#leave the subject matter of what it is to be black to actual black people fucking weirdos

[fairy-made]

White person: you think you know more than me when it comes to race and treat me like my opinion doesnt matter

Me:

[ohbo-ohno]

run until you feel your lungs bleeding (ghost x reader)

summary: You're on the run after finally escaping from your abusive husband's clutches, hitchhiking south along California highways. A strange man in a black mask picks you up, and it doesn't take you long to realize that not every hand offered should be taken.

word count: 6.5k

cw: dark fic!, noncon somnophilia, referenced abuse from a past partner, ghost does not care about reader's feelings, mentioned drinking while driving but no intoxication

read on ao3 - see the pinterest board

One of your blisters is about to burst. You’d worn through your only pair of clean socks yesterday, leaving the back of your heel vulnerable to your old tennis shoes and their vendetta against your feet. You can feel your skin rubbing thinner and thinner with each step, know it’s only a matter of time before you’ve got blood flowing freely into your shoe. 

You keep your left arm stretched out, thumb held up in the hope that someone will take pity on your limping form and give you a ride.

It’s not likely, you’ve been hitchhiking for days now and not a single person has slowed down. You’ve got no real destination, just a goal of putting as much space between you and your piece of shit ex-husband as possible. Your end goal is Arizona - you’ve got an aunt somewhere in Scottsdale, if you can get to her you can only hope she’ll help you get back on your feet.

A few people honk as they drive by. In the two days you’ve been walking, none have stopped. You take short power naps at night off the side of the road, pray to every god you can think of that you don’t get run over or eaten by something.

You haven’t yet. But you know if you don’t get a good night's sleep soon, don’t start putting actual distance between him and you, then you might not survive your escape.

The sun is at its apex when the semi-truck pulls up beside you. It’s black, the trailer attached is plain white with no logo painted on. You can hardly believe your luck, gape up at the massive thing as it slows. The door pops open a moment after the truck rolls to a stop, but it’s so high up that you can’t see who’s driving past their hand - gloved - before they pull it back.

You don’t have the luxury of asking questions. You just stumble over, flinching back with a little hiss when you place your palm on the metal of the truck and burn your hand. It takes a minute to finagle your way into the truck, but you manage it eventually, huffing and puffing all the way up. 

The first thing you notice about the man in the driver’s seat is his size - he’s big. Bigger than any man you’ve seen before. You just reach his shoulders even with both of you sitting down, his legs are spread so wide his knees nearly rest on his door and the gearshift, his head is close to brushing the roof. He’s just… big.

He’s wearing a black neck gaiter pulled up to cover his mouth and nose, which strikes you as odd considering he’s driving on his own, but you brush the thought off. His hair is blond, greasy and limp on his scalp, you doubt he did more than run his fingers through it getting out of bed. His eyes are blue, a light shade that surprises you for some reason. You don’t know a thing about this man, certainly not enough to be surprised by anything about him, but the blond hair and the blue eyes… it doesn’t quite fit with the black gloves and the mask.

He’s reclined back in his seat, one hand resting on the wheel and the other on his thigh, eyes scanning you like a king his subject. His eyes linger on your tiny shorts (sleep shorts, what you’d been wearing the night of your escape), skip right past the sluggishly bleeding scrapes on your knees and scan your ratty backpack.

You hope he won’t ask you to empty it. You’d like to keep your gun for as long as possible, can’t imagine this trucker would be ok with the hitchhiker he just picked up having a loaded weapon.

He doesn’t speak when he finally makes eye contact with you. You can’t hold it for long at all, only manage a few seconds before you’re glancing around his truck.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do you.

His car reeks of smoke. There’s a beer bottle in his cup holder, open and helf empty. There are more bottles - empty - by your feet. He doesn’t have the radio playing.

When you look back at him, his eyes are already trained on yours. You can’t help but flinch - the intensity of his gaze feels suffocating, even after only a few seconds of being held under it.

You work up the nerve to speak, take a few deep breaths and a few more long looks around the truck, the space this man spends most of his days in.

There are cigarette stubs on the dashboard, which has clearly been used as a makeshift ashtray. The seats are old, the leather peeling and tempting you to pick, and the dash itself is sunbleached.

“I’m trying to go to Arizona,” you finally say, flickering your eyes quickly to his and away again. His jeans are worn - but naturally worn, like he’s had them for months and washed them so many times they’ve lost their color. “Are… are you heading that direction?”

You look at him long enough to see him incline his head a bit. You don’t think he’s blinked since you got in the car.

“Goin’ south,” he affirms. His voice is a low grumble, British accented. Not necessarily unsurprising to hear in California, but a shock from a truck driver. “I’ll drop you somewhere along the way.”

He pulls away from the shoulder with that and turns away from you, apparently finished with the interaction. 

Being dropped somewhere along the way isn’t necessarily your ideal situation, but your feet scream in relief at the lack of pressure, so you’re certainly not going to complain.

You shift a little further back in your seat, tuck the backpack between you and the passenger door. He could reach it if he wanted, but keeping yourself between this stranger and your prized possessions feels like the right choice. You think about propping your feet up on the dashboard, but decide you don’t want to seem too rude to your apparent savior.

You look out the window. You’ve never been in a car this high, and even the flat California highways look more interesting at a new vantage point. It’s easier to focus on the far-off mountains than the giant beside you.

“So,” you cough lightly, awkward in the relative silence of the truck. The engine is loud, but the driver’s radio is dead silent. “What’s your name?”

He grunts, gives no other response. You glance over to him, a little unsure of yourself. Had you made that bad of a first impression somehow?

He doesn’t turn to you, and he doesn’t answer your question.

Alright, you tell yourself. Maybe he does this all the time, maybe he’s tired of making small talk with homeless and desperate hitchhikers. That’s probably it.

You don’t give him your name. Instead, you tuck your feet up to the seat beneath your thighs, turn your body fully to the passenger window, fold your arms on the windowsill and lay your chin on your elbows.

The drive is smooth enough for you to relax, even though you know that logically you shouldn’t. You’re a young woman who’s just gotten into a car with a strange and intimidating man who could very clearly physically overpower you. Nobody knows where you are. You should have a hand on your gun already, ready for anything the driver might try.

But you’ve been walking for days, and hadn't been sleeping well before that either. You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since your wedding night. The low rumble of the engine, the heat of the sun beaming through the glass, the surprisingly gentle motions of the truck…

You don’t quite let yourself fall asleep, but it’s a near thing.

———————————————————————

The two of you stay like that for hours. Your benevolent driver seemingly comfortable in his silence with you drowsy and relaxing in his passenger seat. You don’t stay in the same position for more than an hour or two at once, shifting your legs and always keeping any pressure off your feet.

You’d like to pull your shoes off, to ask if the man has any band-aids. Maybe any food, any water. But you can’t risk pissing him off, not when your other options are nonexistent. So you settle for slow movements, trying to keep your blisters from being irritated.

He finishes his beer before the first hour has passed with you in his vehicle. Waits another two to have a second. You don’t comment on it, but the scent makes your lip curl, and you bury your face in your arms to hide the reaction. You hope he’s not a lightweight. And despite the heavy stench of cigarette smoke sunken into the interior, he hasn’t had one yet. 

He’s the one who speaks next.

It’s a quarter until 6, and the sun has started her slow journey to sleep. You’ve been watching the sight for a while, entranced by the slow process with nothing else to amuse you.

“Pullin’ off,” he grunts.

You can’t help but jerk up straight at the sound, caught off guard. You’d nearly forgotten about his accent, about how deep his voice really is.

“For gas?” You ask, turning in your seat to glance at him for the first time in at least an hour. He only grunts again, a noise you’re just going to assume means yes. 

“Alright,” you nod, letting your feet drop to the floor from where you’d crossed them beneath yourself. “Are you… do you want me to find someone else to ride with?” You cross your fingers where you tuck them beneath your thighs, pray to every god you know of that he doesn’t make that yes grunt again.

He looks over to you this time, and the two of you make eye contact for the first time since you’d gotten into the car nearly six hours ago. His eyes are brighter than you remember, and the impact of them sends a jolt up your spine.

You’re not sure how long he looks at you. You feel stuck under his gaze, a little wide-eyed prey animal spotted by a predator who can only lay still and hope they move on. You’ve never felt quite so pinned before, quite so unable to break eye contact. You don’t think you like it.

He looks away first, shifts in his seat and drops one hand from the steering wheel to lay on his thigh. You swallow at how tight his jeans are, how his thighs seem to nearly bulge from them. 

“No,” he finally answers. It takes a moment for you to remember your own question, but your sigh of relief is loud once you do.

If you’re lucky, he’ll try and drive through the night. Dangerous, since it’ll make for nearly twenty-four hours on the road, but you’d rather take your chances with him than falling asleep at the wheel then spend another night staring into a dark forest and wondering if there are wolves in this part of the country.

He turns off the highway three exits later, pulls his truck into the first reststop. It’s the only structure in the nearby area, a McDonald’s-Subway-Shell mix with ten pumps, less than half with someone using them. It’s the kind of rest stop you’ve seen on countless roadtrips, one that you know exists off half the exits in the States. The familiarity of it makes your lips twitch up in the corners.

There are several other semi-trucks pulled up getting gas, none quite the size of your driver’s. He parks quickly and easily, in one try, and turns the truck completely off. You shift a little in your seat, unsure what he’ll want from you, but he’s hauled himself up and out of the truck before you can open your mouth to ask.

You settle a bit. He’d said he wouldn’t make you leave but you still can’t fully relax for some reason, can’t bring back the looseness to your shoulders you’ve had since he picked you up. You entertain yourself by watching a middle aged couple try and wrangle six kids that look like they’re all under ten, since I’m sympathy when the littlest one’s face goes red and he starts to wail.

The door next to you opens without warning. You manage to catch your bag before it can go tumbling out of the car, can’t hold back the little yelp of surprise. Your eyes are wide, fingers holding tight to the bag, when you look up through your hair.

The driver’s face looks the same as it has for the last six hours - expressionless. Even with the mask, surely his eyebrows should move at least a bit? He looks almost like a corpse above you - pale face and flat features. It unnerves you. 

“Gettin’ food. You got money?”

You hesitate for a moment - you do have money, small bills you’d snuck from your husband’s wallet that you’d planned to use for a bus ticket. You’re not starving yet, the few granola bars you’d taken in your escape will tide you over for a little while longer.

You shake your head.

He nods, like he’d expected that, and glances over your form from head to toe again. “Alright. You want somethin’ to eat, now’s your chance. We’ll be back on the road for another few hours before I stop for the night.”

With that he turns away, jumps down to the parking lot and stalks off toward the McDonald’s. It takes you a minute to follow him, still a little shocked that you’d gotten multiple sentences from him at once.

