#but my fun little thoughts have seven left with the urge to eat skin after being stuck with the green seven as fake fourteen

[sootysnail]

something something. it was good wasnt it? it was worth it and youre upset over it but now you understand me more than you would like and you cant stop thinking about me

[shakey-hands]

please please can we get fukuzawa awkwardly having to tell ranpo he’s dating reader and the two of them start fighting and reader is subjected to it??? 😍😍

haha yeah. first ask that imma answer, let me know if you guys want more. my asks are open for any (except mineta gross) mha, ouran, or bungo characters :)

{this one is gonna be done with she/her pronouns but if you ask for gender neutral or he/him or any other pronouns, i can do it}

---

The clock struck two when Y/N looked at her phone, leg bouncing up and down in a way that always annoyed the people around her. Great. It was thirty minutes past their meeting time and her boyfriend still had not shown up with what she understood was his adopted son.

It had been a good plan. Meet on neutral territory, gas up (what Y/N assumed was) a teenage boy with a sweets addiction, and then break the news. Y/N was not sure why they needed to go through such lengthy troubles to inform her boyfriend’s son that they were dating. He was at least old enough to understand what dating was. And from what she had heard from Kunikida, Fukuzawa’s son had a very prominent dating life of his own. But Y/N trusted her boyfriend, no matter how many times he looked off into the distance with quiet wisdom that felt vague.

Y/N sipped her tea, realizing that caffeine would only worsen her anxiety. It didn’t matter how many times Fukuzawa and Kunikida tried to tell her that the meeting wouldn’t be a big deal and that the son would love her, she wasn’t so sure. He was working at the Armed Detective Agency and was good at what he did. At least those were Kunikida’s words as Y/N and him were quietly reading in the same room as they did on Saturday nights. While Y/N appreciated Kunikida for his straight forward/driven personality, he did not fare well in comforting her.

Which brought her to her boyfriend. His solid, piercing eyes would always soften as she talked about her day over their dinner dates and he would brush the back of his hand on her cheek in the moments they were alone with one another. While Y/N rarely noticed because she herself was too infatuated with him, Fukuzawa cared deeply for her after seven months of dating. Their last hurdle was introducing Y/N to Ranpo. Fukuzawa was not at all worried since Y/N had a knack for making sweets and made people feel as if they were special when she smiled at them. There was never a shortage of praise around her.

Y/N checked her phone again, hoping that an apology text would come through and she would not be left in the dark. That however was proving difficult. Fukuzawa was driving with Ranpo eating cotton candy in the passenger seat. He had to be bribed away from the sweets table Dazai had set up for some ungodly known reason to mess with Atsushi. It was embarrassing how long it took for Kunikida to pry Ranpo’s little grubby hands away from the snacks and then another amount of time for Fukuzawa to get Ranpo to put on his seatbelt.

It made Fukuzawa nervous that he was so late. He knew Y/N would be understanding, it was part of the reason he enjoyed her company so much. Knowing her, she would probably be bouncing her knee and staring down at the table, overthinking things. He, of course, was right.

As Fukuzawa was pulling into the parking lot, he spotted his girlfriend’s car. It was pristine, as always, and had a small cat paw sticker on the back left bumper. He smiled inwardly, realizing that he had been waiting for this. There was a future with Y/N and Fukuzawa couldn’t wait.

Ranpo still had yet to get out of the car, his glasses dangling from his shirt pocket and a light dusting of sugar crystals on his lips. He was pouting, of course. Kunikida did not pack enough snacks for the car ride, meaning Ranpo did not have the mental energy to get out of the car and go into whatever flop coffee shop the president insisted they go into. People were so stupid and Ranpo already just finished a case that was so obvious. The local police really needed to be more useful.

“Get out of the car,” Fukuzawa said, getting more and more agitated.

“No,” Ranpo said.

“Let’s go. I promise there will be sweets inside the shop.”

“So? There were sweets at the agency.”

Fukuzawa rolled his eyes, knowing Ranpo would sit in the car out of stubbornness. “Ranpo-”

“Yukichi?” A soft voice called out from the entrance of the cafe.

Fukuzawa turned to see Y/N standing right outside. She had a to-go cup of something hot in her hands, jacket sleeves pulled over her hands to stop the warmth from burning her skin. Even though it was overcast and windy, Y/N still seemed to have a certain glow about her that always took Fukuzawa’s breath away. She waved timidly, not knowing why he was awkwardly standing behind his parked car with a weird defensive stance. He nodded over to her, giving her a genuine smile before turning his head back to the car and glaring.

“Is everything okay?”

Y/N began to approach her boyfriend. The only other time she had seen her boyfriend have this stance was when she had bumped into some eyebrowless pale emo kid in an accident at the mall. Fukuzawa seemed to pick the weird fights, but she just smiled through it. His eyes held a certain annoyance the Y/N had not seen before. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took a step off the curb. Fukuzawa held out his hand, motioning her to not get closer. Y/N paused, unsure about his demeanor.

“Ranpo, don’t make me ask again.” Fukuzawa’s voice held a bass to it that Y/N had never heard before. She could only assume it was his dad voice that he has never had to use with her.

The window rolled down on the old car for just a crack. “I don’t remember a question being asked.”

The voice was whiny and slightly muffled, as if the speaker had sweets in his mouth. Fukuzawa rolled his eyes and put his hand on the glass. Y/N was slightly shocked by her boyfriend, but decided to let him do his thing. She was not a parent and the closest time she had ever been was when she had a babysitting gig decades ago when she was a teen. While she was interested in a family, she had neither the time nor mental capacity to follow through. So she stepped back onto the curb and took a sip of her tea, relishing in the warmth it provided.

“Ranpo, if you don’t get out of the damned car, there will be no sweets at the agency for a year.”

A clear threat had been made.

The door slammed into the car next to it, causing a dent that Fukuzawa watched form. Out from the passenger seat, a short man with a slight pout crawled out of the car. Definitely not the young teenager Y/N had been expecting. He was only slightly taller than Y/N and wore a cape. In fact, he looked like a full grown adult, maybe only ten years younger than Y/N. Her face said it all, though neither men were looking at her. They just stared one another down before Fukuzawa remembered his loving girlfriend stood awkwardly behind him. He motioned for her to come over.

Ranpo did not look impressed as he looked her up and down. Y/N looked too ordinary to know Fukuzawa in her jeans and plain jacket combo. Her shoes were dirty from all the yard work she had done throughout the years. As she got closer, Ranpo watched closely as Fukuzawa gently touched the small of her back before wrapping his arm around her waist. While Ranpo had never seen the President act like this, he did not care.

“Ranpo, I would like you to meet-”

Ranpo yawned loudly. “She’s way too old for me. Almost to hag status.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. She began to stumble over her words, not knowing how to respond. Fukuzawa’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t believe that Ranpo would even think he was trying to set them up. Ranpo made a disgusted face.

“No offense lady, but you don’t even look fun. Like all you do is sit in the dark and contemplate the excitement of frostingless yellow cake.”

How do you respond to that?

Y/N looked down, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She was suddenly thankful for the sudden gust of wind that burned her cheeks, a sign that snow was rolling in. Who insults like that? The little sniffle that Y/N let out set Fukuzawa back into the present instead of the daydream he had slipped into where Ranpo got his ass beat.

“You can’t talk to her like that,” Fukuzawa said sternly. “And she’s not here for you.”

“Obviously. She could never handle the Greatest Detective.”

“No!” Fukuzawa said, tightening his grip on her waist. “I wanted you two to meet because we’ve been dating for a while and I thought it was finally time for you two to meet.”

Ranpo suddenly scoffed dramatically. Once. Twice. Three times. “And here I thought we agreed never to keep secrets! And all this time you’ve been giving your praise to someone else!”

Fukuzawa looked at the small man incredulously. “I’m allowed to date, Ranpo.”

“Not really!” Ranpo exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. Those who were passing by continuously glanced, wondering why they were arguing so loudly in a public space. “How gross is that! You’re like centuries old!”

“Look, I just thought you’d want to be in the know. If I had known you’d throw a tantrum, I would have just waited until after we were married.”

In that moment, Ranpo and Y/N spoke simultaneously:

“Tantrum?!”

“Married!?”

“Oh I’ll show you a tantrum!”

Ranpo pushed the old car to make it move back and forth in its parked place before beginning to punch the glass. There was no real power behind his throws, so there were soft thumps being emitted. Next he started to kick the tires, also without power behind his movements. He truly had transformed into a toddler, making the people walking by walk a little faster. He came off as some random crazy person on the street rather than an acclaimed detective.

Fukuzawa didn’t know where to look until a warm soft hand held his cheek, guiding his eyes towards Y/N’s. She smiled softly, ignoring Ranpo as he began to get physical. Her smile caused a chain reaction in Fukuzawa’s heart, making him resist the urge to get down on one knee at that very instance. He did have the ring adding weight to his pocket. She kissed his forehead, making him awkwardly bend down as she chuckled against his skin.

“You want to marry me?”

Fukuzawa blushed slightly. “In due time, of course.”

She chuckled again and nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m not calling her mom!”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Miss Americana (Part 3)

Summary: The reader recovers from her second dose of Compound V and explores her stronger abilities with Dean. But the events of a fun night out might give Miss Americana and Soldier Boy an unlikely ally...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, implied past torture/assault/killings

A/N: Enjoy this final part! This contains very minor spoilers for The Boys...

______

“Let me hide this stuff and I’ll be back in five, okay?” he asked. You nodded, Dean cupping your cheek before he was gone. It was barely a minute before he was returning, wearing sweats and a henley, a box under his arm. “Brownies from the bakery down the block.”

“I thought you liked pie.”

“I do. But you like brownies,” he said. “Something to look forward to after you spend the night shaking and sweating.”

“Lovely,” you said. He sat down beside you, urging you to lean into him. He tucked a blanket over your legs, watching the fire crackle. “I don’t think I mind if you’re a monster.”

“I can be pretty horrible.”

“You’re not horrible to me. You’ve never been that way. Even if your first instinct was to try to manipulate me you decided not to.”

“I hate most people. Think they’re worthless. Only care about myself.”

“So? I told you when we met...I’m the nice bad guy. I frankly don’t give a fuck anymore about being the pushover, the one that gets hurt. I just want to never be afraid again.”

“We never have to be afraid after tonight. Never,” he said. “You’ll be stronger than Homelander. Stronger than me. You’ll be safe.”

“For a bad guy, you were awfully nice giving me that dose with no strings attached.”

“There’s no strings,” he said. He stroked your arm when you shivered. 

“Partners?” you asked. He leaned down, kissing you more gently than he ever had. No need behind it.

“I like partners,” he said. He was warm as you started to feel cool, Dean drawing shapes on your bare skin. “I had a little brother.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“He got sick right after I shipped out. Died the morning I got my first dose of Compound V. Only reason I volunteered for the shot. They said volunteers got special benefits. I wanted my brother to get to a good hospital and proper care and he was already dead by the time I got my shot. Then uh, then some of us started dying cause they didn’t know dosages or shit. I thought at least Sam’s gonna be okay. Then I spent three days wishing it would kill me so I could be with him instead of having been away for the last year of his life. But I didn’t die. I was the only one. Then they gave me more and...I guess I enjoyed becoming the super soldier over grieving. Then it goes to your head and changes you and...Sammy wouldn’t even recognize me now. At least I know I’m not going to the same place he wound up so he won’t have to see.”

“What was that like, being honest just now,” you asked, goosebumps covering your skin. You bundled into him more, Dean pulling up the blanket.

“I miss Sammy. I haven’t thought about him in years. I hope the kid’s happy wherever he is.”

“Maybe you’ll see him again someday,” you said. You shook, sweat forming all over you, muscles aching. You turned, unable to get comfortable. “How long does this last?”

“About six hours. Then I passed out and when I woke up it was over.”

“Awesome.” You gripped the blanket tight, Dean massaging your tense shoulders. “Tell me more about Sammy. Please.”

“He absolutely hated being called Samuel,” said Dean with a chuckle. “So naturally I did it all the time when we were kids.”

“Keep going,” you said, stomach churning briefly. “Distract me.”

“Let me tell you about the time we jumped off the shed roof.”

You were in sweaty clothes when you woke, lifting your head off Dean’s chest to find him passed out and snoring lightly. You sat up, shaking out your head. Something was different. You stood, deciding to test out flying first. You yelped when you nearly hit the ceiling, freezing and plopping straight down onto the couch and Dean.

He groaned awake, peeling open his eyes to find you hovering above him.

“Sweetheart I’m all for a little rough in the bedroom but not a full body tackle awake,” he said. You moved to the side, the motion second nature quickly but it required much less effort than before. You looked around, nothing in the room heavy enough to test your strength. Dean sat up, smirking as he looked at you. “Wanna arm wrestle?”

“Yes!” you said, Dean chuckling, groggily taking a seat at the counter. You stood on the other side of the island, Dean clasping your hand.

“Let’s go,” he said. You squeezed, Dean keeping up with you for a good few seconds before he started to go down fast. You heard the counter creek and then it was breaking, Dean backing up. 

“Uh,” you said. 

“Don’t worry about it. What do you expect when you got supes in the place? But you, you’re stronger. Stronger than me,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Very good. I um, I’d like to go fly. I think I might be faster.”

“Go for it. I’ll call someone to get this fixed. Just be careful. Try not to fly into any planes.”

“I’ll do my best, Soldier Boy.”

“Again?” asked Dean that night. You flew up high and smiled, Dean letting go of you, free falling a few seconds before you dove down and caught him. He giggled and you flew higher, Dean jumping off. You could heard him laughing and went down, something hitting you on the way. You threw a punch and arms released you, Dean holding on tight when you finally caught up with him. You both looked up and glared, a cape and pair of red eyes looking down. “You do realize the fall won’t kill me.”

“Probably not. But it’d be fun to try,” said Homelander. He floated down to your level, your arm tight around Dean’s waist. “Oh relax. I won’t touch your boy toy again.”

“I thought I said to stay the fuck away from us,” you growled.

“I just thought you’d like to know that Soldier Boy’s internal file will be released to the major news outlets tomorrow. Did you know-”

You grabbed his neck with your free hand, squeezing hard, Homelander pawing at your wrist.

“Any good reasons why I shouldn’t kill him?” you asked Dean.

“None come to mind,” said Dean, Homelander’s eyes red but fading as he choked for air.

“Feel free to speak up,” you said, gripping his neck even tighter. 

“Stop,” said a voice, the three of you turning towards a small drone hovering close by. “Let him go.”

“He tried to kill Soldier Boy,” you said, holding on tight. You didn’t even see the drone shoot out the darts, the three of you hit. You instantly dropped Homelander, flying down to the roof of Vought as soon as you could, Dean out cold already and you quickly joining him.

You woke up on the couch in Edgar’s office, no sign of Dean or Homelander. Everything felt off still as you sat up, Mr. Edgar suddenly sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

“Are you alright?”

“No,” you groaned, stretching out. “What the hell was that?”

“If you’re going to act like children, we’ll treat you like them.”

“Dean and I were having fun, minding our own business-”

“Dean and you stole Compound V for your own benefit. I thought you were going to be more understanding of this arrangement.”

“I have to be stronger than Homelander and now I am. We didn’t hurt anybody to get it. You people let him do whatever the fuck he wanted so get off your high horse.”

“We understand. But you can’t kill him.”

“Why the fuck not.”

“He brings value in, even not as part of the Seven. Miss Americana and Soldier Boy can take over the leadership roles and Homelander is to be left alone.”

“He wants to kill-”

“I said to leave it be.” You stood, glaring down at him. “If an incident like this occurs again, there will be consequences. Dismissed.”

“Gonna throw us back in a hole? That’s kinda your thing isn’t it.”

“We know how to deal with problem children, even supe ones,” he said, standing up. “Back off before all three of you are worth more dead than alive. Don’t make me dismiss you again.”

You stormed out, slamming the door after you, not bothering to look back when you heard the wood splinter. You went straight to Dean’s apartment, Dean unscathed inside. But Homelander standing there, neither of them actively trying to kill the other, that was more than enough to forget your anger for the moment.

“You okay?” asked Dean, stepping over to grab your hand. You hummed, looking Homelander up and down. “You got the same message we did I’m guessing.”

“Behave or we’re all fucked. Yeah. Why the hell is he here?”

“We were spoken to at the same time. While he’s still a psycho and has some major fucked up issues, he has a different idea,” said Dean. 

“Said the mass murderer.” Homelander rolled his eyes. “We all want to be in charge of the Seven. Be the best.”

“You shoved your hand down my pants,” you growled.

“True. But enemies can work together when they have a larger, common enemy, hm?”

“Edgar,” said Dean. “He wants to wipe out Edgar. Ashley is the next logical choice and we can control her. She wouldn’t do jack shit to us.”

“Remove Edgar from the equation and we can all get along. Maybe form a little, trio, best of the best. Still part of the Seven but top dogs. Vought would eat that shit up. Behind the scenes you two fuck or whatever it is you do. Publicly, we’re the strongest go America team there ever was. The soldier from a simpler time, the soldier who fought the terrorists and defend her country, and the everyday man who protects his fellow citizens. All walks of life, all the basis covered. Between the three of us our numbers are sky high in every single demographic.”

“What’s to stop us from killing each other after Edgar is out of the picture,” you said.

“You’re strong enough to kill me. But your little boyfriend can’t fly. You come after me, I’ll drop him in the ocean. Leave me alone, I leave you two alone and we all win,” said Homelander. “Deal?”

“What do you think?” you asked Dean. 

“Lesser of two evils. I think,” said Dean. “I say we give it a chance to see if we can get Edgar out.”

“Fine. We can discuss this more tomorrow. Oh and Homelander. I ever catch you in my or Dean’s apartment again, I’ll snap your neck. Deal or no deal.”

“If you were only a little more twisted we could have had something,” he said. He nodded and left, Dean letting out a deep breath when he was gone. 

“Y/N,” said Dean. You hummed, wrapping your arms around him. “Thanks. For catching me earlier.”

“I’m sure you would have been fine.”

“Probably but I don’t want to test that theory out. If he dropped me in the ocean...I still need to breathe. We have to play nice.”

“We will. Until we don’t have to,” you said. He smirked, kissing your lips. “He tried to kill you. Now I hate him even more. As soon as we can, he’s gone.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned.

“Yes I am and you, you’re my Soldier Boy. We’re going to own this place, very, very soon.”

“Damn straight we are sweetheart. Just a little bit longer and then we can do whatever we want to. Promise.”

_________

[wandas-sunshine]

Apologies (Kinktober Day 3)

Kinktober Schedule

Prompt: Dom/sub Dynamics

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Word Count: 1,947

Warnings: SMUT 18+, Dom/sub dynamics, heavy Sir kink, corporeal punishment, oral sex (male receiving)

A/N: I don’t think I ever specified a gender for the reader, but there are uses of the terms kitten and babydoll if that ruins it for anyone. Tag list for kinktober is still open!

You’d been sitting on the sofa when Stephen came home. You could tell just by the sound of his steps that it hadn’t been a good day. You sat your book down and stood up quickly to scamper to his side.

“I’ve missed you,” You murmured, taking his coat to hang it up. “I made your favorite for dinner.”

Stephen hummed out a low rumble in his throat. A tiny smile crossed his lips, and your stomach fluttered at the small accomplishment.

“Thank you, kitten. I’ll eat later, I have some work to finish up.” He slipped past you, and you pouted at his back. That wasn’t fair, and, truth be told, it worried you. He’d been working himself too much. You trailed after him and lingered in the doorway.

“But Stephen,” You half whined. The man turned to you with an impatient huff. “You’ve already worked 16 hours today.”

Stephen set his things down and settled into a chair.

“And there’s more to be done. Now some quiet, please.” His words were final, and you were usually so obedient for him. But with your Dom’s wellbeing at stake, you had one more trick up your sleeve.

The step into the Dom/sub dynamic of your and Stephen’s relationship wasn’t the first one. You’d been together more than a year before you really gave it a thought. But now, it was all natural.

You slipped quietly into your shared room and fetched the cabinet key that laid on Stephen’s bedside table. You unlocked the cabinet tucked away into the closet and let the doors open. Inside hung all of the fun little items you and Stephen had collected. Floggers, paddles, whips, and riding crops hung on the inside. A few toys were neatly displayed, the rest organized in the drawers. But you weren’t looking for any of those. No, your coveted item was hanging right at the center of everything.

You plucked your collar down and grinned. It was a simple little thing, black leather with a heavy ring in front and a buckle at the back, but it always filled you with pride. You didn’t need anything fancy, just a reminder that you belonged to Stephen.

You made your way back to where he was working, moving to kneel at his side, your collar resting in your lap. He barely spared you a glance. You shifted closer, your hands moving to rest on his thighs, still clutching your collar.

“Did I say you could touch me?” He questioned, voice steady and uninterested. But you knew you’d won. That was only a rule during playtime. You pulled your hands back, but you left the collar settled in his lap. He picked it up, leaving his work to run his fingers over the smooth leather.

“Is there a reason you’re acting up?” He questioned. You hung your head.

“I miss you, Sir...You’ve been too busy for me.” You confessed, resisting the urge to fidget, instead keeping your palms flat on your thighs. Your words were enough to make Stephen realize how little attention he’d really been giving you, and a pit opened up in his chest. What kind of Dom was he if he didn’t spare enough time for his pretty little submissive?

“I’m sorry, babydoll. I’ll make it up to you.” He reached down to gently stroke your head. “But you can’t be breaking the rules to get Sir’s attention, can you?”

You shook your head. He patted his lap and you stood slowly. Ever impatient, he guided you to sit in his lap.

You relaxed instantly, just having missed feeling him against you. He carefully fastened the collar and gave it an experimental tug.

“How’s that feel?” He murmured in your ear. You shivered and beamed, eyes falling shut.

“Good. Thank you, Sir.” You hummed out. Stephen didn’t answer. Instead, he nudged you back onto your own two feet.

“Good. But you still need to be taught to behave. Bedroom, get the bamboo paddle.” He ordered. You squeaked. The bamboo was your favorite, and the smirk on Stephen’s face said he knew that too.

“Yes, Sir.” You scurried back to your room with a grin on your lips. You plucked the paddle from it’s hook and laid it on the bed. With a final glance at the door, you knelt on the bed beside it.

It felt like ages before Stephen came in, but you didn’t move a muscle. You could see the proud gleam in his eye, and a wave of arousal washed through you.

“Strip.” You stood and stripped your clothes off, leaving them folded nearly on the chair beside the bed like you’d been taught. Finally, you were standing bare in front of him, your hands clasped behind your back.

Stephen took a long moment to look you over. It really had been too long since he had given you proper attention.

“I think 20 strikes will suffice. 5 for interrupting Sir while he was working, 5 for touching Sir without permission, and 10 for not telling Sir when you need him. Does that sound fair?” Stephen picked up the paddle and weighed it in his hand.

“Yes, Sir.” You knew your limits, and he seemed happy with your answer.

“You remember your safeword?” He guided you to turn around, his hand sprawling across your upper back to gently bend you over. You nodded. “Use your words.”

“Mangoes. It’s mangoes.” You answered. Stephen hummed.

“Hands on the bed. You’re gonna count for me.” He gently teased the edge of the paddle over the swell of your ass, then up your spine and back down. Your hands fisted into the blankets.

Stephen was patient, sometimes irritatingly so. It’s what made him a good surgeon, but it drove you crazy when he strung you out. You let out a startled hiss at the press of the cool paddle to your skin.

“Count.” He reminded, but he hardly gave you a second to process the word before the paddle came down against your ass.

“One,” You squeaked. He soothed over the spot, teasing you with the power he held. Then two more swats in quick succession. “Two, three.”

You were careful to keep up. Four, five, six. But you were growing convinced that Stephen was trying to throw you off simply for the fun of it. Seven, eight, nine. You were squirming, desperation swirling in your stomach. Ten, eleven, twelve. Your hand flew back to protect your increasingly sore backside. Stephen’s hand caught your wrist and he sighed.

“You may want to think twice about that. You know better.” He let you go and you quickly put your hand back where it belonged. The next hit came harder and you yelped. “Count.”

“Thirteen. I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll be good, I promise. I’m sorry.” You pleaded. Stephen didn’t answer, landing a swat right over your sit spots. You’d be feeling it for days, and just the thought had you gushing. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Tears were welling at the corner of your eyes. Stephen shushed you gently, his free hand running soothing strokes over your back.

“Almost done, kitten. Only four more. You can do that for me, can’t you?” He urged you on sweetly, and you mumbled a barely there affirmation. You relished the tiny break you were given as he caressed the backs of your thighs. You sniffled, and Stephen pressed a few kisses between your shoulder blades.

He continued with his gentle encouragement as he delivered the final swats, fast and hard. Then he sat the paddle aside and helped you to stand straight. You curled into his chest, but he didn’t reprimand you this time. His fingers brushed the few remaining tears away.

“I’m sorry I misbehaved, Sir.” You looked up, and Stephen smirked.

“How sorry, babydoll?” The question made you tip your head, but your sincerity never faltered.

“I’m so so sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

And when you said such precious things, Stephen couldn’t help the way his cock jumped.

“Down, take out my cock.” He ran a hand through your hair before gently guiding you down to your knees. You looked up at him through your eyelashes as you made quick work of his belt and the fastenings on his pants. You tugged them down with his underwear and helped him out of them.

His cock stood half hard and mouthwateringly beautiful in front of your face. Your hand lifted to wrap around it, but you paused just before you touched him fully. You looked up again.

“Sir?”

Stephen continued to run his hand through your hair and gave you a little nod.

“Do as you please.” And you had every intention of doing just that. You reached out to give him a few tugs. His manhood was hot and heavy in your palm as you teased him to full size.

You leaned in and lapped at the head of his cock with a practised ease. You ran your tongue over the vein lining the underside of his shaft. He didn’t make a sound, but his hand tightened in your hair.

You grew tired of the teasing quickly, taking the entirety of his length into your mouth. You suckled, your tongue swirling before you took him deeper. You pressed farther until he was nestled in your throat and your nose bumped against his pelvic bone.

“Hands behind your back. I want to see what you can do with just your mouth.” Stephen commanded. And his voice sounded almost strained, like he was trying to hold back any sign of pleasure. Nevertheless, you obeyed, folding your hands behind you, letting them rest right at the swell of your ass.

You drew off before bobbing your head. You tried to keep yourself steady now as you sucked him off. His groans finally began to come out now, loud and desperate as his hips picked up a rhythm. He held your head steady and fucked into your throat.

You were a mess, spit leaking down your face, and tears streaking your face as you tried to keep your throat open enough to accommodate his sheer size.

“Fuck,” He groaned, head tipping back. You were always so perfect for him, the way you took his cock so well.

Your eyes opened again to look up at him. Even with his head tilted back, his eyes stayed trained on you, dark and steady.

“You’re gonna make me cum right down that pretty little throat.” He warned you, and the thought sent a shock to your core. He was close, you could tell. Your throat was sore, and your lips were swollen, the ache in your jaw was getting worse by the minute, but all you cared about was sucking him dry.

His fingers tightened painfully against your scalp, nestling your head all the way down on his length and shooting rope after rope of cum down your throat. You took it as well as you could, swallowing it down. A bit trickled from the corners of your mouth, leaking down your face with the rest of your mess.

Stephen beamed down at you, and his hands moved to smooth your hair. He hooked two fingers into the ring of your collar and tugged you back to your feet.

“Are you okay?” He asked, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. He always thought you looked so perfect after you went down on him. You nodded a little.

“Am I forgiven, Sir?” You asked sweetly. Stephen chuckled once again, but he nodded.

“All forgiven. Now come on. I haven’t been taking care of you. Sir has a lot to make up for too.”

Tag List: @dragonofthenorth0726​ // @vozit​ // @realgaytrash​ // @i-love-books-so-fricking-much​ // @nikkiofasgard​ // @duvetsandpillows​

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Nine: Friday

a/n: happy friday lovies!! I am soooo excited for y’all to read this one bc it was my favvv chapter to write and I still get emo over it :’) also I think I should maybe let you all know that we only have two more chapters left in this series, and I can not thank you enough for all of the love and support you have shown it. It has been such a blast hearing your thoughts and sharing Halani with all of you lovely people, and I can’t believe the fun is almost over :( BUT we still have some time before we have to think about that soooo without further ado here is the next chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, some suggestive humor

Word Count: 9.5k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight

Monday

Harry takes a deep breath and raises his arms above his head, feeling every vertebrae stretch as he lies flat against the surfboard. The beaming sunlight warms him down to the bone and it threatens to lull him to sleep, but his attention is too occupied with the various sounds coming from each direction. Out of his right ear, he hears the waves lapping against the shore and the faint sound of children’s laughter. From his left, Mitch and Tom engage in a serious conversation about sharks. He lets one foot slide off the edge of the board and wade into the water below, all the while resisting the paranoia that he will be the next victim of Jaws thanks to his friends’ discussion. 

“I’m gonna go switch out the camera.” Paul says beside him, already swimming back to the shore. 

Harry gives a thumbs up in acknowledgement and lets the back of his hand rest against his forehead. He floats for a moment longer before swinging his other leg into the water and sitting up. His feet gently tread below the surface and he studies the area for any fish sightings, but his shoulders slump in disappointment when he doesn’t find any. 

“I just think,” Mitch defends, legs crossed on his own surfboard. “That I would survive way longer than you,”

“It’s not a fuckin’ zombie apocalypse, survival rate depends on how severe the attack is,” Tom shoots back. 

“Not if you’re smart,”

“Right, good thinking, mate. Just yell the Pythagorean theorem and swim away while the bloody thing tries to solve it,”

“You just don’t get it.”

“Stop bein’ a coward, then, and put your feet in the water.”

Harry shakes his head in amusement and continues scanning the scene for something else to occupy his attention. His eyes momentarily land on a couple in the distance, the pair facing each other on their shared surfboard and laughing. He smiles softly and glances back to the shore where his group has set up camp for the afternoon. Squinting, he tries to determine the time of day using the sun’s position overhead, but quickly gives up and swims back to the beach. The sand clings to his wet toes as he jogs over to his bag and digs inside for his phone. The time reads 2:37–Alani’s shift will be over soon. 

She stifles another yawn and punches in her customer’s order, re-typing it when she realizes that it’s littered with errors. Her mind had been in a permanent fog since she woke up at 6:45 this morning. Harry had already slipped out by the time she reached over for him, but he left a note on his pillow this time. 

GOOD MORNING SWEETS!

SORRY I HAD TO JET SO EARLY :( I’LL SEE YOU AFTER WORK.

 H ☼

P.S. ALREADY MISSING YOUR LITTLE SNORES ♡

As if on cue, Alani’s phone vibrates in her back pocket and she slips it out to read the new text. 

Harry: Meet me at Honoli’i after your shift? 

She really wants to, but she’s also in desperate need of sleep. 

Alani: Gonna take a power nap first, but I’ll be there 

Harry: Can’t wait xx

********

In the distance, Harry hears The Cure blasting from a car in the parking lot. He hums along and picks at his bowl of fruit, saving the kiwis for Alani who once said they were her favorite. Jeff and Paul laugh about something between the two of them before the director catches Harry’s attention. 

“How long you planning on staying here?” he asks. 

Harry checks his phone again and the time reads 4:35. He wasn’t entirely sure how long Alani’s nap was supposed to last, but just as he’s about to answer, a text comes through. 

Alani: Heading over. See you soon, sunshine💗

He smiles softly and shuts his phone off. “I actually have a surfing lesson at five. But I’ll meet you guys at the house after.”

Paul, the two Jeffs, Mitch, and Tom bid Harry farewell and decide to take a drive along the coast before heading to dinner. They mention the name of the restaurant they plan to go to, but Harry knows he’ll probably skip it and take Alani somewhere else. He sits back on his elbows, watching the palm trees sway in the breeze, when suddenly his vision goes dark when he feels hands over his eyes. 

“Guess who,”

“The Queen of England?”

“Yes and I’m here to colonize your land and steal your jewels,” Alani jokes in a posh British accent.  She leans over his head so they partake in an upside down kiss before settling into the sand beside him. 

“You’ve already had my family jewels,” he teases with a suggestive wiggle of his brows. 

Alani scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You are so insufferable sometimes, I swear to God,”

Harry lies back and rests his head in her lap with a shit-eating-grin plastered to his face. The damp locks along his hairline are curled and Alani twirls the pieces between her fingers. 

“Saved y’some kiwis,” he informs her, nodding in the direction of his tote bag. 

“Aw thanks, baby,” 

“How was your day?” 

Alani removes the lid and pops a slice of kiwi into her mouth. “Long, boring, tiring. A lot better now,”

“Feel the same way,”

“How’s your project going?” she questions, curious about his recent, mysterious whereabouts. 

He shrugs. “S’fine, yeah,”

“What exactly is it, again?”

“It’s a,” Harry starts slowly. “Video thing… kind of,”

Alani narrows her eyes and lifts another piece of fruit to her lips. “Meaning?”

“It’s like—following uh.. the album ‘n stuff,”

“Ah the elusive album,” Alani nods. “Will I ever get to hear any of it?”

“Yeah,”

“When?”

“Dunno,” he blinks. “When’re you gonna let me read that article of yours?”

She smirks and taps her fork against her lower lip. “When it’s ready,”

“Then I’m withholding my thing ‘til it’s ready too,”

“That’s not fair,” she objects. “My article is contingent on your music,”

“One song,” Harry bargains, holding up his index finger. “In exchange for one paragraph. Seems fair to me,”

“Deal,”

He sits up suddenly and opens his mouth as an unspoken request for a kiwi. Alani tosses it in his direction and to her surprise, he catches it effortlessly. 

“You really are a freak of nature,” she marvels. “What can’t you do?”

“Stay away from you, apparently,” 

“Ditto,”

“D’you wanna head to the water for a bit?” Harry asks, his eyes landing on the board cast to the side.

Alani nods. “Sure thing,”

She strips down to the pink two piece underneath her clothes and accepts his outstretched hand. They shuffle through the sand, joint hands swinging, but Harry stops and scans her face when they reach the edge. 

“What?” Alani asks, already dipping her toes in the water. 

He runs his thumb over hers and starts hesitantly. “I know the water is kind of…”

“Oh,” she finishes when he trails off. “Yeah. I mean, for the most part I’m okay with it. Last time was just—I wasn’t expecting it,”

“I’m really sorry for that.” Harry apologizes with a somber look in his eye. 

Alani reaches her free hand out to his cheek and offers a comforting smile. “No, it’s okay. I actually used to be pretty good at surfing,”

“Oh?”

“Haven’t really done it in years, though. I’m probably really rusty now,”

“Well maybe it’s time to get back on the horse,” Harry urges, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of her palm before leading them further into the waves. Alani gets up on the board first and it's clear that she’s a natural despite the lack of practice. Her muscles fall into a mesmerizing rhythm as they repeat the very motions she had done thousands of times before her accident. Harry’s eyes carefully study the precision of her determined arms slicing through the water and the way her feet gracefully meet the board once she’s found a strong enough wave. She glides back to the beach and revels in the familiar feeling of the ocean breeze against her skin. Harry whistles from the distance as she reaches the shore, turning back to him with a wide grin and two thumbs up. 

“Your turn,” she calls, paddling towards him on her stomach. 

Harry replaces her on the board and winces. “Maybe I should’ve gone first,”

“You’re gonna do great,” Alani insists. “Tighten your core muscles. Oh! And bend your knees, not your back. Just trust your instincts and follow through,”

He follows her advice and to his surprise, does well, though not nearly as graceful as she had. Despite this, Alani cheers from the side as he glides back to the beach. Harry takes a bow once his feet have safely met the sand below. 

“I knew you could do it,” she beams when he swims back to her. 

“Couldn’t have done it without my amazing coach,” he shoots back, leaning down to press a salty kiss to her lips. 

With Harry’s help, she swings her leg over the board and sits so that they face each other. Their legs paddle gently below the surface and his hand finds the top of her knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. 

“You were incredible out there,” he muses. “Can’t even tell that you’re out of practice,”

She wrings her hair out and fastens it into a low bun at the base of her neck. “Guess it’s like riding a bike—the muscle memory and all that,”

“You’re a great coach, you know. Cause I usually just wipe out,”

“That’s normal,” Alani nods. “You have to get used to falling. And wait for the right wave,”

Harry admires the way the afternoon sun sets her aglow, skin shimmering and golden under the rays. “How d’you know when it’s the right one?”

“You just feel it I guess. It’s like a gut instinct that you have to follow. And no second guessing yourself, either, cause that’s when you mess up,”

“What if you do go for it and you still wipe out?” He questions, something besides surfing in the back of his mind. 

Alani sighs. “Then you wipe out,”

“You just have to trust?”

“You just have to trust,”

Harry hums as he considers this. Three burning syllables bounce around in his skull, but he suppresses them for the time being. Carefully, he lifts himself to his feet and motions for Alani to do the same. It takes them a second to find their balance on the board, but eventually they do and Harry brings her closer with a protective hand on the middle of her back. 

“D’you trust me?” he murmurs. 

Alani studies the different shades of green in his irises and feels a flutter deep in the pit of her belly, so she decides to take her own advice and presses a soft kiss to his warm lips before responding. 

“Yes.”

Carefully, Harry takes a step back and twirls Alani before pulling her flush to his chest and swaying to the music stuck in his brain. As best they can, the pair dances on the surface of the board but Harry’s foot gets caught in a slick spot and he tumbles backwards, bringing Alani with him. When they emerge, his heart races in worry, but the knot in his chest eases when he hears her laughter.  

“Y’okay?” he checks. 

