, looking back at the omnic.

“Yes, ma’am. And I’ve reduced the data input on Mnemosyne. Much of the EEG readings are... well, they’re from him,” said the Omnic.

Moira leaned close to the tank to see the boy’s eyelids twitch with REM. “He’s dreaming,” she said, smiling softly, before bringing herself up to her full height, “But it’s time to wake up. Detach Mnemosyne.”

The Omnic assistant struck a few keys as Moira pulled on a black smock over her labcoat, fastening it at her shoulders. The port attaching mnemosyne’s needle to the side of the boy’s head suddenly flashed red and clicked off, the wire of Mnemosyne floating loosely in the amnio-tank before it was retracted into the roof of the tank.

“Should--should I go?” said Reaper, but Moira seemed completely occupied.

“Vitals?” she looked back at the omnic.

“Still stable,” said the omnic.

“Shut down and detach nutritional feed and neuro-muscular electrodes,” said Moira.

An audible “fffzh” was heard in the water as the wires and tubes detached themselves from the boy. He flinched, his limbs spasming for a brief two seconds and his fingers twitching and suddenly his eyes snapped open, wide. Heterochromatic, one blue and one near-red brown, like Moira’s.

“Vitals still holding,” said the omnic, but the heart monitor’s beeping began accelerating.

 The boy’s eyes flicked around in a brief panic and he raised his hands and put them against the glass clumsily but Moira put her hands against the tank as well. He flattened his palm against the glass and she did the same. “It’s okay,” she spoke to him, though surely he couldn’t hear her through the glass, “It’s okay. It’s okay. Tá sé ceart go leor. Tá tú sábháilte, a thaisce. Just look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”

The boy in the tank seemed to calm slightly by the look of her face, his eyes only briefly flicking around the lab once more before fixing on Moira’s face. Reaper couldn’t recall any time Moira’s presence ever calmed someone. It was both remarkable and unsettling. Reaper hung back in the shadows.

“Begin draining the tank,” ordered Moira, her eyes flicking away from the boy in the tank only briefly.

Additional lights in the lab were turned on as the solution of biotics and artificial amniotic fluid began lowering in the tank. The boy sank as well, his eyes flicking up as the liquid filling the tank began draining downward. 

“Just keep looking at me,” said Moira as the boy glanced down at his own feet brushing against the rubber-padded floor of the tank. His eyes flicked back up to her as the top of his head broke the surface of the amniotic fluid in the tank. It was thicker than water, Reaper observed--that much was clear by how slowed his movements were within it, But it hung on him as its level dropped past his shoulders. It webbed his fingers and streaked down the interior of the tank like merlot legs on a wine glass. The artificial amniotic fluid had dipped past his hips now, and he staggered with the weight of his own torso. His elbows thudded against the glass as he slumped forward to support himself. The tube supplying air to his breathing apparatus was pulled taut.

“Open the tank,” said Moira.

“The fluid still isn’t--” the omnic started.

“That was an order,” said Moira.

The omnic nervously hurried forward to a control panel at the side of the tank and hit a large red button. The glass of the tank lifted upward and all the remaining fluid in the tank flooded out across the floor of the lab. Moira staggered as it flooded up nearly to her knees but quickly lowered. Reaper swore and stepped back from the fluid that sloshed around the soles of his boots.

 There was a moaning squeak of skin on glass as the boy’s arms streaked down the tank as it lifted. He collapsed into Moira’s arms. She caught him, easily and spoke soothing words in Irish as she supported him with one arm and used her other hand to undo the catches of his breathing apparatus, detaching the hose and before sinking to the ground with him still holding him. “I’ve got you,” she said softly, supporting the weight of his body on hers. “Look at me?”

He raised his eyes to her before she took ahold of the mask covering the lower half of his face. She peeled it off, but kept pulling it back. Reaper flinched to see an endotracheal tube attached to the interior of the mask coming out of the boys mouth. Moira tossed the mask to the floor and kept supporting him. The boy gagged, then gasped a rasping breath before coughing and gasping again. Moira wiped slimy strands of hair away from the boy’s face as he coughed. He nearly hyperventilated but Moira placed her hands on either sides of his face.

“Breathe with me, a thaisce,” her voice was soft and she breathed in slowly, then breathed out slowly. The boy kept his eyes locked on her and matched the pace of her breath

 “Tá sé ceart go leor,” she kept saying between slow breaths, “Tá sé ceart go leor.”

He slumped more of his weight against her but she kept holding him, stroking his slimy hair, speaking to him softly as his breathing evened out. The omnic assistant stepped forward and offered a towel which Moira snatched and wrapped around the boy’s shoulders before tenderly stroking a hand down the side of the boy’s face.

“Aedan. My Aedan,” her voice was soft, but he blinked a few bleary times before his eyes flicked to her in recognition, “It’s all right. You’re all right now.”