The thought of free food is far too tempting to let you linger for too long, though, and you’re throwing your bag over your shoulders and scampering after him only a moment later. You have to trot a little awkwardly to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t hold the door open for you, but you catch him glancing over his shoulder to see if you’re there.

The teenager working the register looks like it’s their first day, and you assume a middle-aged man leaning against the counter beside her is meant to be showing her the ropes. He’s far more occupied with whatever’s on his phone screen, leaving the cashier to stare up at your driver with wide eyes.

You get it. Standing next to him now, you decide he’s not big - he’s huge. Has to be at least six and a half feet tall, and at least a foot taller than you. Combined with his muscular form - another odd thing for a truck driver - and his all black attire, he seems almost like some sort of monster or omen come to warn about the future.

You step up to the counter beside him, give the cashier your best reassuring smile when she glances at you. It gives her enough courage to stumble over, “Welcome to McDonald’s, what can I get you today?” after only a few stuttering starts. You’re quite proud of her.

“Five Big Macs and fries. No drink.” The man rumbles, his mask umoving. He glances down at you, finally cocks an eyebrow (an expression!) for you to order.

“Uh, just… just ten nuggets for me,” you smile at the cashier, glance up at the driver to make sure you haven’t somehow ordered too much. “And, uh, a Coke?”

“Will that be all for you today?”

“Make it a twenty nugget meal,” your partner corrects, then pulls a worn leather from his back pocket and pays with a shiny card. You can’t help but eye the many bills folded neatly in the wallet.

“Thanks for the upgrade,” you say as the two of you slide onto a pair of stools to wait for your food. “I really appreciate it. I, uh, I can’t pay you back, though.”

He glances at you again, holds you pinned under his gaze and kicks your heartbeat up a few notches. It becomes a conscious effort to keep your breathing steady when he spreads his thighs enough to brush against yours. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Your meal is largely silent. He all but inhales three of his five burgers, leaves the other two wrapped up presumably for later on the drive. You try and eat all of your nuggets and fries, but your granola bar diet of the last few days means your stomach feels stretched to his limit only a few bites into the meal.

After your fifth nugget, you tuck the little box closed. Shift towards your driver and glance up from the window you’d been staring out to see him already looking down at you.

You clear your throat, take a little sip of your Coke. “I’m done.”

He shakes his head once, reaches forward to pop the little box back open. “No, you’re not. We’re not getting back on the road ‘til you eat at least half.”

You can’t help but blink in surprise at him, not moving to take any more food. He won’t tell you his name, won’t make any small talk whatsoever, but he will worry about how much you’re eating?

He grunts when you don’t make a move to listen to him, pushes the little brown box closer to you. “C’mon. Eat.”

You get through another five under his eye. He doesn’t look away from you, and now you know about the stare. It feels heavier now, like every little twitch from you is catalouged by him. It makes every bite difficult to swallow.

He nods when you tuck the little box closed again, glance a bit wearily at him to make sure he’s content now. He picks up your tray, tucks his two sandwiches in one hand, and leaves. You scramble to keep up.

His strides are a little shorter in the parking lot this time, and the slower pace keeps your blisters from further irritation. You’re not sure it’s intentional, but you’re thankful nonetheless.

The truck is still difficult to get into, but the worn leather seats are a familiar comfort now. This time, your driver flicks on the radio as he pulls out of the rest stop.

For some reason, you feel like maybe he likes you. There’s something in the line of his body that feels a little softer now, the tension in the truck feels a little drained. It could be the music, but you prefer to think that he’s taken a bit of a liking to you. It means he’s less likely to end up hurting you, means you're less likely to have to rely on your non-existent shooting skills.

With the sun nearly fully set and the soft music from the radio, it’s much harder to keep yourself awake. You curl up in the seat, lay your head down on folded arms, and try your best to keep your eyes open.

———————————————————————

You don’t know how long it’s been when you wake up.

The truck is silent now, no engine and no radio, and the world outside is pitch black. You jerk up at the realization, quickly lay a hand on your bag and turn to your driver.

He’s staring at you. You nearly yelp in surprise, bite your tongue so harshly to keep the noise back that you taste the tang of iron.

He looks nearly inhuman in just the low light of the truck. Pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, a dark black mask obscuring half of his face. His body is turned towards you, black shirt and dark pants making him look almost like the top half of his face is just… floating. 

“I need to sleep,” he rumbles, keeping you held captive in what almost feels like a staring contest - like if you look away now, you’ll lose something. “You can take the bed in the back.”

That gets your heartbeat quickening, the thud of your pulse loud in your own ears. “Oh… I thought…” you swallow, finally tear your eyes from his to look around. You seem to be at another rest stop, this one a small dark building with two bathrooms and a few vending machines. There aren’t any other trucks parked around you. “I thought I might try and find a motel or something.”

“With what money?”

He’s got you there. You work your tongue against the roof of your mouth, clear away the blood and try to make your mouth not so bone-dry. “Yeah,” you nearly whisper, eyes darting back to his before away again. He hasn’t moved. You clear your throat before speaking again. “But, uh, I don’t want to kick you out of your bed. I can sleep up here.”

“You’ll take the bed,” he reaffirms, with no room for argument in his tone. You can’t help but feel like there’s something more here, like you’re missing something. You don’t feel safe anymore, not like you had after the McDonald’s. Why did you let yourself fall asleep? You could have pressured him to pull off somewhere with a motel, tried to finagle or scam yourself into a room with a lock on the door.

Now you’re stuck in this dark truck, no one else but the driver around for miles.

You swallow again, force down a cough.

You don’t want to sleep in his bed. But a glance over at him tells you that’s what’s going to happen. Your driver doesn’t seem the kind of man to take kindly to disobedience.

“What’s your name?” You ask again, voice weak and quiet. For some reason, this feels important. Like a name will make him more human, easier to swallow.

He only tilts his head a little, face still stoic. “Get in bed. We’ll drive again when the sun rises.”

“Please,” you try, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. You can’t explain it, but you need his name. Need some evidence that he’s more man than he looks. This moment feels pivotal, and there’s a little voice screaming at the back of your head that things are going in the wrong direction.

“Sleep, doll,” is all he says. His voice isn’t softer, but it’s quieter, like maybe he understands the fear coursing through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut a moment before pushing yourself up, both hands holding onto your bag - your literal only possible defense againt this man - like a lifeline. You know they’d shake if your grips was any looser.

It’s too dark to make out much in the back of his cabin. The bed is a decent size for you, but you wonder if he’s able to stretch out fully on it. You think you can see the outline of a minifridge and a few books resting on the floor. 

He’s still watching you as you sit on the bed, his body unmoved but his head turned towards you. You try to keep your breathing steady as you toe your shoes off, tuck your feet up to the bed with you and curl up on your side.

The bag doesn’t leave your arms. His eyes don’t leave your form. He makes no move to stretch out and sleep like he’d said he would.

You force your eyes closed, no matter how wrong it feels. You try and will yourself to sleep, tell yourself everything will be fine. If he tries anything, you’ll shoot him.

You can still feel his gaze on you when you finally slip into unconsciousness.

———————————————————————

You wake slowly to movement behind you. 

You blink heavy eyelids open, let them fall shut again when there’s no difference in what you can see.  You feel cloaked by sleep still, like your brain has been held underwater and everything moves a little slowly, a little muffled.

The bed dips behind you, and there’s a warmth behind you. A hand at your waist. The top of a foot against the sole of yours. A chest against your back.

Your eyes stay closed, but your brows furrow a bit. Your husband has always hated the idea of cuddling, slept like a corpse on his back and berated you if you dared to touch him in your sleep. You nearly roll over, but figure that might set him off. Your arms still ache from the last argument you’d had.

The hand slips beneath your shirt, rough palm against your waist, thumb smoothing in little circles.

That catches your attention, too - your husband’s hands are soft. He’s never done a day of work in his life, the only job he’s had is some fake title made up by his father at his company. The hand on your skin isn’t soft at all, it’s rough with big, thick fingers that rest heavily on you.

The realization comes to you in pieces.

Your master bedroom was never this dark, the large windows always left wide open to allow moonlight into the room. Your ex-husband’s hands are smooth, boney and nearing on frail. The foot brushing against yours triggers a burning sensation in your blisters.

You keep your breathing even - an effort that feels impossible. 

It’s not your husband at your back, it’s the truck driver.

He’s silent as he tucks himself fully to you. His breath is damp against your neck and you fight down a shudder at the sensation. 

Your bag isn’t in your arms, which means you don’t have your gun. Whatever happens, whatever he does to you, you have no way of defending yourself.

The only reason you don’t cry at the thought is because you don’t want him to know you’re awake. It’s pure self-preservation that keeps your breathing even, your limbs loose, and your breathing slow.

He brings his head closer, his breathing loud in your ear. Every part of him is pressed against you, and you can’t help squeezing your eyes shut more tightly at the hardness poking into your back.

He’s silent as he sets his chin over your shoulder. His groin is tucked right beneath your ass, his knees behind yours and his feet benath yours. He’s just… spooning you.

It feels like an eternity passes just like that. Your heartbeat pounding in every bone, the heat of the driver’s body against yours. His breath is the only noise you hear, ghosting over your ear, heavier than your own.

Eventually, he starts to move. You almost whimper when you realize what he’s doing. 

He’s humping you.

His movements are slow at first, just a little rock of his hips against you. But as the minutes pass he becomes more incensed, his thrusts harder against you, his breathing heavier. He grunts at one point, and it takes everything in you not to flinch away.

You want to scream. You want to open your mouth and shout, to roll over and make him stop.

But you don’t have your gun. And he dwarfs you, every inch of your back covered by him and then some. You can’t stop him.

So you let it happen. You keep your eyes screwed shut, try desperately to go anywhere else in your head and pretend you don’t feel how quickly his hips begin to rock.

His hand moves from your hip to your stomach, his pinky resting on the waistband of your sleep shorts. You don’t think you could stay quiet any longer if his fingers slipped beneath the hem, and you let out a near silent breath of relief when his palm continues up instead of down.

He almost rolls you onto your stomach, angles you so your front is closer to the mattress and he can grind more on you than beside you. His hand slips further up your shirt, and you bite your tongue at the feeling of his rough palm against your nipples.

That gets another huff from him, another low sound that could almost be a moan. You feel him shift again, his hips working a little more roughly. You’re not sure how he possibly thinks you’re still asleep, but you pray he doesn’t take it any further as long as he does.

He doesn’t pinch, just softly strokes over one breast. His hand engulfs it fully, fingers wrapping all the way around the little mound of flesh. The calluses on his palm send little sparks down your spine, and you curse your body for the buzzing sensation between your thighs.