“Yeah,” she assures him, her legs snaking around his torso under the water. “I’m alright.”

The sky turns pink as they continue to wade peacefully in the water, and the entire time Harry finds himself fixated on the weight of the three little words nagging at the back of his brain. 

********

Tuesday

“Say it again,”

“No,”

“Please?”

Harry shoots Alani an unamused look through the corner of his eye. “Dunno what’s so funny about it,”

“Just say it one more time,” she pleads with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

“Tuesday,”

“Chews day,” Alani mimics and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“You’re so clever,” he huffs. “Really, a true comedian,”

She giggles and leans over in her seat to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s cute!”

“Yeah, whatever,”

“Okay, just one more—”

“Alani,” Harry chuckles, more endeared than irritated. “Don’t make me turn this car around,”

She pouts playfully and returns to watching the trees and passing cars. “At least I’m not asking you where we’re going,”

“You are so stubborn,” he shakes his head. “I told you we’re almost there,”

“I just don’t understand what it is with you and keeping secrets,”

“It’s about the mystery, darlin’, it’s romantic! Just trust me, okay? Have I ever steered you wrong?”

Alani nibbles at the skin on her lower lip and folds her arms. “No,”

“Okay, then,” Harry says finally. “Now change the song. I let you have fun with one Taylor, but it’s getting old,”

“Hater,” she grumbles, shuffling through the rest of her playlists before settling on Madonna. 

Harry’s finger taps along to the beat against her thigh and his lips turn up when he hears Alani singing along. Her eyes are focused on the road ahead of them as she pretends to be in a music video of her own, creating hand gestures and choreography to accompany the lyrics. The chorus builds and she belts out the words as if her life depends on it. 

“I’m crazy for you!”  She performs, squishing Harry’s cheeks between her hands. “Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true. I never wanted anyone like this, it’s all brand new. You’ll feel it in my kiss,”

Alani presses a slobbery smooch to the side of his face and he groans, laughing when she continues melodramatically. The song goes on for another minute and Alani sings passionately out of tune, but it makes Harry’s heart swell. He briefly considers joining her, but decides to let her have her moment, too amused by the way she’s caught up in the emotion. When it’s finally over, she slumps down in her seat with a dazed look in her eye. 

“Gotta love the 80s,”

“Maybe I should let you join the band,” Harry suggests. 

“Really?

“No,”

Alani gasps in mock offense, her eyes wide. “Hey!”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she dismisses offhandedly. “I’m a sweetie,”

“A sweet pain in my arse,”

“Arse? Did you really just say arse?”

“I take it back, you’re just a regular pain.”

The two of them drive for another forty-five minutes taking playful jabs at each other and watching the lush greenery whizz by. Harry had been characteristically cryptic in his instructions the night before, an idea suddenly popping into his mind when Alani reminded him of her day off. He had told her to wear something comfortable and practical, nothing that could flow easily in the wind. Furthermore, he revealed that he would pick her up at exactly 7:00 a.m. which made her eyebrows shoot up. 

“Seven?”

“It’ll be worth it, promise,”

“Can we at least get McDonald’s hash browns for the road?” Alani had bargained. 

Harry chuckled to himself, too excited to deny her. “Sure thing, sweets.”

Welcome to Waikōloa Beach, the sign read and Alani wondered what could possibly have possessed Harry to drag her out of bed and across the island at the crack of dawn. Her question was quickly answered when they turned onto Keana Place where a lot full of helicopters were lined up and waiting. 

“‘Big Island Tours’,” she reads aloud. “Wait a minute, we’re not—”

“Surprise!” Harry beams, reaching behind her seat for a bag. 

Alani scoffs, her mind still trying to process. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Come on,” he pleads. “Been dying to do it since I got here,”

“So bring Mitch! Or Jeff, or Tom or literally anyone else,”

Harry gives her a pout and bats his lashes. “But I’d rather be with you. Please?”

“Harry,” she sighs, taking another glance at the helicopters before her. They did seem secure enough, enclosed on all sides, and he had driven an hour and a half just to surprise her with something fun and totally outside of her comfort zone. 

“Trust me?” he asks after a minute, kissing her knuckles gently. 

Alani takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine.”

They exit the SUV and Harry takes her hand, slinging his bag over his shoulder. There’s a short, stocky man with dark sunglasses standing in front of one of the helicopters with a clipboard. He checks his watch when he sees the two of them approaching and reaches out a hand. 

“Mr. Styles?”

“Harry,”

“Nice to meet you Harry, I’m Matt,” the pilot says with a firm handshake. “Is this your guest?”

“Alani,” she greets. “Is this…”

“It’s very safe,” Matt assures her with a warm smile. 

Harry squeezes her hand gently and looks over their mode of transportation. “How long’ve you been doin’ this?”

“Almost ten years,” the pilot explains. “I was a commercial pilot for twenty-five and then started this when I retired,”

“I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of nervous fliers, then,” Alani speaks up, attempting humor to mask her jitters. 

Matt nods with a knowing smile. “Oh yeah. Plenty of anxious girlfriends who kick their boyfriends for dragging them into it, but they always enjoy themselves in the end,”

Alani’s cheeks warm at his assumption of their relationship status, but neither her nor Harry address it. Instead, Harry clears his throat and asks his next question. 

“So when can we go up?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Matt offers. 

Once the three of them have settled into the aircraft, he hands Harry and Alani each a headset and goes over the basic safety rules. Her heart races and stomach turns, but she takes a deep breath and wills herself to give it a chance. Beside her, Harry is enthusiastically chatting up Matt and being his usual charming self; his confidence is reassuring and she finds herself sinking deeper into his side for comfort. He drapes an arm over her shoulders protectively, sensing her nerves, and presses a firm kiss to her temple. After a few minutes of discussion with the air base over the radio, Matt gives them a thumbs up and signals that they’re ready to go. Another deep breath and they’re off, the ground growing smaller and smaller below. They skim over Waikōloa Village and head west to Waiulua Bay where the water is so clear and blue, Harry has a hard time believing it’s real. Alani peers down at the tiny people all along the coast and in the water and her throat goes dry. She feels Harry nudge her shoulder lightly and looks over to where his finger is pointed. 

“Down there you can swim with dolphins,” he says. “Looked it up last night,”

“And we’re not doing that because...?”

Harry flashes a dimpled grin and laughs softly to himself. “How are you not enjoying this?”

“I am,” Alani insists, which is steadily becoming true. She watches in amazement as they hover over the expanse of the lush, green landscape along the coast. 

Over the headset, Matt points out some key landmarks and answers more of Harry’s questions. They pass over an active volcano and Alani momentarily feels a rush of terror, but her curiosity takes over as she snaps a photo of the molten lava below. She captures another one of Harry looking out his window before flipping the camera to selfie mode and making a peace sign. He turns to tell her something, but flashes a cheesy grin and presses a kiss to her cheek when he notices the camera. Alani writes a mental note to make it her lock screen later. 

After half an hour in the air, Matt points to the cliff on their right hand side and says they’ll be landing there for a bit as part of the tour. A 200 foot waterfall feeds into a small pool and he lands them on a ledge across the way. The three of them exit the helicopter, but Matt says that he needs to check in with the base and lets them explore the site alone for a few minutes. 

“This is incredible,” Alani marvels, looking over the edge. 

“Knew you’d like it,”

She turns to him and snakes her arms around his shoulders, leaving a small peck to his lips. “Thank you,”

While she had been almost one-hundred percent sure that she would never enjoy a helicopter ride, Alani is glad that she was wrong. She is even more grateful that Harry had encouraged, but hadn’t pushed, her to try it. If Alani had been absolutely against the idea, she knows that he wouldn’t have pressed it any further and would have taken her to do something more her speed, hence the dolphin back up plan. It sometimes felt like they were from entirely different worlds, Harry being more sure of himself and adventurous while Alani was careful and preferred to have things planned. But he made her feel brave and spontaneous without pressuring  her to change anything about herself. Harry had seen something special in her and wanted the whole world to see it, too. So he encouraged her to break out of her comfort zone and let her true self shine, but only at her own discretion. Over the course of the past few weeks, Alani had noticed herself opening up to new experiences and loving every minute of it, but this transformative feeling was far from one sided; because of their relationship, Harry learned the value of trusting his own instincts. For so much of his life, he felt like a member of an overcrowded democracy allowing himself to go with the majority rule even if it didn’t particularly please him. From their earliest moments spent together, Harry was inspired by Alani’s determination and self-confidence. He had always cared deeply about other people’s opinion of him and felt that it was his greatest weakness, but she seemed so unapologetically herself at all times. And though Harry sometimes worried that he was simply playing a part for the rest of the world, he never had to question who he was with Alani. She understood him, she grounded him, and amidst all of the unfamiliarity in his new life, she felt familiar and safe. 

“You deserve it,” Harry says gently. “To see beautiful things.”

Alani presses their foreheads together and studies his emerald eyes like they’re the rarest gems she’s ever seen. “Well I’m looking at the best damn view right now,”

“Although, I wish you would’ve told me we were going to Jurassic Park, I would’ve prepared my Laura Dern outfit.”

Harry laughs softly and slots his lips between hers, those three, pesky little words nagging at him again. Not yet, he thinks, but almost there. 

********

Wednesday 

Alani takes an extended lunch and heads over to the recording studio with food for Harry and his friends. He had warned her beforehand that there would be filming, so they agreed to pretend, just for the afternoon, that she was his assistant. However, their true relationship was as much of  a mystery to the both of them as it was to everyone else. Alani had considered, on many occasions, asking him to officially be her boyfriend. She didn’t know how else to refer to him when her mom had started inquiring about the Range Rover mysteriously parked across the street every morning. Each time Alani had gotten up the nerve to ask, however, she secretly worried that it was too soon, or worse, that he would say no. Much to her oblivion Harry had also wrestled with this question, and many others, but also feared her response. What they shared was undeniably strong and completely foreign, so they had independently decided not to put too much weight on the situation in fear of bursting the bubble too soon. Neither of them were prepared to deal with the fallout if it all came crumbling down. 

“Lunch is here!” Jeff calls from the doorway as he escorts Alani inside. 

He motions her over to the table in one corner of the room and helps her lay out the food, thanking her warmly when she declines payment. 

“It’s on the house,” she reassures him. 

The crew all take turns grabbing their lunch, Mitch ruffling Alani’s hair in a display of gratitude while he swipes his burger, and settle into various chairs and comfortable spots around the studio. Harry is the last one to claim his food and he lingers around the table as he does so. 

“Thank you, Ms. Hale,” he offers politely, itching to give her an appreciative kiss. 

She nods and returns the professionalism. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Styles,”

“How’s the weather?”

By now, Alani has come to recognize this as his go-to inquiry when he’s really asking for her attention or affection. 

“Full of sunshine,”

“Glad to hear it.” he smiles softly. The casual slip of his nickname isn’t lost on him. 

“Hey Harry,” the director calls. “Show Jason that Bob Dylan thing you were doing—watch, you’ll love this.”

Harry musters up a pleasant smile and quickly glances at Alani, wanting nothing more than to escape with her for the precious few moments she has left to spare. 

“Occupational hazard.” she shrugs as her cue of permission. His fond look turns apologetic before he saunters over to the rest of the group. 

Alani watches, amused, as he lifts a guitar and starts strumming a tune that she hadn’t heard before with a Dylan-esque lilt in his voice. The crew all laugh and encourage his impression, but she still wonders what the song is and reminds herself to ask later. After a few moments with the rest of the group, Harry’s eyes wander to Alani munching on a french fry and scrolling on her phone. Jeff notices this too and decides to help his friend out.

“Hey Alani,” he calls. “Come sit with us,”

She looks over to Harry and he grins eagerly, making room on the couch between him and Mitch. 

“Alani makes the best smoothies in the world.”  Jeff comments to the film crew. 

“It’s true,” Mitch adds. “Harry loves ‘em.”

A subtle glare radiates from the singer, but Mitch simply winks in response. 

“Well, you guys are my favorite customers,” Alani offers. “But don’t tell the others,”

The whole team makes Alani feel welcome and she’s endlessly thankful for it, making an effort to engage every crew member in some sort of small talk as evidence of her gratitude. Harry enjoys her presence among his friends and how easily she fits in. It serves as further proof of what his gut already knew: she was a missing puzzle piece in the image of his ideal life slowly coming together before his eyes. Alani checks the time an hour later and starts bidding farewell to the group, much to their disappointment. As she slips out the door and over to the Bronco, a familiar accented voice calls from behind. Before she has time to respond, a pair of warm lips meet hers and she hums. 

“They’re all goin’ out  for dinner at 5,” Harry explains gently. “Come back to the studio then, I have somethin’ I wanna show you.”

********

It’s 5:10 when Alani makes her way back to Napua. Harry had texted her beforehand to say that the door would be open, so she lets herself in and scans the quiet room. She hears the soft keys of a piano, but the room is dim and she has to get closer to see that it’s Harry seated there. Candles are perched around the room and Alani watches her step, reaching a hand to Harry’s shoulder when she reaches him. He stops playing and flashes a soft smile, inviting her to join him on the bench. 

“Digging the ambience,” Alani remarks lightly, not entirely reading his mood. 

He shrugs. “Just felt right,” 

Harry’s fingers return to the keys and he starts with a somber chord that makes Alani’s breath hitch. His vocals are raw and gritty, but stronger than she had ever heard him sing and it nearly moves her to tears. She hangs on every word and burns them into her mind for safe keeping, though she doubts that she could ever forget this moment even if she tried. Harry picks up into the chorus and leaves nothing behind, diving straight into the wave without fear of wiping out. Alani tries, but she can’t contain the tears that spill over her cheek. It’s as if every ounce of apprehension and anxiety, every doubt and moment of insecurity is cleansed from her soul right in this very moment. When the song comes to an end, she immediately wishes to relive it and tries to find the right words in response. 

“That was incredible,” Alani clears her throat. “What’s it called?”

“Sign of the Times,” he responds. “Not really sure about it,”

She furrows her brows in confusion, but quickly realizes that he’s being honest and not fishing for compliments. 

“Why?”

“It’s… different,”

“Than?”

He thinks for a moment and chooses his next words carefully. “Anything I‘ve ever done before,”

“And why’s that bad?” Alani questions with a comforting hand weaving its way into his hair. 

“Dunno,” Harry sighs, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t wanna get it wrong,”

At this moment, “it” isn’t just the song. Everything about his new solo career, and his life in general, is a toss up, and one that he isn’t sure will land in his favor. Alani has no doubts, though, not when it comes to her faith in Harry’s abilities. 

“Are you happy?” she asks. 

He looks over to her and thinks that he couldn’t possibly be more content. “Yeah,”

“Then you’re already succeeding. If you’re happy with what you’re doing, then no one can tell you that you’re not successful,”

Harry feels his own wave of emotions pooling at the bottom of his lash line and he’s grateful that the low lighting conceals it. He closes the gap between their lips, palm secure against the side of Alani’s face as he keeps her close. 

“There’s somethin’ else I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry says gently and Alani feels her heartbeat pick up. 

“Okay,”

He isn’t sure how to approach the subject, despite the fact that it’s been the only thing on his mind for days, so he decides to trust his gut and speak from the heart.

“These past few weeks with you,” he starts slowly. “Have been the best of my entire life. When I’m with you, it’s like nothing else in the entire world matters, and nothing bad could ever happen to me because there’s you,”

Another tear rolls down Alani’s face and Harry wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. 

“All I asked for was a chance,” he continues. “And it feels like you’ve given me the entire world. Do you remember the day when we saw that rainbow?”

“Yes,” Alani nods, voice small. 

“You told me to wish for something, and I did. I wished for a home. I didn’t know why, but that word wouldn’t leave me alone after you said it. But I think I understand it now, because I’m in a place I’ve never been before, physically and in my life generally, but you make it feel like home. You bring me home,”

Alani feels as if all of the air inside her lungs has been sucked out, and her grip on Harry’s wrist tightens because she worries that if he lets go, she’ll float away like a helium balloon. 

“I know I’m not perfect,” Harry continues, voice wavering. “But this thing we have feels like it could set the world on fire, and I’d gladly walk in the flames for you. So would you please say you’ll be mine and let me prove it?”

“Yes,” Alani breathes, tears of relief and joy still streaming down her face. “But I need a moment to compose an appropriate girlfriend acceptance speech,”

Harry grins and presses their lips together as if she’s the only source of air. 

“Seriously,” Alani chuckles when they pull apart. “Cause how the fuck could I top that?”

“Y’don’t need to. Saying yes was all I needed,”

She unclasps her fingers from his, draping her arms around his shoulders instead, and takes a deep breath. “You’re everything, you know that? You’re the sun and the whole universe revolves around you.”

“And you’re the most heavenly moon,” Harry responds thinking back to the meaning of her name. “Mahealani.”

********

Thursday

When Alani’s father had asked for her help setting up a wedding that was taking place at the resort this weekend, she jumped at the chance. It wasn’t often that she got to be involved in the events at Honu, but she adored the luxurious five star hotel and all of its amenities. She had helped her dad cater numerous events over the years and weddings were her absolute favorite, especially because of the beautiful gowns and all of the blissfully happy couples. It felt like a privilege to glimpse into the most special moments in the lives of strangers she would probably never see again. Alani had been tasked with meeting the bride and collecting any last minute meal cards or notes of dietary restrictions from guests. The wedding was to take place the following night, but all the food prep would begin that afternoon in order to adequately prepare. 

“I think that’s all. There were just a few last minute adjustments,” the bride, Mila, says pulling out an envelope from her bag. 

“No offense,” Alani starts. “But shouldn’t you be resting? I mean isn’t the maid of honor supposed to do all this? Or a wedding planner?”

Mila sighs, an embarrassed smile spreading across her rosy lips. “I know, I’m just a bit of a control freak. I like things done a certain way,”

“Totally understandable,”

“Like the music thing,” Mila rolls her eyes. “It was my fiancé’s idea. He said that DJs were boring and wanted to let the guests choose their own songs, instead. So that was my compromise. I’m trying,”

Alani offers a chuckle and shuffles the last of the cards into her stack. “Sounds like you’re already mastering this whole marriage thing,”

“Are you married?” the bride asks, curiously. 

“Oh, no I’m not,” 

“Got a boyfriend?”

Alani’s cheeks warm and her lips curl. “Yes,”

“Knew it,” Mila comments with a knowing smirk. “You’re too pretty to be single. And you’ve got the look,”

“What look?” Alani questions. 

Mila flutters her lashes and sighs. “The ‘I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it’ look. Like a Disney princess,”

Alani laughs shyly and focuses her attention back to the envelopes in front of her. 

“What’s his name?” the bride pries. 

“Harry,”

“That’s a good one,” Mila considers tapping her lower lip. “Like the Prince of England. Maybe you will be a princess, after all,”

Alani is amused by the irony of her statement, but she chooses not to disclose the fact that her boyfriend actually is British, albeit, not a Royal. Instead, she chooses to deflect the attention back onto the bride. 

“And what’s your lucky guy’s name?”

“Chad,”

“Like the country,”

“Yeah,” Mila giggles. “Like the country,”

“And what’s he like?”

Mila rests her chin in her hand and a dreamy look settles into her hazel eyes. “Funny. He wanted to be a comedian, but he became a lawyer, instead. That’s how we met— law school,”

“What kind of law do you practice?”

“Ironic enough,” Mila chuckles. “Family and divorce law. I never thought I’d get married, I mean I literally hear about people falling out of love every day. But the thing about love is that it’s effort, and a lot of people aren’t willing to put in the work. It doesn’t feel like work when it’s the right person, though. Just feels like ‘how can I be the best possible partner to this human that I love so much?’”

Alani considers this, her mind immediately wandering to Harry and all of his thoughtful gestures. “Makes sense,”

“Chad is a patent lawyer,” Mila continues. “He’s the more creative, outgoing one, I guess. He makes things light when it gets too heavy, you know? It’s good to have someone like that,”

“Yeah, definitely,”

“What’s your guy like? What does he do?” Mila asks with a flirty grin. 

“He’s, uh,” Alani thinks for a second trying to be as vague as possible. “A musician,”

Mila gives an approving nod. “Dreamy. Bet he writes lots of songs about you,”

“Maybe,”

“Don’t be shy,” Mila urges. “Come on, it’s just us girls. Spill,”

Alani thinks for a moment and imagines that the same dream cloud must be present over her own features.

“Well he’s kind, thoughtful, romantic, and wise. Really funny, too. I don’t know he just—he makes me wanna be a better person, really,”

“Wow,” the bride marvels. “Sounds like a hell of a guy,”

“He is,”

Mila leans in conspiratorially and Alani does the same. “Speaking as an expert, I think it’s gonna last forever,”

“You think?” Alani asks. 

“Oh yeah,” Mila assures her. “When you’re so used to studying fake love, you get really good at recognizing the real deal,”

Alani offers her an appreciative smile and nods. “Thank you,”

Mila’s eyes light up suddenly and she grabs Alani by both hands. “Hey you should bring him! Yeah, you two should come, I insist,”

“Oh, I—”

“Please, say you will! Maybe he can throw in some good music recommendations to offset the terrible ones,”

Alani chuckles and she knows immediately that Harry would leap at the chance to do so. “Okay, sure.”

“Yay!” Mila cheers, reaching into her planner and jotting a note down. “Harry and Alani at the lovebird’s table.”

********

“Hey, sweets,” Harry beams, pulling up to the front of the hotel in the Cadillac. “Waiting on your boyfriend or are you just in the habit of standing on sidewalks lookin’ cute?”

“The former,” Alani responds coyly. “He’ll be here any minute,” 

“And he’s got a pretty girl like you waiting outside like this? You should dump him,”

She shrugs and turns on her heel for a stroll while Harry gently eases off the breaks to follow. “I don’t know, I’m kinda fond of him,”

“S’that so?” he continues with a smirk. 

“Yup,” she sighs. “He’s kind of a dork, but I like that about him,” 

“Heyyy—”

“And he’s a good kisser. The best at cuddling, too,” 

“Sounds like a catch,” 

“He is. You two should meet sometime,”

The car comes to a halt and Alani slips inside, scooting all the way down the bench seat next to Harry. 

“Funny, you should be a comedian,” he quips.

Alani’s brow furrows and she shoots him a doe-eyed look. “What’s the joke?”

Harry laughs dryly, ignoring the pang of irrational jealousy that strikes him in the chest. “You’re a little too good at this bit, it’s starting to feel like we're not talkin’ about me anymore,”

“Oh, were we supposed to be talking about you?” 

His head whips over to Alani who clutches her stomach with laughter. “I’m kidding, baby, of course I’m talking about you,” 

“No, who is he?” Harry demands playfully with a deep furrow between his brows. “Tell me, I’ll hurt him,” 

Alani slots their lips together and his pout eases into a grin. 

“Hey what are you doing tomorrow night?” she asks, feeling the ocean breeze through her hair. 

Harry flashes a dimple in her direction. “Anything you want, s’long as we’re together,”

“Will you be my plus one?”

“To?”

“A wedding,” Alani explains. “The one my dad’s catering at Honu,”

His eyebrows raise and he smiles wide. “Are we crashing it?”

“No,” she laughs. “We were invited. I was hanging out with the bride today and she added us to the list,”

“‘Kay, but I’m still gonna pretend we crashed it,”

Alani drapes her arms around his shoulders and leans her head against his. “Where are we going?”

“Damn, I thought I had you distracted,”

“Boyfriend rule #1: You have to tell me where we’re going always,”

Harry narrows his eyes. “That’s not a real rule because surprises are romantic,”

“Too bad,” Alani shrugs.

“But don’t you enjoy my surprises?”

“Usually,”

“Then I’m adding a new rule,” Harry bargains. “The girlfriend can not ask the boyfriend to disclose the location of a date if they’re already in the car,”

“That’s not fair, I was already in the car when the rule was made!”

“Too bad.”

Alani pinches his cheek and slinks back into her own seat. She tells him about the bride and the groom, what she knows, at least, and about the decision to have their guests RSVP with a song of their choice to play at the reception. 

“D’you know what you’re gonna pick?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah,” Alani nods. “I Wanna Dance with Somebody by Whitney Houston, obviously,”

“Obviously,” he agrees. 

“You?”

“Dunno, yet. Have to narrow it down,”

Alani admires the heart-shaped glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Well you better make it good, cause Mila knows that you’re a musician and she’s expecting you to balance out her friends’ shitty music taste,”

“You were talkin’ about me?” he teases. 

“Well, yeah, how else do you think you got invited?”

“You have such a crush on me, s’cute,”

Alani playfully pokes his cheek. “We’re literally dating, dummy,”

“Don’t get defensive,” Harry jokes. “Cause I’ve got a crush on you too.”

“God, we’re so annoying.”

Harry grins and presses a kiss to her temple. They pull into the Port of Hilo and he magically produces a picnic basket from the backseat, a bottle of Moët et Chandon rosé peeking out. Alani slips her fingers between his and follows as he leads them to a sizable speed boat anchored and waiting for them. 

“The Carolina,” Alani reads, admiring the golden cursive on the side. 

“Like someone else I know,” Harry winks. 

He escorts her onto the vessel and she waits to see when the captain will join them, but confusion washes over her when she sees Harry poking around with the equipment. 

“What are you doing?”

“As much fun as it would be to eat at the dock,” he begins. “I think it would be more fun to take ole Carolina for a spin,”

“You mean you’re gonna drive this thing?” Alani questions, though she doesn’t know why she’s surprised by him anymore. 

“Pilot,” Harry corrects. “But yes,”

Alani blinks and tries to wrap her head around the idea of Harry piloting a boat. “And you’re allowed to do that?”

“Sure.”

“Wow,” she marvels to herself with an incredulous laugh. “I’m dating a sailor.”

Harry flashes Alani a wink over his shoulder and before she knows it, they’re heading away from the dock. She carefully stands from the lounging area at the back and sneaks over to Harry, arms wrapping around his torso with her chin propped on his shoulder. He steers with one hand and extends the other, recreating the iconic Titanic boat scene. 

“I’m flying, Jack!” he calls over his shoulder and Alani giggles, responding with her best improvised rendition of My Heart Will Go On. 

They sail out for a bit longer before Harry stops the boat and turns to her. “Ta da!”

“By jove, he’s done it!” Alani praises. 

Harry takes a bow and reaches over for the picnic basket, pulling out the rosé and two champagne flutes. He hands them to Alani and spreads their meal on the lounging area at the back: vegetable stir fry and noodles with chocolate covered strawberries for desert. 

“You did all this?” Alani muses. 

He takes each flute from her hand and fills them halfway. “It��s a special occasion,” 

“I feel like an asshole for not knowing what it is,”

“Don’t,” Harry chuckles, handing her the wine. “I mean it’s not really like—I just realized it,”

“What is it?”

Harry raises his glass and clears his throat. “Exactly three months ago, I got off a plane and I stumbled into a little café where the most beautiful and funny and smart waitress served me about twenty glasses of water until I nearly pissed my pants in front of her,”

Alani giggles at the memory, disbelief settling in when she considers how fast the time had flown. 

“And despite all of the embarrassing and idiotic things I’ve done since,” he continues. “She agreed to be my girlfriend, for reasons I have yet to understand. So today I celebrate her, and us, and all of lucky stars that brought our paths together,”

They clink their glasses together and Alani presses a cool kiss to his lips. “Cheers, baby,”

“There’s one more thing,” Harry says, holding a finger up. 

Alani scoffs. “It’s like fucking Pandora’s box in there!”

He pulls out a velvet box and her heart stops. 

“Wait, what are you—”

“It’s not what you think,” he explains quickly. “Sorry, maybe should’ve thought this through better,”

Harry opens the lid and lifts a gold chain with a crescent moon pendant and a smaller sun in the center. 

“Saw it in a shop this morning,” he says softly. “Seemed like fate, so I got it,”

“Harry,” Alani breathes, eyes already glossy. 

“D’you like it?”

“I love it! It’s beautiful,” she says, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “Thank you so much.”

He fastens the necklace for her and she admires it with gentle fingers. The sun and the moon, a piece of them cast in gold and resting against her beating heart forever. 

********

Friday 

“Wow,” Harry gawks, his eyes raking in Alani’s appearance. A baby pink tulle dress falls just above her knee with puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, all cinched at the waist with a small bow. Tiny velvet hearts are speckled all over the dress, in true Alani fashion, and a pair of sparkling, pink heels accentuate her toned calves. 

“Wow yourself,” she counters, drinking in the peek of exposed skin behind his cream colored blazer. The blue dress shirt underneath is unbuttoned just above the butterfly on his stomach and a cross is nestled in the valley between his pecs. He holds out a bouquet of sunflowers between his ringed fingers and Alani accepts them gratefully, moving to the side so he can step into the house. 

“These are gorgeous, thank you,” she says, lifting them to her nose. 

“Welcome,” he smiles softly, swiping the pad of his thumb against her chin. “You are gorgeous,”

Alani presses her rose tinted lips to his carefully and pulls back to admire him again. “And you are so good looking it actually makes me mad.”

Harry laughs and pulls her closer for another sweet kiss before he hears the clearing of another person’s throat. 

“Have her back by midnight,” Pua teases with her arms crossed. “Or I’ll hunt you down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry salutes before bending down to address Freddie. 

Alani passes the sunflowers to her sister with a kiss to her cheek before hooking an arm under Harry’s and heading out. They hop into the convertible and the sun catches the golden pendant around her neck, bringing a soft smile to his face. 

“Hope those are your dancin’ shoes,” Harry remarks. “Cause we’re goin’ full Dirty Dancing tonight,”

“Lift and all?” 

“Lift and all,”

She runs her fingers over the silver rose on his ring finger.  “You know, I think we’re finally gonna nail it this time.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry agrees. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

When they arrive at Honu, the other guests are shuffling from the parking lot and onto the private beach where the reception will take place. Alani plucks a card from her bag to drop into the box at the entrance while Harry pulls a medium sized box from behind his seat. 

“You got a real gift?” Alani questions, a light laugh erupting. “We don’t even know these people,”

Harry tucks the gift under his arm and shrugs. “I put your name on it too, don’t worry,”

“Well now they’ll have a giftcard to Ikea and whatever’s in your mystery box.”

“It’s also a giftcard to Ikea, but wrapped in a big box.”

Alani nudges his shoulder playfully and scans the groups mingling and flocking to the mini bar. She waves to a member of her dad’s kitchen staff attending to the hors d’oeuvres before they are greeted by the manager of the guest list. 

“Alani and Harry,” she says to the tall woman behind the podium. 

“Ah yes,” the woman responds. “The Lovebirds table, number 9.”

“Guess Mila wasn’t joking about that.” Alani chuckles lightly, taking both of their name cards. 

Harry locates their table and to his surprise, no one else is present yet, but he pulls Alani’s chair out for her and pushes it back in once she’s seated. 

“Champagne?” he asks, nodding to the bar. 

“Oui, s'il vous plaît." 

He plants a kiss to the top of her head and makes his way to collect their drinks. Alani’s eyes follow the stringed lights overhead and she quickly realizes that they lead to a disco ball hanging above the center of the dance floor. Well done, Mila. She thinks to herself with an approving nod. The colors, she gathers, are lilac and periwinkle, incorporated into all of the floral arrangements and cloth details. They match the color of the sky above and Alani knows that the bride must be ecstatic over this detail. Harry returns with their drinks and sets them down gently onto the white tablecloth. 

“None of our fellow lovebirds have arrived yet, huh?” he muses, taking a sip of his champagne. 

Alani shakes her head and brings the glass to her lips. “Must be too busy making out in the parking lot,”

“You told me we didn’t have time for that.”

“I’m not gonna ruin my lipstick before we’ve even arrived.”

Harry shakes his fist to the sky and Alani giggles. They both admire the view and the children in the wedding party who are testing how close they can get to the water before an adult drags them away. The sky turns to a shade of cotton candy above them and someone announces that the bride and groom are arriving. Harry and Alani stand and welcome the newly weds with applause and whistles. Mila and Chad share a sweet kiss and the crowd goes wild. One man, most likely a friend of the groom, shouts “I love you Chad!” and laughter erupts. They take their seats and the rest of the wedding party follows suit, which means that the rest of the guests are free to return to their chatting and socializing. 

“I’m beginning to think we were put in the time out table.” Harry jokes when they are still not joined by any other guests. 

A light laugh escapes Alani’s lips and she looks around. “Yeah I guess so.”

The servers arrive with their meal and the pair eat happily, exchanging witty banter and observations of the scene around them. Harry sucks a piece of linguine between his lips and turns to Alani with a mischievous smirk. 

“No,” Alani says, already knowing what he’s up to. 

“Don’t leave me hangin’,”

 “Eat your food.”

“Alaniii,”

She shakes her head gently and rolls her eyes, but decides to indulge him anyway. Their lips meet in the middle of the shared noodle and Harry smiles. 

“Always wanted to try that.” 

A few moments later, he notices a card in the middle of the table and lifts it. 

“‘Trivia,’” he reads. “‘Test your knowledge of the bride and groom and win a prize.’ Let’s play, shall we?”

“What’s the first question?” Alani asks, peering over to read the small font. 

“‘What year did Mila and Chad meet?” 

Alani hums, thinking back to her previous conversation with the bride. “They met in law school, that’s all I know,”

“2009,” Harry guesses. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“Definitely Chad,” she replies firmly. “Mila didn’t think she’d ever get married,”

“I thought you said you didn’t know these people,”

“I guess I was wrong,”

Harry squints at the next one. “What are their zodiac signs?”

“I wanna say Virgo for Mila,” Alani suggests. “Maybe… Aquarius for Chad?”

“That’s my sign,” Harry comments, writing down her guesses. 

Alani’s brows raise. “No kidding. Makes a lot of sense,”

“What’s yours?”

“Taurus,”

“I don’t know anythin’ about astrology. Are we compatible?”

“Probably not,” Alani teases. 

Harry shoots her a disapproving look and reads the next question. “Where did they go on their first date?”

“The movies,” she predicts. “Safe bet,”

“‘Akaka Falls,” Harry writes. “That was ours,”

Alani’s head tilts. “We weren’t even dating then,”

“Yeah but I was tryin’ to win you over, so it counts,”

“Sneaky.”

“Who is the bride’s celebrity crush?” Harry continues. “Hopefully not James Marsden or this guy’s fucked.”

Alani laughs and she pulls him in for a playful kiss to his cheek. The pink sunset dims into a deep navy and the stringed lights twinkle above, setting the whole scene in a romantic, golden glow. Guests walk past their table holding strips of photo booth pictures and Harry’s neck cranes to search for the source. His eyes land on a small line at the other end of the beach and he stands quickly. 

“Let’s go,”

“Where?”

“Photo booth!”

To Alani’s surprise it’s an actual booth, curtains and all, and not just some poor sucker tasked with operating a polaroid camera the whole night. They stand in line eagerly behind two groomsmen and brainstorm poses. Once they’re inside, Alani settles onto Harry’s knee and watches as he operates the machine. The screen counts down from ten and they decide to flash a proper smile for the first one. After it’s snapped, Harry sticks his tongue out and Alani widens her eyes in mock surprise. The third one is a candid, slightly blurry one of them laughing after she accidentally poked him in the eye. A lipstick kiss is stamped to Harry’s cheek in the fourth one, but the pair innocently look away in opposite directions. The fifth and final image captures their affection mid kiss. They swipe the two sets of photos and Alani awes, admiring the black and white film strip. Before they make it back to their table, Alani feels a hand on her arm. 

“Alani!” Mila beams. 

“Hi!” Alani greets, pulling the bride into a hug. “You look gorgeous,”

“I’m so glad you came! I love your dress,”

Mila turns her attention towards Harry and gives him a warm embrace, too. “You must be Harry! So nice to meet you,”

“Thank you for having us!” he says over the music. 

“I see you guys put the photo booth to good use,” Mila comments. “Now go dance! There’s an ipad next to the stage, just queue up your songs.”

Alani and Harry bid the bride farewell, but before they leave, Mila leans into Alani’s ear and whispers “he’s a hottie!” with a wink. They set their photos down inside Alani’s purse and Harry leads her towards the dance floor. She punches in her request and he secretly types the song that’s been stuck in his head all week. Fantasy by Mariah Carey is already playing when they reach the floor, so they join in excitedly. Alani’s hips sway and Harry’s head bobs, both of them mouthing the lyrics. The song fades and Alani’s pick begins, which makes the crowd roar. 

“The people have spoken and they love Whitney!” she cheers. 

Harry twirls her and shuffles his feet. Alani shimmies and sings along, the lyrics falling from her lips like a prayer. 

I wanna dance with somebody

I wanna feel the heat with somebody 

Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody 

With somebody who loves me 

The dance floor is flooded with bodies jumping and swaying, and the disco ball shimmers above the euphoric scene. Alani and Harry spin, making their way through the crowd and letting the music sweep over them like a magical spell. Beads of sweat form at the back of her neck and she lifts her wavy locks to let the ocean breeze cool her down, but her feet don’t stop moving. Eventually, her song peters out and a familiar guitar fills its place. 

“I love this song!” Alani cries, immediately recognizing The Cure. 

Harry pulls her closer, despite the warmth radiating from both of their bodies, and presses a passionate kiss to her lips. They are surrounded on every side, but in this very moment under the full moon and shimmering disco ball, Harry and Alani feel like the only two people alive. Their foreheads meet and they sway gently, his hands secure at her waist while her fingers toy with the hair at the base of his neck. 

It’s Friday, I’m in love. 

[butterflies-dragons]

DUNK SNOW

Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow are more similar than we thought... 