“Huhh--” Aedan coughed again before looking up at her, his words slurring, “H-huuow longzit bin?”

“About three weeks,” said Moira, “I was so worried, a thaisce. It...” her voice shuddered, thick with emotion,”You have no idea how much it means to me to have you back.”

“mmh...” Aedan just grunted and sank in her arms. She just pulled him close and he closed his eyes, falling back into unconsciousness.

She stroked his hair a few seconds longer before looking up at the omnic. “Get a stretcher.”

The omnic nodded and hurried off out of the lab.

Reaper took a few hesitant steps forward, before seeing the boy was sufficiently unconscious again and closing the distance between himself and Moira. Moira didn’t even seem to notice him, preoccupied with cleaning remainders of the artificial amniotic fluid off of Aedan’s face and hair.

“What did you mean, ‘3 Weeks?’” said Reaper.

“Since his accident, of course,” said Moira, not even looking up.

“...accident?”

“The one that put him in the biotic tank to heal,” said Moira.

“But you---” Reaper caught himself, “You’re lying to him. He hasn’t been out of that tank for three minutes and you’re lying to him.”

“Mnemosyne gave him a childhood,” said Moira, “I’m simply maintaining that childhood.”

“He’ll find out eventually. You know if he’s yours, he’ll find out,” said Reaper.

“Of course. But I’m not going to airdrop him into an existential crisis,” said Moira, she finally broke her eyes away from Aedan to look at Reaper, “And if you know what’s good for him and everyone, you won’t either.”

The door slid open and the omnic assistant wheeled in a stretcher. Moira scooped Aedan up--it occurred to Reaper that despite his legginess, the boy was a lot smaller out of the tank. She laid Aedan gently down on the stretcher, tucking his hair back from his face and pulling a thin blanket over him, up to his chin.

“...you’re gonna want to hose the lab down,” said Reaper, stepping gingerly to try and keep his boots as much out of the artificial amniotic fluid on the floor as possible.

“Well, as you keep saying, children make everything messier,” said Moira with a smile before wheeling Aedan out of the lab.

[loubuggins]

Paint

A BBRae one-shot inspired by THIS piece drawn by @kiome-yasha. Check it out before or after you read! Reblogs always appreciated! 

The buzzing of the cicadas drifted through the rainforest and faded away into the background. The birdsongs that played endlessly through the day and night offered an unusual comfort to his surroundings. The silence was an enemy out here. With every step he took, the water splashed around his bare legs. The frogs croaked and jumped out of his way while the fish swam quickly past his feet. As he waded through the murky pond, he kept an eye out for any unwelcome guests to come stalking from their latest snack. Though he supposed it was he who was the stranger here, after all, it had been too long since he had ever called this place his home.

He trekked slowly through the mud, being careful to balance the crimson paint that swirled in the large, hand-carved bowl in his hands. As he traveled deeper into the swamp, his pointed ears twitched at a new sound that mixed with the natural tune of the forest. It was a pleasant addition, one that was faint was easily recognizable. It began in a blend of the animal’s chorus, but as he followed the sound it became the most distinct. A low, gentle humming of a wordless song that made his heart swell and his legs pick up speed as he carried himself with a restored purpose. He focused on the whimsical song until he came into sight of the one who sang it.

She sat beneath an old water willow, her back leaning against its trunk and her legs saddling its largest root. The violet strands of her hair were dis-even and abruptly cut, but they still curled at the ends and framed her circular face. She had her face tilted downward as her gaze looked over her swollen belly. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her womb and her fingers traced her pink stretch marks. Her toes were dipped lazily into the cool water as she drew small circles with her feet. It was a tranquil sight to behold, one that made him take pause and soak in, hopefully committing every detail of this moment into a memory.

But his presence was quickly detected as she caught sight of him through the corner of her eye. She turned her attention to him completely and offered him a small smile as he returned to her.

“Is that the last one?” She asked him as she looked to the bowl in his hands.

He nodded but included a, “sure is,” in his reply before he sat the bowl beside two others at the end of the root. She lifted her feet out of the water and bent her knees so that she feet rested on the bark of the tree and so that he could take a seat in front of her. When he sat down, she took one leg and draped it over his lap.

“Good, now you can stay.”

He laughed at her statement and at her silly antics as he noticed she had effectively trapped him in between her legs. Normally, this position would garner a much different reaction from him, but these were different circumstances.

“I was only gone a moment you know.” He explained to her as he slowly ran his hand up the bottom of her calf and stopped at her thigh. The intimate action sent her body aflame with goosebumps and a blush working its way up her cheeks.

“Felt like ages to us.” She insisted as her gaze dropped back down to her round stomach.