His breath gets heavier in your ear, he’s nearly panting over you. If you weren’t wearing shorts and he wasn’t wearing jeans, he’d be fucking you. His thrusting almost feels like he is. The… thing grinding against you is clearly large, even through all the layers of clothing, and you say another prayer that he doesn’t do more than this.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his chin pushing hard into your shoulder. You almost jerk at the sound of his voice, the evidence that this is real and not some horrible nightmare. 

You wish you could fall back asleep.

You don’t know how long the whole thing lasts. The pitch dark, the driver’s oppressive weight against you, it makes time feel liminal. You’re not sure if he lasts for five minutes or five hours.

But eventually his hips slow, give a few harder thrusts before he goes completely still and lets out a loud groan. Again, you wonder how he expects you to have slept through the noise. 

He shifts back a little in the aftermath, rolling you back to your side with a heavy hand on your stomach. You try to keep yourself as limp as possible, try to make your face go slack.

He lays with you for a while, breathing even and slow. You wish he would leave, wish he would let you start pretending this never happened. His hand stays on your stomach, and you can feel the other crossed over his midsection at your back. His feet hold your ankles to the bed. You hope he can’t feel that you’re squeezing your hands into tight fists where they rest against your thighs.

He doesn’t leave. Instead, he shifts his own thick thigh between your own, the rough denim of his jeans irritating the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He tucks his leg up, settles it right against your core.

You can’t help the way your breath hitches at the sudden pressure. You hold it immediately after, then try to breathe normally again when you realize how obvious the sudden change sounds. He doesn’t react, though, so you think you’re safe. 

The pressure increases a bit more before stopping. You’re almost propped up on his thigh, your pussy pressed against him through your shorts. It’s hard not to open your eyes, to look down and see what’s happening.

His hand slips down from your stomach to the waistband of your shorts. You can’t keep yourself from moving this time, already knowing what he’s going to do. You shift your hips a little, make a tiny noise in your throat that you hope comes off as a normal still-asleep sound. The movement only presses you closer to him.

He hums lowly in your ear, fingers stroking across the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside, then past your little gray panties. You can’t help the little squeak you make, the way your hands twitch before you force them still.

The sound he makes is almost a laugh, too low and quiet to really be one though. He hushes you softly, pushes on the meat of your most vulnerable part to still you. 

You don’t know if he thinks you’re awake. You think he must, there’s no way you could have slept through what he’d just done, and you’ve moved twice now. But he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t become more aggressive.

You debate putting up a fight when his fingers sink lower, his palm resting heavily over your cunt. But the thought of him becoming rough, of him restraining you… it makes bile churn in your stomach.

You resign yourself to waiting until it’s over, go limp against the bed again.

Another hum, and his free hand moves beneath your body to grasp your hip. He moves you slowly, little grinding motions over his thigh. The hand over your heat uses two fingers to spread the lips of your cunt, tucks the gusset of your underwear and the fabric of your shorts to the side so your clit makes direct contact with his jeans.

You keen quietly at the sensation, a little animal noise of fear, of pain. You wish you had your gun, wish you could make this man stop.

But you can’t. So you bear it.

He doesn’t touch your clit with his fingers, doesn’t touch any part of your pussy but to spread you wide. His thigh moves along yours, his hand grinding you against it. You hate the slickness gathering at your hole, hate the way your nipples tighten, the way your breaths become heavier.

You bite your tongue to hold back any other sounds, that tang of blood returning after only a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he says into your neck, his voice a low whisper. “Come f’r me, doll... be good.”

You don’t want to be good, can’t suppress the little whine you make at even the thought. He rumbles low in his chest in response, pushes against you a little harder.

You can’t stay quiet through your orgasm. It’s a slow thing, rolling and deep. You feel it in your toes, in your scalp, and in every vein between. Had you been willing, been with a partner of your choice, you may have thrown your head back and cried out. But here in the truck, with this man you can’t believe you were stupid enough to trust, you squeeze your eyes so tightly shut that tears eek out the corners and bite your cheek until there’s a sore. And still, a moan vibrates in your chest.

He stops grinding you against him when your orgasm is finished. His finges slip from you slowly, tuck your panties back over your mound and give you two little pats before he fully pulls his hand away. 

Both of his hands slip back up your stomach, grab a handful of your chest and massage you there for several moments. Your breathing gradually slows as your body comes down, your limbs going limp again despite the fact that his hands are still on you.

He rolls you to your back when he’s finished. You feel his lips press against each of your eyelids, squeezed shut no matter how hard you try to force your face to relax. Another tear slips down the side of your nose, and he kisses it away before it can reach your lips. You feel his tongue stroke beneath each eye, know that he’s cleaning away your tears. He gives you a final, chaste kiss on your lips before pulling away.

He’s gone a moment later, and you’re left cold and alone in his bed.

———————————————————————

He smokes a cigarette while he watches you sleep. Your nose twitches at the first hint of smoke, and he almost smirks at the expression.

He can’t believe he found you. A perfect little doll of a girl, limping all filthy and sad along the side of a highway, just waiting for someone to scoop you up. God truly does have a sick sense of humor, gifting a bastard like Ghost a gift like you.

He hadn’t planned to keep you at first. He figured he’d ride with you for a while, fuck you a few times to have a warm place to dump his cum before dropping you off at a rest stop for another driver to scoop up. But no, that won’t do now that he’s felt your cunt against his hand, watched you try desperately to hold back every expression because you thought it might keep you safe.

He’ll have to find out where the finger-shaped bruises on your arms are from. After this trip, he’ll find whoever left them and take care of them. He’ll be the only one hurting his little doll, no one else. Might even win him a few brownie points with you, if he’s lucky.

Your feet probably need bandaging, too. He’d seen the redness at the back of your ankles when you tucked your feet up on his seats, felt the blisters against his own feet when he laid with you. He’ll make sure you stay off your feet for a bit, give them time to heal.

That gets another smirk. You won’t be leaving the truck for a long time, there’ll be no need to worry about your blisters after tonight. He’ll keep you off your feet. Maybe have you thank him for taking such good care of you.

He’ll try your mouth next. He bites back a moan imagining your face pressed against his crotch, knows already that the difference in size between the two of you will be absolutely pornographic at that angle. Can’t wait to teach you to deepthroat him, salivating at the image of you holding him in your mouth on the road.

He’d already wasted one load, it’s only right you take the next. You’re his now, which means he shouldn’t have to come in his fucking pants like a teenager ever again. 

But he’d gone easy on you, hadn’t made you take him in any of your holes this first night. Even let you pretend to sleep through the whole thing, though your shifting hips and little scrunched up face gave you away as soon as he pressed himself against you.

It was endearing, really, the way you tried so hard to pretend it wasn’t happening. He can still taste your tears on his tongue, mixing with the acrid taste of nicotine. He can’t wait to learn what your pussy tastes like.

He takes a long pull from the cigarette and considers your little shaking form.

You won’t need much now that you’re with him. Only a few outfits in case he needs to bring you in somewhere, but you’ll be kept naked when in his truck. He’ll have to find a motel sometime soon, get all the grime washed off your skin and the grease out of your hair. He’d like to see it brushed out, see how you might style it for him.

He’ll take good care of you. Feed you when you’re hungry, maybe get some little toys or books if you’re good, fuck you whenever you - or he - needs it. 

It’ll take a while for you to settle, he knows. You’ll spend a bit looking for that girly little gun you’d been keeping tucked away in your bag. But that’s okay. He already knows he’ll enjoy training you, showing you just how to be the perfect little doll for him.

He stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray, climbs back into bed with you and tucks you tight to his chest. Your little sniffling breaths draw another little twitch of the lips from him, and he buries his nose in your hair before shutting his eyes.

Yeah, you're going to be perfect for him.

[abitirish]

Let's leave aside the ideology for a moment and focus on the crimes against language.

This fuckwit is trying to say "Blue Lives Matter". Let's take it backwards for dramatic effect.

The last word on his costume is "ábhar" [AW-verr], which does indeed mean "matter", but only in the sense of "subject matter" or "topic". In the English phrase, it's a verb indicating it's important to you, in which case you could just say "it's important to me," or "tá sé tábhachtach dom".

The middle word on his outfit is "chónaí" [KHO-knee], which does indeed mean "lives", but only as a verb, like "he lives in New York". In the English phrase, it's a plural noun indicating more than one life. In Irish, you'd be better off using a word like "saolta" or even just "daoine", meaning people.

The first word on his delightful ensemble is "gorm" [GURR-im].

You'll like this.

The Irish word for blue is "gorm". That should be straightforward enough, but the Irish word for "black people" is "daoine gorm", which literally translates as "blue people" but it means "black people", possibly because there are (non-racist as far as I am aware) diabolical connotations for the concept of "black people" unrelated to people of African heritage. Moreover, there is no sense in Irish for "blue" meaning "police".

What this slogan is actually saying is "blue resides subject", and even that is gramatically awful, with all the meaning pertaining thereunto. The only way this absolute car crash could possibly have happened is if three different people were each given responsibility for one word of the slogan, they did it on different days, using different translation methods, and put the whole thing together without communicating in any way.

[dragonlands]

There's so much negativity around Izzy's death so I wanted to address some of the points I keep seeing thrown around.

"Izzy's death was pointless"

No, he just had his big speech about how basically they can kill him but they cannot kill the movement. That is a clear paraller to a lot of real life protestors of unjustice. He died protecting the community, he died so the community could go on.

"Izzy's death made his healing pointless"

No it didn't. Healing is always good, feeling happiness and belonging are ALWAYS worth it. We never know how long we've got, doesn't mean we gotta stop trying to be better or happier. His healing was still real. It still mattered.

"Izzy's character arc was left unfinished, it's bad writing"

Oh my god. If you open any writing guide about how to write impactful deaths, and the first thing that comes up is to leave some part of their arc unfinished. And his arc did go through quite a beautiful line, sure there could've been more but his story didn't end like, mid arc. As a writer, of course you want to make the audience sad when a character dies. It's good storytelling. Good stories are supposed to make us feel.

"Izzy died on the arms of his abuser"

Where the hell did this idea come from? Ed and Izzy have been in a toxic codependent relationship way before this show started. You could argue that Izzy was Ed's abuser, but that is not the argument I want to make here. Yes, we saw Ed driven to madness shoot Izzy on screen, but we know Izzy's the one that forced him to be Blackbeart when he didn't want it anymore. There's turmoil all around them. But the final moment is them finally meeting as people, not as components of Blackbeard.

"Izzy's death was unnecessarily awful"

His death was sad, yes, but it was quite beautiful as far as deaths go. He was surrounded by family who cared for him. He was loved, and accepted as he is. He knew his legacy will be carried on.