A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms is a book full of Dunk and Jon parallels and hints of Jon Snow’s true parentage. Here is what I found in my last re-reading.  

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is a collection containing the first three Dunk and Egg novellas by George R. R. Martin:

The Hedge Knight

The Sworn Sword

The Mystery Knight

It was indirectly confirmed that Brienne of Tarth is a descendant of Ser Duncan The Tall, and they share a lot of parallels. Some readers have also speculated that Ser Duncan The Tall is an ancestor of certain pair of tall brothers, and have also drawn parallels between those characters.    

But while I was writing another meta, I was amazed by all the similarities between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow, and I wondered, why there was not metas about it?   

Also, while reading the tales, you can find that Dunk and Egg, at some point, sound very much like all the Stark kids, even Rickon. Dunk and Egg can be romantics like Sansa, but they would also call “stupid” certain “feminine” or “romantic” things like Arya does, but at the same time they both dream of being knights of the Kingsguard like Bran, and always try to be fair and honorable like Jon Snow.    

But, in this post I’m going to explore the parallels between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow.  

DUNK AND JON

Thinking fast, we can say that,  

Dunk and Jon are both orphans and presumed bastards.  

Dunk defending Tanselle resemblances Jon defending Samwell.

Despite not being “proper knights” both are knights that remember their vows.

Their sexual awakening was with a red haired woman. 

Both met Maester Aemon.

Despite the prejudice against their low status, both became Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard and Night’s Watch, respectively.  

Both have connections with the North, Dunk visited Winterfell and scorted Maester Aemon to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, etc.

But there is much more.

THE  HEDGE KNIGHT

This tale is full of  Dragonflies and Dragons imagery. GRRM is telling us about dragons that don’t look like dragons, about Targaryens that don’t look like Targaryens, about princes in disguise and secret identities.

Dunk and Jon share the wish to prove the world they are worthy

Yet however fine their pavilions were to look upon, he knew there was no place there for him. A threadbare wool cloak would be all the shelter he had tonight. While the lords and great knights dined on capons and suckling pigs, Dunk's supper would be a hard, stringy piece of salt beef. He knew full well that if he made his camp upon that gaudy field, he would need to suffer both silent scorn and open mockery. A few perhaps would treat him kindly, yet in a way that was almost worse.

A hedge knight must hold tight to his pride. Without it, he was no more than a sellsword. I must earn my place in that company. If I fight well, some lord may take me into his household. I will ride in noble company then, and eat fresh meat every night in a castle hail, and raise my own pavilion at tourneys. But first I must do well. Reluctantly, he turned his back on the tourney grounds and led his horses into the trees.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a son as Robb. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

There are a lot of hints of Jon’s true parentage in this tale, not only Egg being a Targaryen prince in disguise, but also a dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

He sat naked under the elm while he dried, enjoying the warmth of the spring air on his skin as he watched a dragonfly move lazily among the reeds. Why would they name it a dragonfly? he wondered. It looks nothing like a dragon. Not that Dunk had ever seen a dragon. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. 

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. 

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Don’t call me “My Lord”

Egg smiled. 

"Yes, my lord."

"Ser," Dunk corrected. "I am only a hedge knight." 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

“That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?

"Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice. The boys had picked it up, and now he heard it everywhere. He slid the longsword back into its scabbard. "No,” he replied.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“So how do you like the taste of your victories now, Lord Snow?”

“Don’t call me that!” Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly he felt ashamed and guilty. “I never … I didn’t think …”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“And the grumkins and the snarks,” Tyrion said. “Let us not forget them, Lord Snow, or else what’s that big thing for?”

“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

She wiped her hands on her skirt. “M'lord—”

“I’m no lord.”

But others had come crowding round, drawn by the woman’s scream and the crash of the rabbit hutch. “Don’t you believe him, girl,” called out Lark the Sisterman, a ranger mean as a cur. “That’s Lord Snow himself.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

“Rise. I have heard much and more of you, Lord Snow.”

“I am no lord, sire.” Jon rose. “I know what you have heard. That I am a turncloak, and craven. That I slew my brother Qhorin Halfhand so the wildlings would spare my life. That I rode with Mance Rayder, and took a wildling wife.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

“Words. Words are wind. Why do you think I abandoned Dragonstone and sailed to the Wall, Lord Snow?”

“I am no lord, sire. You came because we sent for you, I hope. Though I could not say why you took so long about it.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk thinks that Tanselle is prettier than the blonde Lady Ashford. Jon doesn’t compared the blonde Princess Myrcella with anyone, but there is an interesting contrast between calling Princess Myrcella “stupid” & “insipid” and then calling his half sister Sansa “radiant”

The banner-bearer was a tall knight in white scale armor chased with gold, a pure white cloak streaming from his shoulders. Two of the other riders were armored in white from head to heel as well. Kingsguard knights with the royal banner. Small wonder Lord Ashford and his sons came hurrying out the doors of the keep, and the fair maid too, a short girl with yellow hair and a round pink face. She does not seem so fair to me, Dunk thought. The puppet girl was prettier.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Talking about Tanselle and Lady Ashford, both girls share parallels with Sansa Stark:

Sansa Stark and Lady Ashford

Sansa and Lady Ashford are noble ladies.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are of the same age.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are associated with tourneys.

Lady Ashford was the reigning Queen of Love and Beauty during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, while Sansa was unofficially crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty during the Hand’s Tourney.  

Lady Ashford’s original champions were Androw Ashford, Robert Ashford, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Ser Tybolt Lannister defeated Ser Androw Ashford, Ser Lyonel Baratheon defeated Ser Robert Ashford.  A Lannister and a Baratheon defeating Lady Ashford’s older brothers remind us of Tywin Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon conspiring to kill Sansa Stark’s father (Ned) and brother (Robb).   

The last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow were Ser Tybolt Lannister, Ser Lyonel Baratheon, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Sansa’s suitors surnames match the surnames of the last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow. 

Sansa Stark and Tanselle Too-Tall

Sansa and Tanselle are tall girls.

Sansa and Tanselle are familiar with the tales of Florian and Jonquil.

Tanselle plays Jonquil in the puppets play, while a fat woman plays Florian.

Sansa saves Dontos Hollard’s life. Dontos was an old, fat, drunk knight turned fool.  

Dontos calls Sansa Jonquil and plays to be Sansa’s Florian, Sansa also called Dontos her Florian, but she would prefer him to be younger, like the real Florian.

Dunk defended Tanselle from Prince Aerion Targaryen, a character with some similarities with Joffrey Baratheon.

Dontos, as a fool, try to distract Joffrey and defend Sansa while she was being beaten and later helped her to scape King’s Landing. 

Dunk and Jon know how to treat a girl 

(This could be nothing but I know a character that is called “good girl” and “sweet lady” a lot)

Also take note that by selling Sweetfoot, Dunk got his own armor.

It was cool and dim in the stables. An unruly grey stallion snapped at him as he passed, but Sweetfoot only whickered softly and nuzzled his hand when he raised it to her nose. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" he murmured. The old man always said that a knight should never love a horse, since more than a few were like to die under him, but he never heeded his own counsel either. Dunk had often seen him spend his last copper on an apple for old Chestnut or some oats for Sweetfoot and Thunder. The palfrey had been Ser Arlan's riding horse, and she had borne him tirelessly over thousands of miles, all up and down the Seven Kingdoms. Dunk felt as though he were betraying an old friend, but what choice did he have? Chestnut was too old to be worth much of anything, and Thunder must carry him in the lists.

(...)

Dunk stroked Sweetfoot’s mane and told her to be brave. “If I win, I’ll come back and buy you again, I promise.” 

(...)

Dunk handed a few of the coppers right back, and nodded at Sweetfoot. “That’s for her,” he said. “See that she has some oats tonight. Aye, and an apple too.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy.

“Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Dreams of a highborn lady 

While Dunk wishes to have sex with a highborn lady instead of paying a whore for sex, Jon wishes his mother were a highborn lady and not a whore

Dunk stopped to watch the wooden dragon slain. When the puppet knight cut its head off and the red sawdust spilled out onto the grass, he laughed aloud and threw the girl two coppers. "One for last night," he called. She caught the coins in the air and threw him back a smile as sweet as any he had ever seen.

Is it me she smiles at, or the coins? Dunk had never been with a girl, and they made him nervous. Once, three years past, when the old man's purse was full after half a year in the service of blind Lord Florent, he'd told Dunk the time had come to take him to a brothel and make him a man. He'd been drunk, though, and when he was sober he did not remember. Dunk had been too embarrassed to remind him.

He was not certain he wanted a whore anyway. If he could not have a highborn maiden like a proper knight, he wanted one who at least liked him more than his silver.

(...)

Wet to the knee, he trudged past the empty lists. Most of the pavilions were dark, their owners long asleep, but here and there a few candles still burned. Dunk heard soft moans and cries of pleasure coming from within one tent. It made him wonder whether he would die without ever having known a maid.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Words won't make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can change that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores."

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

A red-haired whore 

The same way Dunk almost lost his virginity with a whore, the Jon Snow from the Show almost lost his virginity with a red-haired whore named Ros ¿Maybe the Show took inspiration for that scene from this passage to create Ros? 

The winesellers and sausage makers were doing a brisk trade, and whores walked brazenly among the stalls and pavilions. Some were pretty enough, one red-haired girl in particular. He could not help staring at her breasts, the way they moved under her loose shift as she sauntered past. He thought of the silver in his pouch. I could have her, if I liked. She'd like the clink of my coin well enough, I could take her back to my camp and have her, all night if I wanted. He had never lain with a woman, and for all he knew he might die in his first tilt. Tourneys could be dangerous . . . but whores could be dangerous too, the old man had warned him of that. She might rob me while I slept, and what would I do then? When the red-haired girl glanced back over her shoulder at him, Dunk shook his head and walked away.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Sam: I’ve never… been with one. You’ve probably had hundreds. Jon: No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you. Sam: Yeah. Yeah, I… I find that hard to believe. Jon: I came very close once. I was alone in a room with a naked girl, but… Sam: Didn’t know where to put it? Jon: I know where to put it. Sam: Was she… old and ugly? Jon: Young and gorgeous. A whore named Ros. Sam: What colour hair? Jon: Red. Sam: Oh, I like red hair. And her, um… Her… (boobs) Jon: You don’t want to know. Sam: What, that good? Jon: Better. Sam: Oh, no. So why exactly did you not make love to Ros with the perfect? Jon: What’s my name? Sam: Jon Snow. Jon: And why is my surname Snow? Sam: Because… you’re a bastard from the North. Jon: I never met my mother. My father wouldn’t even tell me her name. I don’t know if she’s living or dead. I don’t know if she’s a noblewoman or a fisherman’s wife… or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes. But I couldn’t do it. Because all I could think was what if I got her pregnant and she had a child, another bastard named Snow? It’s not a good life for a child.

—GOT S01E04 – Cripples Bastards and Broken Things

Complaining about getting bad seats

On the eastern verge of the meadow, a quintain had been set up and a dozen knights were tilting at it, sending the pole arm spinning every time they struck the splintered shield suspended from one end. Dunk watched the Brute of Bracken take his turn, and then Lord Caron of the Marches. I do not have as good a seat as any of them, he thought uneasily.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

"Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated."

"I remember."

"And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?"

Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

Dunk and Jon admire the same heroes

Dunk stared at the grassy lists and the empty chairs on the viewing stand and pondered his chances. One victory was all he needed; then he could name himself one of the champions of Ashford Meadow, if only for an hour. The old man had lived nigh on sixty years and had never been a champion. It is not too much to hope for, if the gods are good. He thought back on all the songs he had heard, songs of blind Symeon Star-Eyes and noble Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redywne, and Florian the Fool. They had all won victories against foes far more terrible than any he would face. But they were great heroes, brave men of noble birth, except for Florian. And what am I?

Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall?

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Yet he saw the castle clear in his mind's eye, as if he had left it only yesterday; the towering granite walls, the Great Hall with its smells of smoke and dog and roasting meat, his father's solar, the turret room where he had slept. Part of him wanted nothing so much as to hear Bran laugh again, to sup on one of Gage's beef-and-bacon pies, to listen to Old Nan tell her tales of the children of the forest and Florian the Fool.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

A dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

The meadow was a churning mass of people, all trying to elbow their way closer for a better view. Dunk was as good an elbower as any, and bigger than most. He squirmed forward to a rise six yards from the fence. When Egg complained that all he could see were arses, Dunk sat the boy on his shoulders. Across the field, the viewing stand was filling up with highborn lords and ladies, a few rich townfolk, and a score of knights who had decided not to compete today. Of Prince Maekar he saw no sign, but he recognized Prince Baelor at Lord Ashford's side. Sunlight flashed golden off the shoulder clasp that held his cloak and the slim coronet about his temples, but otherwise he dressed far more simply than most of the other lords. He does not look a Targaryen in truth, with that dark hair. Dunk said as much to Egg.

"It's said he favors his mother," the boy reminded him. "She was a Dornish princess."

(...)

A few feet away, the Young Prince [Valarr Targaryen] sat at his ease in a raised camp chair before his great black tent. His helm was off. He had dark hair like his father, but a bright streak ran through it. A servingman brought him a silver goblet and he took a sip. Water, if he is wise, Dunk thought, wine if not. He found himself wondering if Valarr had indeed inherited a measure of his father's prowess, or whether it had only been that he had drawn the weakest opponent.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. 

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Fascinated by a Knight

Dunk was fascinated by a brown haired Targaryen Prince (Like Jon Snow) while Jon was fascinated by a Kingsguard that later became Lord Commander (Like Dunk)

The three challengers took their places as the three champions mounted up. Men were making wagers all around them and calling out encouragement to their choices, but Dunk had eyes only for the prince [Valarr Targaryen]. 

(...)

Farther away, Ser Joseth Mallister was being carried off the field unconscious, while the harp lord and the rose lord were going at each other lustily with blunted longaxes, to the delight of the roaring crowd. Dunk was so intent on Valarr Targaryen that he scarcely saw them. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back.

Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Not allowed

A hedge knight cannot challenge a prince. Valarr is second in line to the Iron Throne. He is Baelor Breakspear's son, and his blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and the Young Dragon and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and I am some boy the old man found behind a pot shop in Flea Bottom.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked him.

He gave her a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

A Death with Honor

He wondered if they expected him to saddle a horse and flee. He could, if he wished. That would be the end of his knighthood, to be sure; he would be no more than an outlaw henceforth, until the day some lord took him and struck off his head. Better to die a knight than live like that, he told himself stubbornly.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

It did not bear thinking about. Pain throbbed, deep in his fingers, as he clutched the reins. Jon put his heels into his horse and broke into a gallop, racing down the kingsroad, as if to outrun his doubts. Jon was not afraid of death, but he did not want to die like that, trussed and bound and beheaded like a common brigand. If he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father's killers. He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Warg imagery

I am Thunder and Thunder is me, we are one beast, we are joined, we are one. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

When he finally put the quill down, the room was dim and chilly, and he could feel its walls closing in. Perched above the window, the Old Bear's raven peered down at him with shrewd black eyes. My last friend, Jon thought ruefully. And I had best outlive you, or you'll eat my face as well. Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Ser Alliser Thorne shattered the silence. “The turncloak graces us with his presence at last.”

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. “The beast,” he gasped. “Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This … this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!”

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. “My lord,” he said, “will you tell me what’s happened here?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

“Then you had best be on your way, boy.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you, bastard.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Dolorous Edd took hold of Slynt by one arm, Iron Emmett by the other. Together they hauled him from the bench. “No,” Lord Janos protested, flecks of porridge spraying from his lips. “No, unhand me. He’s just a boy, a bastard. His father was a traitor. The mark of the beast is on him, that wolf of his … Let go of me! You will rue the day you laid hands on Janos Slynt. I have friends in King’s Landing. I warn you—” He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him up the steps.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Self doubt 

When his eyes opened he was on the ground again, sprawled on his back. The mud had all been knocked from his helm, but now one eye was closed by blood. Above was nothing but dark grey sky. 

His face throbbed, and he could feel cold wet metal pressing in against cheek and temple. He broke my head, and I'm dying. What was worse was the others who would die with him, Raymun and Prince Baelor and the rest. I've failed them. I am no champion. I'm not even a hedge knight. I am nothing. He remembered Prince Daeron boasting that no one could lie insensible in the mud as well as he did. He never saw Dunk the lunk, though, did he? The shame was worse than the pain.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

A grim day. Jon Snow wrapped gloved hands around the bars and held tight as the wind hammered at the cage once more. When he looked straight down past his feet, the ground was lost in shadow, as if he were being lowered into some bottomless pit. Well, death is a bottomless pit of sorts, he reflected, and when this day's work is done my name will be shadowed forever.

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a son as Robb. I made a botch of that. Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

It should have been you

Valarr, the Young Prince, stood vigil at the foot of the bier while his father lay in state. He was a shorter, slimmer, handsomer version of his sire, without the twice-broken nose that had made Baelor seem more human than royal. Valarr's hair was brown, but a bright streak of silver-gold ran through it. The sight of it reminded Dunk of Aerion, but he knew that was not fair. Egg's hair was growing back as bright as his brother's, and Egg was a decent enough lad, for a prince.

When he stopped to offer awkward sympathies, well larded with thanks, Prince Valarr blinked cool blue eyes at him and said, "My father was only nine-and-thirty. He had it in him to be a great king, the greatest since Aegon the Dragon. Why would the gods take him, and leave you?" He shook his head. "Begone with you, Ser Duncan. Begone."

* * *

"I wanted him to stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly.

Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.

"I prayed for it," she said dully. "He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered."

Jon did not know what to say. "It wasn't your fault," he managed after an awkward silence.

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard."

Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. "Good-bye," he said.

He was at the door when she called out to him. "Jon," she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.

"Yes?" he said.

"It should have been you," she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Old Gods

Sometimes I sit under that tree there and look at my feet and ask if I couldn’t have spared one. How could my foot be worth a prince’s life? And the other two as well, the Humfreys, they were good men too.” Ser Humfrey Hardyng had succumbed to his wounds only last night.

“And what answer does your tree give you?”

“None that I can hear.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Even now, he did not know if he was doing the honorable thing. The southron had it easier. They had their septons to talk to, someone to tell them the gods' will and help sort out right from wrong. But the Starks worshiped the old gods, the nameless gods, and if the heart trees heard, they did not speak.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

A Tree on a Shield

Dunk’s sigil was an elm tree with a shooting star above, while the Mystery Knight called The Knight of the Laughing Tree [Jon’s mother Lyanna Stark] was a weirwood tree with a laughing red face

“What color paint do you have?” he asked, hoping that might give him an idea.

“I can mix paints to make any color you want.”

The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device…”

“An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”

“Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree…but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”

The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night and have it back to you on the morrow.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists.

Bran nodded sagely. [...] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.”

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.”

[...]

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.”

—A Storm of Swords - Bran II

Dragonflies or Dragons

“That can be changed,” said Maekar. “Aegon is to return to my castle at Summerhall. There is a place there for you, if you wish. A knight of my household. You’ll swear your sword to me, and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training.” The prince gave him a shrewd look. “Your Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt, but you still have much to learn.”

“I know, m'lord.” Dunk looked about him. At the green grass and the reeds, the tall elm, the ripples dancing across the surface of the sunlit pool. Another dragonfly was moving across the water, or perhaps it was the same one. What shall it be, Dunk? he asked himself. Dragonflies or dragons? A few days ago he would have answered at once. It was all he had ever dreamed, but now that the prospect was at hand it frightened him. “ Just before Prince Baelor died, I swore to be his man.”

"Presumptuous of you," said Maekar. "What did he say?"

"That the realm needed good men."

"That's true enough. What of it?"

"I will take your son as squire, Your Grace, but not at Summerhall. Not for a year or two. He's seen sufficient of castles, I would judge. I'll have him only if I can take him on the road with me." He pointed to old Chestnut. "He'll ride my steed, wear my old cloak, and he'll keep my sword sharp and my mail scoured. We'll sleep in inns and stables, and now and again in the halls of some landed knight or lesser lordling, and maybe under trees when we must."

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." The king set the cup aside. "You could bring the north to me. Your father's bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? "My sword is sworn to the Night's Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

The Prince of Dragonflies

As you can see, The Hedge Knight is a tale full of Dragonflies and Dragons imagery around Ser Duncan the Tall. And this dichotomy repeated with Prince Duncan the Small.      

Years later of his adventures as the Squire of Ser Duncan the Tall, Egg became Aegon V Targaryen, and named his first born Duncan Targaryen, probably in honor of Ser Duncan the Tall.   

Prince Duncan Targaryen was the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone, also known as Prince Duncan the Small. But since he gave up the throne for love in order to marry Jenny of Oldstones, he began to be known as the Prince of Dragonflies.

Prince Duncan Targaryen favored her mother’s Betha Blackwood features and had dark hair, like Jon Snow.

The Black Prince and the White Guardian

In my unfinished meta about the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, I argue that the two facets of Jon Snow: bastard and hidden prince, are represented in this tale by Dunk and Valarr. 

This is one of my favorite findings since I started writing ASOIAF metas.  I shared this one with some of you, the seven gods know this unfinished work has more than 3 years in the making... So here you go.    

Valarr is called The Black Prince and the White Guardian:

Ser Joseth thumped on Ser Humfrey Hardyng's diamonds. And the black-and-white knight, Lord Gawen Swann, challenged the black prince with the white guardian.

—The Hedge Knight

And this is a clear reference to Jon Snow, the black prince, and Ghost, his white guardian:

Robb looked relieved. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."

Jon forced himself to smile back. "It was always my color. How long do you think it will be?"

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

He was clad in black from head to heel; high leather riding boots, roughspun breeches and tunic, sleeveless leather jerkin, and heavy wool cloak. His longsword and dagger were sheathed in black moleskin, and the hauberk and coif in his saddlebag were black ringmail.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.

"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey.

—A Game of Thrones - Bran I

And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees …

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

I have more reasons to believe that GRRM wrote Valarr as a representation of Jon Snow. George purposely created Valarr with certain features to make us think about Jon Snow. These reasons find solid ground in a particular work of literature that George has declared it served him as inspiration to write ASOIAF. Maybe One day I will finish this meta and I will show you all.  

For now, lets go to the second tale...

* * *

THE SWORN SWORD

This tale is full of  love, romance and marriage imagery, doomed romances, forbidden romances, unrequited loves, lost loves, platonic loves, sexual loves, marriages alliances, loveless marriages, unfruitful marriages and lovers farewells.   

A Mysterious Red Lady

Rohanne Webber, Lady of Codlmoat, also known as the Red Widow, is a character that reminds us several women that crossed paths with Jon Snow 

Dunk wanted no trouble with the Lady of the Coldmoat. At Standfast you heard ill things of her. The Red Widow, she was called, for the husbands she had put into the ground. Old Sam Stoops said she was a witch, a poisoner, and worse. 

Two years ago she had sent her knights across the stream to seize an Osgrey man for stealing sheep. “When m’lord rode to Coldmoat to demand him back, he was told to look for him at the bottom of the moat,” Sam had said. “She’d sewn poor Dake in a bag o’ rocks and sunk him. ’Twas after that Ser Eustace took Ser Bennis into service, to keep them spiders off his lands.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

(...)

“Whenever she gives birth, a demon comes by night to carry off the issue. Sam Stoops’s wife says she sold her babes unborn to the Lord of the Seven Hells, so he’d teach her his black arts.”

“Highborn ladies don’t meddle with the black arts. They dance and sing and do embroidery.”

“Maybe she dances with demons and embroiders evil spells,” Egg said with relish. “And how would you know what highborn ladies do, ser? Lady Vaith is the only one you ever knew.”

(...)

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.” 

—The Sworn Sword 

The wicked reputation of the Red Widow, makes me think about another red haired woman with a wicked reputation, Danelle Lothston, Lady of Harrenhal, also known as Mad Danelle. 

And talking about Harrenhal, Mad Danelle is probably an ancestor of Lady Minisa Whent, that later became Lady Minsa Tully, the mother of Lady Catelyn Tully, that later became Lady Catelyn Stark, the mother of Lady Sansa Stark, Jon Snow’s radiant and red haired half sister, another redhead with certain reputation:  

He smiled at her. “Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.”

—AGOT - Sansa I

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—ASOS - Arya XIII

“May the Father judge him justly,” murmured a septon.

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—ASOS - Jaime VII

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name. “I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son.

—AFFC - Cersei IV

A man’s pride

“Common boys fight with wooden swords too, only theirs are sticks and broken branches. Egg, these men may seem fools to you. They won’t know the proper names for bits of armor, or the arms of the great houses, or which king it was who abolished the lord’s right to the first night…but treat them with respect all the same. You are a squire born of noble blood, but you are still a boy. Most of them will be men grown. A man has his pride, no matter how lowborn he may be. You would seem just as lost and stupid in their villages. And if you doubt that, go hoe a row and shear a sheep, and tell me the names of all the weeds and wildflowers in Wat’s Wood.”

The boy considered for a moment. “I could teach them the arms of the great houses, and how Queen Alysanne convinced King Jaehaerys to abolish the first night. And they could teach me which weeds are best for making poisons, and whether those green berries are safe to eat.”

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

It is too cold for this mummer's show, thought Jon. “The free folk despise kneelers,” he had warned Stannis. "Let them keep their pride, and they will love you better." His Grace would not listen. He said, "It is swords I need from them, not kisses."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Dunk has dreams with dead Targaryen Princes while Jon has dreams with dead Stark Kings 

You are dead, Dunk wanted to scream, you are all three dead, why won’t you leave me be? Ser Arlan had died of a chill, Prince Baelor of the blow his brother dealt him during Dunk’s trial of seven, his son Valarr during the Great Spring Sickness. I am not to blame for that. We were in Dorne, we never even knew.

(...)

“Begone with you, Ser Duncan,” Valarr said. “Begone.”

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Egg taught Dunk how to talk to a lady the same way Sansa taught  Jon how to talk to a lady  

“I don’t know how to talk with highborn ladies,” he confessed as they were pouring. “We both might have been killed in Dorne, on account of what I said to Lady Vaith.”

“Lady Vaith was mad,” Egg reminded him, “but you could have been more gallant. Ladies like it when you’re gallant. If you were to rescue the Red Widow the way you rescued that puppet girl from Aerion…”

“Aerion’s in Lys, and the widow’s not in want of rescuing.” He did not want to talk of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall was her name, but she was not too tall for me.

“Well,” the boy said, “some knights sing gallant songs to their ladies, or play them tunes upon a lute.”

“I have no lute.” Dunk looked morose. “And that night I drank too much in the Planky Town, you told me I sang like an ox in a mud wallow.”

“I had forgotten, ser.”

“How could you forget?”

“You told me to forget, ser,” said Egg, all innocence. “You told me I’d get a clout in the ear the next time I mentioned it.”

“There will be no singing.” Even if he had the voice for it, the only song Dunk knew all the way through was “The Bear, the Bear, and the Maiden Fair.” He doubted that would do much to win over Lady Webber. 

(...)

“I thought how you should speak to Lady Webber, ser. You should win her to your side with gallant compliments.” The boy looked as cool and crisp in his chequy tunic as Ser Eustace had in his cloak.

Am I the only one who sweats? “Gallant compliments,” Dunk echoed. “What sort of gallant compliments?”

“You know, ser. Tell her how fair and beautiful she is.”

Dunk had doubts. “She’s outlived four husbands, she must be as old as Lady Vaith. If I say she’s fair and beautiful when she’s old and warty, she will take me for a liar.”

“You just need to find something true to say about her. That’s what my brother Daeron does. Even ugly old whores can have nice hair or well-shaped ears, he says.”

“Well-shaped ears?” Dunk’s doubts were growing.

“Or pretty eyes. Tell her that her gown brings out the color of her eyes.” The lad reflected for a moment. “Unless she only has the one eye, like Lord Bloodraven.”

“My lady, that gown brings out the color of your eye. Dunk had heard knights and lordlings mouth such gallantries at other ladies. They never put it quite so baldly, though. Good lady, that gown is beautiful. It brings out the color of both your lovely eyes. Some of the ladies had been old and scrawny, or fat and florid, or pox-scarred and homely, but all wore gowns and had two eyes, and as Dunk recalled, they’d been well pleased by the flowery words. What a lovely gown, my lady. It brings out the lovely beauty of your beautiful-colored eyes. “A hedge knight’s life is simpler,” Dunk said glumly. “If I say the wrong thing, she’s like to sew me in a sack of rocks and throw me in her moat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"Black brothers are sworn never to take wives, don't you know that? And we're guests in your father's hall besides."

"Not you," she said. "I watched. You never ate at his board, nor slept by his fire. He never gave you guest-right, so you're not bound to him. It's for the baby I have to go."

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?"

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Marrying a Lady

In another world, Dunk could get married with a lady, like Alysanne Osgrey or Rohanne Webber

“You are a good man, Ser Duncan. A brave knight, and true.” Ser Eustace gave Dunk’s arm a squeeze. “Would that the gods had spared my Alysanne. You are the sort of man I had always hoped that she might marry. A true knight, Ser Duncan. A true knight.”

(...)

“Ser Eustace said I was the sort of man he’d hoped to have his daughter wed. Her name was Alysanne.”

“She’s dead, ser.”

“I know she’s dead,” said Dunk, annoyed. “If she was alive, he said. If she was, he’d like her to marry me. Or someone like me. I never had a lord offer me his daughter before.”

“His dead daughter. And the Osgreys might have been lords in the old days, but Ser Eustace is only a landed knight.”

“I know what he is. Do you want a clout in the ear?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I’d sooner have a clout than a wife. Especially a dead wife, ser. The kettle’s steaming.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

"I'm not like to marry her. She's a highborn lady, and I'm Dunk of Flea Bottom, remember?" He frowned. "Just how many husbands has she had, do you know?"

“Four,” said Egg, “but no children.

(...)

“You wanted blood for blood.” He laid the dagger against his cheek. “They told you wrong. It wasn’t Bennis cut that digger, it was me.” He pressed the edge of the steel into his face, slashed downward. When he shook the blood off the blade some spattered on her face. More freckles, he thought. “There, the Red Widow has her due. A cheek for a cheek.”

“You are quite mad.” The smoke had filled her eyes with tears. “If you were better born, I’d marry you.”

“Aye, m’lady. And if pigs had wings and scales and breathed flame, they’d be as good as dragons.” 

—The Sworn Sword

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because: 

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne. 

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it. 

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister. 

Silent Sisters wear always grey. 

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger's wives. 

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister. 

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark. 

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds. 

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.     

In another world, Jon also could get married Ygritte, without the cultural and social barriers that separate them.

A Lady Mother

In another world, Rohanne could be... Dunk’s mother?

“If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

—The Sworn Sword

The parallel with Jon wishing his mother were a highborn lady is plain, but it’s funny how Dunk was resented with Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, which reminds me of Jon being resented with “his father’s redhead wife”, Catelyn Stark.     

Marrying a Sister / Bedding a Sister

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.”

Egg spoke as if such incest was the most natural thing in the world. For him it is. The Targaryens had been marrying brother to sister for hundreds of years, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. Though the last actual dragon had died before Dunk was born, the dragonkings went on. Maybe the gods don’t mind them marrying their sisters. “Did the potion work?” Dunk asked.

“It would have,” said Egg, “but I spit it out. 

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte pushed herself onto an elbow. “I am nineteen, and a spearwife, and kissed by fire. How could I be maiden?”

“Who was he?”

“A boy at a feast, five years past. He’d come trading with his brothers, and he had hair like mine, kissed by fire, so I thought he would be lucky. But he was weak. When he came back t’ try and steal me, Longspear broke his arm and ran him off, and he never tried again, not once.”

“It wasn’t Longspear, then?” Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways.

She punched him. “That’s vile. Would you bed your sister?”

“Longspear’s not your brother.”

“He’s of my village. You know nothing, Jon Snow. A true man steals a woman from afar, t’ strengthen the clan. Women who bed brothers or fathers or clan kin offend the gods, and are cursed with weak and sickly children. Even monsters.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Joining a celibate brotherhood

This conversation between Dunk and Egg resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon  

I don’t want a wife, I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard and live only to serve and defend the king. The Kingsguard are sworn not to wed.”

“That’s a noble thing, but when you’re older you may find you’d sooner have a girl than a white cloak.” Dunk was thinking of Tanselle Too-Tall, and the way she’d smiled at him at Ashford.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

You’re not going...

Another conversation between Dunk and Egg that resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon 

You will stay and help Bennis with the smallfolk, he told Egg. And don’t give me that sullen look. He kicked his breeches off and climbed into the tub of steaming water. Go on and get to sleep now, and let me have my bath. You’re not going, and that’s the end of it

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Three days after their arrival, Jon had heard that Benjen Stark was to lead a half-dozen men on a ranging into the haunted forest. That night he sought out his uncle in the great timbered common hall and pleaded to go with him. Benjen refused him curtly. "This is not Winterfell," he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. "On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You're no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Warg imagery again...

This old master of yours, the knight of Pennytree…did he fight in the Blackfyre Rebellion? He did, m’lord. Before he took me on. Dunk had been no more than 3 or 4 at the time, running half-naked through the alleys of Flea Bottom, more animal than boy. 

—The Sworn Sword

Dunk’s age and the line “more animal than a boy” reminds me of Rickon Stark, but it’s also another warg reference. And after coming back to life, Jon Snow will probably be more animal than man.     

Usurping another’s place 

Roger of Pennytree is to Dunk, what Robb is to Jon

“Ser Arlan never liked to speak about the battle. His squire died there too. Roger of Pennytree was his name, Ser Arlan’s sister’s son.” Even saying the name made Dunk feel vaguely guilty. I stole his place. Only princes and great lords had the means to keep two squires. If Aegon the Unworthy had given his sword to his heir Daeron instead of his bastard Daemon, there might never have been a Blackfyre Rebellion, and Roger of Pennytree might be alive today. He would be a knight someplace, a truer knight than me. I would have ended on the gallows, or been sent off to the Night’s Watch to walk the Wall until I died.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them . . . I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there's only me. All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his. All he had to do . . .

. . . was forswear his vows again.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk met Rohanne Webber the same way Jon met Ygritte, they confused them with another person. And Lucas Inchfield is the Orell of this tale   

Nearby a squire was loosing shafts at the archery butts, while a freckled girl with a long braid matched him shot for shot. 

(...)

…and one soft, fleshy lady of high birth, garbed in a gown of dark blue damask trimmed with Myrish lace, so long its hems were trailing in the dirt. Dunk judged her to be forty. Beneath a spun-silver net her auburn hair was piled high, but the reddest thing about her was her face.

“My lady,” Ser Lucas said, when they stood before her and her septas, “this hedge knight claims to bring a message from Ser Eustace Osgrey. Will you hear it?”

“If you wish it, Ser Lucas.” She peered at Dunk so hard that he could not help but recall Egg’s talk of sorcery. I don’t think this one bathes in blood to keep her beauty. The widow was stout and square, with an oddly pointed head that her hair could not quite conceal. Her nose was too big, and her mouth too small. She did have two eyes, he was relieved to see, but all thought of gallantry had abandoned Dunk by then. “Ser Eustace bid me talk with you concerning the recent trouble at your dam.”

(...)

“M’lady, could we continue our discussion in some…more private place?”

“A silver says the great oaf means to bed her!” someone japed, and a roar of laughter went up all around him. The lady cringed away, half in terror, and raised both hands to shield her face. One of the septas moved quickly to her side and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

“And what is all this merriment?” The voice cut through the laughter, cool and firm. “Will no one share the jape? Ser knight, why are you troubling my good-sister?”

“It was the girl he had seen earlier at the archery butts. She had a quiver of arrows on one hip and held a longbow that was just as tall as she was, which wasn’t very tall. If Dunk was shy an inch of seven feet, the archer was shy an inch of five. He could have spanned her waist with his two hands. Her red hair was bound up in a braid so long it brushed past her thighs, and she had a dimpled chin, a snub nose, and a light spray of freckles across her cheeks.

“Forgive us, Lady Rohanne.” The speaker was a pretty young lord with the Caswell centaur embroidered on his doublet. “This great oaf took the Lady Helicent for you.”

Dunk looked from one lady to the other. “You are the Red Widow?” he heard himself blurt out. “But you’re too—”

“Young?” The girl tossed her longbow to the lanky lad he’d seen her shooting with. “I am five-and-twenty, as it happens. Or was it small you meant to say?”

“—pretty. It was pretty.” Dunk did not know where that came from, but he was glad it came. He liked her nose, and the strawberry-blond color of her hair, and the small but well-shaped breasts beneath her leather jerkin. “I thought that you’d be…I mean…they said you were four times a widow, so…”

(...)

“I…I am sorry for all your losses, m’lady.” A gallantry, you lunk, give her a gallantry. “I want to say…your gown…”

“Gown?” She glanced down at her boots and breeches, loose linen tunic and leather jerkin. “I wear no gown.”

“Your hair, I meant…it’s soft and…”

“And how would you know that, ser? If you had ever touched my hair, I should think that I might remember.”

“Not soft,” Dunk said miserably. “Red, I meant to say. Your hair is very red.”

“Very red, ser? Oh, not as red as your face, I hope.” She laughed, and the onlookers laughed with her.

All but Ser Lucas Longinch. “My lady,” he broke in, “this man is one of Standfast’s sellswords. He was with Bennis of the Brown Shield when he attacked your diggers at the dam and carved up Wolmer’s face. Old Osgrey sent him to treat with you.”

“He did, m’lady. I am called Ser Duncan the Tall.”

(...)