An amused grin pulled at the corner of his lips. “Well then, I’m sorry for keeping you two waiting.” He apologized, then leaned down to press a loving kiss above her belly button.  

Her small smile widened ever so slightly as she regarded him with amusement and affection pooling in her deep purple eyes. “You’ll have to make it up to us.”

Slowly, he lifted his lips off her tight, but soft skin and his dark emerald eyes met her gaze. His smirk matching her own. “Oh is that so?” His voice rising in a teasing fashion.

“Mhm...and you know exactly what we want too.” She said with knowing smile as she tried to lean in closer to him, but her extended belly stopped her halfway.

Gar nodded his head as he slid his hands down her legs, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Leaning her head back against the trunk of the old cypress tree, she watched him move with bated breath and she chewed on her bottom lip as she tried to stifle her anticipation. The tips of his claws grazed her porcelain skin as he came to the curve of her swollen right ankle. Then his bare, calloused fingers wrapped firmly around her awaiting foot, one hand on the base of her ankle and the other on the top of her arch. Without breaking eye contact with her, he tenderly kneaded the swollen flesh, digging deep into the muscles.

Raven’s eyes slid to the back of her head and a long, audible moan escaped past her lips. “Oh, sweet Azar that feels so good.”   

Gar grinned to himself, pride swelling his chest as he continued his massage on her foot. He loved to pamper his angel beauty any chance he could, especially as she carried their child all the way out to this unforgiven terrain. With this being her first pregnancy, and with an actual demon child no less, they had been airing on the side of caution for the past six months; but on the brink of the third trimester, he had been given a notice he could not ignore. Dick had been the one to tell him. He had explained over their video chat the details of threat rising right in the heart of the African tribe he had once in his life called home. The people of this land, his people, were in grave danger and he knew he had to be the one to go in and investigate. Dick had tried to convince him to stay, to send in a younger, less tied-down Titan, but he refused. Much in the same way his wife has refused to stay behind as he went on this perilous adventure.

Raven knew the African heat would be brutal and the forest marsh would be merciless on her aching back. She knew that going to a place where the nearest hospital was a two-day drive while being seven months pregnant would put her and the baby in jeopardy in a place that was already hiding in danger’s shadow. But nothing could keep her from being at her husband’s side, now more than ever. Not only did she depend on him to help her through the pregnancy, but she also knew he needed her for his own emotional support.

They have known each other for nearly six years now, and despite their closeness, she still did not fully understand all that he went through in his past. She had known that this small slice of the African Congo had been where he spent his earliest days. She knew that he had grown close to the native people here and that the king of the tribal nation had taken favor of him. So when he told her of the trouble brewing in his old home, she knew this mission would strike some emotional cords for him.

What she had not expected was to be welcomed into the tribe like a queen greeting her subjects. From the moment Gar was recognized by the warriors that had met them at the border of their land, she was given respectful bows and high praises. When the warriors escorted them to the main village, the woman working the weaves and cooking fires looked up to her with awe. Their children stopped their playing and rushed to catch glimpses of her and her husband past the royal guard. Music had played in their honor as they were led to the largest hut at the center of the village. When they finally met the aging chieftain, he had greeted Gar as he was welcoming a son. For Gar had failed to mention one very important detail - the man was their prince.

And that’s when she realized the people of this tribe were treating her like their princess. A group of women helped her bathe and gave her a set of traditional tribal clothing. They all understood her English, but only one spoke it fluently. She was young, about Raven’s age, and revealed herself to be the chief’s daughter. She translated what the older women were saying, mostly praises regarding her beauty and her pregnancy. They gossiped about the people of the village, giving her a rundown of the happenings and relationships of people she had no inkling of, but she nodded along respectfully. Somehow during the conversation, they had brought up a special tradition meant to be between two lovers. That a newly married couple was sent deeper into the forest to give each other new body markings that would be unique to their future family. Raven’s first thought was that they did not have time to participate in such ceremonial events, but the prospect of being alone with Gar had made the suggestion all the more tempting. Only a day into staying here and she already craved the peace and quiet she normally had back home.

Not that she was not grateful to the kindness of the tribe, but she was not accustomed to having so many people pamper her at once. She also had become used to having Gar’s presence looming over her most of the day. Since she told him she was pregnant, he had been a constant presence around her. His overprotectiveness had been bothersome at first, but now it had come to be appreciated and not having him where she could see him made her agitated.

When they were finally reunited, the daughter recommended the ceremony to the chief, who quickly agreed to the idea. Gar had been hesitant at first, much like her. They had both traveled a great deal and were both mentally and physically drained for the day, but the look Raven gave him told him she had an alternative interest for going out for the evening. Not being one to question that look, Gar had graciously accepted the offer.

“So is this why you wanted to come all the way out here? For a foot rub?” He teased her as he continued to massage her swollen feet.