"They killed off the only character that showed us healing is never too late"

Did we watch the same show? That begins with then unhappy 40+ year old Stede deciding it's finally time to reach for his dreams? Where we see Blackbeard slowly gaining back his humanity? Where Black Pete starts off as toxically masculine dude but ends up in a soft gay marriage? Where most of the crew wanted to mutiny but then they realized being soft is good, actually. Jim's whole purpose in life being revenge but them learning to let that go and instead concentrate on love and fun and family. And so on. Izzy's arc is beautiful, but he's not the only person healing who thought it was too late already.

"Izzy's death was bury your gays trope"

No, what, no. In a pirate show where everyobody is queer some queer people will die. Bury your gays is about only having one or few queer characters and killing them off while the straights get their happily ever afters. This is so far from that.

Also, I want people to be aware of the phenomenon, where creators of diverse shows are subjected to more critism than those of non diverse shows. If this intrests you, Sarah Z on Youtube made a great video on it called Double standards and diverse media. Our flag means death has given us so much, queer love story with a happily ever after, finding community, nonbinary character. And the creators have always been so kind to fans, so let's show them tht kindness back. Because critizicing this one aspect can easily turn to seeming like the whole story is just unwanted. That stories like Ed and Stede's aren't worth telling. And I'm so aftraid that will happen, when just now for the first time in years we are finally getting queer stories.

Also, I understand people are sad. I am sad too - Izzy was an amazing character and his death was sad but that's just. Good writing. You can grieve, but trying to turn it into a moral or dramaturgy issue is just not a good look. And attacking the creators of this wonderful show is just horrible.

Remember - this fandom is a safe space ship 🏴‍☠️🏳️‍🌈

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Running from the Daylight (Part 2 Final)

Regulus Black AU

Request: @iluvthe-marauders HI LOVELYYY, HAVENT HAD TUMBLR IN AGESSSSS. Dont know if you remember but i was the one who asked for different harry potter characters and wanted to ask if you'd do a regulus oneshot. where y/n is a halfblood (Remus’ sister) and they run away together?

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: T

Link to Part 1

______

Remus and Sirius arrived back home after midnight to a quiet house. Sirius stood tapping his foot as Remus unlocked the door.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get me cotton candy.”

Remus rolled his eyes before opening the door.

“I can not help that the theater’s cotton candy machine was down. I promise we will go back next week and get you some.”

Sirius scoffed.

“I’ll take Y/n to a movie. She will get cotton candy too.”

Remus chuckled. He made a mental note to tell you that you needed to tell Sirius no more often. You treated him like some kind of pet, making Remus’ life difficult.

“You can be really annoying sometimes. You are aware of that, right?”

Remus said over his shoulder as he tossed his coat on the couch. Sirius was chuckling to himself as he moved to go get a beer out of the refrigerator.

“Yeah, but you love me so there.”

Remus smirked while shaking his head. He was not about to feed into Sirius’ foolishness (no matter how right he was on the subject). A small envelope on the coffee table caught Remus’ attention. It had both his and Sirius’ names on the front.

Frowning, Remus walked over and picked the envelope up. Right away, Remus noticed your handwriting.

“Is she leaving us love notes again?”

Sirius asked, coming back into the room while shoving popcorn into his mouth. Remus rolled his eyes.

“She’s probably begging me to marry you so you don’t go get lost some place.”

Sirius gave Remus a cold glare as his lover tore open the envelope.

“To Sirius and Remus, By the time the two of you read this, I will be out of contact. There have been many things that I have been hiding and it is time that the both of you know. I have been dating Regulus for a while. We are running away together. This is the only way that we can be together and no one have a problem with it. Remus, I know you of all people won’t be happy. You are my big brother and I love you but you need to let me make my own decisions. If I was honest and told you that I was dating Regulus, you would have flipped. Please know that I am not doing this to hurt you. I hope, in time, we can meet again and put this behind us. I beg you to take care of yourself and I love you. Sirius, I want you to know that you were right about Regulus. There is more to him than some cold member of the Black family. He isn’t a death eater and no longer “drinks the family koolaid.” He and I….we are what each other needs. Regulus is still your brother and he loves you. I hope to see the two of you sooner rather than later. I’m sorry but I have to go.

Love, Y/n.”

Remus stared at the letter with his mouth open. Sirius shoved a few more mouthfuls of popcorn in his mouth before realizing that Remus had gone dead silent.

“Moony, what…”

“Y/n ran off with Regulus!”

Sirius stood motionless. He tilted his head as if he was trying to process what his lover actually said. Did Sirius hear Remus right? You ran off with Regulus? Why would you run off with Regulus? Did you even know Regulus? Sirius had never witnessed the two of you speak to each other.

“Regulus? Like my brother Regulus?”

Remus ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to start jumping up and down.

“How many other guys named Regulus do you know?”

Sirius held his hands up defensively.

“Just my brother. Why would Y/n run off with Regulus? Do they even know each other apart from us?”

Remus handed Sirius the letter. Sirius frowned as he read the letter, his eyes widening with each word. While he wanted to panic that you jumped ship with his little brother in the middle of the war…he couldn’t. Sirius read your words to him about “being right about Regulus.” Regulus wasn’t a bad guy.

“Regulus is still my little brother, after all.”

Sirius smiled at the thought. His little brother…the real Regulus…the boy Sirius adored so much was still in there. Sirius also smiled at the thought of you being the one who gave him this information. You would be good for Regulus just as Remus was good for him. Sirius could live with that.

“Sirius, say something.”

Remus ordered, feeling on edge. He didn’t know what he was going to do but he needed to do something. Remus was nearly ready to go run about the neighborhood looking for you. Sirius took a breath before speaking.

“Remus, I need you to breathe, mate. Look, I didn’t know about this either. I have my concerns but…they are like us. Maybe Y/n is good for Reg. Let’s give them a chance. Let them come to us.”

Remus paced around quietly for a moment.

“She’s my sister, Sirius.”

Sirius nodded before moving to put a hand on the small of Remus’ back.

“She will always be your sister but for right now Y/n is what Regulus needs. Trust me.”

(two weeks later)

The sound of a tea kettle whistling woke you up from a sound sleep. Yawning, you reached over to Regulus’ side of the bed. His pillow was cold indicating that he had been up for some time. You stretched with a smile before slowly getting out of bed and looking out the window.

You would never get tired of the sight in front of you. Everything was peaceful. Waking up in a quaint little cottage with a field of wildflowers near a lake was your own personal heaven. From the moment that you arrived at the cottage life changed completely. You had gone from being stuck in the middle of a war with no idea how the future would play out to pure blissful peace.

The sound of a small bang in the kitchen tore you from your thoughts. Regulus muttering “son of a bitch” made you smile.

Regulus

That was another thing that you couldn’t help but smile about. In the course of two weeks, you had seen Regulus make a complete change. Now he was no longer the brooding moody young man who always looked mad at the world. He smiled more than you had ever seen him smile before. You noticed how much Regulus being happy reminded you of Sirius. Happy was exactly how you loved seeing Regulus.

Your mind went back to the morning that you arrived at the cottage…

“This place hasn’t changed since I was a child.”

Regulus commented as he sat his bag down. You were looking around the cottage with a pleased little smile on your face.

“It's lovely. I can see why your uncle bought that place.”

Regulus nodded as he started looking through the cabinets.

“As much as Alphard loved our family, he loved being in peace that much more. He saw the cracks and crazy in the Black family. Thank Merlin he saw a way out and away from it all.”

You turned to face Regulus as he took off his suit jacket and started rolling his sleeves up.

“Now we can have our peace.”

You replied as Regulus’ grey eyes rolled up your face.

“Yes, we can. We can have our happily ever after without this stupid war or whatever garbage is going on back in reality land. Maybe in time, Remus won’t hate me for conning you into running away with me.”

You moved to wrap your arms around Regulus’ neck.

“You didn’t do any conning. I wanted to leave as much as you did. I’m not brave like my brother and friends. I don’t want to be involved in some war where people I love on both sides die.”

Regulus frowned before wrapping an around your waist.

“You are braver than you know. You left everything behind for some boy who never deserved a moment of your grace and love.”

“The boy who deserved all of the grace and love.”

You countered with a smile. Regulus leaned his forehead against yours. He didn’t know that you saw the happy smile on his face…but you did.

“Well..if you say so. You know, we’ve never had the opportunity to dance together.”

You couldn’t help the chuckle as Regulus slowly began to move with you in his arms.

“We’ve never had the opportunity.”

Regulus nodded.

“Now we do. Every day…anytime that you want.”

The bedroom door opening pulled you from your thoughts. Regulus stepped in with a small smile on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t wake you…did I?”

You shook your head before moving to snuggle back into your boyfriend’s waiting arms.

“No…I heard you fighting with the stove.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“That damned thing is a menace. We might have to invest in a new one before I catch that one on fire. I see why Kreacher hated our stove at Grimmauld Place now.”

Regulus didn’t have to say it for you to know that he missed Kreacher. That was the only part of his family that he missed.

“We can get a new one whenever you want or you can let me do the cooking. I admire you for trying but I was born to cook on shitty stoves.”

Regulus rolled his eyes before looking back at the bed.

“You haven’t made the bed yet.”

You nodded.

“I just got out of it.”

Regulus reached out to gently push the strap of your nightgown off of your shoulder.

“We can mess it up a little more before you make it up…for the day.”

Wrapping your arm around his shoulders, you stood on your tiptoes kissing Regulus slowly.

“I love that idea.”

Right as things were starting to get heated there was a loud knock at the door. Regulus pulled away as you reached for your silk robe.

“Who the hell is that? We don’t have friends. That is the problem with visitors. They always come visiting.”

You grabbed your wand and followed Regulus down the stairs. Part of you was wondering if it was the friendly widow who lived down the road a bit. The other part worried that it was some member of the Black family to attempt to drag Regulus home.

“Do you have your wand?”

Regulus whispered.

“Armed and ready to go.”

You replied as Regulus moved to the front door. He was ready to hex whoever the hell it was to kingdom come and back.

The moment that he opened it, Regulus was shocked to see Sirius on the other side. Sirius stood holding what looked like a geranium in a tacky ceramic pot while Remus stood behind him looking super uncomfortable.

Regulus tilted his head to the side while you came to join him at the door. You were clearly as surprised as Regulus was.

“Hello?”

Regulus managed to get out while Sirius smiled.

“Hello, happy couple…I brought you a plant.”

Sirius held out the geranium to his younger brother with a grin. Regulus slowly took the flower with an uncomfortable expression.

“Um, thanks. How did you two find us?”

Sirius glanced over his shoulder praying that Remus had listened to that whole “be nice and don’t strangle him” talk.

“Can we come in?”

You moved aside as did Regulus. Sirius and Remus walked in closing the door behind them.