“Ser Duncan, I should not have teased you in the yard, when you were trying so hard to be gracious. It was only that you blushed so red…was there no girl to tease you, in the village where you grew so tall?” 

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see, Rohanne and Ygritte share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne was red haired, like Ygritte. Dunk and Jon liked their red hair.

Rohanne was small, like Ygritte.

Dunk confused Rohanne with her auburn haired good sister lady Helicent Uffering, like Jon confused Ygritte with a man. Point aside, Lady Helicent having auburn hair and wearing a silver hairnet makes me think of Sansa Stark. Also I have to laugh at the comment about Dunk wanting to bed Lady Helicent... This is too much George.  

It seems that Rohanne was good with bow and arrow, like Ygritte.

Rohanne wasn’t wearing a gown but breeches, like Ygritte.

Rohanne was older, bolder and teased Dunk a lot, like Ygritte was to Jon.

Rohanne openly flirted with Dunk, like Ygritte did with Jon.  

Dunk was sexually attracted to Rohanne, the same way Jon was sexually attracted to Ygritte.

Rohanne and Ygritte weren’t maids, while Dunk and Jon were virgins when they met both women.

Later Dunk will have sex dreams with Rohanne, like Jon’s dreams with Ygritte.

In his dreams, Rohanne shoots arrows at Dunk, like Ygritte did to Jon.    

Lucas Inchfield, almost as tall as Dunk, was jealous of him regarding Rohanne’s attentions. The same way, Orell, a warg like Jon, was jealous of him because he fancied Ygritte.

Later, a mentor figure will suggest Dunk to kill Rohanne, in a similar way that Qhorin Halfhand suggested Jon to kill Ygritte.  Dunk and Jon have the same doubts about killing a woman.

Rohanne share some of the violence impulses and inclinations that Ygritte had. These details also links Rohanne with another women in Jon’s arc like Val, and eventually Daenerys.  More about this later.    

Dunk killed Lucas Inchfield, the same way Jon killed Orell.

The sexual tension between Dunk and Rohanne was instantly, both find each other attractive; in contrast, Jon finds Ygritte unattractive, but only at first...    

The Red Widow looked Dunk over from his heels up to his head though her gaze lingered longest on his chest. “A tree and shooting star. I have never seen those arms before.” She touched his tunic, tracing a limb of his elm tree with two fingers. “And painted, not sewn. The Dornish paint their silks, I’ve heard, but you look too big to be a Dornishman.”

“Not all Dornishmen are small, m’lady.” Dunk could feel her fingers through the silk. Her hand was freckled too. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. His mouth was oddly dry. “I spent a year in Dorne.”

“Do all the oaks grow so tall there?” she said, as her fingers traced a tree limb round his heart.

“It’s meant to be an elm, m’lady.”

“I shall remember.” She drew her hand back, solemn. “The ward is too hot and dusty for a conversation. Septon, show Ser Duncan to my audience chamber.”

“It would be my great pleasure, good-sister.”

“Our guest will have a thirst. You may send for a flagon of wine as well.”

(...)

“M’lady,” Dunk called after her. “My squire was made to wait by the gates. Might he join us as well?”

“Your squire?” When she smiled, she looked a girl of five-and-ten, not a woman five-and-twenty. A pretty girl full of mischief and laughter. “If it please you, certainly.”

(...)

She smiled a smile that made him wish that she was plainer. 

(...)

She was distracting him, with her snub nose and her freckles.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions.  

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte's hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons.

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

A Suitor / A Husband

Despite Dunk being no Lord, there is a lot of talking about him being a suitor of Lady Rohanne.  The same way the freefolk just assumed that Jon stole [married] Ygritte   

Dunk snorted. “She has no need to poison me,” he whispered back. “She thinks I’m some great lout with pease porridge between his ears.”

“As it happens, my good-sister likes pease porridge,” said Septon Sefton, as he reappeared with a flagon of wine, a flagon of water, and three cups. “Yes, yes, I heard. I’m fat, not deaf.” 

(...)

“She does like pease porridge,” the septon said, “and you as well, ser. I know my own good-sister. When I first saw you in the yard, I half hoped you were some suitor, come from King’s Landing to seek my lady’s hand.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

And when the Thief was in the Moonmaid, that was a propitious time for a man to steal a woman, Ygritte insisted. "Like the night you stole me. The Thief was bright that night."

"I never meant to steal you," he said. "I never knew you were a girl until my knife was at your throat."

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly.

(...)

"Craster's more your kind than ours. His father was a crow who stole a woman out of Whitetree village, but after he had her he flew back t' his Wall. She went t' Castle Black once t' show the crow his son, but the brothers blew their horns and run her off. Craster's blood is black, and he bears a heavy curse." She ran her fingers lightly across his stomach. "I feared you'd do the same once. Fly back to the Wall. You never knew what t' do after you stole me."

Jon sat up. "Ygritte, I never stole you."

"Aye, you did. You jumped down the mountain and killed Orell, and afore I could get my axe you had a knife at my throat. I thought you'd have me then, or kill me, or maybe both, but you never did. And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. You know nothing, Jon Snow." She gave him a shy smile. "You might be learning some, though."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

A Lady’s claim

Rohanne’s claim is coveted by many suitors

“And yet she must wed again, and soon.”

“Must?” said Dunk.

“Her lord father’s will demands it. Lord Wyman wanted grandsons to carry on his line. When he sickened he tried to wed her to the Longinch, so he might die knowing that she had a strong man to protect her, but Rohanne refused to have him. His lordship took his vengeance in his will. If she remains unwed on the second anniversary of her father’s passing, Coldmoat and its lands pass to his cousin Wendell. 

(...) 

Lord Rowan has upheld the will, so her ladyship has only till the next new moon.”

“Why has she waited so long?” Dunk wondered aloud.

The septon shrugged. “If truth be told, there has been a dearth of suitors. My good-sister is not hard to look upon, you will have noticed, and a stout castle and broad lands add to her charms. You would think that younger sons and landless knights would swarm about her ladyship like flies. You would be wrong. The four dead husbands make them wary, and there are those who will say that she is barren too… though never in her hearing unless they yearn to see the inside of a crow cage. She has carried two children to term, a boy and a girl, but neither lived to see a name day. Those few who are not put off by talk of poisonings and sorcery want no part of the Longinch. Lord Wyman charged him on his deathbed to protect his daughter from unworthy suitors, which he has taken to mean all suitors. Any man who means to have her hand would need to face his sword first.” He finished his wine and set the cup aside. “That is not to say there has been no one. Cleyton Caswell and Simon Leygood have been the most persistent, though they seem more interested in her lands than in her person. Were I given to wagering, I should place my gold on Gerold Lannister. He has yet to put in an appearance, but they say he is golden-haired and quick of wit, and more than six feet tall…”

“…and Lady Webber is much taken with his letters.”

(...)

“My first husband perished on the Redgrass Field. My father found me others, but the Stranger took them too. I no longer trust in men, no matter how ample they may seem. I trust in stone and steel and water. I trust in moats, ser, and mine will not go dry.”

(...)

She gave him back the ring. “I cannot return to Coldmoat empty-handed. They will say the Red Widow has lost her bite, that she was too weak to do justice, that she could not protect her smallfolk. You do not understand, ser.”

“I might.” Better than you know. “I remember once some little lord in the stormlands took Ser Arlan into service, to help him fight some other little lord. When I asked the old man what they were fighting over, he said, ‘Nothing, lad. It’s just some pissing contest.’ ”

Lady Rohanne gave him a shocked look but could sustain it no more than half a heartbeat before it turned into a grin. “I have heard a thousand empty courtesies in my time, but you are the first knight who ever said pissing in my presence.” Her freckled face went somber. “Those pissing contests are how lords judge one another’s strength, and woe to any man who shows his weakness. A woman must needs piss twice as hard, if she hopes to rule. And if that woman should happen to be small… Lord Stackhouse covets my Horseshoe Hills, Ser Clifford Conklyn has an old claim to Leafy Lake, those dismal Durwells live by stealing cattle… and beneath mine own roof I have the Longinch. Every day I wake wondering if this might be the day he marries me by force.” Her hand curled tight around her braid, as hard as if it were a rope, and she was dangling over a precipice. “He wants to, I know. He holds back for fear of my wroth, just as Conklyn and Stackhouse and the Durwells tread carefully where the Red Widow is concerned. If any of them thought for a moment that I had turned weak and soft…”

(...)

Ser Lucas Inchfield looked at Lady Rohanne, his face dark with fury. “You will marry me when this mummer’s farce is done. As your lord father wished.”

“My lord father never knew you as I do,” she gave back.”

—The Sworn Sword

And as you can see, Rohanne Webber and Sansa Stark also share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne and Sansa are red haired.

Rohanne and Sansa have a “wicked” reputation. 

Rohanne and Sansa are ladies with a claim to their paternal lands and rights.

Rohanne’s and Sansa’s succession rights has been put in a difficult position in their father’s and older brother’s will, respectively. 

Rohanne and Sansa have a long list of suitors that covet their claims.

Rohanne and Sansa have suffered forced marriages.

Rohanne and Sansa have become disillusioned with men.

Rohanne asked Dunk to swear his sword to her, but he rejected the offer. Brienne, Dunk’s descendant, has already sworn her sword (made of Ice) to Sansa Stark. 

Jaime Lannister, Rohanne’s descendant has also sworn a vow for Sansa Stark: “Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” [A Storm of Swords - Jaime IX]

Later, Rohanne married Gerold Lannister and became Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock, she was the mother of Tytos Lannister and grandmother of Tywin Lannister.  Sansa was betrothed with Tywin Lannister’s grandson Joffrey, and later married Tywin Lannister’s son, Tyrion Lannister. Point aside, Stannis Baratheon tried to convince Jon to accept his Winterfell offer, calling Sansa, Lady Lannister.     

Rohanne physically hurt Dunk / Ygritte physically hurt Jon  

Lady Rohanne’s face was stone. “Come closer.”

He did not know what else to do, but to obey. The dais added a good foot to her height, yet even so Dunk towered over her. “Kneel,” she said. He did.

The slap she gave him had all her strength behind it, and she was stronger than she looked. His cheek burned, and he could taste blood in his mouth from a broken lip, but she hadn’t truly hurt him. For a moment all Dunk could think of was grabbing her by that long red braid and pulling her across his lap to slap her arse, as you would a spoiled child. If I do, she’ll scream, though, and twenty knights will come bursting in to kill me.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

He lay on the ground afterward, clutching his prize and bleeding quietly, too weak to move. After a while, he realized that if he did not make himself move he was like to bleed to death. Jon crawled to the shallow stream where the mare was drinking, washed his thigh in the cold water, and bound it tight with a strip of cloth torn from his cloak. He washed the arrow too, turning it in his hands. Was the fletching grey, or white? Ygritte fletched her arrows with pale grey goose feathers. Did she loose a shaft at me as I fled? Jon could not blame her for that. He wondered if she'd been aiming for him or the horse. If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. "A lucky thing my leg got in the way," he muttered.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Bastards

"The old High Septon told my father that king's laws are one thing, and the laws of the gods another," the boy said stubbornly. "Trueborn children are made in a marriage bed and blessed by the Father and the Mother, but bastards are born of lust and weakness, he said. King Aegon decreed that his bastards were not bastards, but he could not change their nature. The High Septon said all bastards are born to betrayal . . . Daemon Blackfyre, Bittersteel, even Bloodraven. Lord Rivers was more cunning than the other two, he said, but in the end he would prove himself a traitor, too. The High Septon counseled my father never to put any trust in him, nor in any other bastards, great or small."

Born to betrayal, Dunk thought. Born of lust and weakness. Never to be trusted, great or small. "Egg," he said, "didn't you ever think that I might be a bastard?"

"You, ser?" That took the boy aback. "You are not."

"I might be. I never knew my mother, or what became of her. Maybe I was born too big and killed her. Most like she was some whore or tavern girl. You don't find highborn ladies down in Flea Bottom. And if she ever wed my father . . . well, what became of him, then?" Dunk did not like to be reminded of his life before Ser Arlan found him. "There was a pot shop in King's Landing where I used to sell them rats and cats and pigeons for the brown. The cook always claimed my father was some thief or cutpurse. 'Most like I saw him hanged,' he used to tell me, 'but maybe they just sent him to the Wall.' When I was squiring for Ser Arlan, I would ask him if we couldn't go up that way someday, to take service at Winterfell or some other northern castle. I had this notion that if I could only reach the Wall, might be I'd come on some old man, a real tall man who looked like me. We never went, though. Ser Arlan said there were no hedges in the north, and all the woods were full of wolves." He shook his head. "The long and short of it is, most like you're squiring for a bastard."

For once Egg had nothing to say.

—The Sworn Sword

I’ve never knew my mother?

Maybe I killed my mother at birth?

After reading this passage it’s impossible not to think about Jon Snow. The parallels here don’t need major explanation...

The Ice Dragon

There were stars in the sky as well, more stars than any man could ever hope to count, even if he lived to be as old as King Jaehaerys. Dunk need only lift his eyes to find familiar friends: the Stallion and the Sow, the King’s Crown and the Crone’s Lantern, the Galley, Ghost, and Moonmaid. But there were clouds to the north, and the blue eye of the Ice Dragon was lost to him, the blue eye that pointed north.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

So many stars, he thought as he trudged up the slope through pines and firs and ash. Maester Luwin had taught him his stars as a boy in Winterfell; he had learned the names of the twelve houses of heaven and the rulers of each; he could find the seven wanderers sacred to the Faith; he was old friends with the Ice Dragon, the Shadowcat, the Moonmaid, and the Sword of the Morning. All those he shared with Ygritte, but not some of the others. We look up at the same stars, and see such different things. The King's Crown was the Cradle, to hear her tell it; the Stallion was the Horned Lord; the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to their Smith up here was called the Thief. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Rohanne was called a whore / Ygritte was called a whore

Osgrey’s eyes grew narrow. “Did that woman offer to take you into service? Are you leaving me for that whore’s bed?”

“I don’t know that she is a whore,” Dunk said, “or a witch or a poisoner or none of that. But whatever she may be makes no matter. We’re leaving for the hedges, not for Coldmoat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I suppose it was also the Halfhand who commanded you to fuck this unwashed whore?" Ser Alliser asked with a smirk.

"Ser. She was no whore, ser. The Halfhand told me not to balk, whatever the wildlings asked of me, but . . . I will not deny that I went beyond what I had to do, that I . . . cared for her."

"You admit to being an oathbreaker, then," said Janos Slynt.

Half the men at Castle Black visited Mole's Town from time to time to dig for buried treasures in the brothel, Jon knew, but he would not dishonor Ygritte by equating her with the Mole's Town whores. "I broke my vows with a woman. I admit that. Yes."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon IX

Rohanne Vs Tanselle

Dunk has an internal debate between his platonic and romantic feelings for Tanselle and his sexual desires for Rohanne

And she was there as well, the Red Widow, Rohanne of the Coldmoat. He could see her freckled face, her slender arms, her long red braid. It made him feel guilty. I should be dreaming of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall, they called her, but she was not too tall for me. She had painted arms upon his shield and he had saved her from the Bright Prince, but she vanished even before the trial of seven. She could not bear to see me die, Dunk often told himself, but what did he know? He was as thick as a castle wall. Just thinking of the Red Widow was proof enough of that. Tanselle smiled at me, but we never held each other, never kissed, not even lips to cheek. Rohanne at least had touched him; he had the swollen lip to prove it. Don’t be daft. She’s not for the likes of you. She is too small, too clever, and much too dangerous.”

—The Sworn Sword

This internal debate is somehow similar to Jon Snow, due his bastard status, repressing his deep and true wishes to love and be loved by a highborn lady, and settle himself with his own notion of a warrior woman, or to be more precisely, a woman from a warrior culture, or simply, not a lady.

Sex Dreams

Drowsing at long last, Dunk dreamed. He was running through a glade in the heart of Wat’s Wood, running toward Rohanne, and she was shooting arrows at him. Each shaft she loosed flew true, and pierced him through the chest, yet the pain was strangely sweet. He should have turned and fled, but he ran toward her instead, running slowly as you always did in dreams, as if the very air had turned to honey. Another arrow came, and yet another. Her quiver seemed to have no end of shafts. Her eyes were grey and green and full of mischief. Your gown brings out the color of your eyes, he meant to say to her, but she was not wearing any gown, or any clothes at all. Across her small breasts was a faint spray of freckles, and her nipples were red and hard as little berries. The arrows made him look like some great porcupine as he went stumbling to her feet, but somehow he still found the strength to grab her braid. With one hard yank he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

The dream was sweet . . . but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. Bastard, oathbreaker, and turncloak . . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Killing a woman 

Dunk faced the possibility to kill Rohanne / Jon faced the possibility to kill Ygritte  

“Ser Duncan, do you remember the story that I told you?”

“I might, ser,” said Dunk. “Which one?”

“The Little Lion.

“I remember. He was the youngest of five sons.”

“Good.” He coughed again. “When he slew Lancel Lannister, the westermen turned back. Without the king there was no war. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Aye,” Dunk said reluctantly. Could I kill a woman? For once Dunk wished he were as thick as that castle wall. It must not come to that. I must not let it come to that.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon's grasp. On the ground the sleeper sat up beneath his furs. Jon slid his dirk free, grabbing the man by the hair and jamming the point of the knife up under his chin as he reached for his—no, her—

His hand froze. "A girl."

"A watcher," said Stonesnake. "A wildling. Finish her."

Jon could see fear and fire in her eyes. Blood ran down her white throat from where the point of his dirk had pricked her. One thrust and it's done, he told himself. He was so close he could smell onion on her breath. She is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't?

"I yield." Her words steamed in the cold air.

"You're our captive, then." He pulled the dirk away from the soft skin of her throat.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

Killing a Royal Child

Rohanne told Dunk about the possibility to kill Egg, despite knowing he was a Targaryen Prince / Val told Jon about the possibility of killing Princess Shireen 

“Lady Rohanne’s fingers closed around it. She glanced at Egg and old Ser Eustace. “You took a great risk in showing me this ring, ser. But how does it avail us? If I should command my men to cross…” “Well,” said Dunk, “that would mean I’d have to fight.” “And die.” “Most like,” he said, “and Egg would go back where he comes from, and tell what happened here.” “Not if he died as well.” “I don’t think you’d kill a boy of ten,” he said, hoping he was right. “Not this boy of ten, you wouldn’t.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. “You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …”

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

“North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago.”

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. “Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child.”

“I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Another similarity between Rohanne and Val is their braided hair.  Like Rohanne, Val sometimes is described to have “reddish” hair and she also wears it in a long braid.    

The Wall

“Where will you go?” The septon was panting heavily. Even with Dunk on a crutch, he was too fat to match his pace.

“Fair Isle. Harrenhal. The Trident. There are hedges everywhere.” He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.”

(...)

“Which way is south?” he asked Egg. It was hard to know, when the world was all rain and mud and the sky was grey as a granite wall.

“That’s south, ser.” Egg pointed. “That’s north.”

“Summerhall is south. Your father.”

“The Wall is north.”

Dunk looked at him. “That’s a long way to ride.”

“I have a new horse, ser.”

“So you do.” Dunk had to smile. “And why would you want to see the Wall?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I hear it’s tall.”

—The Sworn Sword

Once again the Wall is mentioned as a place Dunk always wanted to see. Maybe in hope to find his long lost unknown very tall father there, or maybe because he wants his adventure to never ends...  

Fire and Blood

Curiously enough, we can find similarities between Rohanne and certain mother of dragons...

“Osgrey can keep his silver. Only blood can pay for blood.”

(...)

“It is Bennis I want, and Bennis I shall have.”

(...)

“...and she breeds the finest horses in the Reach. We have a dozen mares about to foal.”

(...)

Go, or I will find a sack large enough for you if I have to sew one up myself. Tell Ser Eustace to bring me Bennis of the Brown Shield by the morrow, else I will come for him myself with fire and sword. Do you understand me? Fire and sword!

(...)

She was a blood bay with a bright eye and a long, fiery mane. Lady Rohanne took a carrot from her sleeve and stroked her head as she took it. “The carrot, not the fingers,” she told the horse, before she turned again to Dunk. “I call her Flame, but you may name her as you please. Call her Amends, if you like.”

For a moment he was speechless. He leaned on the crutch and looked at the blood bay with new eyes. She was magnificent. A better mount than any the old man had ever owned. You had only to look at those long, clean limbs to see how swift she’d be.

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see we can find Targaryen and Dothraki references in Rohanne Webber. Who woulda thought?

Like a certain Mother of Dragons, Rohanne is determined to get what she wants, even if it has to be under threat of “Fire and Sword”.

Like a certain Khaleesi with a horse called “Silver” for the resemblance of her own hair, Rohanne had a horse called “Flame” for the resemblance of her own fiery hair.  There is also the issue with Rohanne’s long braid, like the Khal’s braids that remain untouched until they are defeated.       

Dunk cut Rohanne’s long braid with his dagger tho... 

Something To Remember Me By

Rohanne presented Dunk a fine horse as a farewell gift, but Dunk  rejected the horse and TOOK something else that wasn’t offered... 

He did not see her till the day they took their leave.

(...)

“She was waiting for him inside the stables, standing by the yellow bales of hay in a gown as green as summer. “Ser Duncan,” she said when he came pushing through the door. Her red braid hung down in front, the end of it brushing against her thighs. “It is good to see you on your feet.”

You never saw me on my back, he thought. “M’lady. What brings you to the stables? It’s a wet day for a ride.”

“I might say the same to you.”

“Egg told you?” I owe him another clout in the ear.

“Be glad he did, or I would have sent men after you to drag you back. It was cruel of you to try to steal away without so much as a farewell.”

She had never come to see him while he was in Maester Cerrick’s care, not once. “That green becomes you well, m’lady,” he said. “It brings out the color of your eyes.” He shifted his weight awkwardly on the crutch. “I’m here for my horse.”

“You do not need to go. There is a place for you here, when you’re recovered. Captain of my guards. And Egg can join “my other squires. No one need ever know who he is.”

“Thank you, m’lady, but no.” Thunder was in a stall a dozen places down. Dunk hobbled toward him.

“Please reconsider, ser. These are perilous times, even for dragons and their friends. Stay until you’ve healed.” She walked along beside him. “It would please Lord Eustace too. He is very fond of you.”

“Very fond,” Dunk agreed. “If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

For half a heartbeat Lady Rohanne looked as though she was going to slap him again. Maybe she’ll just kick my crutch away.

“You are angry with me, ser,” she said instead. “You must let me make amends.”

“Well,” he said, “you could help me saddle Thunder.”

“I had something else in mind.” She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. “How well do you know horses?”

“I ride one.”

“An old destrier bred for battle, slow-footed and ill-tempered. Not a horse to ride from place to place.”

“If I need to get from place to place, it’s him or these.” Dunk pointed at his feet.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over. Too large for most palfreys. They’d look like ponies with you perched upon their backs. Still, a swifter mount would serve you well. A big courser, with some Dornish sand steed for endurance.” She pointed to the stall across from Thunder’s. “A horse like her.”

She was a blood bay with a bright eye and a long, fiery mane. Lady Rohanne took a carrot from her sleeve and stroked her head as she took it. “The carrot, not the fingers,” she told the horse, before she turned again to Dunk. “I call her Flame, but you may name her as you please. Call her Amends, if you like.”

For a moment he was speechless. He leaned on the crutch and looked at the blood bay with new eyes. She was magnificent. A better mount than any the old man had ever owned. You had only to look at those long, clean limbs to see how swift she’d be.

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

He turned back to Thunder. “I cannot take her.”

“Why not?”

“She is too good a horse for me. Just look at her.”

A flush crept up Rohanne’s face. She clutched her braid, twisting it between her fingers. “I had to marry, you know that. My father’s will…oh, don’t be such a fool.”

“What else should I be? I’m thick as a castle wall and bastard-born as well.”

“Take the horse. I refuse to let you go without something to remember me by.”

“I will remember you, m’lady. Have no fear of that.”

“Take her!”

Dunk grabbed her braid and pulled her face to his. It was awkward with the crutch and the difference in their heights. He almost fell before he got his lips on hers. He kissed her hard. One of her hands went round his neck, and one around his chest. He learned more about kissing in a moment than he had ever known from watching. But when they finally broke apart, he drew his dagger. “I know what I want to remember you by, m’lady.”

Egg was waiting for him at the gatehouse, mounted on a handsome new sorrel palfrey and holding Maester’s lead. When Dunk trotted up to them on Thunder, the boy looked surprised. “She said she wanted to give you a new horse, ser.”

“Even highborn ladies don’t get all they want,” Dunk said, as they rode out across the drawbridge. “It wasn’t a horse I wanted.” The moat was so high it was threatening to overflow its banks. “I took something else to remember her by instead. A lock of that red hair.” He reached under his cloak, brought out the braid, and smiled.

—The Sworn Sword

OMG I have so many things to say about Dunk and Rohanne Farewell... I will make a summary, if not, this would be too long, and this post is already too long...

This passage is full of innuendos:

She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over.

¡¡¡SEVEN GODS!!! 

Dunk resented Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, despite knowing she did it to keep her claim. Despite knowing a marriage between them was impossible.

Dunk called himself a bastard and a fool. Florian the Fool you say?  

Rohanne offered Dunk a Dornish sand steed, telling him it would be a better mount for him. Tanselle was also Dornish. But Dunk rejected the horse anyway.

Dunk kissing Rohanne and then cutting her long braid with his dagger is giving me a lot of Jon killing his aunt vibes... 

But the fact that Dunk rejected Rohanne’s original gift and took what he wanted instead, also gives me heavy non con vibes and I hate it, I really hate it. Cutting a woman’s hair without her consent, is not romantic, less if said braid was something Rohanne was clearly proud of and was always touching it as a way of reassurance. I really don’t get George’s morbid fascination with non con undertones all over his ASOIAF works...    

* * *

THE MYSTERY KNIGHT

This tale is full of dragons, red dragons, black dragons, albino dragons, disguised dragons, hidden dragons, dragon eggs and hatching dragons.    

A New Tree on a Shield

I think this little detail foreshadows Jon’s death...

Dunk had beggar’s blood himself…or so they used to tell him back in Flea Bottom, when they weren’t telling him that he was sure to hang. 

(...)

Dunk unslung his shield and slipped it onto his arm. It was an old thing, tall and heavy, kite-shaped, made of pine and rimmed with iron.

He had bought it in Stoney Sept to replace the one the Longinch had hacked to splinters when they fought. Dunk had not had time to have it painted with his elm and shooting star, so it still bore the arms of its last owner: a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree. It was not a sigil that he would have chosen for himself, but the shield had come cheap.

(...)

“I am a hedge knight, seeking service.”

“Every robber knight I’ve ever hanged has said the same. Your device may be prophetic, ser…if ser you are. A gallows and a hanged man. These are your arms?”

“No, m’lord. I need to have the shield repainted.”

“Why? Did you rob it off a corpse?”

“I bought it, for good coin.” Three castles, black on orange…where have I seen those before? “I am no robber.”

(...)

“Enter me as the Gallows Knight.” The smallfolk loved it when a mystery knight appeared at a tourney.

Egg fingered his fat lip. “The Gallows Knight, ser?”

“For the shield.”

“Yes, but…

“Go do as I said. You have read enough for one night.” Dunk pinched the candle out between his thumb and forefinger.”

(...)

“My shield,” Dunk said to Egg. The boy handed it up. He slipped his left arm through the strap and closed his hand around the grip. The weight of the kite shield was reassuring though its length made it awkward to handle, and seeing the hanged man once again gave him an uneasy feeling. Those are ill-omened arms. He resolved to get the shield repainted as soon as he could. May the Warrior grant me a smooth course and a quick victory, he prayed, as Butterwell’s herald was clambering up the steps once more. “Ser Uthor Underleaf,” his voice rang out. “The Gallows Knight. Come forth and prove your valor.”

(...)

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dunk’s Elm and Shooting Stark Shield was destroyed so he buys a new one with a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree.

Hanging is the stablished punishment in the Night’s Watch, that’s why in the first draft of Jon’s Chapter in ADWD, GRRM wrote Jon commanding his men to hang Janos Slynt as punishment for disobedience. 

And in certain way, Dunk will be dead in this tale, but just for a little while. In fact, Dunk is about to die three times during this tale.  

Jon’s death by the hidden daggers is also foreshadowed in the books by Melisandre’s visions and one of Littlefinger’s lessons to Sansa. But there are also prophecies about him coming back to life, and in this tale a dragon’s birth is prophesied.      

Egg revealing his Targaryen identity could also foreshadows Jon knowing the truth about his origins and Targaryen lineage after coming back to life.

A Bastard Prince in Disguise 

Dunk and Egg meet Daemon II Blackfyre in disguise as Ser John the Fiddler     

...a young man lean and lithe, with a comely clean-shaven face and fine features. Black hair fell shining to his collar. His doublet was made of dark blue silk edged in gold satin. Across his chest an engrailed cross had been embroidered in gold thread, with a golden fiddle in the first and third quarters, a golden sword in the second and the fourth. His eyes caught the deep blue of his doublet and sparkled with amusement.

(...) 

“I am a vagabond hedge knight like yourself. Ser John the Fiddler, I am called.”

That was the sort of name a hedge knight might choose, but Dunk had never seen any hedge knight garbed or armed or mounted in such splendor. The knight of the golden hedge, he thought. “You know my name. My squire is called Egg.”

—The Mystery Knight

Wait!

A bastard dragon in disguise? 

With dark hair?

Called John?

Also the Fiddler?

Fiddles and Swords as his sigil? 

Like a musician and a warrior? Somet like Florian the Fool? Someone like Rhaegar?

Ser John the Fiddler could also work as foreshadowing for Young Griff, the alleged Aegon VI Targaryen, Jon’s half-brother. 

Like Young Griff dying his silver/golden hair blue, Daemon Blackfyre has silver/golden hair dyed black.

Like Young Griff having Jon Connington, a man in love with Rhaeger, by his side, Daemon Blackfyre has Alyn Cockshaw, a man in love with him, by his side.       

Gormon Pyke

Dunk meets the man that killed Roger of Pennytree 

Three castles, black on orange. “I remember now. Ser Arlan never liked to talk about the Redgrass Field, but once in his cups he told me how his sister’s son had died.” He could almost hear the old man’s voice again, smell the wine upon his breath. “Roger of Pennytree, that was his name. His head was smashed in by a mace wielded by a lord with three castles on his shield.” Lord Gormon Peake. The old man never knew his name. Or never wanted to. 

—The Mystery Knight

Roger of Pennytree was Ser Arlan’s squire, he died at the Redgrass Field, that’s why Ser Arlan needed a new squire and took Dunk under his tutelage.  

This encounter somehow reminds me of Jon meeting Donald Noye, the man that forged Robert Baratheon’s warhammer, the weapon that killed Rhaegar, Jon’s biological father. 

Dunk and Egg meet three very interesting hedge knights... in a weirwood grove 

Before long the trees opened up, and they found themselves in what must once have been a weirwood grove. Only a ring of white stumps and a tangle of bone-pale roots remained to show where the trees had stood, when the children of the forest ruled in Westeros.

(...)

“I am Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor. Under yonder chestnut sits Ser Glendon, ah, Ball. And here you have the good Ser Maynard Plumm.”

Egg’s ears pricked up at that name. “Plumm…are you kin to Lord Viserys Plumm, ser?”

“Distantly,” confessed Ser Maynard, a tall, thin, stoop-shouldered man with long, straight, flaxen hair, “though I doubt that his lordship would admit to it. One might say that he is of the sweet Plumms, whilst I am of the sour.” Plumm’s cloak was as purple as his name, though frayed about the edges and badly dyed. A moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg fastened it at the shoulder. Elsewise he wore dun-colored roughspun and stained brown leather.

—The Mystery Knight

So many things to say about these three hedge knights.

First, Egg mentioned Lord Viserys Plumm because he was a Targaryen, son of Princess Elaena Targaryen.

Second,  these three knights reminds me a lot of another trio of interesting hedge knights that we met in one of Alayne Stone’s chapters in AFFC:

Alayne laughed. "Are you louts?" she said, teasing. "Why, I took the three of you for gallant knights."

"Knights they are," said Petyr. "Their gallantry has yet to be demonstrated, but we may hope. Allow me to present Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich. Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . with whom I must needs confer, if you will be so good as to excuse us."

The three knights bowed and withdrew, though the tall one with the blond hair kissed her hand before taking his leave.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

So we have these hedge knights in Dunk and Egg tales:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor, ginger whiskers.

Ser Glendon Ball (Glendon Flowers/the Knight of the Pussywillows), dark brown hair, bulbous nose.

Ser Maynard Plumm, flaxen hair.

And we have these hedge knights in ASOIAF:

Ser Byron the Beautiful, blonde hair. 

Ser Morgarth the Merry, salt-and-pepper beard, a red, bulbous nose. 

Shadrich of the Shady Glen also known as the Mad Mouse, orange hair.

Then we can associate them this way:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor / Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse of Shady Glen, both with similar names and red hair.

Ser Glendon Ball / Ser Morgarth the Merry, both with bulbous noses.

Ser Maynard Plumm / Ser Byron the Beautiful, both blondes and... under disguise?

Third, and this is a widely known theory, I’m convinced that Ser Maynard Plumm is Brynden Rivers aka Bloodraven in disguise, thanks to a glamor with the moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg. That moonstone is working like Melissadre’s ruby at the wrist of Mance Ryder disguised as Rattleshirt (*). 

(*) Here I have to mention the existence of two theories about Ser Byron the Beautiful. The first one says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory. The second theory is an addition to the first one, it says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise, using the face of Tyrek Lannister, under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory as well. 

Is Ser Byron someone else in disguise? I have no idea if the parallels will be 100% accurate and we will only know when the Winds of Winter come. 

Dragon Eggs

The protagonists of this tale are eggs, a dragon egg and a dragon called Egg

“The dragon’s egg? Is that the champion’s prize? Truly?” The last dragon had perished half a century ago. Ser Arlan had once seen a clutch of her eggs, though. They were hard as stone, but beautiful to look upon, the old man had told Dunk. “How could Lord Butterwell come by a dragon’s egg?”

“King Aegon presented the egg to his father’s father after guesting for a night at his old castle,” said Ser Maynard Plumm.

“Was it a reward for some act of valor?” asked Dunk.

Ser Kyle chuckled. “Some might call it that. Supposedly old Lord Butterwell had three young maiden daughters when His Grace came calling. By morning, all three had royal bastards in their little bellies. A hot night’s work, that was.”

(...)

“Lord Butterwell will have the egg well guarded, I’m sure.” Dunk scratched the midge bites on his neck. “Do you think he might display it at the feast? I’d like to get a look at one.”

“I’d show you mine, ser, but it’s at Summerhall.”

“Yours? Your dragon’s egg?” Dunk frowned down at the boy, wondering if this was some jape. “Where did it come from?”

“From a dragon, ser. They put it in my cradle.”

“Do you want a clout in the ear? There are no dragons.”

“No, but there are eggs. The last dragon left a clutch of five, and they have more on Dragonstone, old ones from before the Dance. My brothers all have them too. Aerion’s looks as though it’s made of gold and silver, with veins of fire running through it. Mine is white and green, all swirly.”

“Your dragon’s egg.” They put it in his cradle. Dunk was so used to Egg that sometimes he forgot Aegon was a prince. Of course they’d put a dragon egg inside his cradle. “Well, see that you don’t go mentioning this egg where anyone is like to hear.”

“I’m not stupid, ser.” Egg lowered his voice. “Someday the dragons will return. My brother Daeron’s dreamed of it, and King Aerys read it in a prophecy. Maybe it will be my egg that hatches. That would be splendid.”

“Would it?” Dunk had his doubts.”

Not Egg. “Aemon and I used to pretend that our eggs would be the ones to hatch. If they did, we could fly through the sky on dragonback, like the first Aegon and his sisters.”

“Aye, and if all the other knights in the realm should die, I’d be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. If these eggs are so bloody precious, why is Lord Butterwell giving his away?”

(...)

“Are we going to go to Whitewalls, ser?”

“Why not? I want to see this dragon’s egg.” Dunk smiled. “If I win the tourney, we’d both have dragon’s eggs.”

Egg gave him a doubtful look.

“What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I could tell you, ser,” the boy said solemnly, “but I need to learn to hold my tongue.”

—The Mystery Knight

If Dunk and Valarr represented Jon in the first tale, in this one, Jon is represented by Dunk and Glendon as bastards, Daemon as bastard/prince in disguise and our little Egg as a dragon coming to life / revealing his Targaryen identity.

Indeed, Egg will be the dragon egg that hatches in this tale, and later he will be King and Dunk will be his Kingsguard’s Lord Commander one day. 

And the sad note is that both, Dunk and Egg, will died years later while trying to hatch dragon eggs. Be careful what you wish for...

Winterfell

Dunk frowned. “Egg and I have a long journey before us. We’re headed north to Winterfell. Lord Beron Stark is gathering swords to drive the krakens from his shores for good.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dun and Egg will be at Winterfell during the fourth tale, The She-Wolves of Winterfell, a tale that is supposed to explore House Stark Succession issues...

At some point, Dunk asked Ser Glendon Ball, another bastard, that joined them in their journey to Winterfell, an offer to start a new life in a land when they will be judge by their own worth and not by their social status and low origins.   

Florian the Fool imagery

“The wine had colored Ser Glendon’s cheeks and inflamed his pimples. “Who are you, to make such boasts?”

“They call me John the Fiddler.”

“Are you a musician or a warrior?”

“I can make sweet song with either lance or resined bow, as it happens. Every wedding needs a singer, and every tourney needs a mystery knight.”