She scoffed at the false accusation and adjusted herself on the oversized tree root. “No of course not.” She insisted, but paused before she added, “This is just a bonus.”

A hardy laugh rumbled in his chest. “So what, you genuinely wanted me to put paint all over you?”

His words had been phrased as a skeptical question, but the pregnant woman narrowed her eyes as they glistened with lust. Though her mouth was in a mischievous smirk.

“No,” she began, her voice lowered and slow. “I want to put paint all over you.”

Shamelessly, she let her gaze devour his midsection. His bare chest exposing every curly jade hair and every chiseled muscle. She looked all the way down to the lone loincloth that covered the part of him she longed for most at this moment. Gar squirmed under her hungry stare, and he could not tell if he was flattered or scared at the way she ogled his body like a starving jungle cat.

“Careful Mama, this isn’t the place for that kind of look.”

He had stopped massaging her feet and opted instead to rub wide circles over her pregnant belly. The gesture acting as an unspoken reminder of her current condition. Much to her frustration and disappointment, she knew he was probably right. A tree in the middle of a swamp was not exactly an ideal place to make love and being with child only complicated matters more. She could wait until they returned to the village and enjoy the luxury of a bed, but she was not sure just how comfortable a mattress stuffed with hay could be. Besides, she doubted the tent they were to share would be soundproof. So really, this was as good a spot as any, now that she thought about it.

Foreigning an innocent smile, she offered this time to simply apply the paint. To which Gar had agreed by handing her a bowl of liquid as dark as a midnight sky. Wordlessly, she dipped her pointer and index finger into the thick, gooey paint and swirled them around in slow circles. Gar watched her which a quirked eyebrow as she rose her fingers out of the bowl and held them there for a moment. The paint rained down into the pool of obsidian black and she waited until it waned into a steady dripping before she lowered her fingers back into the cold liquid. This time, she lifted her fingers back up, but only to her first knuckles. Then she slid them back into the dark pool. She repeated the action several times, each one faster than the last. The changeling watched her with wide eyes and mouth agape.

Once she decided to stop, she let the paint drizzle off her fingers one last time, then brought them over to his chest. She pressed into the firm muscle of his top-left ab and traced the small indent of his rib. Black paint smeared his minty-green skin in her wake. We movements were deliberate as she took her time with each sensual touch. She added painted streaks above each of his abs and as she traveled further down, he shivered under her hand. Then she sat up and took his arms and added paint in each crook. When she finished, she moved on to his cheeks and his pointed nose, leaving smaller lines over all of his facial features. She paused for a moment to admire her work, but squinted and chewed her bottom lip in deep thought. Gar sat there silently as she contemplated her next move. Finally settling on what was missing, she used her free hand to bring his face closer to her’s, then used her paint-covered fingers to add small black dots over his dark freckles.

She was close enough that he could feel her hot breath warm his face. Her vanilla scent carried in the air and washed over his senses, sending blood rushing to both his cheeks and his groin. Once her task was complete, she gently pushed him back and added dots to his arms and his rib cage.

“Now your legs.” Her demand was met with a suspicious glance, but he complied nonetheless. She dropped her own legs so that he could lift one up and drape it over the log, awaiting her careful touch. She started with his ankle, adding little lines and dots on the top on his leg. But then she began moving upwards, slowly and patiently climbing his leg until she came to the royal purple material of his loincloth.

Her hand snuck past the thick clothing and ran up his thigh. She could hear the rumbling in his chest as her hand came closer to his most sensitive spot. She looked him dead in the eyes, her face playing off innocence as she brushed the tips of her fingers over the base of his cock. Her icy touch made him spring into life. His hands gripped the tree and his claws dug into the bark. His jaw clenched and air hissed between his fangs. His head shot upward, along with the head of the very appendage Raven toyed with under his clothes.

She finally dropped her innocent facade in favor of eyeing him curiously, trying to judge if she would get away with her actions or not. He definitely did not look pleased, but when he made no move to stop her, she assumed it meant he wanted to be pleased. So she slid her hand out from under the cloth and reapplied some paint to her fingers.

“Other leg.” She stated simply and he replied with only a gruff as he dropped the first one and slug over the second. She repeated the same steps and when she came back to the top of his leg, once again she slid her hand under the animal hide. This time she was bolder and took him completely in her hand. She stroked him as he both growl and moaned in pleasure. She felt her hand dampen with what she knew was not the paint and that’s when she decided to reach a stopping point. She slid her hand up to his shaft one last time, before quickly pulling her hand away.

His face tightened in anger and he growled at her, but she remained unfazed. Instead, she sat the bowl of black paint down and picked up another bowl that was beside it.

She gave him a devilish smirk. “Now, for the yellow.” Was all she said as she went back over his body again.