“Did you two steal this from the old woman down the street? I saw her potting this plant last week.”

Regulus commented before sitting the geranium down. Sirius shrugged.

“She won’t miss it. So….here we are and here you are.”

Regulus nodded, sitting down.

“Yes. Here we are. Again, how did you find us?”

Sirius grinned.

“Uncle Alphard told me after I wrote him.”

“How long?”

Remus finally commented. Both Regulus and yourself turned to face your older brother. You could see the unease in Remus’ eyes. How he was remaining calm was a mystery.

You placed a hand on Regulus’ shoulder before speaking to Remus directly.

“Two years.”

“Two years!!?? The two of you have been dating for two years and no one said a word. Y/n, this is big. You could have married this man by now…wait, you two aren’t married are you?”

Regulus raised an eyebrow before holding up your hand that had a diamond ring on it.

“Not yet but we will be. This is exactly why we didn’t tell you, Lupin. You are spazzing out and acting ridiculous. Family reactions are the reason why we didn’t say anything. My family would never accept Y/n and would potentially hurt her. You are…well…you are acting as I expected.”

Remus went instantly silent before muttering “fuck me” under his breath. He took a few deep breaths before speaking. Looking at your face, Remus stared at you hard for a few moments. No longer were you the little girl that chased after him always wanting to be part of her big brother’s activities. Now you were a grown woman with a life of her own…a grown woman who deserved to have the life that she wanted.

Regulus was busy watching Remus hoping the other man didn’t burst into a fit of tears. He was not ready to deal with that!

“I apologize…to both of you. You have to understand that is my only family left, Regulus. Outside of Sirius, Y/n has been my forever friend. It hurts knowing that both of you felt this was the only option…but I understand. I was wrong to judge your happiness. Y/n, is this what you want?”

You squeezed Regulus’ shoulder.

“It is, Remus. I love Regulus very much. He’s very good to me and I’m happy. I know you are worried but I want you to be happy for me. I found my person must like you found yours….your plant stealing person.”

Sirius giggled. Remus stared at Sirius before shaking his head.

“Yeah, my plant-stealing person. Fine, if you two are happy then I’m happy for you. Regulus, please take care of her.”

Regulus reached up to squeeze your hand that was resting on his shoulder.

“I would die for her.”

Sirius stood up clapping his hands together before going off in search of breakfast.

“Now that is out of the way…who is going to feed me breakfast? You two should have seen the mad dash we made to get here.”

_____

@geeksareunique @jessyballet @knreidy1 @justfinishthis @dumbbunnys-safes @mimisparkle12 @criminalyetminimal @teletubiswszpilkach @0xxeclipsexx0 @luclue @ad-astra-again @spideyxalmighty @lucasfilms77 @rubyroscoe1 @readtomeregulus @regulusblackswhorecrux @i-love-scott-mccall @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @s-we-e-t-t-ea @woohoney @abaker74 @regulus-black-223048 @saramaple @missgorldafirst @millies0bsimp @stelleduarte @siriuslyceleste @dumybitch @gugggu6gvai @jag9000 @bennyberry @f4iryluvy @panpride @haroldpotterson @mentally-unstable-hoe @goldensunshineshit @padf00ts-l0ver @marichromatic @ravenhood2792 @playmore-zeppelin @ell0ra-br3kk3r @authoressskr @emiwrites3reads @rogue-nyx88 @coffeeaddictednymph @knight-of-gleefulness @shaylybaby2032 @livshifts

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

42 - The Thing in the Night

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

Length: 19.8k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, references to past rape, discussions of miscarriage and fertility, disturbing imagery, blood and violence, unintentional self harm, smut, voyeurism, guided masterbation, oral (f receiving), p in v, breeding kink, possessive sexual language

Notes: Who guessed it? Come forward, how long ago did some of you figure it out? Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Jon knew to some degree, he was making it obvious by asking. Or at the least, he was not subtle about his intentions. At the time he had respected your decision not to tell him, it was a sensitive subject for you and in some weeks time by then you were all sailing to a battle. You didn't want it plaguing his mind as he didn't want it plaguing yours. So you went to see Maester Wolkan about whether or not you any longer had the ability to bear a child, and didn't tell Jon the answer until the first night on Dragonstone.

Before this new life, the last time Jon ever saw you he was still firmly in the position of getting you pregnant as his biggest fear. Even if you were ready for him that day, Jon still wouldn't have been able to go through with it, how much he begun to panic over the idea of accidentally giving you a child. A girl in the royal family, having a bastard child with a bastard for a father. He also couldn't possibly find a way to get his hands on moontea or even any tansy. Luwin would have figured it out in seconds and it would all be over.

Going to Maester Pylos however, Jon hadn't quite yet shaken off that insecurity. He of course, didn't actually seem to give it much thought. He was a Maester not a Septon he had said, it wasn't his position to judge what a man does in his spare time. Asking if he'd prefer it made for his ease, Jon truthfully wanted to end it and leave. No Pylos didn't judge the conversation, but there was no doubt what it was going to be used for and he wanted to escape the awkwardness within him already. Telling him he'd take the ingredients needed and would brew it himself should it be of use.

It was a slightly more uncomfortable conversation for Jon, when he had to go to Pylos a second time for more.

But still, he knew it was important. He couldn't be reckless because of the noise in his head. No matter what it seemed like something inside him tried to claim, Jon was still a man. Not a wolf. He couldn't just take you as much as he wanted, couldn't carelessly spill inside of you with no plan because a darker instinct inside his chest growled at him to do it enough until it took. Jon knew it was a stroke of luck that he hadn't put a child in you that night in Castle Black. Twice he spilled inside of you and twice more the next morning.

Though, a large part of Jons mind was taken up by the wonder of what if it did take. By the time on Dragonstone when you and Jon finally made love again, his wondering fantasy knew that enough time had passed that you'd have started showing. By now, you'd have needed people to do even the simplest tasks for you, if you hadn't already given birth.

Jon felt like a mad man. Obsessing over the idea of you mothering his children. It wasn't something Jon ever thought was what he would be like by now. Once he decided he was taking the black, he thought he had all but killed any thoughts of a child of his own.

His Uncle Benjen had tried to tell him, warn him about what he would be giving up. Never marrying, never fathering any children. But, shut out that night in the cold, inside the royal company here to split his family in half across the country and knowing it would end in losing you to his brother? Jon saw not a single shred of future for him here anymore.

His father, sisters, and Bran would go to Kings Landing, leaving Lady Catelyn with Rickon, and Robb remaining as he would take on more and more responsibility as heir to Winterfell. Knowing that the only one which was guaranteed to come back in due time, was you, returning to your now permanent home to what would become your husband in Robb. Jon would be left with watching his brother do the duty of two things Jon could never have, and the remaining eyes of Lady Catelyn to hate him all the while. The two younger siblings he adored the most as well in Arya and Bran, unlikely to return as long as father stayed in Kings Landing.

There was no future for Jon left in Winterfell. So he told his uncle he didn't care about any of it. Didn't care about marrying or having children and he meant it. Only for the strange softness in his uncle's eyes that Jon couldn't quite read at the time.

“You might. If you knew what it meant.”

Jon didn't understand it then, but he was beginning to think he did now. Standing in Wolkan's study, Jon was finding anything meaningless for his attention and focus to fidget with. Pretending as if he didn't want to just find you and drag you in here to deal with this here and now. Trying to find the right way to ask how it was he was sure he determined you weren't without the ability to bare children without making it obvious.

“Ramsay had raped her for months, and that whole time there was never a hint she was ever..” The sentence felt atrocious on his tongue, but there was no reason to mince words here. Wolkan knew what had happened to you, he was there for all of it.

A morose look fell over the man's face, and Jon felt a familiar swirling in his gut. A feeling that you, Wolkan, and Theon were all keeping some of the worst from him. That no one had actually told him the extent of what was done to you. But an even tone fought through Wolkan's grim expression. “No, I can assure you of that. Roose Bolton was a cruel man, but he was also a smart one. Had there been a hint of her being with child, he'd have his men drag her out to the godswood to marry Ramsay then and there. He needed their child to be legitimate. But that doesn't mean he was not aware of what was happening.”

Pacing somewhat near the window, Jon slightly turned his head. Brow furrowed with a rougher tone then before. “He wanted his grandchild to be a trueborn son, but he still let Ramsay rape her knowing it could've happened at anytime.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Jons jaw clenched. “Doesn't sound smart if you ask me.”

Wolkan however, had an answer without hesitation. “No it would not be a wise choice. Which is why he had me brew just enough of the makings of moontea, that it's taste could be hidden in a drink with a strong flavour.” Jon turned to him fully, his eyes widened in something disbelieving but found no such lie in the genuity of Wolkan's face. “Wine was suitable for them to both ease her nerves her enough to attempt to dissuade any out bursting behaviour, and it quite successfully overpowers any taste when just the right amount is added to a mixture of mint, wormwood, and tansy.”

Jons arms fell to his sides as did a heavy weight in his chest. Stepping forward enough he braced his palms on the top of the chair across from the man at his desk. Exhale wavering, it was striking to him the extent to which he was relieved. The utter devastation he knew you'd have felt should the first child you become pregnant with after losing Robbs, being with Ramsay. Your heart was far more gentle then it used to be, such a thing might have ended every resolve you had let to keep yourself alive. But now here he stood, realizing it didn't happen because through no fault of your own body.

His voice hardly a strained whisper, “She doesn't know this, does she?”

Wolkan shook his head. “I am afraid not. Roose Bolton was the only one other then myself who knew about it, and by the time she had returned to Winterfell after escaping, you had in only a matter of days, taken Ramsay's head. After that, I didn't see it appropriate to bring up her time with him more then necessary.”

Sighing deeply, Jon wasn't quite sure how to approach it. Any of it. He was sure of the facts themselves, but his methods weren't quite what any would call traditional. He had always thought of it in a back and forth manner all his life and yet now that it was right in front of him begging to be dealt with, none of what he ever considered was the right answer.

In a fantasy, it was easy. You'd find out as normal, tell him, and nothing else could make either of you happier. But Jon couldn't live in a fantasy, and the truth in the real world he lived in was marred in far more blood and pain then what made it easier for you the first time he suspected. Fair was fair however. You withheld the information from Robb, and this time, Jon was withholding the information from you. Telling you gently that it was alright to find love in your life after Robb was one thing.

It was another to tell you that new life was growing inside you, underneath the scar that took Robb's son from you far too early.

But Jon was sure, because Ghost was sure. Ghost sensed it almost right away. Not even days after the first time the blue eyed stranger marked a place in your dreams did Ghost start acting different around you. It took over a week after that when Jon was inside his mind to figure out what his direwolf already knew. But now a fortnight passed, and he was no closer to an answer then he was when he found out, about how to tell you.