—The Mystery Knight

As I mentioned before, John the Fiddler sounds like some version of Florian the Fool, a musician and a knight/warrior.  Ser Glendon Ball pointed out this detail.

Jon is surrounded by Florian the Fool imagery. From “You know nothing, Jon Snow” to all the singers linked with him like his biological father Rhaegar Targaryen, Mance Ryder and Bael the Bard.

Having a Thirst during a Feast

Both Dunk and Jon get hammered and think about girls...

Dunk remembers Tanselle and Rohanne and Jon thinks about insipid and stupid and blonde Princess Myrcella and his radiant half-sister Sansa... 

Dunk had not intended to drink so much, with the jousting on the morrow, but the cups were filled anew after every toast, and he found he had a thirst. “Never refuse a cup of wine or a horn of ale,” Ser Arlan had once told him, “it may be a year before you see another.” It would have been discourteous not to toast the bride and groom, he told himself, and dangerous not to drink to the king and his Hand, with strangers all about.

(...)

The other hedge knights, fine fellows all, had begun to talk of women they had known. Dunk found himself wondering where Tanselle was tonight. He knew where Lady Rohanne was—abed at Coldmoat Castle, with old Ser Eustace beside her, snoring through his mustache—so he tried not to think of her. Do they ever think of me? he wondered.

(...)

He had another cup of hippocras, since the first had tasted good. Then he lay his head down atop his folded arms and closed his eyes just for a moment, to rest them from the smoke.When he opened them again, half the wedding guests were on their feet and shouting, “Bed them! Bed them!” They were making such an uproar that they woke Dunk from a pleasant dream involving Tanselle Too-Tall and the Red Widow. “Bed them! Bed them!” the calls rang out. Dunk sat up and rubbed his eyes.

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for.

And he was finding that he had a man's thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring.

(...)

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I 

A Bedding

Before Dunk quite realized what was happening, John the Fiddler had dragged him to his feet. “Here!” he cried out. “Let the giant carry her!”

The next thing he knew he was climbing a tower stair with the bride squirming in his arms.

(...)

Dunk had no notion where Lord Butterwell’s bedchamber was to be found, but the other men pushed and prodded him until he got there, by which time the bride was red-faced, giggling, and nearly naked, save for the stocking on her left leg, which had somehow survived the climb. Dunk was crimson too, and not from exertion.

His arousal would have been obvious if anyone had been looking, but fortunately all eyes were on the bride. Lady Butterwell looked nothing like Tanselle, but having the one squirming half-naked in his arms had started Dunk thinking about the other. Tanselle Too-Tall, that was her name, but she was not too tall for me. He wondered if he would ever find her again. There had been some nights when he thought he must have dreamed her. No, lunk, you only dreamed she liked you.

(...)

When Dunk finally plopped the bride onto her marriage bed, a dwarf leapt in beside her and seized one of her breasts for a bit of a fondle. The girl let out a squeal, the men roared with laughter, and Dunk seized the dwarf by his collar and hauled him kicking off m’lady. He was carrying the little man across the room to chuck him out the door when he saw the dragon’s egg.

(...)

Dunk dropped the dwarf and picked up the egg, just to feel it for a moment. It was heavier than he’d expected. You could smash a man’s head with this, and never crack the shell. The scales were smooth beneath his fingers, and the deep, rich red seemed to shimmer as he turned the egg in his hands. Blood and flame, he thought, but there were gold flecks in it as well, and whorls of midnight black.

—The Mystery Knight

A dwarf fondling the breast of a lady during her wedding night reminds me of Tyrion groping his child bride Sansa during their wedding night.  So I would really like that one day someone seized Tyrion by his collar and hauled him liked Dunk did with that dwarf as punishment for his unwanted advances with Sansa.   

Another Prophetic Dream 

In Ashford, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a dead dragon. In Whitewalls, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a hatching dragon

He was feeling dizzy from the wine, so he leaned against a parapet. Am I going to be sick? Why did he go and touch the dragon’s egg? He remembered Tanselle’s puppet show, and the wooden dragon that had started all the trouble there at Ashford. The memory made Dunk feel guilty, as it always did. Three good men dead, to save a hedge knight’s foot. It made no sense, and never had. Take a lesson from that, lunk. It is not for the likes of you to mess about with dragons or their eggs.

“It almost looks as if it’s made of snow.”

Dunk turned. John the Fiddler stood behind him, smiling in his silk and cloth-of-gold. “What’s made of snow?”

“The castle. All that white stone in the moonlight. Have you ever been north of the Neck, Ser Duncan? I’m told it snows there even in the summer. Have you ever seen the Wall?”

“No, m’lord.” Why he is going on about the Wall? “That’s where we were going, Egg and me. Up north, to Winterfell.”

(...)

He gave Dunk an enigmatic smile. “I dreamed of you, Ser Duncan. Before I even met you. When I saw you on the road, I knew your face at once. It was as if we were old friends.”

Dunk had the strangest feeling then, as if he had lived this all before. I dreamed of you, he said. My dreams are not like yours, Ser Duncan. Mine are true. “You dreamed of me?” he said, in a voice made thick by wine. “What sort of dream?”

“Why,” the Fiddler said, “I dreamed that you were all in white from head to heel, with a long pale cloak flowing from those broad shoulders. You were a White Sword, ser, a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, the greatest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you lived for no other purpose but to guard and serve and please your king”. He put a hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “You have dreamed the same dream, I know you have.”

He had, it was true. The first time the old man let me hold his sword. “Every boy dreams of serving in the Kingsguard.”

“Only seven boys grow up to wear the white cloak, though. Would it please you to be one of them?”

“Me?” Dunk shrugged away the lordling’s hand, which had begun to knead his shoulder. “It might. Or not.” The knights of the Kingsguard served for life and swore to take no wife and hold no lands. I might find Tanselle again someday. Why shouldn’t I have a wife, and sons? “It makes no matter what I dream. Only a king can make a Kingsguard knight.”

“I suppose that means I’ll have to take the throne, then. I would much rather be teaching you to fiddle.”

(...)

“I hope you will put more faith in what I tell you when you see the dragon hatch.”

“A dragon will hatch? A living dragon? What, here?”

“I dreamed it. This pale white castle, you, a dragon bursting from an egg, I dreamed it all, just as I once dreamed of my brothers lying dead. They were twelve and I was only seven, so they laughed at me, and died. I am two-and-twenty now, and I trust my dreams.”

“Dunk was remembering another tourney, remembering how he had walked through the soft spring rains with another princeling. I dreamed of you and a dead dragon, Egg’s brother Daeron said to him. A great beast, huge, with wings so large they could cover this meadow. It had fallen on top of you, but you were alive and the dragon was dead. And so he was, poor Baelor. Dreams were a treacherous ground on which to build. “As you say, m’lord,” he told the Fiddler. “Pray excuse me.”

“Where are you going, ser?”

“To my bed, to sleep. I’m drunk as a dog.”

“Be my dog, ser. The night’s alive with promise. We can howl together and wake the very gods.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Your sword. I would make you mine own man, and raise you high. My dreams do not lie, Ser Duncan. You shall have that white cloak, and I must have the dragon’s egg. I must, my dreams have made that plain. Perhaps the egg will hatch, or else…”

—The Mystery Knight

Daemon’s dream was proven right since Egg hatched there in Whitewalls and years later Dunk became Lord Commander of Aegon V Targaryen’s Kingsguard.

But what if the dragon hatching in a castle made of snow was a dream for the long future as well as Dunk wearing the white cloak many years later?

That part of the dream could be foreshadowing Jon’ resurrection in a castle made of snow. That castle made of snow could be Winterfell? Maybe, but it also could be the Wall, since Daemon himself mentioned the Wall in this passage, the castle there is called Castle Black but it is certainly covered by snow. 

This could also be foreshadowing of Jon’s true parentage revelation, as a Targaryen; and that could happen in Winterfell, that is a grey castle certainly, but also covered by snow.  

Also, the white cloaks of the Kingsguards are often compared with snow and called snowy white. 

I also read some theories about New Castle in White Harbor as the castle made of snow of Daemon’s dream. 

Better with a Sword

Dunk watched a server fill his wine cup. “I am better with a sword than with a lance,” he admitted, “and even better with a battle-axe. Will there be a melee here?”

(...)

“You're better with a sword than with a lance,” Egg said. “With an axe or a mace, there's few to match your strength.”

(...)

“Ser Tommard, this man is the prince’s sworn shield. He’ll kill you!”

“Only if he falls on me.” Black Tom showed his teeth in a hard grin. “I saw him try to joust.”

“I am better with a sword,” Dunk warned him.

(...)

“Black Tom reeled back a step and stared down in horror at his forearm flopping on the floor beneath the Stranger’s altar. “You,” he gasped, “you, you…”

“I told you.” Dunk stabbed him through the throat. “I’m better with a sword.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Warg imagery once again...

A trumpet sounded.

Thunder started forward at a slow trot. Dunk swung his lance to the left and brought it down, so it angled across the horse's head and the wooden barrier between him and his foe. His shield protected the left side of his body. He crouched forward, legs tightening as Thunder drove down the lists. We are one. Man, horse, lance, we are one beast of blood and wood and iron.

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very interesting passage because Dunk lost that joust and he kind of died for a while (he got unconscious for hours). Dunk fell to the ground after his opponent lance struck him on the head. Later that said opponent, that was drinking with Dunk the night before during the feast, confessed to Dunk that he was paid for killing him.

This is very similar to Jon being killed by his own brothers at the Wall, being alive for a while inside of his direwolf Ghost, and his future resurrection.    

Coming back to life

Dunk woke upon his back, staring up at the arches of a barrel-vaulted ceiling. For a moment he did not know where he was, or how he had arrived there. Voices echoed in his head, and faces drifted past him; old Ser Arlan, Tanselle Too-Tall, Bennis of the Brown Shield, the Red Widow, Baelor Breakspear, Aerion the Bright Prince, mad, sad Lady Vaith. Then all at once the joust came back to him: the heat, the snail, the iron fist coming at his face. He groaned, and rolled onto one elbow. The movement set his skull to pounding like some monstrous war drum.

(...)

“Tell me. What’s happened?”

“The same foolishness that always happens in these affrays. Men have been knocking each other off horses with sticks. Lord Smallwood’s nephew broke his wrist and Ser Eden Risley’s leg was crushed beneath his horse, but no one has been killed thus far. Though I had my fears for you, ser.”

(...)

“How long have you been tending me?” Dunk flexed the fingers of his sword hand. All of them still seemed to work. Only my head’s hurt, and Ser Arlan used to say I never used that anyway.

“Four hours, by the sundial.”

Four hours was not so bad. He had once heard tell of a knight struck so hard that he slept for forty years and woke to find himself old and withered. ”

(...)

“A passing groom told him where to find the nearest well. It was there that he discovered Kyle the Cat, talking quietly with Maynard Plumm. Ser Kyle’s shoulders were slumped in dejection, but he looked up at Dunk’s approach. “Ser Duncan? We had heard that you were dead, or dying.”

Dunk rubbed his temples. “I only wish I were.”

—The Mystery Knight

"Four hours was not so bad.” Dunk was four hours unconscious after his murder attempt. Maybe Jon will be dead for four days and it won’t be “so bad”, he won’t lost much of his memories.     

Honor

Better a beggar than a thief. He had been both in Flea Bottom, when he ran with Ferret, Rafe, and Pudding, but the old man had saved him from that life. He knew what Ser Arlan of Pennytree would have said to Plumm’s suggestions. Ser Arlan being dead, Dunk said it for him. “Even a hedge knight has his honor.”

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

I will kill him if I must. The prospect gave Jon no joy; there would be no honor in such a killing, and it would mean his own death as well. Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved. If Jon must slay a man he half admired and almost liked to save them from the mercies of Rattleshirt and Harma Dogshead and the earless Magnar of Thenn, that was what he meant to do.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Even if she was a whore... I want to know

"His Lordship said that I had no right to put a fireball upon my shield. He told me my device should be a clump of pussywillows. His Lordship can go bugger himself." Dunk could not help but smile. He had supped at that same table himself, choking down the same bitter dishes as served up by the likes of the Bright Prince and Ser Steffon Fossoway. He felt a certain kinship with the prickly young knight. For all I know, my mother was a whore as well. "How many horses have you won?"

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"One of the guards overheard Clydas reading the letter to Maester Aemon." Pyp leaned close. "Jon, I'm sorry. He was your father's friend, wasn't he?"

"They were as close as brothers, once." Jon wondered if Joffrey would keep his father as the King's Hand. It did not seem likely. That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont's permission. It would be good to see Arya's grin again and to talk with his father. I will ask him about my mother, he resolved. I am a man now, it is past time he told me. Even if she was a whore, I don't care, I want to know.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

True Identities and Targaryen Names

Inside, the Fiddler turned back to Dunk. “I knew Ser Uthor had not killed you. My dreams are never wrong. And the Snail must face me soon enough. Once I’ve unhorsed him, I shall demand your arms and armor back. Your destrier as well, though you deserve a better mount. Will you take one as my gift?”

“I…no…I couldn’t do that.” The thought made Dunk uncomfortable. “I do not mean to be ungrateful, but…”

“If it is the debt that troubles you, put the thought from your mind. I do not need your silver, ser. Only your friendship. ”

(...)

“You are no hedge knight.”

“No.” The Fiddler’s smile was full of boyish charm. “But you knew that from the start. You have been calling me m’lord since we met upon the road, why is that?”

“The way you talk. The way you look. The way you act.” Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall. “Up on the roof last night, you said some things…”

“Wine makes me talk too much, but I meant every word. We belong together, you and I. My dreams do not lie.”

“Your dreams don’t lie,” said Dunk, “but you do. John is not your true name, is it?”

“No.” The Fiddler’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

He has Egg’s eyes.

“His true name will be revealed soon enough, to those who need to know.” Lord Gormon Peake had slipped into the pavilion, scowling. “Hedge knight, I warn you—”

“Oh, stop it, Gormy,” said the Fiddler. “Ser Duncan is with us, or will be soon. I told you, I dreamed of him.”

(...)

“I never did you any harm.”

“And never will. Daemon’s mine. I will command his Kingsguard. You are not worthy of a white cloak.”

“I never claimed I was.” Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

—The Mystery Knight

These passages give me hope about Aemon being Jon’s Targaryen name: 

Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

Aemon. The name rang in Dunk’s (?) head. Not Jon. Aemon, after his father uncle.

Who will discover Jon’s true parentage and Jon’s Targaryen name? My bet is on Sansa since she unbeknownst helped Ned to discover that “Prince” Joffrey were a bastard. So it would be a full circle if she discovers by herself that the bastard Jon Snow is a true prince.

The Redhead Lady of the Tale

Mad Danelle Lothston herself rode forth in strength from her haunted towers at Harrenhal, clad in black armor that fit her like an iron glove, her long red hair streaming.

—The Mystery Knight

There is always a redhead woman with a wicked reputation. In the first tale a red haired whore is mentioned; in the second tale Rohanne Webber is a protagonist; and in this third tale Mad Danelle Lothston makes a triumphant entrance riding all armored next to Bloodraven to put an end to the Second Blackfyre Rebellion. Such a powerful image...   

An Elm Tree again!

The Hand’s pavilion was half a mile from the castle, in the shade of a spreading elm tree. A dozen cows were cropping at the grass nearby. Kings rise and fall, Dunk thought, and cows and smallfolk go about their business. It was something the old man used to say.”

—The Mystery Knight

Bloodraven put his pavilion in the shade of a spreading elm tree. This is a reminiscence of the first tale:

On the outskirts of the great meadow, a good half mile from town and castle, he found a place where a bend in a brook had formed a deep pool. Reeds grew thick along its edge, and a tall, leafy elm presided over all. The spring grass there was as green as any knight’s banner and soft to the touch. It was a pretty spot, and no one had yet laid claim to it. This will be my pavilion, Dunk told himself, a pavilion roofed with leaves, greener even than the banners of the Tyrells and the Estermonts.

(...)

“There’s my pavilion.” Dunk swept a hand above his head, at the branches of the tall elm that loomed above them.

“That’s a tree,” the boy said, unimpressed.

“It’s all the pavilion a true knight needs. I would sooner sleep under the stars than in some smoky tent.”

—The Hedge Knight

Dunk took that elm tree as his sigil the same way Lyanna took a weirwood as his sigil as a Mystery Knight.

Dunk also took a shooting star as part of his sigil and when Jon’s was born, there was a shooting star symbol around him, Ser Arthur Dayne’s sword, Dawn, made of a falling star, and House Dayne’s sigil is also “a white sword and falling star crossed on lilac”.

So Dunks sigil is really telling us about Jon Snow’s birth story, about the identity of his mother and the place when he was born, that was named by his biological father and was guarded by a knight with a sword made of a falling star.   

Roger of Pennytree 

Flanking the entrance, the severed heads of Gormon Peake and Black Tom Heddle had been impaled on spears, with their shields displayed beneath them. Three castles, black on orange. The man who slew Roger of Pennytree.

Even in death, Lord Gormon’s eyes were hard and flinty. Dunk closed them with his fingers. “What did you do that for?” asked one of the guardsmen. “The crows’ll have them soon enough.”

“I owed him that much.” If Roger had not died that day, the old man would never have looked twice at Dunk when he saw him chasing that pig through the alleys of King’s Landing. Some old dead king gave a sword to one son instead of another, that was the start of it. And now I’m standing here, and poor Roger’s in his grave.”

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very sad scene where we can see how Dunk still feels guilty for all the men that had to die for him to live the life he is living. Jon shares the same guilt along his arc and is heartbreaking.   

Tower of Joy imagery

Bloodraven ordered Whitewalls to be pulled down stone by stone, the same way Ned Stark pulled down the Tower of Joy

“And Whitewalls?” asked Butterwell, with quavering voice.

“Forfeit to the Iron Throne. I mean to pull it down stone by stone and sow the ground that it stands upon with salt. In twenty years, no one will remember it existed. Old fools and young malcontents still make pilgrimages to the Redgrass Field to plant flowers on the spot where Daemon Blackfyre fell. I will not suffer Whitewalls to become another monument to the Black Dragon."

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

“It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory’s father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

As you can see, Whitewalls, the castle where Egg “hatched” and revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, is ordered by Bloodraven to be pulled down stone by stone. And after reading this it’s impossible not to think about the Tower of Joy, the place where Jon was born, being pulled down by Ned Stark. 

A Dragon Rises

“We had some help, m’lord,” Dunk added.

“Hedge knights.”

“Aye, m’lord. Ser Kyle the Cat, and Maynard Plumm. And Ser Glendon Ball. It was him unhorsed the Fidd…the pretender.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that tale from half a hundred lips already. The Bastard of the Pussywillows. Born of a whore and a traitor.”

“Born of heroes,” Egg insisted. “If he’s amongst the captives, I want him found and released. And rewarded.”

“And who are you to tell the King’s Hand what to do?”

Egg did not flinch. “You know who I am, cousin.”

“Your squire is insolent, ser,” Lord Rivers said to Dunk. “You ought to beat that out of him.”

“I’ve tried, m’lord. He’s a prince, though.”

“What he is,” said Bloodraven, “is a dragon. Rise, ser.”

Dunk rose.

“There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, since long before the Conquest,” Bloodraven said, “so we should not be surprised if from time to time a Blackfyre displays the gift as well. Daemon dreamed that a dragon would be born at Whitewalls, and it was. The fool just got the color wrong.”

Dunk looked at Egg. The ring, he saw. His father’s ring. It’s on his finger, not stuffed up inside his boot.

(...)

“My place is with Ser Duncan. I’m his squire.”

“Seven save you both. As you wish. You’re free to go.”

“We will,” said Egg, “but first we need some gold. Ser Duncan needs to pay the Snail his ransom.”

Bloodraven laughed. “What happened to the modest boy I once met at King’s Landing? As you say, my prince. I will instruct my paymaster to give you as much gold as you wish. Within reason.”

—The Mystery Knight

And finally, the dragon egg that actually hatched in Whitewalls was Egg, a Targaryen Prince in disguise that revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, a future king, that will also died while trying to hatch dragon eggs, next to Dunk at Summerhall, the place when another human dragon hatched, Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon’s biological father.

GRRM really likes his full circles... 

This has been a long ride. I hope you enjoy it.

THE END.

[shiteatinggrin]

Hi, so this is my contribution to my first jilytober, I wrote some canon fic, it is kinda sad so I guess you could call this angst? I don’t know, I’m not that good at categorizing fic. Anyways, here is a love letter to James Potter from Lily Evans because he just died under her eyes. Wrote this fast, so I can’t vouch for the quality of this. This is almost 3k of Lily being a sap, so enjoy! Find it here on Ao3.

Bastard with a shit eating grin

Do you remember our first kiss? I can still feel the cold air of winter seeping through the walls of Greenhouse Number Three and you and I laughing together. It was not an unusual thing anymore, but some people could have been surprised, because we had had some big feuds over the years, the Dormitories Dashing and Destroying Disagreement, the Inflating Inner Ear Incident, the Flying Fiona Fight and the Severus Snape Saga consisting of the big highlights. However frustrating it was, we always had fun together, didn’t we?

Now we were falling in love dutifully without realising we had always been meant for each other in some way. I was all colors: glorious red hair, pink cheeks, pale green eyes and horrendously yellow socks. You were all teeth: shining smiles, arrogant smirking, belly-laughing in a silent room or grinding them in concentration for the task you were committing to (hyper-focusing on) at the moment.

‘Oi, Evans, can I copy your homework?’ You would say that practically every day.

‘How about a please, Potter? Might do you some good.’ You watched me smear some soil on my neck when I scratched it and said nothing. I discovered it in Transfiguration two hours later. Crazy how we can only remember the smallest details years later and the big things just go right over our heads. I could only ever remember the small details with you, because whatever we said to each other was never important, only the talking to you part was.

‘Oh Lily, dearest flower to my heart that I worship beyond any rainbow, might I please please please see your diligently done homework so that I can rewrite it because, being the idiot that I am, I was off gallivanting with Sirius yesterday instead of being a good student.’ You added pouts and made doe eyes for good measure as if I wouldn’t already have grabbed the moon from the sky’s grubby hands every night if you had asked it.

I would stifle a smile and put some piece of parchment in your extended hand without even looking, sometimes it was the homework if I was feeling generous, if I were more in a creative mood I might give you a stupid doodle or some kind of letter that would say something like: ‘Dear Prongs, you are an asshat. Looking forward to our rounds tonight so I can kick your ass in Gobstones. Now listen to Sprout, will you? Lily’ with a stupid heart over the i that basically meant PS: I love you. Finally, I’d say something like:

‘I would have laughed, but your head might inflate so much you’d have neck pain for a week.’

You let yourself smile then and continued to jest me, hoping to wrench a smile out of the beast (you always did it literally two minutes later, it is funny how easy it is to win when you give yourself such small tasks).

But that day, amazingly, we broke out of our routine.

At night we would always hang out together in the common room with our friends and slowly the people would fizzle out, having gone up to their dormitories and I would stay on the couch with the urge to kiss you with some dumb excuse not to leave on the tip of my tongue. I painted my nails or read some book or talked to you extensively about something I’d learned recently and you would listen with concentrated eyes and a much too easy smile.

Then you would start talking and when you started some story it would never finish, even now you can’t even recall something as simple as Harry’s first smile without going on for five full minutes without stopping. In these nights I would try to look like I wasn’t paying too much attention to you, like I was detached from everything pertaining to your person, but being young and in love doesn’t exactly give you the best skills in subtlety and so you would ask me if I was paying attention and I would blush and you would make some quip about redheads and their skins and everything would go back to normal.

And out of the blue, when I was talking about getting some sugar quills next time we were in Hogsmeade and how difficult the Ancient Runes paper was, you kissed me. Your hands flew to my hair and mine to cup your face and you pressed your body hard against mine. I’d never seen you so hungry for anything before, it seemed like you had been starving for a thousand years before our lips found each other. I had kissed three boys before you, and none of them could compare to the feeling of ecstasy of your mouth against mine. No one will ever compare to James Potter, right? That’s what you used to say in fourth year when you made a particular lucky goal in Quidditch or when you caught the Snitch in mid-air even though you were a Chaser and we were in Potions classf. Is it weird that I miss that?

I don’t think there ever was a time when I didn’t love you, all electric hair and much too quick brain and hundred stupid nicknames that didn’t mean anything unless you explained them in excruciating detail and you would smile too much and talk too loud and walk too fast and I wouldn’t feel so out of place with you because I did the exact same things. Petunia was always prim and proper and I always tried to be like her and please everyone but you taught me how to be myself and how to blossom into my personality without even knowing it. With you I’ve never been too much, I was always just enough.

Everything always came so easy to you, and I’ve always hated you for it. Now I think that I can’t appreciate enough how you could always share that with everyone around you, that incredible luck that could get you out of the worst of predicaments. I guess it all caught up to us today, but I don’t mind now. I’ll love you forever, come what may.

My heart is full of wanted posters of you: dead or alive.

I can’t remember the first time I’ve really noticed you, because you were always in the periphery, doing stupid things and getting in trouble and beaming for no reason at all and the memory of your presence was impossible to shake, but I still remember the first time we really became friends. We were fifteen by the lake and my best friend betrayed me under the glistening sun, the following day I had the worst grade in Transfiguration I’d ever gotten. You found me crying by a window on the fifth floor and apologized a hundred times (which I couldn’t have cared less at the moment), but you still went and talked to McGonagall and she agreed to let me retake the test in the afternoon and offered me a biscuit.

In seventh year, a girl told me that she was so jealous of the fact that I was the only one that could make James Potter change and mature. As if your life revolved around me. I thought of your sick father and the fact that Sirius had appeared on your front door one day and never left your house and with a twinge in my heart thought of the war coming and I couldn’t believe my ears. With all this going on, and she still thought you’d only change for a girl?

I’m not proud of this, but I might have shouted at her and maybe, perhaps I was the one that sent a silencing charm her way, but who could really tell? Not her, because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

I wonder if I ever told you that. Probably, because you know everything interesting there is to know about me. You even know the most boring facts about me, because they amuse you just the same. You know I like peonies the best in spite of my name and that my first kiss was with Snape when I was eight, you know that I wiped my mouth right after and didn’t know yet what love was. You know that my favourite band is Hate Potion and that my guilty pleasure is Celestina Warbeck. You know that I wanted to name our son Harry because of a muggle TV show I used to watch with Petunia when I was seven on Saturday mornings and that when I fight my favorite charm is Expelliarmus. You were at my side when I killed my first (and last) Death Eater and that I cried for a week afterward. You comforted me for five hours when Marlene and her entire family were massacred in their own home, the same one where I had spent a good chunk of my summers to avoid Petunia. You know that I only ever paint my toenails blue and that my favorite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. You know all about my relationship with my sister and how she used to be my best friend and that we used to dance in bathing suits around the sprinkler and fake being witches to make potions out of mud and flowers and how she never forgave when this dream became true for me but not for her. You know all about my failed relationships, with Tuney, Sev and my ex-boyfriend who left me because he didn’t want to be associated with a muggleborn. You know I’m absolute shite at drawing and that I can’t dance to save my life and you laugh at me when I’m drunk and try to follow Peter’s choreography to some dumb song I don’t know. Last year, you helped paint flowers all over my bookcase because I wanted it to be unique and just mine.

When Harry was born, you refused to sleep for two days because he was so cute when he slept against your chest, but you finally fell asleep while cutting onions for dinner and I had to intervene.

One of my favourite things about you is that I have never seen anyone so full of life. You smile like nothing has ever gone wrong in your entire life and you are more loyal than any Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen, you would die for any of us in a heartbeat and we would do the same for you anytime. My love for you is so big I wonder how it even fits in our little house in Godric’s Hollow. You painted our walls burnt orange because you said it reminded you of my hair and I wonder if it is weird to fall in love with you even more over some colour choices. You complete me because as much as you are a complete idiot, you still recommend the best books and are smart enough to plan the best pranks, but too smug to make anyone else take the blame. You had always been my favourite person in the whole universe until Harry arrived, but he is so much like you that it is like meeting you at a much earlier age. He has the same laugh as you, you know?

I cannot believe how brave you are, because traditional courage requires you to go into battle and protect everyone you love like a lioness does her cubs, but you have found the energy to keep going even trapped in this house with an infant without being able to help your friends outside. You go everyday against your most basic instincts and you manage to have so much fun with us, but I see the tired bags under your eyes and the fact that you lose your train of thoughts sometimes and I know that you’re thinking about the war and the security of the boys, I know they are your family and it would kill you if one of them ever fell into battle, yet you never complain, yet you never lose hope. I love you so much my feeble heart can’t contain it all. My love for you is as inevitable as the blue of the sky, as the oxygen in our lungs, as the passage of time, I love you so much that when I see you it is like coming home, your wild hair and round glasses and mischievous eyes and soft voice and much too long limbs and wide chest and calloused hands and smile like an answer to all my problems.

No one has ever made me feel as secure as you and now I know I have to be strong for you, because you are the one that’s fallen, like a marionnette whose strings were cut. The coffee stain on the right arm of your shirt is the last thing I will see of you, or maybe it is a bit of your wild inky hair. I will never be able to look at the night sky the same.

I can hear him in the stairs, and all I can think about is you and Harry this morning, my two favourite people in the world, sat on the carpet and puffs of colour coming out of your wand, your laugh coming out of his mouth, one single tooth poking out, little chubby legs shaking from laughter, the wand you stupidly left on the carpet (the wand you didn’t care wasn’t in your hands because you didn’t care if you died, you just wanted us to live). Your last gift to me was the most precious of all: you gave me the time to say goodbye to Harry.

‘Mama loves you. Dada loves you, Harry.’ That is the only thing I find to say, because it is true and my heart is breaking, I can hear it thundering, collapsing like a dying star, you are dead, I will die, Harry has to live. I cannot withstand the thought.

I have never loved anyone better than the two of you. Apparently I never will, but at least I have known real love, the one that comes from daily life, that never dies because it is kept alive by stupid little things that make us who we are. Crazy how we only remember the little things and the big ones just go right over our heads.

I will remember the smallest things about you, like the little scar in your left eyebrow, the weird placement of your thumb on your wand, the feel of your skin against mine and the way it tanned in the summer while mine just became redder and redder, the sound of your laugh when Sirius said something funny and the way you always pushed your glasses up your nose with your middle finger, the way you sit in any chair like it’s a throne, the way you answered questions in class without raising your hand, the way you held a book open when you were reading it, your last day where you wanted to make pasta and I wanted steak, the way you would mess with your hair not because you thought it would make you look like you just stepped off your broom, but because you were nervous or restless. On your good days it would stand flatter on your head and I had to pass my hand through it because otherwise it just didn’t feel like you. You laughed too much when Sirius decided to read Crime and Punishment to Harry as a bedtime story and your son wouldn’t go to sleep. You would tell him stories of your childhood disguised as muggle magical adventures and I became a knight, Sirius a prince and Snape a dragon. You would call my cat Fiona the ginger cat, as if Fiona wasn’t enough and she needed an extra title. I guess she was royalty after all. You always tried to make me believe that she loved you more than me, even though I’d had her since I was eleven and you once made her fly across the common room just to annoy me.

Do you remember this morning? The last time you ever kissed me? You made me eggs and tea for breakfast and sang some Beatle song for me in the most off-key voice. You stole the bacon from my plate, laughing from across the dinner table. I was so happy because you were in a good mood today, you didn’t seem to feel so trapped and it was Halloween and you were trying to convince me to dress Harry up as a muggle magician, which I thought was the worst joke you’d ever made. You kissed me on the mouth and we settled on a pumpkin costume. Your lips tasted of stolen bacon and orange juice (you’ve never been much of a morning tea person).

I have never loved anyone better, and apparently I never will.

The house is so silent now that you are gone. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths. Harry seems to think this is some kind of game. He is all that we have left now. All that will ever be left of us. To love is to create, right? We have created the most beautiful person in the world, it should be the only thing that counts.

I love you. I could try to make this poetic, the love thing, but I think the most poetic way it can be is on its own. I don’t know any words more powerful than I love you. I love you and you are dead. I love you and I will die soon. I love our son and he will live. Life is as simple as that. I love you and soon we’ll be together again. Miss you already.

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Seven! If you’d like to be tagged, please send an ask or message. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Drunken Shenanigans. Upcoming smut.

Word Count: Roughly 2,100

“Get ready, we're going out.” Sure that your brain had short circuited, you ignored the deep order. Continuing to read your book as if no one had spoken. “Hello, anyone home?” A large hand waving by your hand tugged you from the pages. Almost pouting, Jensen managed to catch your attention. “Are you even listening to me?”

“I'm sorry,” Carefully, you set down the novel. Folding your hands primly on your lap, you found your best lady of the manor impression. “Continue, Master.”

“Brat,” His eye roll made your lip twitch. Moving on, he straightened the deep grey t-shirt over his jeans. “Mom and pops are coming up to steal the kids for the night.”

Failing to see what that had to do with you, your eyes turned back down to the page in your hands. Finally to the moment where the characters discovered their feelings matched. Coming together in a blind passion. Only to be called back to order with a deep throat clearing. “So, how does this involve me exactly?”

“We're. Going. Out.” The drawn out order had you pinching your brows. Becoming aware that you had heard right. “Don't give me that look.”

“Am I supposed to be your wing man, here? Or...” An unamused frown curling your lips downwards made him roll his eyes for the second time. “It's a legitimate question.”

“You're supposed to go out. Get drunk. Make some bad decisions. And most importantly? Have fun.” He pulled out the finger wag and all.

“You're such a dad.” But the last bit got the desired response. You laughed at the cheesy speech. With a dramatic huff, the book was set aside. His overzealous fist pump only earned an eye roll. “This is only because I know you're going to nag me to death if I don't give in.” And absolutely nothing to do with his sparkling green eyes. Plush smile. Definitely not the curved up lips. Shaking your head, you got to your feet too quickly. “What's the dress code?”

“Bar finery.” That you could do.

Jean shorts. A billowy, black tank top that emphasized what you had to work with. Hair styled to the 't'. Just enough makeup to feel like you were actually trying. Nothing fancy. And yet, just the process of getting cleaned up lifted your mood.

“I wanna go with you!” Arrow sulked when she realized you were going out. Bottom lip out in full force.

“They're having adult time.” Justice Jay's answer was to the point. And yet, it sounded almost scandalous. You could feel your cheek's heating up as the adult Ackles' looked over you. Almost as though they were under the same mindset.

Jensen had no problem taking everything under control. Shooing his spawn and parents with an inspiring efficiency. Then he was flipping his keys in his hands, “You ready?”

“As ready as I'm getting,” Your bag rested over your hip. Shifting, you tried to ignore his deep inspection of your person. Well aware that your own brain was your enemy.

“Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bag.” His answer restarted your heart. And then came the pinched brows. “Don't give me that look. You don't need it. Tonight's on me.”

With a frown, you stared him down, “You're awfully bossy today.”

His arm fell across your shoulders, “I'm just tryin’ to lighten the mood around here. Besides, I owe you. You've been holding down the fort while I jump all around town.” Another pull followed at the reminder.

There'd been five dates. Five nights of trying to cheer up the bachelor afterwards. All while you procrastinated getting set up, yourself. Clearly, he'd decided enough was enough. Sighing, you took off the purse. Expecting the worst from the night ahead.

“This is ridiculous,” You laughed an hour later as the shot glass was pushed your way. Having already been primed with half a dozen wine coolers, your blood was simmering. Resisting the urge to peek around; trying to find the boogieman in the corners of the busy bar. So sure that the public would eat you alive. That a trap was laid out around the bend.

“Good,” Jensen raised his own. Seemingly unafraid of anything. “About time you do somethin' a little irresponsible.” With that toast for the ages, he tipped back one. Watching as you choked down the smooth liquid. More than a little out of practice. Being the good man he was, your glass was replaced with another from the tray as soon as it was emptied.

The actor would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the way you relaxed across from him. Forgetting about everything his life had thrown at you. Leaning your elbows onto the table after the second drink. Eyes alight with nothing less than mischief as the alcohol buzzed more in your veins. Enjoying the way the music throbbed through the air. Nineties night in full swing. “How'd you find this place?”

“Jared and I used to hit it up,” Came the easy answer. You weren't the only one out of practice, “Wanted to see if it still had the same energy.” The response only drew back everything that everyone wanted to forget.

“Does it?”

Instead of answering, his fourth and final shot on the tray was taken, “Looks like you've got some catchin' up to do, kid.”

“Kid?” A snort left you at the challenge. Back to back, the final two were finished. Going down smoother as you found your rhythm. “Another round, old man?”

“That's my girl,” His words burned through your body. Straight to the pit in the middle of your stomach. With that, he got to his feet. Hunting down another bundle.

Your eyes trailed over him. Watching the confident swagger of his bow legs. The tall, straight edge of him that carried an edge of danger. Noting the way his back pressed against the thin material of his henley. Too strong for your sanity. Cursing yourself, you pushed up to your feet. Trying to regain a semblance of sense.

Nelly blasted through the speakers as you weaved through the flailing millennial crowd. All reminiscing over their childhood as they drank down their problems under the white and blue lights. Not caring that the arrogant song came from the 2000's. “Shake Your Tailfeather” had bodies writhing. More twerking than you remembered from the time hitting across the floor.

The throb of it had your hips swinging more than you intended as you made your way over to the empty dart board. Letting the music draw you away from your thoughts, you gathered the arrows. Refusing to turn your gaze back to the bar. Taking all of the emotions simmering under your surface out on the wall.