Wolkan's tone drew him from his mind, eyes wide and a genuity in how brightly innocent they were, it was more clear to the Maester that Jon had been asking questions not to speculate on trying, but to perhaps talk his way around figuring out how to handle what already happened. “When she came to see about her fertility, it struck me how dispondant she was about it all. Too calm, too even toned, as if any answer wouldn't phase her whatsoever. Presumed every worst case possibility and walked in ready to confirm what she already felt was the answer.”

Nodding, Jons face tried to tighten itself. Working to keep calm and steady, but any close eyes could see the workings and twitches begging to carry far more emotion then he wanted to show about it. His voice, a scratching rasp as if forced out. “She didn't just lose her son that night, she lost everything. Only to come back to something even worse, and all she has left of my brother is that scar on her stomach.”

If Jon couldn't bring Robb back, he wished there had been a way to protect Robb's from being taken from you too. Jon wouldn't have let that change anything. He'd still love you exactly as he does, and he'd love Robbs son like his own. Make sure he felt loved and cared for, wait until he was old enough and Jon could be able to properly tell him about his birth father, the charming trouble maker Robb was. That night in the cave Jon had seen a black haired baby in your arms, but Jon never wanted to trade Robb's son for his.

It was never supposed to be one against the other. He and Robb were each others closest companions their entire lives. Jon's jealousy was never about being better, taking from his brother. Just sharing equally what they both could be. Or have.

Jon could share your love with his brother even now, but Jon couldn't stop the fact that it would be his son you were having, not his brothers. He couldn't change that, and now, he was too selfish to not have that. From the study the two stood in, Jon could easily hear the muffled voices and yells from the training yard where he knew for a fact was where you were. He should tell you, he thought to himself. Before you all left, he should tell you. But once more, Jon wasn't sure how.

“How long until I'll be able to fight with two daggers in each hand the way you can?”

Dropping the blunt practice sword, you looked flatly at Arya. Your voice as monotone as it was with a sarcastic hint of dryness. “When you've been doing it for over a decade then maybe you will be as good at it.” Swinging the sword in your hand almost in a childish wave, you beckoned her to find her form once more.

She had been vague about what kind of people she was with in Bravvos, but it seemed they focused her more on being sneaky and clever instead of physical training. Meaning you had plenty to pick her back up on in the training yards these past days. Finding both of you paired well together. Both smaller and quicker then normal soldiers, both fighting with an emphasis on your left hand alone, and knowing not to try and overpower an opponent, but rather work around them to find a weak spot.

Better then her last days in Kings Landing, but your father had taught you that if you get too comfortable with your skill, then it eventually will worsen compared to those around who aren't as confident. Arya, seemed to feel an impatience at the idea. “I'm already fighting with a sword, how different can two knifes be?”

Dodging your quick moves with ease, you did however feel the breaking need to smother a smile at how proud Ned would have been to see where she is today. Your eyes shifting away from her own form, “Very different. If you think we're fighting quickly now, you need to be able to move much faster with a knife. Most of the time your opponent will be far better armed then you in such cases.”

Many men could fight with a sword in hand, not many could yield two knifes in a respective hand each and keep up against a sharp, long blade. You had against Aegon, but even then you took a good amount of a very painful beating to gain that upper hand. And more then a few words and very close calls you'd rather not think of which were traded as well. But neither you nor Aegon had spoken on that one after the fact.

“When do you think I'll be ready then?” Your eyes dropped in a lack of amusement and for a moment Arya dropped the advantage her pose previous held to whine at you with far more of the tinge of a jesting sister. “Come on, I'm not ready for that but I can't know when you think I will be?”

Your eyes only narrowed, and your words would not speak as well as your answer could be. Only a few quick paces forward, and her distracted form was thrown off balance enough to send her own practice sword to the ground. Her eyes narrowed at you as you finally let a smirk out, gesturing with your own blade to where hers lay limp. “Learn how to not let your guard down so easily first.”

The moment she crouched to grab it, you stepped forward and kicked it a few feet behind her. Her brows annoyed as was the scrunch in her face, moreso at the mischievous brightness in your own smirk. “If I turn around to go get it, are you going to stab me in the back?” Your head only tilted to the side slightly as if to challenge her to find out.

Your smirk forming more to a grin at how instead, Arya kept eye contact and walked backwards rather then turning. Her voice once more piping back up as she returned to a proper position. “Kicking a weapon away from someone doesn't sound very hounrable.”

“In that case, you'll be the most honourable dead girl a swordsman has ever beaten.” She came at you far harder for that one. Sparring with Arya certainly was a little more fun then it was her older brothers, at least there wasn't two of her to gang up on you and spend an hour toying with you until they knocked you into the mud.

It wasn't until you both were a bit more on the side of out of breath when she brought it back up. Her arm reaching across the weapons hold to hand you hers with an ask hoping to sound causal. “If I'm expected to use the dragonglass to defend myself, shouldn't I know how to use it properly?” Her eyes rose in a brightness hoping to look innocent but alas, she was more transparent then she assumed.

Head dropping a bit with a narrowing of your eyes before you turned back to putting things back with a huff. “It's there to protect you. You're not using it to fight them, Arya. It's there to keep you alive, that's all. You don't need to know more then just how to shove a blade into something.”

Something distant sat on her tone, which you couldn't quite pin. “So, stick 'em with the pointy end?”

You nodded your head slightly to the side, more a mumble on your lips then a real response. “That's the essence of it.” Not looking, you missed the easy smile forming along Arya's face before she covered it up soon as you looked back up to her gaze.

Your eyes a bit as distant as hers had just been, only without hiding whatsoever. Hands braced against the wood as you leaned against it somewhat. “It really was the Hound you were with?” Nodding, your jaw clenched as you turned slightly away, voice dropping more to a mutter. “Difficult to imagine he was fit to care for anything more then running down boys.”

It had been a long time since any had brought him up to her. You could still recall that night, walking the path from the Inn with Lord Stark. The Hound walking his horse in the opposite manner, the poor boy hanging across it. Beaten, bloody, and limp. Not an easy task it was imagining that sort of man would ever turn out to be different for the good.

Arya's voice was quiet, and you knew it still sat heavy in her heart as much as it did when she found out the next day. “No one even remembered his name-”

“Mycah.” Her head shot up with wider eyes, your tone softer as you leaned your forearms across to look at her more on her eyeline. “The butchers son. His name was Mycah.”

Neither of you said a word for a moment. Struggling in her throat to find the right emotion to let out, and you with the patience to watch her get there on her own. She didn't see it happen or his body, but it was still the first real violence she was exposed to. If you were to judge now, you'd say it led her down the path to where she stands now. Walking not a few feet behind her, Arya found a small platform to sit down against.

Or, more like collapse down onto. With a deep exhale, all her weight was tossed in one go as she landed heavy like the far away look in her gaze. Slowly, you worked your way around until you sat next to her, giving a fair amount of space for her mind as she finally spoke. “I wanted to kill him. The Hound. We travelled for almost a year and the entire time I wanted him dead. But then..then he really was dying and there was nothing either of us could do. I could have done it then, he told me to do it. Told me all about the day he killed Mycah to convince me..but..he didn't mean it.”

Your eyes narrowed, but only silence followed.

Arya wasn't unlike Jon in that way. Sometimes you needed to let her get it out before saying anything otherwise she might talk herself out of being open or vulnerable. “It wasn't about revenge. Not really. But people kept doing horrible things to innocent people and never were punished for it. The Hound killed my friend and he got to walk free and no one but me remembered his name. I wanted to kill him because otherwise Mycah would never get any justice. But that day, he was dying and I realized killing him then would only be for revenge. Because killing him didn't feel like justice. Not by then.”

She had been somewhat vague about that day. You didn't want to pry, but it led to her getting on a ship to Bravvos. It felt important to know regardless of not liking the idea of invading her privacy. “You don't have to tell me, but what happened? You said there was a fight with someone, but I knew the Hound a long time. Winning against him in a fight isn't exactly simple.”

It was a name you hadn't thought of in years. You only properly met the woman for a short time an only spoke directly once, and it was not quite an interaction you'd throw yourself at to relive. Out of everyone to run into Arya Stark and Sandor Clegane, it was Brienne of Tarth. Carrying shiny new armour and a sword with hilt made from Lannister gold, given to her by none other then Jaime Lannister himself.

Even if you didn't know the information that you did, you still wouldn't have gone with her either. But you did know her. And now you knew that as strange of a guardian as the Hound would be, Arya wasn't alone when she was with him. Wasn't in such constant danger, wasn't across the bloody Narrow Sea because she thought there was nothing left for her. One fight with Brienne of Tarth however, and it took years for Arya to return to Westeros to her family.

You didn't care where she was now, but you had a rising stack of reasons to wish to never see her face.

Inhaling deeply, you knew better then to let your own bias interfere with Aryas own story, and kept everything of your grievances with her from the statement of facts. “She was the one who helped the Kingslayer escape.” Her head whipped over to you, but all you could see was how infuriated it had made you and Robb. “Your mother was manipulated into thinking you and Sansa both were in Kings Landing. That returning Jaime Lannister would mean you both would be returned to her, so she had Brienne of Tarth help him escape against Robb's own orders.”

Surprisingly, it was anger which followed from Arya. “She tried having the person she was with chase me, but I hid from him. Both of them until they left. Wasn't long after that I got on a ship to Bravvos. The only person I knew I had left was Jon, but I was in the Vale and Jon was all the way at Castle Black. I knew I wouldn't be able to get there on my own. Not alive.”

If she had expected the gesture, she leaned into your hand running gently along the back of her head in an instant. Merely a mutter coming from you, “You're here now, Arya. You're back with him, that's what matters. If all we do is think of what differently we would do in the past, you're not going to get over what actually happened.”

Arya nodded, something held back in her chest from how much she put in to appearing not upset, but you both sat there until she came back on her own to the present. Her voice rough, but forcing itself out regardless. “You're sure I can't come?”

Eyes wide and hopeful, but yours not rejecting or harsh. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Until Jon returns, that will be you.” Her brows narrowed as her head looked to the ground but didn't argue. Your hand slipped across her shoulders comfortingly. “You know this place, and these people. Jon needs someone he can trust beyond doubt to take care of things while he's gone. And he'll never trust his men more then he trusts you.”

Inhaling shakily, her voice actually spoke out as if now nothing had been weighing on her. “Would have been nice to meet your father, though.” Your sudden laugh surprised most nearby.

“That may be the first and only time someone has ever said meeting Stannis Baratheon would be nice.”

You had all in previous days debated what exactly to do, how to go about solving one of the largest problems that had plagued the Nights Watch for centuries. Suggestions came from every corner of the room but the simple fact was that the North alone did not have enough to man the Wall. Not the way you were all beginning to realize was going to be incredibly vital to whatever was coming. Each time a new idea came about, you and Jon would look at the other and still once more find reasons to disagree with it's sustainability.

At one point, it hadn't gone anywhere long enough that Tormund had stood with his own suggestion. “We're used to dealing with the Crows, you want us to man the castles?” But Jon disagreed.

He quickly shut it down in truth. “Even if I get every single free folk, that still isn't enough to guard and restore sixteen forts. I opened the gates for your people to find land and lives, not to make you guard the Wall for us. You're people need time to prepare for winter as much as we are.”

Debates of numbers and manpower had come about for a bit. It was never an easy subject, even in peace times. The Wall hadn't been properly manned in centuries, to find a way to do so now with such limited people and resources felt near impossible. A losing battle more then it already was. The weight wasn't easy on Jon when he was Lord Commander and it continued to be a difficult problem as King in the North.

“We would need at least double what we can spare, most castles need significant restoring, most tunnels before being abandoned were plugged with rocks and ice. Flooded to freeze over before it was left to ensure nothing could get through.” Leaning somewhat with his palms braced against the wooden table before him, you could see Jon trying not to tense up the muscles there more then they already had been.

Voices piped up from more spots around the hall. “We'd need more men then we can spare to handle that, most of us are busy ensuring our own homes and lands are prepared for winter alone.” From your seated position, you could see the workings inside Jons head spinning. Something was forming in his head, but he would keep it until the answer was a clear to present as possible.

Your own voice agreeing with the majority. “If you're right, and each castle would need hundreds of men to properly restore and man, we would still have to sit here and debate which ones are the most important, and which we keep abandoned. And having five or six instead of three is hardly giving the Wall proper defences.”

Jon's head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing somewhat as he glanced to you. “Between us and the free folk we still don't have anywhere near the numbers for nineteen castles. It's more men then we have in our entire army.” Only, his eyes drifted the moment such words left his mouth.

Lips parted somewhat as he refocused them to you, then the lords attending as soon as your own eyes brightened just a bit. He was right, what the North needed was an army to man the Wall. Not anywhere needed once but desperate now that the storms drew closer. There wasn't an army that size willing to spare it's fighting to help the North. Except one that already had.

Your voice barley a mutter, almost a grin asking to breath itself out with it and you looked up to where he stood. “He likes you better, might actually say yes if you propose it to him.” Jon only turned once more to look down at you, close to a twist in his face as if to tease you for it in his expression alone. Though, it was one which you both knew wasn't a bad idea regardless.

Jon couldn't stand and wait for an answer though, even if such help would not come, there was still one place that begged to be looked at. One which had an answer which potentially, three separate people had parts of a puzzle to. Plans had to be made regardless. Even if only one place needed to be looked after, Jon would find a way to make it work. Sam had continued to underestimate his use for this cause, and every time he was the one stumbling upon answers.

He had seen the army of the dead. He had been the one to prove his father wrong, and show a bravery few men could ever have and shoved a dagger of dragonglass into the back of the creature coming for Gillys son and watched it shatter it to pieces. He discovered the old manuscripts and runes in the citadel, and he had been the one to leave with them stolen away on his person knowing the answers in there were more important then not stealing them.

Though, when returning to Winterfell, Jon had asked him where he had gotten a Valyrian steel sword, and that confession had made Jon laugh quite a lot. The first thing Jon truly learned about Sam, was that his father had forced him to take the black or otherwise threatened to take his life for not growing up to his standards. From what he could gather from you, you knew Lord Randyll Tarly by reputation as a commander not a father, but you had it on good authority that the toughest commanders were too the toughest fathers. So it seemed fitting that the last thing Sam did before leaving his family home a second time, was take the families sword Heartsbane with him.

This time, it wasn't a direct new answer Sam had provided Jon with, but a place. Something which by his description, held more of a key then anyone alive currently knew a thing about previously.

Organizing a small group to head out first, look the place over before anything else was done about it in particular, but one thing seemed to come to Jon. An idea as uncomfortable was it was logical, after all, he still wasn't quite convinced Lord Beric had been wrong. The only other two people who knew what both returning from death and bringing the dead back to life felt like, were also the ones who saw fit to travel North for their own cause of what was to come. Even if they disagreed on all else, perhaps the four of you were not in the same place as only a coincidence.

“Isn't it your job to talk him out of stupid fucking ideas like this?” At least you thought to yourself, Tormund was still willing to speak the truth. You didn't quite feel exactly as they were, it certainly came across as risky, and uncomfortable even if you followed Jons logic.

Walking to his side further down into the undergrounds of Winterfell you tilted your head briefly to the side in almost dismissal. “If you've got a better one.”

Mumbling a bit almost in amusement, knowing full well Jon could hear you both. “Three dead people, two dead raisers and me. Starting to think I'm missing out on something.” Eyes almost glaring to the side without any meaning that Tormund would take offence.

Jon held the most calm in his own words, turning somewhat to wait for you both to catch up. “They know things most people don't. Been through things only we,” Jon gesturing to yourself, “have been through. I don't care if I like or even trust them. They're apart of this, somehow.”

Looking up to him, you added in a plain simpleness. “Thoros knows how to fight, Beric knows how to fight. If they're going to be in the North regardless, may as well put them to use instead of keeping them in our home.” Tormund looking doubtful asking in what seemed like a bit of a condescending jest that they were the ones who kidnapped you in Barrowton. Your eyes found Jons, tense and on edge as you settled the same feeling growing in your veins. “In a manner of speaking.”

Nodded for the two to keep going, you could hear as you passed the not so subtle whispering towards Jon of, “You two are made for each other. Both morons.”

You had never seen Thoros this sober before. He looked as miserable as your worst days felt anymore and just as it always did now, such a shared attribute shivered unsettlingly in your blood. You would rather not know how he felt. Beric held himself together a bit more, not unlike the manner in which Jon could be unreadable some days.

First it was only you, then Jon, now four stood in the same place and you couldn't comprehend what the point of any of it led towards. It seemed more on the side of sober however, Thoros did not come to a dissimilar conclusion. “I'd say I haven't been feeling like myself, but quite the opposite it really is. If you wanted to torture him,” gesturing to Beric who watched just as carefully to you both as Jon did him. “You did a wonderful job. Quite tedious my company becomes in sobriety. Tell me my Queen, you don't strike me as a drinker like King Robert. How do you handle it, I've always wondered.”

Thoros's eyes on you was unsettling still further, but in a worse way, you understood it. You saw the lure to drinking with this sort of weight. One no one else understood but the ragged priest with far too flowery language for your liking. Jon however, answered for you with not a shred of patience for the direction of the conversation.

“You said you came North to fight what was coming. That you wanted to be part of this.”

Beric Dondarrian however, remained as even toned as he ever was and it grated on you. “We don't want to fight this fight, your grace. We have to. Same as you. War is coming and our Lord needs us here more then in the South fighting against Kings.”

Shifting between them you found barley a breath to spare, hissing out to them. “The last thing your Lord told you to do, you sold Gendry to the red woman, who was taking him to slaughter like a lamb. What should we care what your Lord tells you?”

It wasn't the reason Jon was here, but in an instant he found a stronger argument brewing between you and Beric. Who was steadfast yet defensive as he stood. “We do what our Lord bids, no more, no less. It isn't up to us to question what he wants. If the boy was meant to die, he wouldn't be alive now. But he is.”

Both of you a step closer to the iron bars, your tone seething as did the sharpness in your eyes. “He's alive beacuse only one person stood up to do the right thing. You promised he could stay with you, and then you sold him for gold, because all your talk and still you're nothing but an outlaw.” You think perhaps Jon warned you in your name, but you heard it little in your actual mind.

And Beric found no reason to hold back as such. “Outlaws banding together to protect the innocent-”

Another step and more anger flooded in you almost unusually strong. “You killed those innocents just to draw me out-”

Cutting through both of you, Jon came close to a yell. “Enough.” Your eyes watched Berics sharply and he you, but still felt the slight pull at your back to draw you away from him and closer to Jon behind you. “We're not down here for this.” Tearing your gaze from Beric to Jon, did the guilt follow with it.

The sharpness in your eyes softened almost as soon as you found his grey ones, and with but a nod you felt you shrink a bit in on yourself. You didn't like nor trust these two, but you didn't come down here with any intention on such an outburst. Nor did you know really where it came from.

“We're all here for the same reason. It won't matter who did what when the army of the dead come, what happened in the past stays in the past from now on.” You knew he was right, this was what he was always trying to do. Throw away the fighting and direct everyone on the only path that would matter.

Jon and Beric both watched each other carefully as you looked at none. You should be calmer then this, what was wrong with you?

Speaking low behind the bars, Beric sounded in agreement. “There's a greater purpose at work, and we serve it together. Whether we know it or not. I can't change the past, but we came here to ensure there can even be a future. We may take the steps, but the Lord of Light-”

Tormund however, had no qualms of being exhausted with this rhetoric. “You southerners never know when to shut up, do you? He's giving you a chance to make up for being piece of shit, either take it or stop talking about your damn god. It's only us men down here.”

In the quiet only the crackling of torch fire was heard until it blended in harmony with Jons low rasp. “You tell me you're on our side, you need to prove it.” Thoros asking from previous he only watched it play out, how they were do to that. Jon with keys in his hand, found the unlocks of the cell door. “You come with us, fight for the living where it matters.”

Still on a side akin to somewhat pathetic, Thoros's expression twisted to a morose jest. “As long as it's more interesting then sitting in a freezing cell all day.”

Yet as you watched Jon and Tormund both unshackle them, you couldn't stop the wonder. Coming down here, you knew why and agreed why. Anger in outbursts weren't like you anymore, it came out of nowhere when you had faced far worse opponents without the blockade of iron bars with more of a firm hand. Though, a brief glance shared between you and Thoros, it seemed he did not question it the way you were.

Bringing one back changes something inside you he said. The months passed was beginning to make it feel like that cost was your sanity. Your sense of stability in a well mannered, stoic demeanour when it mattered. But that wasn't the only hold on your mind either. Bringing dead to life in one direction, and visions and green dreams in the other.

How much longer could you even hold yourself together?

A few stories always stuck out in your mind, or at least, it was the ones not as intriguing as the others. But the ones which instilled a chilling in your lungs when you first heard them. The thing that came in the night. That was the the first you remembered hearing.

Your first visit in Winterfell, told to you by Old Nan, who even then seemed to be as old twenty years ago as had been the last you saw of her. She held all of those stories, and it was the scary ones which you found yourself always drawn to. The first was that story which stuck out in your mind.