Jensen found you letting the needle fly. Moving to the bass without realizing it. Missing the bulls-eye by a mile. He wasn't the only one who noticed.

The guy was mid-twenties. Crooked smile. All decked out in a striped sweater and jeans that flashed his ankles. Looking like something right out of Fresh Prince.

He watched the way you interacted with the kid. Polite smile. Leaning away from his touch as he tried to offer advice. Hitting to the left of the mark in the process.

“Jensen!” The relief in your voice was undeniable when you caught sight of the actor. “I was just telling...” Ackles told himself the twitch in his lip had more to do with how hard you were trying to remember the name rather than the fact that you hadn't cared enough to in the first place. “Him,” Clearly you'd given up. “That you'd promised to help me out.” When he didn't respond, you continued a little more pointedly. “With the darts.”

“He any good?” Masculine pride bubbled to the surface as the younger man looked him over. With his smooth skin. Not a line or grey hair in sight. Rolling his shoulders, the actor looked down on the punk.

“Not at all.” Your face fell at that answer. Believing that he was going to throw you to the wolves. Biting back his grin, Jensen reached over. Plucking the dart from your fingers. Still holding the second tray of drinks. Years of practice showed as he flicked his wrist. Leaving the needle embedded into the wall. Right where it needed to be. Showing the kid what good really looked like.

Muttering something that sounded a lot like an excuse, the guy left the scene. Bobbing his head as he began his hunt for his next victim in the crowd. “Nice hit, Winchester.”

The teasing tone turned Jensen's attention away from his kill shot, “Still got it.” His brows bounced when you laughed. Reaching for another glass from his hands. “Looked like you were struggling.”

“Darts are complicated.” You brushed off the encounter. As if it didn't really matter. Tossing back the next drink. Using it to steady your hormones as Missy Elliot took over the room. Pretending it would actually help.

“You really want to learn?”

Have him right behind you? Guiding your body? You'd expire on the spot.  And yet, self control was becoming less and less important. “Why not?”

The table beside you held the drinks as he moved in. It was a mistake. But the heady brush of his cologne over your senses blocked that out. It was one night. What would it hurt?

Time seemed to blur from the patrone. From the soft touch of his fingers against your hip and wrist. You didn't know how it happened. One minute, you were working on the darts.

The next? You were in the middle of the crowd. Whining your hips to “Right Thurr” by Chingy. Even the music forgetting the purpose of the night. A strong chest pressed to your back as your fingers dug into the back of his neck. Holding him over you as a warm bulge pressed against you. The deep grind of it sent sparks scattering through your body.

All at once, you spun around. Sense crashing back into place for the moment. Slapping your hand to his chest, you demanded his attention. Gazing up into the pink stained cheeks and glazed emerald. “Y/N?”

“We have to go home.” Something sparked in his eyes that forced you to remove all contact. You had to get away. Clear your head.

The entire ride home was filled with charged silence. Your uber driver sent amused glances between you two. As soon as you pulled into the driveway, you were out the door. Rushing to the place where you were sure you'd be safe.

When the door clicked behind you, it was as if all the air had been ripped from your lungs. He was right there. Too close. That heady, almost sweet scent cloaking the air between you two.

“I...” Speaking was practically impossible as he stepped closer. Nothing about the night made sense. And yet, your weakness held you right where you were. “I had...”

“Fun?” He finished for you. His eyes moving from yours down to your lips. The only thing you could do was nod dryly. Warning bells screamed in your head when his lips curled up. “Me too.” At the first touch of his fingers against your cheek, your pulse jumped. It was gentle. And yet, nothing had felt more threatening.

“We should...” Irresistible. That's the only word you could think as his caress against your cheek slipped down to your throat. It was impossible to hold out against the draw.

“Definitely.” Warm breath drifted across your face. He was the one who'd initiated contact. Who'd leaned in. But, it was you who lifted up. Unable to hold back for another second. Lifting your hands to his hold him where you wanted him as your lips pressed home almost innocently. If he was surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, he drug you closer as your head fell back. Strong fingers digging into your hair as his mouth moved down to your throat. Turning everything hot in a moment...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​​ @supernaturalginger​​ @lilulo-12​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @michaelneedssomemilk​​ @lemondropirwin​​ @fanfictionismydeath​​ @neii3n​​ @zpandaqueen​

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​  @woodworthti666​​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe @weepingwillowphoenix​​ @delightfully-wicked​

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @ima-be-a-mongoose​ @briagallen​ @agusdoti​ @my-proof-is-you @deanwinchestersmydaddy​ @sucker-for-dean @blacktithe7​ @thevelvetseries​ @sucker-for-dean  @sociopathtime​ @deans-baby-momma @aomi-nabi​​ @brandinicole911​ @demonqueen47​ @c-ly-g​ @bakabozza​ @socalgem1124​​ @hillface89​​ @winchester-fantasies​​ @redwineloves​​ @monkeymcpoopoo​​ @mcshloemer @chocolateheart​ @hystylessmendes @lyarr24​ @hugwinchester​ 

[limeblood-exe]

A Singular, Bloody Mattress (part 1)

tw: blood

The warehouse door bursts open, slamming against the concrete wall; the sharp sound thundering through the thick silence of night. Dust plumes and scatters as the old and abused door falls off its rusted hinges, the only sign of movement besides three masked figures who stealthily make their way inside. 

Mikey, wielding an odachi in place of his signature kusari-fundo, frantically glances around the abandoned mattress warehouse, surveying for any threats amongst the giant columns and rows of mattresses with an uncharacteristic expression of apprehension smearing his features. Joined in his search, Donnie approaches a much shorter column of mattresses, about his height, and stops to inspect one with his goggles.

“All clear,” Mikey whispers, determining that the deafening silence means that no present danger is lurking in the shadows. Not that they really expected any threats from a mattress store, but anything's possible when with them. 

Glancing behind him at Raph, who stood back for the all clear before entering any further into the building, he waits for further instruction from his leader.

Raph, holding a blanketed figure in his arms, nods at Mikey, and both relax their posture at the promise of no current danger.

“Do you think we were followed?”

Sharing Mikey’s worried expression, Raph tries to smile in an effort to placate his distressed younger brother, though it probably comes out more as a grimace when replying, “With that cool stunt you pulled off earlier? Not a chance. I don’t think those freaky Foot guys were expecting to get roasted with that fire tornado of yours. I bet you they’re running back home with their tails between their legs!”

Mikey responds in kind with a timid smile; he’s always welcome to any of his older brothers’ praise, soaking them up like a needy sponge. Besides, it was pretty cool what he did back there.

None of them had expected to be jumped by those two Foot dudes, having just left April’s house from a fun night of trying out the new board games her parents bought her. Now that he’s thinking back on it, they probably should have been more concerned with the fact that their enemies had actively sought them out rather than the turtles running into them by happenstance. The paper ninjas they commonly used were totally different this time around, and not just because of the change of color scheme (an ugly shade of dark green, if you were to ask Mikey his professional opinion). 

They didn’t have any hands.

Well, they did have hands, just in the shape of blades.

Really, really sharp blades.

The vomit-colored paper was obviously mystic, no inspection from Donnie needed. No paper should be allowed to cut cleanly through concrete for goodness sake. It shouldn’t be allowed to cut through shells, either-

Remembering why they were seeking shelter in the first place, Mikey’s gaze darts down to the bundle in Raph’s gentle hold, the blood seeping through the blue blanket. His face immediately falls, and he feels queasy at the sight of the red puddle already starting to form on the floor. Blood that should be inside his brother, not drenching some stranger’s blanket they stole from a clothes’ line. Mikey opens his mouth but before he can voice his question, he is interrupted by a heavy “plop” to his right. Bodies tensed, Ralph and Mikey whip around for the cause of the noise, only to see Donnie airing out one of the mattresses. Dust clouds the surrounding air, getting caught in the lungs of his unsuspecting brothers and a massive coughing fit follows. Donnie, unperturbed, just drags the offending mattress away from the dust cloud and drops it to the floor, wiping his hands against his thighs with a look of disgust on his face.

Facing Raph, Donnie says, “Lay him down here. I can't get a proper looksy otherwise,” while nodding in the direction of the mattress.

Following his brother's directions, Raph stifles down a cough as he kneels down next to the mattress, but hesitates for a brief moment.

“Don’t worry, Raph, I already scanned it. They’re safe. These mattresses are definitely older than most of Splinter’s clothing, but just as filthy, if you were to ask me, but they’re relatively clean,” Donnie reaffirms him.

“It’s not that, Donnie.”

And it's not. Not really. Swallowing thickly, Raph gently lays down his far-too-quiet and limp brother to the mattress, trying to be as slow and careful his large body will allow him. While Raph was as gentle as he could possibly be, even the faintest of movement jostles his younger brother, and a pitiful whimper escapes from his throat. Raph can’t help but wince, as hurting his own flesh and blood, even unintentionally, makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It doesn’t help that Leo looks absolutely awful. From what’s peaking out from the blanket, his eyes are pressed tightly shut, skin cool and clammy to the touch, and sweat beads at his creased forehead. He sounds awful, too, with his rattling lungs gasping for air like he just got done running a marathon, as if he wasn’t just carried for three whole blocks. Raph may not have as extensive of medical knowledge as Leo and Donnie do, what with Donnie’s general interest in all sciences and Leo being the medic of the team, but he knows signs of shock when he sees it.

His brother has lost far too much blood for comfort.

Donnie wastes no time in getting to work, carefully unwrapping Leo from the blanket. Donnie and Raph hiss at what is revealed from the confines of the blanket; a deep gash on the lower left side of Leo’s abdomen, his plastron having been neatly cut through deep enough to injure the skin and tissue that was supposed to be protected by thick shell. Thick rivulets of blood seep from the wound and cascade down Leo’s side even with the gray hoodie, also stolen, wrapped tightly around him to halt the bleeding.

“That doesn’t look good, Donnie,” Raph whispers after a second, trying (and failing) to reel in his worried thoughts about how quiet Leo is. He’s never quiet; it's basically Leo's given nature to never shut up. Yet, here they are now, and Raph would give up just about anything to hear one of Leo’s one-liners.

"No, no it does not," Donnie nods in agreement. His brows are deeply furrowed as he gently prods the edges of Leo’s laceration. 

“I’ll have to analyze just how deep the wound is. I have to get the bleeding under control, too, or he won’t even make it back to the lair in time,” Donnie states matter-of-factly. If Raph didn’t know his brother any better or notice the slight shake in his voice or the way his hands trembled, he might believe that Donnie seemed unfazed by his brother’s condition. But he knows, and they all know, that Donnie's attempts at appearing emotionless is just a facade he hides under.

As Donnie starts to delicately remove the sodden hoodie, the fabric gets caught on the jagged skin, causing Leo to let out a sudden gasp, back arching from the sudden pain, and his breathing becomes more erratic. Recoiling, Donnie puts a placating hand on Leo's cheek.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry,” Donnie mutters to Leo, gently thumbing away the tears that start streaming down his face. Raph is so taken aback by Leo’s reaction that he doesn’t even bother to chastise Donnie for his potty mouth.

"Is… is Leo gonna be okay?"

Raph faces his youngest brother, whose arms are clutching tightly around Leo’s sword. Mikey's gaze is locked to the floor, eyes wide with unshed tears. He looks so lost and scared, so devoid of his regular pep and overall cheer, that Raph has to suppress the overwhelming urge to engulf his brother in a giant hug.

His brothers need him right now. He might not be able to help Leo like Donnie can, but he's still their leader. He is still their big brother.

“Leo’s gonna be just fine,” Raph starts, approaching to grasp Mikey’s shoulders in his large hands, squeezing gently. “He’s strong, you know that. Remember that time when we thought Leo got lost in the sewers, and he did, but he found his way back? We spent hours searching for the guy and the cheeky bastard was home the entire time, eating the last of the oreos. Or what about that time he broke his arm doing that stupid double back-flip he saw in a video once when he was seven? He only cried like twice the whole time!"

Mikey looks at him, eyes glistening and mouth wobbling.

"I know my brothers. If there's one thing I can count on Leo, it's that he always pulls through in the end."

Silence fills the air for just a brief moment, filled only with the labored breathing of Leo. That brief moment is all Mikey needs, however. He presses his lips into a thin line and vigorously wipes at his tears with his forearm. After taking a composing breath through his nose, Mikey asks, "What do we do now?”

Isn't that the question. It’s far too dangerous to go back the way they came, not with the Foot Clan still searching for them knowing they have the advantage with one turtle down. And especially not with those new paper ninjas.

They’re incredibly lucky that when Mikey resorted to using his fire tornado, it was discovered that while mystic paper, it was still just paper and fell to the power of its natural enemy. Of course, that was after one managed to get the jump on Leo.

Raph can still vividly feel the gut punch he got when his own brother's screaming pierced his ears, the way his blood chilled in his veins and his heart plummeted. The raw fear of thinking oh god my little brother is dead.

He shakes his head. There'll be time to digest today's events later, when they're home and Leo's patched up and back to his annoying self, using his injury to his advantage so that his brothers may tend to his beck and call. And they'll fall for it too, of course, cause that's what family does for each other.

So, they can’t go back the way they came, what else then? The main sewer entrance for the lair is too far away to just make a run for it, especially being above ground. Raph could have Donnie track down another near manhole, but not only is Donnie currently busy using his tech to scan Leo’s injury checking the severity of it, they'll have no way of knowing if that manhole is connected to their sewer line unless they're in it. And even if that does happen to be connected to the lair, it's still quite a long distance to travel with someone who doesn't have any time to spare.

Dammit, he needs to think! Raph isn't the greatest at coming up with plans; he's always been more of a "smash first, talk later" kind of a guy. 

And look where that got them. Raph's baby brother is bleeding out to death, they're being pursued by the stupid flame-heads with deadly (well, deadlier) paper ninjas with nowhere to go, and they're stuck in a mattress store of all places. 

Leo would have known what to do. Hell, he'd have gotten them home by now with one of his portals, where they'd be enjoying the rest of their evening with pizza and a movie.

But they're not home. They're stuck with no where to run to, and Raph can't think.

“I-I don’t know," Raph stutters, self-doubt numbing his mind, jumbling his thoughts like clothes in a dryer, spinning and spinning. "I don't-"

“I c'n port'l us.”

Shocked, Raph whips around. Leo, even though his face is twisted with pain and his arms tremble, struggles to hoist himself to his elbows, swatting at Donnie's attempts to push him back down. Leo’s breathing extremely hard from the exertion of just sitting up, but he remains upright out of sheer stubbornness.

“I c’n get us-shit,” Leo grits through his teeth. Donnie, relenting to his brother's will, wraps an arm around Leo's shoulders, taking most of the weight as he leans him up. Glaring up at Raph, eyes blaring with fierce determination, he finishes with more clarity in his voice, “I can get us home.”

“No, absolutely not! Not in the condition you’re in.” 

Raph knows that with Leo now awake, they have a chance, a real good chance, of escaping their ridiculous predicament and getting Leo proper medical treatment. And Leo is the only one who can do it; he's the only one who can use his sword after all. But Leo can't even sit up without Donnie's support, which he clarifies as he gestures to Leo, “You can’t even sit upright on your own, how are you gonna hold a 30 lbs sword?”

“Oh yeah? Watch me."

Leo moves to stand up, pulling away from Donnie, but as soon as he draws his legs beneath him and shifts his weight, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he lists to the side. If it weren’t for his older brother, he would’ve faced-planted the floor. 

“Woah, woah, easy there ‘Nardo,” Donnie smoothly scolds, pressing his brother back to the comfort of the mattress. Leo hasn’t lost his battle with unconsciousness yet, grasping harshly onto Donnie’s bicep. His big brother grimaces but ultimately ignores it. After Leo's breathing evens out, Donnie gives his younger brother an exasperated look.

“Well, that was the dumbest thing you could have done.”

Leo rolls his eyes.

“Ugh, sh-shuddup, you weirdo asshole.”

Donnie snorts.

“Glad to know your personality is still somewhat intact. Though, I think you're more so the asshole here, seeing as I'm the one trying to be helpful and all.”

"Whatev', you just doin' this for yer own sake."

"Ah, yes. I have been wanting someone to be in my unquestionable debt recently, since I’m entirely incapable of doing anything from the goodness of my heart. Thank you for reminding me, Leon. I’ll be sure to remember this the next time you try to unload your chore duties onto me."

Leo tiredly gives one of his signature smirks, "No problemo."

Donnie's face turns stern.

“But seriously, Raph’s right. Being completely honest with you, I don’t even know how you’re still conscious right now.” Even as they speak, Leo’s eyes start to lose their focus, glazing over with exhaustion. Even eye-rolling and smirking seems to take away any energy he has left, and if Leo wasn't currently bleeding like a stuck pig, he would've gasped at the audacity of it all.

“I can do this," and Leo looks at Raph knowingly. "I always pull through in the end, remember?"

He's using his own words against him, Raph realizes. He must have been awake enough to hear his conversation with Mikey.

And he did say that, but if Raph was honest with himself, he mostly said those words to comfort Mikey. The odds are stacked against his brother right now. He doesn't have general mishaps anymore forming portals, but there are occasional days when Leo still struggles. Today, though, had been an average day, with Leo having successfully transported them directly in April's living room just earlier this evening, but failing to open one to the lair when the game night ended.

And there are plenty of examples of Leo triumphing when he reasonably shouldn't have. But looking at his brother now, bleeding and sickly and dying, he can't help the tendrils of doubt that suffocate him, snaking their way into his subconscious. 

But Raph knows his brothers. Even amongst doubt, Leo always does come through, in some way or another. 

Raph trusts his brothers, and he will trust Leo in his word that he can get them home.

After all, Raph's not one to make plans. He's never needed to really, not with his brothers by his side.

"I know."

Raph glances over to Mikey, communicating with a single look.

Mikey understands completely.

There's no time to debate whether Leo can do it or not. Every second that passes is another second of Leo losing more blood. Donnie might be pressing the hoodie into the large cut, but it’s not enough to entirely stop the flow.

At that moment, a large crash reverberates from just beyond the warehouse walls, the sound similar to the likes of a building collapsing in on itself. Dread stifles the air; their hiding spot will soon be found, it's only a matter of time. 

“You got this," Mikey encourages, presenting Leo with the handle of his odachi. Raph and Donnie watch, faces scrunched with anticipation. As Leo grasps the odachi, he breathes deeply, preparing himself both physically and mentally. 

His arm pathetically quivers as he lifts his sword from Mikey's hold. Raising the familiar object to its full weight, Leo heaves himself forward, sending white sparks across his vision as the pain blooms from his side. Blood begins to pool in his mouth as he bites the inside of his cheek to refrain passing out. 

Focus.

Focus on his breathing; focus on imagining the lair, the skateboard ramps, the untouched, warm pizza sitting on the counter waiting back home that Splinter had promised them.

Letting all other thoughts evade his mind; let's them fall to the ground like forgotten crumbs off of a home-cooked meal Mikey had prepared; let's them fall off his shoulders and into the drain like water when Leo spends too much time brooding in the shower and his brothers get upset at him for stealing all the hot water again.

Clearing his mind, Leo draws in the formation of a circle with the tip of his sword and blue light zaps and sparkles from his odachi.

But no portal forms. Halfway through, his muscles seize up, locked with overexertion, and he can't complete the circle. His sword lowers to rest on the ground, nearly falling from his grip altogether, his arms too tired to properly hold it.

His body has betrayed him, refusing to move when he commands it; feeling like he's trying to move around in thick syrup.

He didn't do it. His brothers' faith in him was misguided, and they're all gonna die here, not just Leo. 

No! Not wanting to give up, Leo tries again. An even more pathetic attempt than the first. His body protests his wishes, and his sword stays put as though it trying to tell him that he's already beat.

Hands are suddenly upon him, grasping the hilt of the odachi next to his own and resting on the back of his shell. His brothers are here, helping him bear the weight alongside him. 

"We gotchu, Leo!" There's Mikey's positive attitude, refreshing to hear as always. "Just focus on making a portal, we'll take care of the rest."

In the distance, another boom can be heard, louder and closer than before. Raph faces the direction it came from, protectively standing over his brothers as Mikey and Donnie crouch beside Leo.

Reaching his zen mode, confidence from knowing he's not doing this alone, Leo directs his sword to move in a circular motion, his two brothers following his lead and finishing in a perfect circle.

And like a miracle itself, a beautiful brilliance of blues fills the dark warehouse, and a perfect portal stares back at them.

Quick successions of multiple slashes can be heard, and the wall behind them explodes, raining heavy chunks of concrete and plaster all around them. Mattresses, carried by the blast, careen through the air, experiencing freedom for the first time in so many years. 

Wasting no time, Donnie throws Leo over his shoulder despite the weak protest, leaping into the portal. Behind him, Mikey and Raph follow, but not before Mikey gives the Foot Heads a taunting wave, blowing raspberries as he jumps through the portal. Leaving behind two very frustrated villains, having been outsmarted once again by the turtles and left with nothing but a single dusty and bloody mattress for their efforts, they can do nothing but stew in their hatred.

"Gah, those pesky turtles," the shorter one of the duo rasps. They had gotten so close this time, too. But they still have their new weapons at the ready; all they need as another opportunity to strike, then those pests will never bother them again.

Just as they're about to leave the warehouse, the larger of the two stops by the mattress, picking up what looks like a familiar blanket.

"Hey wait a minute, isn't that-" He doesn't get to finish that statement, with a scraping scream interrupting him.

"Noo! My Lou Jitsu: Punch Chowder hoodie!"

[anotherkpopvictim]

No Presents Allowed (Well, Maybe One) - TaeKook Drabble

A/N: Happy Birthday Mr. Kim Taehyung!!!

Pairing: Bottom!Taehyung X Top!Jungkook

Rating: M (smut)

Words: 2630

Smut, fluff

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Taehyung had never been the kind of person to really care about his birthday past the age of thirteen. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy receiving sentimental gifts from his friends and family, nor did he dread the day by any means, he simply just didn’t see why people threw huge parties for themselves that last way too long in order to celebrate it.

So, with that being stated, he never really minded that his career made it impossible to have his birthday off. Most memories of Taehyung’s birthdays since they debuted involved either performing at the year-end music shows or rehearsing for said year-end music shows. He never minded because he got to spend his birthday with six of his favorite people in the whole world, and they got a cake to share - a truly decadent delicacy for them when they were trying to keep in shape with strict diets.

This year, 2020, was different.

The pandemic was keeping many in their houses, and most families would not be able to see each other for Christmas break because of it.

Christmas wasn’t going to be much different for BTS because they had spent the past Christmases together for nearly a decade.

This year, however, Taehyung actually had his birthday off from work. They had the day off before the New Year’s Eve Online Concert BigHit was hosting. Taehyung was excited to have the day off, of course, but it would be quite different from the previous years where all seven members had been together for it.

So it’s December 29th, and Taehyung was finally returning back to his apartment after a long day of dance practice and vocal rehearsal. The day had been long and Taehyung found himself rubbing at his eyes tiredly as he tried to unlock his front door.

He was surprised to walk in and smell the delicious scent of cooking meat. “Kookie?” he called out curiously.

“In the kitchen, hyung!” came the reply.

Taehyung probably should have guessed that.

He toed off his shoes and socks and hung up his coat in the closet before heading towards the source of the wonderful scent. Taehyung found Jungkook in the kitchen, standing over the stove as he prepared something. He was wearing some tight black jeans and a simple black button-up, and he looked as beautiful as ever, though it was a little odd to see him all dressed up when they weren’t going anywhere.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asked.

Jungkook looked up at his entrance and gave him a giant bunny smile, “Hi! Your birthday dinner is almost ready.”

“But it’s not even my birthday yet,” Taehyung commented as he made his way closer to the other.

Jungkook shrugged, “I know how much you like my homemade cooking so I thought two days of it would be a great present for you since you said I couldn’t buy you anything this year.”

“Ah, yes,” Taehyung retorted sarcastically, “What a sad thing for you, not being allowed to buy me a birthday present.”

Jungkook pouted, “I know. You’re the worst boyfriend ever. I’m just over here trying to buy you the entire universe and you tell me no.”

Taehyung snorted out a laugh before slapping his arm. “You’re such a doofus.”

The younger man shrugged once more. “And yet you choose to date me.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes before draping himself over Jungkook’s back as he went back to stirring something in a frying pan. “So, what is my little chef making for me today?”

“Steak tteokbokki,” he answered.

The older man hummed happily, “Yummy.”

“Go wash up while I finish this, hyung,” Jungkook said. “Then pick out a movie to watch while we eat.”

Taehyung grinned and leaned down to press several loud, smacking kisses to the younger man’s neck. “You’re the best, Kook-ah.”

Despite his earlier tiredness, Taehyung was really excited to spend some time with his boyfriend. His shower helped wake him up more, and he had a surprisingly fun time picking out what to wear. He went with simple black slacks and a blue floral patterned button-up. He didn’t do anything special to his hair, knowing that Jungkook liked to run his finger through the soft, natural waves void of any product.

The two of them ended up rewatching an anime they had seen a million times but both loved, stuffing their faces with Jungkook’s amazing tteokbokki while they made comments about the show back and forth.

After their meals were finished, Taehyung leaned his head on his boyfriend’s thigh and looked up at him. He admired his soft features and wavy locks framing his face.

“Don’t stare at me like that,” Jungkook complained with a blush when he glanced down and caught his boyfriend’s gaze. “It’s creepy.”

“You like it,” Taehyung teased, giggling when it earned him a pinch to his side. “Please, our fans have literally made compilations of you staring at me for minutes!”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes playfully, “Why you little-”

And so that’s how they ended up in a tickle war, Taehyung escaping from his boyfriend’s grasp only to squeal when Jungkook caught him up in his arms a few moments later.

Eventually, they migrated to their shared bedroom, where they collapsed onto the bed in a heap of fond giggles and sweet kisses.

At least, the kisses were sweet until they began to become something more. Jungkook nibbled at Taehyung’s lip while the older man wound his arms around the younger’s neck.

They continued to make out and eventually, their hips were kicking against each other suggestively. Taehyung let out a moan of appreciation when Jungkook slipped his hands under his shirt and began teasing his nipples with his thumbs.

Slowly, Jungkook unbuttoned his boyfriend’s shirt and helped him toss it to the side. He pressed another loving kiss to his soft lips before pulling back and looking at Taehyung with those dark, lustful eyes that had him nearly melting on the spot.

“Let me show just how much I love you, my Taehyungie.” Jungkook’s voice was barely above a whisper but the tone was sure and Taehyung heard it loud and clear.

He gave a quick nod and that was all the confirmation that the younger needed.

Jungkook held the older man’s hands and lifted them above his head as he pressed gentle kisses into his neck. “Keep your hands there, baby.”

Taehyung let out something close to a whine of submission and complied as the younger man relented his grip and let his hands wander to other places. His hands glided over his arms, appreciating the lightly defined muscles he’d been trying so hard to get. Then he moved on to ghosting his fingertips over his torso in a teasing manner, tweaking his hardened nipples a few more times for good measure.

By the time Jungkook was done worshipping his upper body, Taehyung was a puddle of goo, completely relaxed and aroused with his hard cock tenting his slacks. Jungkook left a trail of kisses down his torso, following where his hands had been moments earlier.

Taehyung couldn’t help the moan of approval he let out when the younger man slid his pants and boxers down his legs and off. The feeling of his cock being freed from its constraints just felt too good.

The older man found himself gasping in surprise when Jungkook sank down on his dick with his mouth, his throat easily adapting to the rather large intrusion. Taehyung’s arms twitched above his head, and he had to fight to urge to keep them there as Jungkook had asked him to. All he really wanted was to grab the younger man’s head and guide his movements over his cock, and perhaps another day Jungkook would have let him, but not today.

As Jungkook bobbed his head up and down on the older man’s length, he watched as Taehyung’s face contorted in pleasure. His eyebrows furrowed and his lip became bitten between his teeth.

Jungkook pulled off of him momentarily to say, “Let me hear you, hyung.” He was hollowing his mouth around his dick again just a second later.

Taehyung obeyed, allowing his noises of pleasure to fill the otherwise quiet air around them. He let them fly freely, knowing that Jungkook loved to know just how good he was making him feel.

It only took a few minutes before Taehyung was wriggling around on the bed under Jungkook’s ministrations, feeling himself getting close.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, Taehyung couldn’t decide) Jungkook seemed to know this, as he pulled himself completely away from Taehyung’s cock. The older man let out a whimper of disapproval that Jungkook hushed away with a kiss to the lips.

Then, the younger man continued his journey of worshipping Taehyung’s body, lifting up his left leg and pressing loving kisses into the soft skin of his thighs. It tickled honestly, but it also made Taehyung’s heart so warm to feel the love his boyfriend had for every single part of him.

Jungkook moved to the right leg and gave it just as much attention as the other one. Taehyung let out a yelp as Jungkook bit into the meat of his inner thigh, his hands - which had remained above his head until this point - reached down and grabbed harshly onto the younger man’s dark locks.

Jungkook immediately pulled away and grabbed his wrists. “No, hyung. Above your head,” he reminded firmly.

Taehyung whined, his head swimming with the fuzzy haze of need. His hands only tightened their grip.

The younger seemed to realize how far into his headspace Taehyung was and leaned down to kiss his lips softly. “You’re doing so well for me, Taehyungie. I love you so much. Keep your hands up for me, love.”

Taehyung allowed Jungkook to guide his arms back above his head, helping his fingers grip onto the bars of the headboard for support. “Keep them there, baby,” he ordered softly once more.

 Taehyung let his eyes fall shut and his body fall limp to help him relax as Jungkook bent the older man’s knees and planted his feet onto the mattress. Then he moved to the edge of the bed to rummage through the bedside table. They’d done this enough that Taehyung knew the younger man was getting the lube.

He was proven correct when he heard the unmistakable sounds of the cap popping off and Jungkook pouring some lube onto his fingers.

Taehyung’s hips jumped at the gentle pressure that appeared at his asshole, but he quickly relaxed once more. This is what he needed. This is what he hadn’t realized he’d been craving lately. Leave it up to Jungkook to know him better than he knows himself.

He whimpered as Jungkook sank his entire finger inside of him, moving gently so he could get used to the intrusion. It wasn’t long before he added a second finger and then a third, fucking Taehyung with his fingers in a way that was too perfect but perfectly Jungkook.

“K-Kookie - need...” he couldn’t even find his words properly, already feeling fucked out. “Need you to fuck me, Kookie.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile fondly at the older man’s demure tone as he removed his fingers. “Alright, hyung.”

Taehyung opened his eyes to watch as Jungkook sat up on the bed and unbuttoned his own shirt. He hungrily drunk in the sight of his boyfriend’s toned abdomen and milky skin as the fabric was pushed off of his shoulders and onto the floor. He watched even more closely as Jungkook pushed his jeans and boxers off his legs, leaving him completely bare to the world.

Fuck, Taehyung was so lucky to have a boyfriend who was so fucking beautiful.

The younger man poured a bit more lube into his hand before enveloping his long, hard dick. As Jungkook let out a pleased moan, Taehyung’s hands twitched again with the urge to just reach out and touch his boyfriend himself. Truly, Taehyung wasn’t much of the jealous type, but he might be a little bit (a lot) jealous of Jungkook’s hand right now.

After a few more slick pumps of his hand, Jungkook leaned down over the older man once more, cloaking him with his body in a way that made Taehyung let out a sigh of relief. Their bare skin, warm and soft, pressed together until they were more one person than two.

Taehyung let out a whimper as Jungkook guided himself to his hole, pushing the tip in teasingly. “Kook-ah, come on,” he whined, “Please don’t tease me anymore.”

“I’ve barely teased you,” Jungkook replied, amused.

Taehyung pouted petulantly and was about to whine some more when Jungkook decided to just thrust his dick all the way inside of him in one go. A pleasured gasp fell his lips and his eyes rolled to the back of his head when his boyfriend began a hard, steady pace with his movements.

“There you go,” Jungkook hissed out with a furrowed brow. “This is what you wanted, right? Wanted me to fuck you senseless.”

It was a rare occurrence to hear Jungkook speaking so boldly and it only served to push Taehyung further into his debauched state.

Jungkook hitched Taehyung’s leg higher around his waist, adjusting the angle until the tip of his cock pressed against his boyfriend’s prostate.

Taehyung let out a strangled moan and his arms came down from their spot above his head before he caught himself and returned them.

“Good, hyung.”

Jungkook rewarded him by quickening the rhythm of his hips. Their skin was slapping together rather noisily where their bodies connected and along with their generous moans, they surely sounded like something out of a porno. Probably looked like they could be the stars of one too, considering how handsome they both were.

Taehyung’s emotions were building up inside him rather quickly, overwhelmed with the younger man’s relentless pace. His hands kept their place above his head, gripping tightly to the bars of the headboard.

“K-Kook,” Taehyung hiccupped out. “I’m not gonna l-last much longer.”

“Me neither, baby,” Jungkook admitted. “It’s been too long.”

The younger man grabbed hold of Taehyung’s thigh and used his strength to lift it nearly over his shoulder. A few thrusts at the new angle was all it took for Taehyung to be reduced to a babbling mess.

“Let me come, please!” he all but begged.

Jungkook honestly wasn’t fairing much better, the sight of his boyfriend so fucked out too much for him too. “Go ahead.”

Taehyung only had half a mind to be embarrassed about the sounds he made as he came, clenching around Jungkook and causing him to tip over the edge only a few seconds later.

The younger collapsed onto Taehyung, nuzzling his face into his boyfriend’s neck as they both came down from their highs.

After a few minutes, Jungkook got up and went to the bathroom to get a wet rag. He cleaned Taehyung up with it when he returned to the room, gently wiping him down as the older man laid there on their bed in a hazy bliss.

“I love you, Taehyungie,” Jungkook murmured as he returned to the bed to wrap himself around Taehyung.

“Love you too,” he replied. “You always know exactly what I need.”

Jungkook hummed, “It’s a special talent.”

“This is the best present I ever could have received.” As they cuddled closer together, the older lying his head on Jungkook’s chest and wrapping an arm around his waist, Taehyung added, “My ass is gonna hurt so badly for our performance on Thursday.”

Jungkook snorted out a laugh. “It’s what you wanted, though, isn’t it?”

Taehyung let out a happy sigh as he let his eyes closed shut. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

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A/N: It is so hard for me to write smut sometimes. I always find it sounds so cringey. I hope it turned out alright, though.

Comments and likes keep me going, so please leave one if you liked this <3

[maddiethebull]

28. "Gosh you look like angel..." Asmo x MC ^^

OOOH this is too cute!! Love this pairing of fluff and Asmo! Thanks for making a request

Asmodeus (Obey Me!) - Prompt #28 - “Gosh, you look like an angel…”

You lived out today as if it were any other day, because, well, it was. Birthdays weren’t all that important to you, it just meant you were a year older. Though you didn’t care much about it, you did find it endearing that the brothers decided to throw you a makeshift ball when Mammon found out that your birthday was going to be tomorrow. All you wanted to do was have a nice birthday dinner but that wasn’t enough.

“MCCCCCC you HAVE to have a partyyyy!!” shouted Asmo as you were explaining that it was no big deal and none of the brothers had to go to such lengths for tomorrow. But even though you said not to, Lucifer was ordering Mammon and Levi to put decor up as Beel and Satan moved furniture and Belphie swept the wooden floors.Currently the House of Lamentation was chaos and Asmodeus was “helping” by drawing a birthday card. He had good intentions, but he wasn’t the most gifted artist, most of his artistic skill, in fact all of his artistic skill seemed to lie with makeup and fashion, not pen and paper. He drew a lopsided teddy bear and colored it pink, because he knew that was both his and your favorite color. With them all working hard and Asmo giggling happily at his drawings, you decided to scuttle off back to your room since it was nearly 12:30 a.m. and unlike the average demon, you had to sleep every night. Asmo peeked at you walking away and went to retrieve something from his room. 

You were getting ready for bed when you heard a knock at the door, you opened it and it was none other than Asmodeus holding a beautifully wrapped box with a pink satin bow on it. 

“I know you don’t care about your birthday too much, so, to get you excited I decided to give you a gift! Wear this for the party and you’ll be even more gorgeous than you normally are! Not as hot as me, but you’ll be a very close second.” 

You chuckled, “aww Asmo, thank you for the gift,” you said, heading straight for the package (winky wink, nah just the birthday present lol) 

“Wait!” he shouted, “you can’t open this until tomorrow, silly,” he said with a playful wink. You jokingly rolled your eyes and agreed to his conditions. He handed you the present and for a split second you saw the most tender look in his amber-orange eyes, 

“Happy birthday, MC. I’m actually super happy that I get to spend tomorrow with you. And that I get to be all dressed up and hot for your birthday ball.” You brushed it off as just being kind, you never thought of Asmo as the type to be lovey dovey and you certainly didn’t come off as that type either, though secretly all you wanted to do was cuddle up with him for the night. But alas, while the Avatar of lust flirted constantly, you never thought he meant it. As your train of thoughts went down this track, it made you feel quite sad and you wouldn’t want to go to bed feeling down so you decided to cut this conversation off while you weren’t too focused on whether Asmo was actually into you or not. 

“Okay, it’s getting late and-”“OOOOH you’re inviting me in aren’t you? Such a sly fox!”

“No, Asmo, good night,” you both chuckled and he left for his room. 

The next day came and you awoke to more than just the box beside your bed, it was all seven of the brothers. Lucifer held a cake (and held Beel away from eating it) and everyone else wore birthday party hats. Mammon somehow wore his wrong, you didn’t know why it was upside down or how it stayed like that but the sight of all of them together made your heart do backflips. These had to be the most amazing friends you’ve ever had. They cheerfully sang happy birthday, Asmo gave you your card, and thus began your day. 

You had breakfast which was specially made by Satan, your favorite pancakes with some garnishes of pink and purple heart sprinkles added by Asmo. 

You dug in and Asmo sat down next to you, 

“So, MC, did you open your gift from me yet?”

You shook your head no, though now you felt the urge to get up and grab the box immediately. What can I say, it’s fun receiving gifts. You kept eating your pancakes as he spoke up again, 

“It’s really special, okay, so open it while I’m there.”

This made you wonder what he was going on about, you had a slight inclination to assume it was just some high tech sex toy but he did say to wear it to your party, so that’s surely ruled out, right? Please be ruled out… You gave Asmo a nod and turned to Lucifer. 

“So,” you said, “what time is my birthday ball going to start?”

Lucifer replied, “promptly at five o’clock. I will let the guests in, though we didn’t have much time to send out invitations. I have invited Diavlo and Barbatos as well as the angels and Solomon.”

“We should probably finish decorating since its nearly ten, we mustn’t procrastinate,” added Satan, “and Levi was removed from decor duty since he tried incorporating Ruri-chan into the banner…” 

You replied, “Well, I have no problem helping out, me, Asmo, and Belphie can hang up what’s left of the decorations.”  There were minor grievances toward you setting up for your own party, but seeing as how all of the brother’s stayed up, besides Belphie and Asmo, they weren’t too keen on working anymore. So it was planned, you would help set up then you would get ready. After breakfast you and Asmo went to Belphie’s room to get him up again seeing as he went straight to sleep after singing to you. Right before you knocked on the door, 

“MC, why don’t we just put up the decorations, just the two of us?” Asmo said gently with a smile. You weren’t sure why he’d asked but it did mean you wouldn’t have to deal with a grumpy Belphie, so you both just went back to the ballroom. There were minor mishaps as you decorated, you had to stand on a ladder and nearly fell off, you managed to regain your balance but you looked down to see Asmo with a worried look and open arms. Though, to be honest, he wasn’t the strongest of demons, so you weren’t sure how safe it would’ve been for either of you had you actually fell. When you were both done, an epic high five was delivered and you went off back to your room. 

It was now time to get ready! You showered and put on your makeup and just as you opened your closet, looking for something to wear, you remembered that you already had something. You called Asmo to come to your room, he came swiftly and watched with eager eyes as you opened your first gift of the day. 

You gasped, “Oh, Asmo, this is beautiful.” You rushed at him to give a hug and he gladly accepted. You went back to your bed and picked up your gift to admire it once again. It was a wine red silk gown; backless with a mermaid silhouette. You noticed embellishments of small diamonds at the bottom of the skirt, you were genuinely in awe. 

“You’re welcome, I knew you’d love it since I was the one who picked it out afterall.” He gave you a sweet smile and left you to get dressed, but wait! He forgot to give you his favorite diamond necklace. It was only for the night but you felt honored being able to wear the thin, teardrop shaped necklace. You felt like a beautiful princess, worthy to date a prince (of Hell). Then he left for real to let you get dressed. The guests began arriving and when you re-emerged from your room, all eyes were plastered on you. The wine color of the backless silk dress, the diamonds so elegantly sparking around your neck, the click clack of your heels against the marble steps – it was captivating. 

As you descended the staircase, you saw Asmo emerge from another door carrying little cupcakes as confectioneries. He looked up and, wow, did he blush. The wash of pink on his pearlescent skin reminded you of a rose blooming amongst white lilies. 

When you got down to him and the other brothers, Asmo seemed speechless, which was very out of character. You almost began to get self conscious without his showering of compliments, did the dress not suit you as well as you thought? He set down the plate of confectioneries and approached you slowly, like he was approaching the eighth wonder of the world. He looked you in the eyes, you could see so many emotions that you could barely decipher before he turned his eyes to the ground and with a tender smile, he spoke. 

“Gosh, you look like an angel…” He whispered gently almost as if he were trying not to let anyone but you hear.

“Asmo,” you blushed, “I was waiting for some praise,” you let out in a joking tone. 

He laughed with such joy, looking at you with bright burning eyes.

“Well, Ms. MC, I do believe that the breathtakingly gorgeous birthday girl and the best looking man at the party should have a dance.” He bowed and held out his hand, you graciously accepted and you danced the night away under the Devildom night sky. The party went on and you opened various other presents from the boys, one was a Ruri-chan t-shirt, another a cookbook with a bite? taken out of it. You couldn’t help but smile and laugh and exclaim that this was the best birthday you’ve ever had.

[elleonmybeloved]

Field Day

Title: Field Day Author: PinkPerfume Fandom: Shall We Date? Obey me! Pairing: Asmodeus/MC Rating: Teen & Up Chapter: 1/? Tags: Demon & Angel Blood AU, Demons are slightly larger than in cannon by about a foot or two each, Secret Crush, Awkward pining, Asmodeus is hoe-rny as usual, Flirting, Leading up to that explicit rating in the second chapter cause you know me Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145122/chapters/60926767

Summary:

Once a week, the human exchange students, accompanied by the seven demon brothers as well as Lord Diavolo and a few of his subordinates make a trip to a rocky place out in the wilderness of the Devildom to conduct physical testing on the humans’ developing abilities. Mary-Catherine and her fellow once-humans aren't sure why Lord Diavolo injected them with the demon and angel blood that gave them their abilities, but participation in the testing is mandatory. But if you forget the part where they're being tested like lab rats, it feels a lot like a fun school field day! Complete with packed lunches and a friendly sense of competition.

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“I hope you’re ready to eat my dust this time. I’ve grown two inches since last week.”

“Don’t get a big head. You got dog demon blood, not speed demon. Besides, not being able to spit acid at obstacles in your way is gonna slow you down.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you stopped doing that. Just because you look a lot more like a snake now doesn’t mean you need to act like one.”

“- Demon cobra. Not just a snake.”

“I know you’re proud of that, but honestly, I’m more jealous of the girl who got hawk demon blood. You know she has wings now, right?”

“What?! They shouldn’t let her participate in the race, it’s totally not fair.”

“It’s not actually a race, you guys.”

“Just because they’re testing us doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun with it. Lord Diavolo encouraged us to be competitive.”

Excited chattering and the rumble of the vehicle’s engine made for a charged atmosphere that Mary-Catherine was enjoying listening to, leaning her head against the glass of the window to hide her amused smile at the antics. Choosing to survey the odd shapes of plants and pigmented rock passing by outside as she listened, she angled her head so that the small tightly curled horns at her forehead weren’t scraping against the glass.

Once a week, the human exchange students, accompanied by the seven demon brothers as well as Lord Diavolo and a few of his subordinates made the trip to a rocky place out in the wilderness of the Devildom to conduct physical testing on the humans’ developing abilities.

Piled into some kind of all-terrain vehicle with such ridiculous ground clearance that Mary-Catherine had needed assistance to haul herself up into it, they were shuttled to the testing site. The vehicle was huge and had several rows of seats, so everybody just called it “The Bus.” Before them on the long straight road, the Demon lord’s sleek black limo - driven by Barbatos - led the way down the path.

Turning off on the dirt path, they pulled up to the site. As the passengers - twenty-five strong, counting the brothers - filed out of the vehicle, they cordoned off into groups like a separation of oil and water.

Mary-Catherine confidently placed herself next to the people she knew best. Donte - a young man with horned-toad demon blood who she’d never seen not dressed up in attractive punk outfits that suited his dark brown curls and yellow-green striped horns perfectly. Despite all the purple dust out here, she had yet to see any of it attach itself to his outfit.

Meanwhile, both her thick cargo pants and her usual red tank top already had a few purple smudges.

To his left, Emma, a curvy young woman in all black whose sharp feline teeth glinted against her dark lipstick, and though the pair of furry black ears at the top of head twitched invitingly, you’d have to be stupid to touch them - or any part of her - without her explicit say so. Her claws were just as sharp as her eyeliner and stung quite badly.

Mary-Catherine had never heard her give anyone that say so. Only repeated threats to anybody who would listen about just exactly the kind of dark apocalypse she would continuously rain on Diavolo and the demon brothers & co. until they returned her cat Lucy to her, or vice versa.

Standing aloof with a familiar thoughtful expression to her right, a picture of elegance and maturity that M-C only hoped she’d one day achieve, was Annika. The blonde witch had a silent strength and seemed the least phased about her residency in the devildom of all the humans Mary-Catherine knew. She even stood up to Lucifer on a regular basis.

Mary had to avoid flinching like a startled lamb every time he looked in her mere direction. In her defense, she was part sheep now, and she had no reason to believe demon sheep were any braver than those in the overworld. Though as recent months had attested, they had the same urge for salt and were about 5 times faster than a regular one running at full tilt.

Once given their instructions, and oddly-shaped “evaluators” to attach to their D.D.D.s, the four of them plus a few she was less familiar with made off for the climbing ground. As usual, the groups moved around three areas in a rotation. A rock-littered circuit of road for testing speed, agility, and endurance, a level field of purple grass and several small, dead-looking trees with painted orange Xs on them that served as a combat ground for testing offensive abilities, and a large outcropping of porous green rock to test their ability to scale rough vertical terrain.

Something of a makeshift security team, the demon brothers spread out to stand their usual guard over the three groups. Considering their powers and how each demon towered at least a foot over any regular human even in their “human” forms, on their very first outing Mary-Catherine had foolishly assumed none of the other occupants of this realm would dare try to attack the group.

Grimacing as she tied up her hair and prepared to climb, she tried to blink away the image of the explosion of goop and gore and the charred remains that had been left of the few dissenting demons who’d scarcely touched her human companions before Satan had reduced them to pulp. Though unsure of how Lucifer had torched the ones who’d gone after his group, she was pretty sure she’d never get the image of their blackened skulls out of her mind.

“What’s with the long face? You’re still the reigning champion of this rock, goat-girl.”

Looking up, she recognized the self-proclaimed “cobra” guy from earlier on the bus. Despite his competitive statement, the grin on his face was friendly. His curly black hair and olive skin tone made for a vivid contrast against his vertical pupiled green eyes. She’d seen him a few times at breakfast and wasn’t certain but she thought his name was Kevin?

“Oh nothing. I was just wondering if they were going to make me lick more rocks today. Kind of reminds me of when I used to chaperone church summer camp and all the kids would collect rocks and dare each other to hold it in their mouth for twenty seconds or eat a worm.”

Mary-Catherine paused, “-But my horns alone would’ve been even more scandalous than the time one of the adults caught someone with a Harry Potter book sooo I guess it’s not really that similar!”

“Oh trust me I doubt my mamá would be happy to see what I look like now, but that doesn’t mean I would say no to a chance to become spiderman.”

“Hey, if anybody is becoming spiderman, I think it might be me.” Donte spoke up from behind them, looking incredulously at his hand which was pressed against the wall of rock. “Check this out.”

He then demonstrated how with an odd suction noise, his hands clung to the rock of their own accord. Prying them off and then repeating the motion, he got better at the detachment process with each press.

“Maybe poisonous demon frogs can stick to things?” Mary-Catherine mused. “I watched this discovery channel episode on tree frogs once that explained how their secretion of toe pad mucous-”

“-Mucous?!?” Donte scrutinized his hands in dismay, but after finding no such secretions he breathed a sigh of relief. “The only thing getting on my hands is this rock while I climb it’s ass. See you at the top!”

Pressing the start button on her evaluator, she climbed up after him, hearing Kevin start his descent as well. She’d gotten a bit of experience with this sort of outdoors stuff at previously said church-camp, but that was nowhere near her current condition, as she easily overtook both of her human companions with no regard for the steepness of her path. Back then, she’d needed a hardness and ropes. Now, she sought out each handhold instinctively like the top of the rock was calling her.

“At least I’m not bleating.” She sighed, and from below her Kevin barked out a laugh.

“I imagine it would come out sounding more like a warbled growl.” He said. “I’ve seen the pictures you know.”

“Hey- don’t go looking at a girl’s demon pictures!” A girl lower down on the rock called up to them.

Mary-Catherine blushed and hastily pulled herself up the remaining few feet of the rock and rolled to the side as she clicked stop on her evaluator.

“Not her pictures, the pictures of whatever they injected her with!” Kevin complained, but M-C could hear the mirth in his voice.

Walking over to a smoother patch of rock, she sat down to wait for the rest of them to finish their climb. Gazing at the ground far below her, she noticed Emma and Beelzebub talking next to a couple of camp-chairs.

She had noticed before that as an act of cat-less mutiny, Emma often refused to take part in the tests, but as M-C watched her speaking amicably with the demon beside her, who was eating… something round and dripping a brightly colored liquid she could make out from here, Emma gestured towards the rock several times with a wistful expression.

Rising to get a better look, Mary-Catherine began absent mindedly stretching, catching her ankle and bending her leg with a gentle pull.

It was a bit too far for her to make out exactly what they were saying - though some of her genetically enhanced fellow humans probably could - but M-C imagined that Emma was saying something along the lines of how much she wanted to climb the ‘actual shit outta that rock’ but wouldn’t budge an inch until they gave her back her precious Lucy. Beel seemed to nod sympathetically and despite not halting in his eating process, continue the conversation.

And then he moved to grab another of whatever it was he was eating, revealing the other demon who had come to watch over the climbing group. Having used the absolute swole unit of his demon brother’s body to provide him with shade, the Avatar of Lust reclined elegantly in - well it wasn’t really a camping chair, but it looked like it could be collapsed and relocated - his seat, meticulously painting his nails.

Freezing awkwardly midstretch, both arms clasped high above her head, she was for the hundredth? thousandth? time struck by just how gorgeous of a man Asmodeus was. Not a man, she reminded herself, a demon. Good Lord in Heaven, those arms… he had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to avoid getting nail polish on his shirt, and it exposed the beautiful lean muscle of his forearms. Burnt amber eyes focused intensely on his handiwork, his pale perfectly shaped lips pursed in concentration… he had an angular face that made him look like both like the dangerous being he was, and a sculpture of an angel at the same time.

As if aware he was being ogled, he paused his preening and turned his head, looking up her way at the top of the rock. Panicking, she hastily looked elsewhere, pretending to continue her stretches as if she hadn’t been meaning to glance in his direction…

Nothing to see here!

Soon the others joined her at the top of the rock, and with the protection of anonymity, Mary-Catherine risked another gaze his way.

Oh good, he’s back to working on his nails.

Getting caught looking at people was so awkward, hopefully he hadn’t thought anything of what he saw of her brief gaze. She was pretty sure she was safe, it was unlikely he was that interested in any measly humans anyways.

“So what was your score?”

Mary-Catherine spooked so hard she jumped, turning to give Kevin a wounded look.

“You’re a jumpy one, huh? Must be those prey instincts. Well, what was it?”

“A minute and forty three seconds.” Mary-Catherine said, wondering what kind of predator hunted sheep demons. Probably had lots of teeth.

“Guess I just need to be a minute and fifteen seconds faster next time.”

“I’m sure you can do it.” She said, giving him an encouraging smile. “If they ever decide to hand out a prize, you’ve got it in the bag.”

“Now there’s an idea.” Donte piped up, moving into step beside them as the group began to descend the smooth sloped side of the rock. “I already know what I want as a prize.”

“What do you want?” She couldn’t really think of anything a demon would have to give as a good present. She’d seen their food. And the mall. They had weird taste.

“Not telling.” Donte said in a cheeky tone that even she could read as being… salacious in nature. Annika gave him one of her disapproving mother looks and it just made him sprout a mischievous little grin.

“I’ve had my eye on a spellbook in Satan’s library I would very much like to have.” Annika said, as if trying to steer the conversation off the downhill path it was otherwise going. It was a good thing Emma wasn’t here or that’d be a moot effort.

“Uhhh, boring!” Kevin crossed his arms. “Come on guys, we’re practically in hell. I want a weapon or something with strong dark magic powers.”

One of the other girls agreed with him, and began a very enthusiastic conversation about swords and axes and other sharp pointy things. Mary-Catherine considered the question herself for a few moments, but the only thing she could think of was for Lucifer to give her her Bible back. He’d taken it away a couple weeks ago after she’d done something he hadn’t approved of and used it as an excuse to confiscate the book. She wasn’t even sure how he’d known she had it, but maybe he’d been under the false impression that she was religious?

Normally she wouldn’t have been upset about such a thing, but even though she was no longer the good devout Catholic girl her parents had raised her to be, her grandmother had given her that Bible. They’d been quite close before she passed away five years ago to lung cancer. She was much too terrified of the fallen angel to even try to get it back though. Regardless, as far as prizes go that was a bit more personal than she was comfortable with sharing.

“I think a week off school would be nice!” She said instead, and was met with a resounding murmur of agreement from the crowd.

“How about a whole month?”

---

Under the protection of Belphegor and Leviathan this time, Mary-Catherine and her group took turns sprinting on the track. Unsurprisingly, Kevin’s dog demon-blooded friend blew all competition out the water. Once that guy got started he was like Usain Bolt on steroids. Though she put in the effort expected of her to avoid getting chided, M-C didn’t bother to run full tilt. She didn’t really like this part anyways. It was the most like a test, grueling and repetitive instead of fun, and reminded her of how she was here against her will.

She was grateful when they broke for lunch, gathering around a few hastily erected plastic tables. Taking the brown bag and two water bottles, she found a somewhat shady spot to sit under a scary looking tree and redid her sagging ponytail, lamenting the state of her side braid. She downed a whole bottle of water before getting into her food.

It was kind of funny, it was the same typical sandwich chips and apple combo she was used to on outdoor events like these, but the meat was purple and the lettuce that poked out at the sides was bright red. The fruit looked like an apple, but tasted like an orange and was the color of a banana.

She’d learned to just trust Lord Diavolo to know what humans could eat, and didn’t ask what everything was anymore. One of the transfer students had been curious at breakfast and as a result she had become aware of the fact that on several occasions she had ingested eggs from a reptilian demon species called an angiphore which looked like a cross between a platypus and one of those monstrous looking fish that lived really deep in the ocean.

The thought made her choke on her mouthful of water and most of it escaped out her lips down her throat to soak into the fabric of her top above her breast.

“Oh, gosh darn it.” Of course she had nothing to dab at it with. Well, at least the cool water felt kind of nice dripping down her neck, as hot as she was after such rigorous exercise.

“Oh my, looks like someone overestimated how much they could swallow~”

Mary-Catherine scarcely had time to process that someone had managed to approach her so silently before, bending elegantly at the waist, Asmodeus himself was already pressing a handkerchief against her neck with a chiding tut.

At her stiff reaction, he smiled, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of sweetie, you’re not the first one to do such a thing.”

Mary-Catherine flushed and searched for a sufficiently indignant reply, realizing he was making fun of her. But before she could come up with something, he moved in closer, dragging the cloth against her bottom lip. It was such a shamelessly demanding motion, silencing her with ease.

“You must’ve been thirsty, poor thing.” He crooned, and M-C decided to swallow her pride and just enjoy the opportunity to get such a close up look at his gorgeous face. At this angle, she could see how long his strawberry-blonde eyelashes were as they brushed the smooth, immaculate skin of his cheeks.

“It’s… pretty hot.” The words were already on her mind, so unfortunately that’s what came out of her mouth instead of denying such an obvious trap.

It was worth it for the delighted, full-teeth grin he made. “I agree.”

His fingers skirted the hem of her tank top, and with a gentle pluck, he lifted the fabric to dab a few times at the wet top of her breast. But instead of lingering, with a simple wink, he retracted the handkerchief and stood up before she could even begin freaking out about it.

“Thanks.” She said when her brain caught up, as he started to leave.

“Any time, honey.~” He replied without turning back, and was soon out of sight.

Mary-Catherine gave a dry swallow and reached for her water bottle.

~~~

The rest of the afternoon proved uneventful. Oviumalum, or the certain species of demon sheep blood she’d been injected with, apparently had the ability to rapidly elongate and thrust out their 4 sets of horns in front of them like some kind of projectile impaler. Their horns were also a key ingredient in a certain type of hallucinogenic drug, when ground to a powder.

The meager set of horns on Mary-Catherine’s forehead was sharp, and made of the same components, but so far showed no signs of developing any projectile abilities. As such, she simply had to hold still while they took a sample of her horns, ears, and tail and then was free to sit on the sidelines for most of the hour.

Lucifer had handed her a textbook about the properties of various demonic plants and encouraged her to study during the downtime.

“Like many here, you would do well to improve your academics. Here.” He’d said in that aloof tone, like she was some filthy human bug under his boot.

“Oh…” She’d said. “Well, actually, that’s-”

“You’re welcome.” He’d cut off her attempt to decline with a glare. “I hope I see an improvement in your grade reports soon.”

Mary-Catherine couldn’t help but shut up after that and bitterly open the book in obedience. His crimson stare, like the blood she was sure he was not hesitant to shed, was just too frightening. But, more interested in watching the increasingly bizarre developing abilities of her fellow humans, she’d just skimmed the pages and pretended to read.

Beside Lord Diavolo’s delight at Donte’s newfound ability, nothing else of note happened. It was amusing to watch Emma claw several inch deep scores into a variety of materials she’d never assume could even be scratched, so that’s what she’d done until they’d blown their whistle to announce that it was time to return to the House of Lamentation.

Now, she was trailing after the gaggle of tired, test-tried students, thinking about whether she was going to bathe, sleep, or eat first when they got home.

“Heeyyy, M-C!”

Looking up from where she’d been zoning out staring at her D.D.D, she glanced around. Had somebody called her name?

“Mary-Catheriiiine!!” A girl was jogging towards her, waving a hand to get her attention. It took her a moment, since it wasn’t someone she was very familiar with, but she connected the face to a name before the girl reached her.

“Yes? - Um, Hoya, right?”

“Yeah.” The girl said, smiling with a - ah. Shark demon blood. - large set of teeth. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What is it?”

“I lost my ring up on the rocks.” Hoya said, pointing to the climbing wall. “I can see where it is but I can’t reach it myself. Can you get it for me?”

“Sure!” May-Catherine chirped, but then bit her lip. “Uh, did you tell Lucifer? It’s time to go and I’ll be fast but we’re going to make them wait…”

“Don’t worry, I told him. He said it’s fine as long as I hurry.”

“Oh. Okay!” M-C said, but couldn’t help squinting a little skeptically.

“...He said they’re leaving in ten minutes with or without us.” Hoya admitted. “But it won’t take us that long!”

Mary-Catherine was already moving. “Oh gosh, well I hope you didn’t mention my name…”

Hoya jogged next to her, long smooth grey tail wagging oddly like a dog. “Uh, I did. Sorry!"

Mary-Catherine groaned and high-tailed it to the rock.

[rhysismydaddy]

Can you please do a fic for nessian where one of them is a teacher and the other is a student💖💖💖

________________________________________________________________

Light filtered in through Nesta’s shut eyelids and she groaned, nestling her head further into the pillow beneath her. Only it didn’t feel like a pillow. It was warm, and smooth, and breathing.

She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head, not wanting the obvious to be true. After realizing this shitstorm was unavoidable, she peaked up at the face of the man she was lying on. At least I know I still got it she thought grimly.

He was completely gorgeous, curly hair muffled from sleep and full lips open, and felt like he’d been built from stone.

Nesta supposed if she had to wake up completely naked on top of a stranger she couldn’t remember going home with, it helped that he was ungodly sexy.

After slowly peeling herself off of him—having to resist the urge to peak under the blanket to see exactly how good her night had been—she tiptoed around the room, trying to find her clothes.

“Morning, stranger,” a deep voice sounded behind her.

Nesta yelped, grabbing the blanket to cover herself. Which left him completely exposed. Not that he seemed to care. He propped his head up with his hand and smiled at her.

Oh, I definitely had a good night, she thought, trying and failing to look somewhere other than his tanned, toned body.

“Good morning…” she said quietly, struggling to remember his name.

He gave her a shit-eating grin that told her he was enjoying the blush on her cheeks entirely too much as he extended a hand and said, “Cassian.”

She quickly shook it, ignoring the feeling of his callouses and the faint memories of them on her skin, and replied, “Nesta.”

“So nice to meet you, Nesta,” he said, voice still clouded with sleep.

She was about to reply and say that they’d most definitely already met when she glanced at the clock and yelped again.

“Shit! I have to be in class in twenty minutes, and I have no idea where I am, and I can’t even find my fucking-”

Cassian held up the black lace bra she’d been wearing the night before and grinned. Nesta didn’t have time to bother with pleasantries as she snatched it and slid it on, reaching for her dress. It was an obvious walk-of-shame dress, the kind that was basically a second skin and would definitely gain her some disapproving stares as she left.

She didn’t think about how she looked, or the fact that she wasn’t wearing underwear, as she grabbed her shoes and speeded for the door.

“It was nice to… meet you, Cassian,” she shouted as she raced out his front door, ignoring his protests and slamming it behind her.

Squinting her eyes against the light, Nesta figured out where she was and thanked the heavens she was only a five minute walk from her apartment. She gripped her shoes in her hands and took off, praying she would make it to class on time.

____

Nineteen minutes later, Nesta raced into Professor Rhysand’s classroom, out of breath and sweaty. She’d had to run from the other side of campus to make it, but it was worth it. The prof had told them to come prepared for a “fun day,” and that usually meant a test, so she couldn’t be late. Professor Rhysand—and he made his students call him Rhysand because using his last name made him feel old—locked the doors exactly at 9 so late people couldn’t get in, so she’d had to practically sprint here. He was a hardass, but still Nesta’s favorite professor. 

She found her usual seat in the back--far away from her peers-- propped her head against the wall, and waited for her professor to show up. 

And waited. After ten minutes, Nesta was starting to get severely pissed off. She could’ve showered with this extra time. Or at least brushed her hair and put on a clean shirt.

But no, she’d been too stressed to worry about laundry, so she’d grabbed leggings and a tank top off the floor. One she was fairly certain she’d worked out in.

She squinted her eyes at the door, ready to give him a hateful look as soon as he walked in.

Instead, her eyes went wide as someone entirely too familiar strolled into the room, looking way too put-together. Whispers immediately arose from her peers about how sexy he was, how they’d definitely get with him, and all sorts of ridiculousness.

“Shit,” she whispered, trying to sink lower in her chair. The last thing she needed was for him to see her.

“Good morning, everyone. Sorry I’m late. Little Rhysand is out sick today, so I’ll be subbing for you all. My name is Professor Nezarra. I work over at Hybern University, which I know is the enemy school and all, but it’ll be okay. I won’t tell them that you guys liked me.”

A few generous laughs.

“Professor Rhysand has prepared a movie for you guys, so just relax and sign the attendance sheet whenever it comes around to you.”

Nesta sighed as the lights went out, proud of herself for staying hidden. He could not see her here. It was bad enough she’d had to face him this morning, but here? In front of her classmates? Oh, absolutely not.

She’d rather fake a medical condition and leave class than-

“Hello, stranger.”

Oh, fuck me.

She looked up slowly, dreading seeing the smirk she knew would be gracing his features. She almost groaned when her eyes met his. He was already insanely good looking, but this? This was ridiculous.

His hair was damp and pushed back off his forehead, making his eyes seem even more golden. The black of his shirt showed off the impressive build of his shoulders.

Why did it seem like he was even bigger than he’d been before? Had he worked out or something? 

“You had time to shower?” Nesta asked incredulously before she could stop herself.

He grinned down at her, having too much fun. “That’s what I was trying to tell you when you sprinted out this morning. You could’ve stayed, because I had to drive here anyway. Plus, you could’ve showered with me.” Cassian waved his eyebrows suggestively.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t you go back up there?” She motioned to the front of the room where Prof Rhysand’s desk was.

“Nah,” he whispered confidently, sliding in the seat next to her and draping an arm over her shoulders. “If I go up there, it might give you time to sprint out of here again. You’re pretty fast.”

“I run track,” Nesta muttered back, gripping his arm and throwing it off of her.

Cassian acted like she hadn’t done anything and threw it around her again.

“Stop,” she whispered. “People can see.”

His eyebrows raised, a smile tugging at his lips. “See what?”

Nesta rolled her eyes and said, “That I fucked my professor!” she whispered furiously.

“First of all, sweetness,” he said, pulling her closer. “I’m not your professor. I don’t even work here.” True. “Second—and I meant to ask this this morning—do you even remember fucking me?”

A blush exploded across Nesta’s face, all the way down her neck. Cassian’s grin grew, and he propped his head up with a hand, face entirely too close to hers.

“Of course,” she said, the lie bitter on her tongue.

Cassian nodded, eyebrows squinted. “So you remember my friend being there too, then?”

“What?!”

She dropped her head into her hands, squeezing her eyelids shut.

Oh my gods this was so much worse than she’d thought. It was one thing to have a one night stand, but to have a threesome and not even remember? What kind of woman what she, and what had she had to drink?

“I’m kidding, Nesta,” he said teasingly, poking her side.

She looked up at him, ready to give him the verbal smack down he apparently wanted, but he spoke quicker. “Really, I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

“I was drunk,” she replied defensively.

He smiled and said, “I was too, but I remember. I mean we fucked on the roof for crying out loud.”

She waited for him to tell her he was joking again.

“Are you serious?”

The shit eating grin was back as he laughed and said, “Oh yeah. You said it made you feel like you were in the clouds. Although maybe that was just the orgasms-”

His voice carried a little to far that time, and half of her classmates turned around to stare at their position and raise their eyebrows.

“Oh my sweet heavens, shut up! You cannot talk about my orgasm in front of my peers-”

“Orgasms. Plural,” he said, a cocky smirk planting itself on his face.

Nesta believed him, but still raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and said hatefully, “Oh, I very seriously doubt that.”

His hand found its way to her thigh, fingers tracing light circles as he dropped his head to her ear and whispered, “Nesta, baby, you came seven times last night. I remember each one.” His teeth tugged on her earlobe, and she almost saw stars. “They’re replaying in my head like my personal movie.”

She shoved him away, ignoring the way her pulse had risen and the gooey feeling in her legs.

But he wasn’t done.

“Let’s see. There was the one against the wall, the two—or was it three?—on the roof, the one on the floor-” he laughed at that. “The one in my bed, and oh, of course. The one where I went down on you,” Nesta’s breath hitched as he drew too close again, “That one was my favorite. I can still taste-”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Nesta whisper-shouted as memories started to assail her. He let out a laugh. That one had definitely been her favorite too, but she wasn’t about to admit it, or let her classmates hear about it, for heaven’s sake. 

“You remember that don’t you?”

His hand was still on her thigh, and it drew higher as he said, “You remember moaning my name, pulling my hair as I slid my tongue up your thigh, right here,” his fingers tapped against her inner thigh. “You remember, don’t you?”

Nesta was pretty sure she’d never breathe normally again. She stopped caring about her classmates and started only caring about the new throbbing between her legs. 

“No,” she said shakily, holding on to the lie.

“Hm,” he hummed, gripping her thigh tighter and whispering, “I’d be happy to show you again, you know, to refresh your memory.”

In the back of her mind, she knew the video had ended and people were staring, waiting for Cassian to do something, but she couldn’t be bothered to care.

“However, right now I have to deal with your classmates.”

She fought a groan as he got up, and Nesta hated how she already missed the warmth of his hand on her. She was too worked up over this guy, someone she’d literally only known for less than a day.

But she couldn’t help but remember last night, how those hands had felt on her, how they’d squeezed the thighs she wrapped around his waist-

“Ms. Archeron?”

Nesta snapped out of the haze she’d been in and said, “Yes?”  Everyone stared, and Cassian’s eyebrows raised knowingly. “Can you repeat the question?”

“How did you like the video?”

Oh, the little prick. He knew she hadn’t watched a second of whatever dumb video Professor Rhysand had “prepared.”

Nesta shrugged, narrowed her eyes, and said, “It was fine.”

Cassian’s lips twitched up as he said, “Just fine? You seemed to really enjoy it.”

“And you would know this how, exactly?” Were they still talking about the video?

“Oh, you told me.” He said confidently. “Multiple times.” No. Definitely not.

Nesta was going to kill him. Everyone in the room was watching them with a mixture of confuse and amusement written on their faces.

“Well, like I said, it was fine, but I won’t be watching it again. Ever.” She narrowed her eyes.

His eyebrows rose, and he said, “Oh, I think you will. You might even watch it again tonight.”

A few of her classmates chuckled at that.

“Oh?”

“I think, if you look back at it, it was the best movie you’ve ever seen.” That stupid, confident little smirk was driving her crazy.

Nesta wanted to… to.. well she didn’t know what she wanted. All she knew was that this stupid argument, what they’d done last night, was the most fun she’d had in a while. He had some affect on her she couldn’t describe. Half the time she wanted to punch him in the face, the other half she wanted to fuck his brains out.

Probably not the healthiest combination, but Nesta didn’t care one bit as she smirked back and said, “It was definitely the best movie you’ve ever seen, but not me. I’m somewhat of a movie master. But I might be nice and let you watch it again later. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

Cassian gave her a huge smile, cleared his throat, and said to the class, “You guys can leave. Tell Rhys I’m a much cooler professor than he is.”

Nesta stayed perfectly still as her classmates filtered out, ignoring their whispers, and stared at Cassian. He was leaned up against the desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, thumb running over his bottom lip.

When the last student left and the door clicked closed, Nesta rose to her feet and slowly walked down the isle to stand in front of him.

“Did you find my answer satisfactory, Professor?” she asked lightly, putting her hands on his chest and looking up at him.

His hands wrapped around her hips and pulled her flush against him, and his voice was cloudy as he replied, “I’m not going to lie. You might have to sleep with me if you want an A.”

Nesta sighed dramatically. “Oh, the things I do for my studies,” she whispered as she rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

 _______________________________________________________________

Sorry this took a ridiculous amount of time. Thank you for the ask!! 

[hotoffthepressfics]

A Family Circus

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,759

Summary: The reader and Bucky are in a budding relationship. Things are going really well, only the reader has some secrets she’s been hiding. Will the truth bring them closer or tear these two apart?

Warnings: Angst

A/N: Written for a follower request, this one was really fun to write. Shoutout to @buckysforeverprincess for helping me figure out how to end this right. 

Warm hands wrap around your stomach as you sleepily pour two cups of coffee.

"Mm... Good morning.." Bucky's gruff voice mumbles next to your ear. 

You shiver. How on earth had you gotten so lucky to have this man to wake up to you would never know. You spin in his arms, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss him fully on the mouth. His hands bunch your nightshirt up, exposing your backside to the cool morning air.

"Morning sleepyhead, want some coffee?" Bucky accepts the offered mug and pulls you onto his lap at the table.

You both sit in comfortable silence, sipping at your morning pick-me-up. A few minutes pass before Bucky glances up at the kitchen clock. He groans and buries his face into your shoulder. You chuckle quietly as you caress his brunette hair gently.

"Time stops for no man... you need to get to work!" You tease, earning you a playful pinch to your ass.

You squeak in surprise and half- heartedly bat at his shoulder. Bucky's breath puffs out over your neck as he hugs you closer. His lips press so carefully to your pulse point all coherent thought leaves you.

"What if I call in sick today? We could continue what we were doing last night ," he coaxes, pressing another kiss to your collarbone as his fingers play with the hem of your shorts, "we wouldn't have to leave the bed all day."

It's tempting, and the longer his fingers trace along the bare skin of your thighs the harder it is to say no. Your shift into him, seeking his mouth when your phone vibrates loudly against the tiled counter. You both jump then share a sheepish laugh. You slide off his lap to check it. 

Hey. We'll be up in ten. Thanks again for doing this. – C

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit!’ You think to yourself, tapping out of the message and putting the phone down. You’d forgotten they were coming. You'd been too caught up in all things Bucky that you'd spaced on agreeing to watch the kids.

"Everything okay?" Bucky asks, drawing your attention back to him.

“Yeah! Yeah... I just got called into work. Looks like we'll have to postpone our all-day love fest for another time. I'm sorry..." You apologize. 

Bucky's face is crestfallen a moment before he nods." Yeah... Steve would kill me if I didn't show up for work, so it's probably best. Mind if I use your shower to clean up?" He asks.

You nod meeting him halfway for one more kiss before he disappears back into your room. You watch him go, slightly leaning forward as he rounds the corner. When the door clicks shut and the groan of water pipes starts up you wedge your feet into a pair of sneakers and bolt out the door.

Clint and his brood are at the end of the street as you race to meet them, red-faced and wheezing. Clint quirks on eyebrow, adjusting little Peter in his arms.

"Hello to you too. Didn't realize you were so eager to start babysitting duty." He glibs.

You pin him with a stink eye, bending over to rest your hands on your knees as you catch your breath. You were tempted to give him the finger, but little eyes were present.

"I... need you... to go... once around... the block." You wheeze out, a stitch forming on your right side.

You stand upright, covering your ribs to ease the ache. Clint frowns at you. 

"What for? If I do that I’m gonna be late to work!"

You spear him again with a look, "You and I both know you left early enough to get here that you’ll be fifteen minutes early to work. You always do. So today you'll only be five minutes early. Please, Clint." You plead.

Revelation dawns on Clint's face. He leans forward, voice lowering an octave as the left corner of his mouth curves into a mischievous smirk.

"He's up there, isn't he?"

You roll your eyes at him turning your attention towards the kids. Nina, the middle child, nearly

vibrates with anticipation. She adored her time with you. You give her a smile and a wink. Matty, the oldest at seven, is preoccupied with a small rock he is toeing with his shoe.

"Hi, kiddos!" you greet happily.The older two mumble their own hellos while Peter eagerly reaches for you, leaning away from his father. 

"Come on, Clint. Help me out." You urge, letting Peter hold your finger to pacify him. 

Clint sighs heavily raising his free hand in surrender, "Alright! Alright... come on guys. We're gonna go on a little walk."

•••

Bucky kisses you three times in quick succession while you lean out your apartment door, prolonging his departure. You grin against his lips.

"You're gonna be late..." you chide.

Bucky sighs and gives you one more lingering kiss. He bids you goodbye and promises to see you later before stepping into the elevator. You wave one last goodbye as the metal doors slide closed.

"Is the coast clear?”

"Jesus! - " You nearly jump out of your skin.

Whirling around you spot Clint, Peter, Matty, and Nina snooping behind the hall corner. They all march over. Clint stares at you expectantly as you take Peter from him. Your eyes flit to his face.

"What?" you ask a little petulantly.

 You walk back into your apartment without waiting for an answer. Nina tottles in after you making a beeline for the small cubby shelf where you stashed away their toys when they weren't there. Matty plops down in front of the TV, ready to watch his favorite cartoons. Clint finally brooches the subject you're avoiding.

“You need to tell him, Y/N. The longer you wait the harder it will be to explain." You finally drop the tension in your shoulders, sagging into the seat you pulled out for you and Peter.

Peter babbles gleefully in your lap. 

"I know.. It's just so... complicated." You finish lamely. As if to punctuate your point Peter reaches for you and whimpers,"Mama.”

You were not Peter's mother. Or Nina's. Or Matty's. You had never even entertained the idea of a relationship with Clint. He was one of your best friends. You'd do anything for him. Which is why you'd stepped into the role of maternal figure when Clint's wife had decided she was done and took off without a word. You didn't mind it. You loved them and wouldn't have it any other way.

You'd been content with your life and makeshift family when you'd met Bucky. What had begun as a mild flirtation had quickly turned into something more. You were head over heels for him. Before it hadn't seemed like a big deal to let him in on your odd family. Now it was an albatross hanging from your neck.

Clint sits across the table from you, reaching for your hand. You grip onto his for support. He squeezes reassuringly.

"I'm sorry... I know I've put you in this position..." You begin to object but he stops you," Yes, I get that you wouldn't change a thing, but you gotta tell him. It’s only going to get worse the longer this goes on…”

You let your head drop, nodding meekly. “I know, I’ll do it soon… I promise.”

That had been almost two weeks ago. You really wanted to tell Bucky… but every time you opened your mouth to begin, it felt as though your throat closed up, leaving you unable to utter a word.

“Maybe you just need to get good and drunk, you know, to loosen you up so you can tell him.” Nat offers.

You cast a sidelong glance at her to let her know just what you thought of that idea. Nat shrugs, spooning more of the green mush into Peter’s mouth. You look back to the sandwiches you were making for Nina and Matty. Natasha was another old friend of yours and Clint, but unlike you she carried a torch for the man. Not that she would ever tell him that. She was more terrified of him knowing and ruining their friendship than you were of ruining what you had with Bucky. She tried to help with the kids when she could, but her job demanded more of her time than yours did.

You finish preparations on the sandwiches and head to the table. Matty digs into his the moment it’s in front of him, but Nina sullenly pushes away her plate. You frown. She’d been acting more and more unruly lately, and it wasn’t a change you were thrilled about.

“Nina, hun, you gotta eat your lunch.” You warn, giving her a look that brooches no argument.

She stubbornly kicks the table leg, attempting to push the plate further away. She hugs onto her teddy bear, popping her thumb into her mouth and furrowing her brows harder. You sigh, getting ready to launch into disciplinarian mode when there’s a knock at the door. You glance at Nat who nods in understanding, pulling the pouting toddler closer to convince her to eat her meal.

You make your way to the front entrance, so lost in thought you forgo looking through the peephole before throwing open the door. Your heart lurches to your throat as a smiling Bucky waits patiently on your doormat.

“Hey baby!” He greets brightly.

You swallow the thickness in your throat, pulling the door close to your hip, praying it’s enough to block his view.

“Hey… what are you doing here?”

His smile slips a little at the awkward uncertainty in your voice, “I got off early today… I thought I’d come surprise my favorite girl…” 

His voice trails off as a loud clatter sounds from within your apartment. Your heart sinks from inside your throat to the pit of your stomach, making you sick. Bucky tried to look around you. 

“Do... you have company? Is it a bad time?” He asks flatly.

You can see him closing off a bit and it hurts you. You need to fix this somehow. 

“It’s Nat… bad day at work so she’s blowing off some steam here. Didn’t realize she’d actually start throwing my things around to feel better!” You pitch your voice louder at the end, tilting your head back so she could hear you.

A moment later you both can hear a muffled ‘sorry’ come from Natasha. You turn back to Bucky. You’re relieved to see his shoulders slacken, but he still wears a guarded expression. You smile sadly, hoping that the regret and sadness you feel can be seen. 

“I’m sorry you came all this way. Can I call you later and we can do something?” 

Bucky nods, offering a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. He steps forward, cupping your cheek and kissing your forehead. With your stomach feeling like lead you watch him walk away before closing the door. Another crash followed by a loud wail sounds from the kitchen.

“Ouch! Mother — Nina that is not how we behave!” Nat scolds.

You hurry back to find Nat sitting on a chair nursing her bare foot while Nina sits in the far corner, sniffling and whimpering. Her plate of uneaten food a mess across the vinyl floor. You sigh, propping your hands on your hips. You peek over to Matty, who’s watching you with eyes the size of saucers waiting for you to dole out punishment. Peter fidgets unhappily in his high chair, ready to join in on the wailing.

“Can you take care of the rest of lunch while I speak to her?” You ask Nat.

She agrees before standing to clean up the mess and the boys. You kneel down in front of Nina, who is studiously avoiding your gaze. You reach out your hand.

“Let's go kiddo, we need to have a talk.”

Nina grudgingly takes your hand and stomps off to the living room with you. You hoist her up onto the couch, settling in next to her for your talk. She wiggles to the side, avoiding you.

“Nina. What’s going on sweetheart? Why are you misbehaving today. It’s not like you sweet girl… what’s wrong?”

You study the side of her face as fat, wet tears well up in her doe eyes. Nina buries her face into her teddy and sobs. You heart flutters in alarm and you soothe your fingers over her back, shushing her quietly.

“H—he’s gonna — take you away— like mommy!” She wails, hiccuping every now and then from her upset.

Your heart breaks at the little girl’s pronouncement, but your brows furrow in confusion.

“Who’s going to take me away?” You ask.

“T—the man—that daddy and— you t—talked about!” She breaks into fresh sobs again

“Oh sweetheart…” 

You pull the crying girl onto your lap, consoling her. Nina weeps into your chest, her tears leaving warm, dark stains on the fabric. You wait until her crying subsides, leaving her snotty and hiccuping all the more, before pulling her back to speak with her. You make certain you have her attention.

“No matter who is in my life, I am not going anywhere. You’re my special girl, part of my special family. Nothing in this world will change that. I promise.”

Nina takes it in, her little mind whirling with the words. After a minute she sniffles and nods, burrowing back into your chest for a hug.

•••

Some playtime and a nap later, it was as if the trauma at lunch never happened. Nat had left some time before the kids woke up from their nap, leaving you to entertain the kids until Clint got off work.

A half hour into the riveting tale of Barbie and her friends against some Autobots bent on destroying her house your phone buzzes on the coffee table. You hoist Peter onto your hip and pick it up.

“Okay guys, looks like daddy is waiting downstairs for us!” You announce to the kids.

You set about putting away toys and packing up their things before dragging your crew down to the front entryway. Clint beams at his kids as Matty and Nina push their way out the door and into his waiting arms. Peter kicks excitedly in your arms to see him too. You laugh and hand off the babe. Clint takes Peter and smiles at you.

“Hey thanks again for —“

“Y/N?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn and see Bucky walking towards you, a bouquet of flowers hanging limply in his hands.

“Bucky! W—what are you— I thought I said I’d call you…” you bite back on your tongue as his eyes cut to you, the bewilderment and hurt brimming his eyes.

It was a pain worse than death to see how you’d hurt him. He glances from the kids clinging to Clint and back to you, his mind trying to piece together what was going on. You go to him but stop when he holds his hands out in front of him.

“Bucky… it’s not what you think. I swear…” you plead.

Peter whimpers and calls out for you, only it’s not your name he’s calling.

“Mama…”

Bucky’s eyes harden and he shifts away. Panic rises in your chest as you feel him slipping from you.

“Oh no? Seems like the kid just confirms it.” He remarks, the words slapping you with how cold they sound.

He spins away, letting the flowers drop from his hand as he stuffs it into his coat pocket.

“Bucky! Bucky, please!” You shout, chasing after him.

He quickly steps into a waiting taxi before you can reach him. You bang onto the glass before the cab pulls away and you have to let go or risk being dragged down the street. You stand in the road, watching your hopes and dreams drive away with your heart dissolving into nothing.

•••

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” Clint apologizes for the millionth time in the last hour. 

He hands you a tissue, which Nina snatches away and tries to help wipe your face. You pull back, smiling weakly at her as you take it and blow your nose. Your eyes felt hot and swollen from your crying.

“It’s not your fault, Clint. I knew better. I should have told him when it started getting serious.” You admit defeatedly.

Nina crawls into your lap and hugs you. You return the hug, allowing her tiny body to offer you some comfort.

“He might come around… just give him some time to cool off and you can explain things” Clint encourages. 

“Yeah… maybe…” You stare up at him, missing a beat before nodding.

The way Bucky had looked at you, with utter betrayal, cut you so deep. You had done this. The deep aching in your chest renewed and you broke into fresh sobs. You could only hope that once the dust settled there would be enough of the love you once shared to salvage what you had with Bucky.

•••

“No word from Bucky yet?” Natasha asks as you both watch the kids play along the jungle gym of the park.

You take in a shuddering breath, blinking away the sudden onset of tears at the mention of his name. You shake your head. No matter how many calls you made or texts you sent to explain he wouldn’t respond. Days turned into weeks until no hope of reconciliation remained. All that was left between you two was dead air.

Nat pats your knee in sympathy but says nothing. There was nothing to say. You’d been through the rounds of reassurance so many times that it did little to comfort you. You needed a distraction.

“So when are you and Clint going to quit dancing around each other and go on a date?” You tease, pushing yourself away from the back of the bench seat to look at Nat.

She gently pushes Peter in his stroller back and forth, avoiding your gaze. Your mouth falls open. 

“Oh my god.” 

She glances at you, her face impassive but there was a soft blush to her cheeks. You turn to fully face her, mouth still open in shock.

“Oh my god! You and… when??”

“Last Friday… I was watching the kids at his place while he ran errands. We sat and talked when he got home, we had some wine and… he kissed me.” She finishes, giving you a coy smile.

“It’s about time you guys did something about your feelings for each other! I thought I was going to have to stage an intervention to get you guys to come out with it!” You tease.

Nat quirks an eyebrow, her features showing she doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. You school your own features into a mask of seriousness, but the minute your eyes meet hers you both burst into a fit of laughter. In spite of how you’re feeling inside you can’t help the elation at this pronouncement. You knock your shoulder against Nat’s. She lets out a soft chuckle and returns the nudge. The two of you sit in silence for a moment. As quickly as it came your jovial mood slips back into the moroseness that had plagued you of late. Nat slips her hand around yours.

“I’m…sorry…” Nat’s voice dwindles away as she awkwardly tries to find the right words. Words of comfort had never really been her strong suit.

You place your free hand atop hers, silencing her apology.

“It’s okay. I’m happy for you. For both of you,” you give her hand a shake in reassurance. “One of us should be having a successful relationship at least.”

Nat hums low in her throat and rocks back on the bench. 

“Yes well... I don’t know about that. It’s a rather slow-moving relationship. Can’t really get...” She surveys the area around you, ensuring the other two kids are out of earshot, “intimate with the kids around.” 

“Ah.” you respond in understanding. Nina lets out a shrill cry as she runs around the jungle gym, deep in the middle of an impromptu game of tag with the other neighborhood kids. More silence fills the space as you both sit, pondering.

“You guys should let me watch the kids this Friday. That way you two can have some adult time without the worry of little eyes present.” You wink at Nat.

Nat appears uncertain, “I don’t know Y/N... Are you sure?”

You nod, “Absolutely. This will be exactly what I need to get my mind off…of things. It’ll be nice spending a Friday night with my favorite little people.”

Natasha mulls over your words a minute longer before smiling mischievously. “I’m sure Clint will only be too glad to take you up on the offer.” 

•••

“Now be careful, little miss, you’re about to spill all that popcorn onto the floor.” You warn.

Nina quickly corrects the tipping bowl in her arms, knocking out a few popped kernels in the process. She tottles off to the living room stopping every few feet to fix the too giant bowl before she loses more popcorn. The result is a long, white puff trail from your kitchen to your living room. You shake your head quietly, handing off the root beer floats you just made to Matty, who protests for the fourth time that he should have been the one to carry the popcorn. Popcorn was easier to clean up than spilled soda. 

You grab the broom and dust pan, quickly sweeping the white, fluffy trail into the pan. Once the mess is contained in a neat pile you carefully make your way back into the kitchen. Just as you're about to dump the soiled popcorn into the trash bin there's a slow but firm knocking at the door.

 "I'll get it!" Nina shouts.

"Nina, wait- "

You hastily shut the sink cabinet and prop the broom against the wall. You hear the unmistakable creak of your apartment door open and you tear ass around the corner.

"Little miss, how many times do I have to tell you not to answer the door without me..."

Nina is shyly curled around the edge of the door once you came around the corner. A deep, masculine murmur sounds from the other side. You hesitate. You knew that voice. It was the one that lately had only inhabited your dreams. Gently you pull Nina around your hip as your eyes connect with soft blue eyes you thought you'd never see again.

Bucky pauses a beat before rising from his kneeling position. The two of you just stare at each other. The awkward silence stretches on. You'd longed for this moment for weeks on end and now that it was here you found yourself closing off. Bucky rubs uncertainty at the back of his neck before clearing his throat.

 "Hi... uh... can we talk?" he asks cautiously.

Nina draws closer to your leg, hiding her face into your thigh. You gently caress the top of her soft, blonde hair. She pulls her face away to stare up at you. You offer her a gentle smile.

"It's okay sweetie. Go watch the movie with your brothers. I'll be back in a minute."

She casts one more furtive glance up at Bucky before scurrying back into the living room. You watch as she nestles herself close to Matty and the popcorn bowl, prolonging the inevitable. Peter kicks excitedly in his bouncer as the familiar castle logo appears on the screen. You exhale slowly through your nose, rubbing at your temples before facing the doorway. Bucky has his eyes trained on the wooden paneling of your apartment floor, studiously avoiding your eyes. You step closer, pulling the door up to rest against your hip. 

"Well? You asked to talk, so talk." you raise an eyebrow expectantly.

Bucky swallows hard, nodding as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. He rocks back on his heels once looking up towards the ceiling as though summoning up strength. 

"First off... I am a complete and utter ass." he states.

You nod an agreement but stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Bucky sighs, resting his hands against the door frame.

"When... I saw you with him… and the kids... I just felt betrayed. I heard the kid call you 'mama' and I felt like that was all there was to say... Look, l'm not good with handling or dealing with my emotions...” 

He pauses, waiting for you to interject. You simply stare at him, clearly not going to offer any relief. As he opens his mouth to begin again, however, you cut him off deciding you did have something to say.

"How did you find out?" you ask softly.

"I saw that guy and Nat out tonight. I thought he was cheating on you and you didn't deserve that... I went over to tell him as much and Nat ripped me a new ass — I mean… she let me have it." he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck again.

"I tried to explain things to you. If you had bothered to return any of my calls or texts I could have explained everything. I know I should have told you. It was stupid to keep it secret, but it didn't just affect me. It affects all of them if things went south between us. They've had enough people come and go from their life, they don't need another one. They're my family and they come first! “ You gulp for air at the end, forcing all you had to say in one breath.

Bucky slowly nods, hanging his head," I know, I know- "

"And look how it turned out! You turned tail and ran without giving me a second glance! I can't fall apart like that again, I just can't. So if this is going to be too much for you then just go back down those stairs and don't look back." You huff, pulling the door harder against your leg for stability.

Bucky trains his eyes on you, all traces of sheepishness gone. Another silent moment passes. Finally he gently reaches up to brush a strand of your hair back. His hand shifts to up your cheek. In spite of yourself you lean into the touch, craving it more than anything else.

"I want to be in this. I won't run again. I promise."

You feel the tears prick at the corner of your eyes. With a sniff you pull back. A flicker of panic flashes in Bucky's face before you push the door open, a nonverbal invitation to come in. You turn to head to the living room as Bucky shuts the door behind him. 

"Hope you enjoy Frozen." You comment, nestling yourself next to Nina on the overstuffed sofa.

"Not sure that I've seen that one, but I'll give it a shot." He says as he lowers himself next to you.

"It's our favorite around here." 

You're conscious of his arm thrown over the back of the sofa, careful not to touch your shoulders. Your little pack carries on watching the movie, though you hardly hear the dialogue over the whirling thoughts in your head. You peek over at Nina, who surreptitiously sneaks glances at Bucky. He's too into "Love Is An Open Door" to notice the little examination. By the end of the song you're shocked when Nina wiggles her way over your lap and into Bucky's. 

He stiffens a moment, unsure of how to react. He exchanges a look with you and all you can do is shrug. You can barely hide the grin spreading across your face as Nina grabs a handful of popcorn and becomes engrossed with the movie once more, content in her new seating arrangement.

Bucky leans over to whisper in your ear, " "Does this mean I get the seal of approval?" 

“Looks like it."

“Cool.” He smiles brightly, eyes sparkling in amusement.

Bucky returns to his upright position, relaxing once more into the cushions. The cartoon trio make their trek up Elsa's mountain when you decide to relent and lean your head against Bucky's shoulder. You remain tense until, cautiously, he wraps his arm around you. Secure by his side you blow out the breath you’d been holding. The tension swiftly bleeds away from you and for the first time in a long time you feel optimistic that this could actually work. Bucky just might become the next rag-tag member of your crazy family circus.

EVERYTHING TAGLIST: 

@booktvmoviefangirl @lowkeybuckyb @mrsdaamneron @xxashy999xx @c-ly-g @coal000 @rroguebones @ghostlyrose2 @part-time-patronus @emelielwh @peaceinourtime82 @buckysforeverprincess @geeksareunique @amnahs9695 @v-2bucky @scarlet-skywalkers @lokilvrr @thisismysecrethappyplace @sacre-bluhm @tatertot1097 @until-theend-oftheline @amoonagedaydreamer @marvelouspottering @thatfanficstuff @chuuulip @averyrogers83 @ellaprime68 @shield-agent78 @jewels2876 @collette04

BUCKY BARNES TAGLIST: 

@bloodiedskirtts @igotkatiepowers @misplacedorphan @superwholockwannabe @moonstruckhargrove @ladysergeantbarnes 

[pretty-well-funded]

Little Sister, pt 2

I’m so glad so many of you are perverts too <3  

so, you should assume this is going to be very fucked up in a non-violent sort of way.  take care of yourselves and don’t read if sexual manipulation of a minor bothers you (heh)

Part 1

*

After they drop her suitcase off in the guest room, Tony shows her around the penthouse with big, emphatic gestures and a hand on her at all times.  He’s so sexy...the way that he smiles, and the thick musculature of his arms and shoulders.  

After he shows her around, Tony looks at his watch and says, “I need to head down to the workshop for a while - not sure when I’ll be back.  Feel free to order dinner if you get hungry, I left a credit card on the counter.”

Petra really didn’t expect for him to leave right away, given everything, but she’s also kind of relieved to have some time apart.  She unpacks her stuff and checks out the guest room where she’ll be staying.

She uses the afternoon to snoop around the penthouse, looking in drawers and opening cabinets, his streaming history and his music collection.  

It’s around seven at night when she decides to order dinner.  Then she has 30 minutes to kill.  There’s only one room she hasn’t gone into - the master suite.  The door is closed and Tony hadn’t taken her in there, just showed her where he slept before they moved onto the game room.  

Now Petra opens the door and wanders inside, feeling like she’s doing something wrong, but also excited.

It’s as clean as the rest of the place - Tony clearly has housekeeping service - but there are articles of casual clothing strewn around on the floor.  She snoops in the closet and the bathroom, then lays down on his huge bed, testing to see if it’s more comfortable than hers.  I definitely is.  

She rolls over and opens his bedside drawer, not at all surprised to see a big box of condoms, but somewhat flustered to see they’re XXL.  It makes her cheeks burn.  There’s like...other stuff too.  A bottle of “personal lubricant,” and a couple different vibrators.  She thought that those were for women or like...gay guys, so she’s kind of confused.  There are a few other things that she’s not sure what they’re used for.   A stretchy-looking ring, and a bunch of little...things (some, less little than others) that sort of look like Christmas trees.  Or like, those chess pieces, what are they called?

The doorbell rings and Petra puts everything back where she found it, closes the bedroom door and signs for the food.  She watches tv while she eats.  Around 9, decides she wants to try her shower.  It’s amazing.

It’s still pretty early, but she’s tired from the last couple days of worrying about all this, so she pulls on pajamas to get ready for bed.  

She doesn’t even realize Tony’s back in the apartment til he raps on the door and opens it before she can say not to come in.

She’s dressed already, so it could be worse, but she feels pretty naked as Tony looks her over.  Her tank top is thin and she isn’t wearing a bra, plus the shorts she put on to sleep in are...small.  She gets hot when she sleeps and she doesn’t like it when pj’s get twisted at night, so she sleeps in stuff that’s small and snug.

She packed this stuff intending to only wear it in private.

Tony doesn’t even try to conceal his elevator eyes this time, and Petra crosses her arms over her chest.  

He licks his bottom lip and meets her eyes.  “Hey, kiddo, sorry if I caught you at a bad time.  Just hoping you could come keep me company while I eat, figured we could watch a movie or something.  I feel bad about leaving you alone all evening.”

“It’s okay.  Um...” Petra looks over at her bed but she’s suddenly a lot less tired.  “I can come hang out.  I just need to put on some clothes...”

“I dunno, you look comfy to me.”  Tony gives her a reassuring smile.  “No need to get dolled on my account.”

He sort of makes an ‘after you’ gesture, and Petra’s not sure how to tell him she at least wants to put on a bra, so she just goes as-is.  She’s hyper-aware of how skimpy her shorts really are as he follows behind her.  

*

Tony suggests they eat on the terrace, and it’s a little cold, but it’s really neat out there.  It has an electric like...fire-pit thing that Tony turns on, which makes up for her lack of warm clothes.  He gets himself a scotch after he settles her in and asks if she’d like some wine.  

It gives her something to do with her hands, which is nice, even if it tastes kind of awful.

Tony turns out to be a lot of fun to talk to, once they’re relaxed and their parents aren’t hovering.  They talk about what she wants to study and what he’s working on right now, and somehow in all the weirdness, she missed that Tony’s really smart and they share a lot of interests.

And then, like it always does with adults, the conversation turns to Petra’s love life.

“So, got a boyfriend?”

Tony finished eating a while ago so his whole attention is on her when he asks.  At least he can’t tell that she’s blushing, between the dark and the firelight.  “No.”

His lips quirk.  “Girlfriend?”

“No.  I’m not into girls.”

Tony smiles.  “Well, there you and I part ways.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Nah.  Too much of an opportunist, I’m afraid.  How about you?  Why no guy?”

Petra huffs.  “I mean, I usually just tell adults I’m too busy studying when they ask, but honestly, all the guys at my school are just cretins.”

Tony grins.  “Good word.  They’ll grow out of it.  God knows I was a little shit.”

Petra resists the urge to tell him he’s still a shit now - her tongue is loose, but she’s not sure that they’re there yet.  “Lot of good that does me now.”

“True.  You’ll just have to get creative until then.”

Tony’s eyes drop to where her shorts are riding up and Petra wonders how much he can see, shuddering and shifting positions to conceal...whatever.

“You must be cold, even with the fire.  Let’s head inside.”

Petra almost loses her balance when she stands, and Tony reaches out to steady her, plucking the wine glass out of her hands and setting it down.  He puts his arm around her and ushers her inside.

“Not a big partier, eh, Pete?”

“No.  I’m a nerd.”

"Well, you’re in good company there.  Wanna watch a movie?”

Petra shrugs, unsure she could concentrate on anything right now.  Petra curls up against the arm of the love-seat while Tony wanders over to refill his own drink.  She’s not ready to go to sleep yet, but it feels nice to lay down.  The room is doing a slow dance with the couch.  

“No hogging,” Tony says and settles next to her, moving her legs onto his lap.  There are plenty of other seats that are empty, but it’s exciting having him close, even if he does just pick up the remote and turn to a news station.  At least he keeps the volume low.

He watches the tv and Petra watches him, and when he starts running a hand over her calf, she’s really glad she just shaved her legs.  His hand feels good.  She can feel his callouses scraping against her newly smooth skin and it sends a frisson of something up her spine.

Tony looks over at her.  “Still cold?”

Petra shakes her head, and Tony’s attention turns back to the news.

Over time, Tony’s hand starts migrating up Petra’s leg, fondling her knee and toying with the back of her inner thigh.  Tony hardly even seems to notice what he’s doing, just sipping his scotch and reading the headlines as he slowly drives Petra out of her goddamn mind.  She tries to stay still and quiet, so she doesn’t draw his attention.  She subtly repositions herself so that if he looks, he won’t be able to see that she’s wet.  Not that she’s sure that you could tell, but...it’s not just a little, so.

When her attention goes back to Tony’s face, she realizes he’s watching her with a small smile on his face.  Her cheeks catch on fire.

“So,” he says, fingers spidering a little further up her inner thigh.  Before she can tense up, they go back down.  “With all your blushing, am I to assume you haven’t taken the cretins up on any of their cretinous advances?”

Petra swallows.  “I already told you I haven’t dated anyone.”

She sees a flash of Tony’s teeth.  “Sex and dating don’t have to go together, you know.”

She looks away and doesn’t answer, too embarrassed.

“C’mon, Pete, you can tell me.  Not even party games?  A little light making out?  Someone show you his hoping you would show him yours.”

“No.  No one’s ever wanted me,” she says without thinking.  “And I’ve...I wouldn’t have wanted them anyway.”

“Well, that’s definitely not true,” Tony says, and the look on his face is hardly subtle.  Petra realizes his fingers are much higher up than before.  Almost...almost touching her very short shorts.

“Why did...why did Howard ask you to watch me?”

“He didn’t.  I volunteered.”

Petra’s breathing hard as his fingers slide through...slide through her, where she’s leaked down her leg.  She wants to die, just a little bit.  “W-Why?”

Tony raises an eyebrow.  “It’s unbecoming for such a smart girl to play dumb, sweetheart.”

They stare at each other for a few minutes.  Petra’s brain has frozen right up.

“Tell me to back off and I will, Pete.  No bullshit.  I want to do awful, illegal things to your tight little body, but I have no desire to get thrown in jail or disinherited, both of which Howard would do in a heartbeat with the right excuse.  So tell me, and I’ll look but not touch.  I just don’t think that’s what you want.”

“I - “  Petra’s mouth is bone dry.  Her heart is beating so hard.  “I should go to bed.”

Tony withdraws his hand from her leg and smiles.  “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Petra concentrates, very carefully, on not tripping on her feet as she heads to the guest room, aware that he’s watching every step.

Part 3

[the-kingofsnakes]

Chapter 1: The Abrupt Alliance

The letters followed them from his glass tank in the cupboard under the stairs, to the motel two towns over and finally to a rickety shack in the middle of a swamp that Uncle Vernon had somehow found. The letters outshined the fact that it was now his birthday. He wasn't surprised though since his birthday is forgotten every year. The only good thing about them leaving the house abruptly to escape the letters was that no one had thought to load his tank with them so he was free to roam around the room in his skin. It only took Dudley seconds to realize that the most integral piece of their lives was missing once Vernon had announced there were only two beds.

"That's fine. Harry can sleep in his tank like always." Dudley replied with his mouth full of sausage. 

Petunia had taken to cooking the others a meal of thick sausage and grits on the stove while Harry snuck in a few pieces of leftover broccoli he had stashed in his trouser pockets before they left. His teeth tingle when Dudley suddenly wafted his extra sausage in his face. Both completely aware that Harry wasn't allowed to eat it as they kept him on a strict vegetable scraps only diet. Which basically meant that whenever Petunia cooked vegetables with their meals, once every few weeks or so, Harry was allowed to eat a few handfuls of whatever they had after the plates had been sitting in the sink and doused in water for rinsing during which most of the scraps were washed down the drain.

His scales vibrated over his skin as he watched his family dig into the food once it was fully cooked. He ached to change into his snake form, knowing he was much faster in it than his human one, and steal a bit of meat from one of them. He hadn't had any since they first found out he could turn into a snake when he was seven. He wasn't even sure why he changed forms anymore as it was so long ago, only that ever since then his bed in his cupboard had been replaced with a table and a medium fish tank Uncle Vernon had found after the incident. 

According to his Aunt and Uncle he had bit Dudley's foot and had sent him straight to the hospital due to poisoning. The doctor had said that whatever bit him had been "highly venomous" and "not of this region" only to advise him to stay away from the snake he found if he came across it again and urged the adults to call the humane society so they can relocate the snake back to its natural habitat if they found it again. The bite mark from the wound suggested that the snake had been an eastern indigo snake.

It was only years later when Harry happened to be in the library at school that he had found out that the eastern indigo snake, while large in size, was actually non-venomous and typically ate small mammals and eggs. He was certain that his Aunt knew this as well since she was the one that implemented his vegetarian diet after his initial transformation.

Unfortunately, when he asked her why he could change into a snake she just sneered at him and told him it was a repulsive family trait that he got from his mother. Which made his Uncle pipe up that his father wasn't much better since he was a damn binder. He still wasn't sure how his father was a stationary item but had just chalked his Uncle's words up to him being too dumb to comprehend what the adult actually meant.

His bangs tickled the tops of his eyes, breaking him out of his reverie as he pushed them out of his face for what felt like the tenth time that night. His unruly red hair was a constant problem in his life and no matter how much gel Aunt Petunia tried to slather on it always somehow managed to look like the broken bristles of a witch's broom he had seen in comics in the school newspaper. His eyes weren't any better unfortunately. Instead of having normal colored eyes, his were yellow like an owl, with a ring of dark green around them. The Dursley's made him wear obnoxiously big circular glasses that didn't even have lenses in them and told people he wore colored contacts to cover up the abnormality. He rather liked his eyes though, as they were the only constant in either of his forms.

Though his scar, he thought, was the worst of all. It sat rather proudly on the left side of his forehead and looked like a burst of silvery white lightning that refused to conform to the rest of his chestnut skin tone. His hair refused to cover it no matter how long it got and seemed almost personally offended when Harry would try to force it to do so, sticking out even more with renewed static from his hands coursing through the strands and encouraged their defiance.

The sudden kick to his shins that Dudley gave him stirred him from his thoughts. Groaning in pain, he glared at his cousin.

"What?" Harry asked through clenched teeth in English. The language sounded foul on his tongue,  like week old moldy vegetables that he only ate because he didn't have anything else available. He much preferred to speak like the snakes that came into Aunt Petunia's garden but he also knew the others frowned upon it. They said it was unnatural and horrid but Harry thought the same thing about English so he supposed fair was fair.

"Mum said you get the corner of the floor and I get the other bed." Dudley smirked with a haughty reply.

Harry let out a small huff in response and wished he'd speak to him like he used to before he turned into Vernon's little soldier. Sure Dudley had been mean to him when his parents were around but that was because Vernon and Petunia were horrible people and could be quite scary to a small child. Before Harry turned into a snake and bit him for being a dunce though they used to use snake-speak with each other all the time and had been quite close when behind doors. 

He sighed in defeat and went to curl up on the floor as Petunia cleaned the dishes all the while, humming an annoying tune. He knew it was a nervous tick of hers from years of exposure to it and that it often meant bad things were about to happen to him. However, nothing did this time, and the other three residents of the creaky cabin lulled themselves to sleep eventually.

Once everyone else fell asleep Harry got two of the letters he had managed to snag from the air before they left to read their contents. He winced when he felt Dudley sit beside him and expected a blow to the head only for him to whisper hastily to get on with it. Both of them held their breath in anticipation as Harry handed one to his cousin and opened them at the same time. Bafflement was the only thing he felt as Harry read the contents of the letter in his hands:

Dear Mr. D. Dursley,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on the 1st of September. We await your owl no later than 31st July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva Mcgonagall 

Deputy Headmistress

"Dudley... this is about you. Why is it about you? You're not…" Like me, wrong, different, he wanted to say to his cousin but couldn't bring himself to utter the words.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about? This thing clearly says your name and not mine! I'm not like you. Stop making fun of me Harry!" Dudley whispered loudly.

"I'm not I swear! See, look."

Harry shoved his letter in Dudley's hands and his own letter was shoved none to gently at him. He wasn't sure if it was the force of the shove that Dudley gave him or the fact that he was so thin that made him almost go backwards. Split second panic rose in him as he started to fall over only for his wrist closest to his cousin to be pulled back gently which Harry assumed was a reflex for the other when it wasn't acknowledged. His cousin favored skimming his own letter instead and Harry saw the exact moment Dudley realized Vernon wouldn't show mercy due to their blood relation.

"He's gonna kill me." Dudley whispered out.

"So I'm… magic? You're magic? We're both magic?" Harry asked to confirm the mass confusion in his head.

"Apparently. It doesn't make sense though. I mean, I get you... but me? I haven't done anything magical in my life. I'm perfectly, boringly ordinary just like him." 

It was strange how one word, like him, could be filled with love one second then so much hate and fear it consumed your very core the next. Harry was thankful for it though because for the first time in their lives since the accident he felt like they were finally on the same page on how awful the elder Dursleys really were. Petunia was more passive but Vernon was known to favor his fists more than words and knew where to strike so as to not raise suspicion. 

"Well according to this you aren't. Maybe you blocked it out when you did something magical because you thought he wouldn't love you anymore?"

"He won't. He hates you. We both know he does. Mum though… I think she likes you, or wants to at least. Like maybe she's afraid to show it because she's afraid of him? I mean, it wouldn't be very far fetched considering how he treats you. Would it?"

Harry honestly wasn't sure how to respond to that. Especially since Aunt Petunia was the one who restricted his diet and kept him locked up most of the time. While Vernon doled out the more physical punishments to him and thought that keeping him locked up was a pointless endeavor. 

"Are you afraid of him?" 

"Currently? Terrified." 

Harry just nodded beside him since he wasn't sure if he should say anything else. Was there a truce between them now that they were similar or was Dudley going to deny it and still torture him? Deciding it was better to not ask, he took off his glasses, frames really as they had no lenses, and readied himself to curl up on the floor, debating whether or not to sleep in his scales when Dudley spoke up once more.

"You know you could…. Um… I mean the bed is big enough for the both of us I think. Only if you want that is?"

Harry blinked slowly in return and felt like the world had spun up around him only to jerk him back to the ground just as quick. His brain tried to play out all the scenarios that this could be a trick, after all they were in the middle of nowhere and practically no one knew he existed other than these Hogwarts people. They could leave him here the next morning and Dudley would act like Harry never even existed just like always. He wanted to say yes. If he were being honest with himself then he would even go so far as to say that he wanted them to be friends… eventually.

He debated on what to tell Dudley that wouldn't be overtly rude, as in: 'No, we can't both fit because you're a giant pig', since he's pretty sure the other boy was trying to extend some semblance of peace before the oncoming storm that was Vernon Dursley. So instead he just nodded, turned into his snake form and allowed Dudley to pick him up to set him on the bed gently. He honestly didn't know the other boy could be gentle, especially not when it came to him.

"Thanksss" Harry replied thoughtlessly once Dudley let go.

"You're welcome."

Harry knew that if he were in his skin then he'd be smiling at Dudley's automatic hiss, however small it was of a reply. At the moment though he was too tired to do anything else, including acknowledging his cousins' fumbling tongue, other than curl up under the other pillow so that he was encased in complete darkness and close his eyes as Dudley got dressed. He listened to the roughness of the clothes as they moved over Dudley's skin and could taste the scent of them on the air when he flicked his tongue out. 

"Hey Harry?" Dudley whispered as he pulled the covers over him once he got into bed.

Harry poked his black head out from under the pillow and glanced over at his cousin. He was certain that if snakes could look drowsy then he would look exhausted. The bruises on his ribs were burning from all the moving around he had to do in their hasty escape from the letters and he was fairly certain one of them was broken. His stomach growled in contempt once more as he waited on Dudley to speak. Even his scales somehow ached from exhaustion and he couldn't for the life of him remember the last time he had drank something. He knew if he looked in the mirror in his skin form that his eyes would have dark circles under them and his ribs would be sticking out under Dudley's hand-me-downs.

"What do you thinksss gonna happen tomorrow? They aren't going to leave usss out here are- are they?" His voice quivered with fear as the words were spoken.

"I'm not sure. Guess we'll see what happensss in the morning."

"Suppose you're right." Dudley hissed back in a defeated tone. He was sounding more and more like a scared child with each second that passed.

"Night Harry." He mumbled out against his pillow after a brief silence. The words came out thick with the general haze of sleep ringing in them. 

Harry didn't bother replying and decided instead to move out from under the pillow and curl up near Dudley's form as he fell into the sweet embrace of slumber. He didn't really like sleeping out in the open but he figured it showed that he had Dudley's back since he was faster than the other in case the adults tried anything during the night.