Many years ago it was said, four apprentice boys went to their Lord Commander spinning terrified stories that something came for them in the night. Each boy however, gave different accounts of what had happened, and each described its appearance vastly different then the other. As a result, the Lord Commander found no reason to take their ramblings seriously. Within a year it was said, three of the boys had died and the fourth had gone mad. A century later it was said to have returned, but few lived to speak of what it had done once more.

Robb had snuck up on you when you heard that story, and you could still recall the laughter from he and Jon when you nearly jumped out of your skin with a shriek.

Another you never forgot was that of the seventy nine. It was said that seventy nine men had deserted their posts from the Nights Watch, running South. One of the men, the youngest son of the Lord of House Ryswell had taken them there hoping to seek shelter. Instead, Lord Ryswell had called upon the Nights Watch to his home and the outlaws all captured. Including his son. Dragged back, holes just big enough for a man were carved into the Wall and each and every deserter was forced inside. Spiked in with spears and horns before sealing them all back up with ice. That they had left their posts in life, and so their punishment was that their watch never ended even in death.

So many passed through the years, the Rat Cook serving a King his son in a prince and bacon pie. The ghost of Danny Flint, brave and young and how the songs sung about her were sad and pretty but what ended her life was not. The blind knight of Symeon Star Eyes, sapphires in place of where his eyes were both lost and somehow still saw the figures of hellhounds fighting before him. The Mad Axe who walked the halls and butchered his brothers in the dark. Many stories all surrounded this one place, and yet as you rode upon the destination it looked nothing of the sorts.

The Nightfort was indeed the largest of the castles manning the Wall. It was the oldest as well, first ever built by Brandon the Builder himself, and where everything of the Nights Watch truly begun. Built on slanted land of rolling hills, surrounded by snow and ice it looked unassuming in every way. It was only a series of large buildings, made of stone and metal but nothing which told you it matched such stories you listened in great fear as a child.

The main building itself was large. Broken towers and paths and tunnels leading around to the many smaller sections sealed from the cold outside. Some places had only one wall standing, while others remained as if never touched. An octagon of stone, walls carved like steps sat much like that, mostly put together with nothing out of the ordinary, it's dome room as strong as ever.

It's outside however, was unique. Time had turned it into that of a small forest. Lush with fauna and flora surrounding thick trees that hid the castle well from prying eyes. The twisting branches of white poked through buildings and around others down to the ground again as if time had bound building and bark together.

All sat on your horses looking to it in the distance, Jon next to you with piercing eyes scouring every corner he could see from here as if searching for danger even this far away. The only other one as close to you both was Sam, his voice breaking the only noise of blowing wind around you. “Doesn't look quite as intimidating from out here, I admit.”

Jon's tone breath filled but still heard as he looked with wide eyes, as bright as the snow around him. “This was where you met him, Bran?” Sam confirming it only to watch as Jon let that breath out in a noticeable exhale. The cold around you all visible on the way out. Spoken to himself, knowing both by his either side would hear. “What were they doing, two teenagers bringing a crippled boy beyond the Wall?”

He heard it all before, but still it didn't sit well with him you knew. Sam couldn't get from the two Reed children nor Bran what they were doing here or why they needed to go North, but claimed they had to do it all the same. Sam had given them some of the cache of dragonglass he had found as his only way of protecting them best he could, but he could not convince them to come back to Castle Black if they truly didn't want to.

But you looked upon the vastness of the Wall and wondered, what was it Jojen Reed had seen? What did Lord Bloodraven show him that needed Brandon Stark so desperately for? Why any of it? Why you now?

You could hear Sam to your right, “They said they were needed. That they could only try and stop the Others by heading far North.”

Jon made the very point which came to your mind. “No one's ever survived as far north as they say these things live. No normal person at least.” Finally did his gaze catch yours from the very corner of your gaze to the side.

Not anything normal, but walking in the minds of a dream? You both had done that now.

The main gate was already prepared to be opened, likely from the first time Bran had arrived with the two Reed's getting here. The main yard was as overrun as it looked from the outside, but a chilling wind blew through the winding branches of white bark sticking up and around from the earth. Eyes all finding one way or another to something as eeiry as the next. Out of the entire group which came, Jon insisted a short few ensure its safety first.

Climbing off your horse, once more only Jon spoke and with a command as quiet as it was without room for question. “We'll split into groups, make sure it's empty. But be careful.” It was a large place, and even as you found your eyes on Ghost, the direwolf looked as not comfortable as Jon did. Both glanced to you, but for once did not make a fuss about you walking out of his sight. Not in front of the group of nine within the yards now. “Tormund, Theon, go with her. You two, with me.”

Thoros and Beric looked as many did coming to the Wall for the first time. A strange awe. The greatest structure ever built, and the unusual feeling which came with being near it. Ser Davos in another direction with Maege Mormont. Olly beside you, sharing a not so insignificant glance at being back in such a place.

Not holding the same conflicting memories which had that of Castle Black, but the Nights Watch a reminder all the same.

Every room which was held within four walls looked identical. Dark without fire light, only the outside peering in to give any hint of what was there. Empty, more empty, and a space that told it was far larger then the last fort you had been in. Was easy to understand to you, how this was the first built. It was grand, but too grand to maintain with dwindling men and resources.

You supposed the creation of a united Seven Kingdoms did not help such a matter. Considering this very place was abandoned after one visit from Queen Alysanne Targaryean. It was said she found it dour and depressing, and used her precious jems to build a newer, smaller castle. Another which later was abandoned too.

The four of you walked with little words shared. Something about this place felt off. As if it made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end with no explanation as to why. Wherever Ghost went, you weren't sure, he seemed to not like this place as much either. Sensing what you all could or more but you ventured further into the creeping dark.

Out of the three men walking together on the other side of the castle, two voices were quiet, but the same pair which tended to always speak with such a cadence regardless. “If the dead were here, there is no use in biding their time hiding in shadows.”

Jon's eyes peeled from every corner to give somewhat of a glare to Beric. The entire journey here he had tried to enlist Jon in this cause for a god he didn't believe in. Wars had been fought over single individuals before and always ended in one side with far too much blood spilt. This wasn't about one god or another, it was about survival.

Many times including now, he let him speak and said nothing in return. Jon had found great skill in the ability to let others talk endlessly at him without uttering a sentence. On the opposite end, he sensed that normally it was Thoros who was the talker and yet he had been quiet. Quiet with attention trained much on you, whether you noticed or not.

Not attraction or malice but something Jon sensed he could not understand. Thoros was to Beric was what you were to Jon. The one his new life was in debt to. The one who brought him back. However desperate Jon could feel looking at you, it was not the same he knew, to the trepidation you had spent months looking at him like.

Jon would feel lost without you, but he also had wondered if you truly would be lost without him.

He couldn't even understand death in the same manner. His mind attached itself to Ghost. The second the cold begun to seep deeply into the wound in his heart, Jon's gaze was in the stables. Lower to the ground then normal and sharper to the point it wasn't quite as pitch black. At the time, he almost wondered if it had been a dream. Only to finally realize where his mind was. When Jon made his way outside, he found the blood. His blood.

Drenched in the snow and his senses picked up it's path instantly. By the time Jon was looking down at his own dead body, he was fairly sure he lost part of his mind. You though, it was nothing of the sort for you. You had seen the world fade, and as soon as it was gone you opened them up once more.

You compared it to waking up from a dreamless sleep. Groggy and heavy, no actual recollection of the seconds before you fell asleep and if you dreamt anything you had already forgotten. Only that feeling was even worse in death. Jon didn't know what that felt like. His mind was awake from every second he was dead to the moment he returned in his own body.

Only Beric would understand exactly how you felt in one way, and only Thoros would understand in another. But not both. Your returned from the dead, already something Jon knows drastically changes part of a person. Then your new life brought Jon back from the dead. Another thing Jon now knew drastically changed a person.

You were the link between all four of them. Five if he was including what used to be Catelyn Stark.

An amalgamation of them all in a mind too traumatized to handle it. Jon once thought you were the only two who understood each other, but not even that was true. In a painful honesty, he thought to himself, there isn't a soul on earth who understands what is in your mind. No one could. Death haunted you in every facet of your existence, how deep did it run? How often were you trained on the thoughts of death the way Jons was tethered to his obsession with you?

Their voices around him spoke as they traversed the empty, grim halls. Thoros the one speaking when Jon found it in him to pay attention to their conversation, and wishing in an instant they'd stop. “Anything still hiding around here, it'd be old but if there is one which doesn't care about it's age, it's rum.”

Beric to the side of Jon responding in jest, “Would make you more bearable, my friend. I do admit.”

The whispering hiss from Jon was far more fed up with both of them then any previous words had given off. “Or you could stay sober and handle your problems the way the rest of us have to.” He elected to ignore the glance both men gave one another. They were right, Jon did not think you were all in the same place for no reason, but good company remained rare in Southerners clearly.

Raising an eyebrow, Thoros gave a look assuming Jon could read the jest in him. “Do me a favour, your grace and ask your lady if she thinks handling our burden is more bearable sober, or good and drunk and uncaring?”

His jaw clenched. If that wasn't a good option for you before, Jon would forbid it now of all times. That time, he openly glared. Anything which might have come impulsively from his mouth by then, was stopped by a faint sound somewhere in the outside.

Ghost had begun to bark and growl in great volume.

“Old Nan used to tell stories about this place.” Glancing over to Theon, he looked a bit less on edge then you felt walking through these halls. Turning away your eyes looked to the dark unlit by fire and felt nothing but the same bitter cold floating around you. Olly turning to look at him asking what kind of stories.

You could hear the smirk on Theons face. “The scary kind. The kind that would scare the hair on your head right out.”

Tormund rumbled with his own amusement. “Somewhere on the North side of the Wall here there's an old tunnel one of my own tried carving to get through to the other side. The Crows caught him and buried him back into the wall. Some say you can hear the sounds of a pick through ice if you're quiet enough.”

Olly glared at both of them. “Those aren't scary, they're just stories.”

You admired it a little, you knew he was tense but refusing to let the men in his company make him appear just the boy his age was. Mumbling mostly to yourself, “Leave him be.” They caught it, but your eyes followed a white branch poking through the floor, stretching and twisting around a pole and reaching up to the sky.

It was everywhere, these branches. From the earth and white like a heart tree but without one standing tall where it would seem to make the most sense.

Still they bickered behind you like boys. “You're scarier then any bed side story.”

Tormund's voice almost amused as his attention was now directed at Olly. “Aye, boy. I probably am. Carved up more Crows then your Axe Man ever did I bet.” You'd roll your eyes if you didn't still feel that strange creeping just under your skin.

A gloved hand reached out and carefully pushed a creaking wooden door open, one strong looking companion sat on the other side of the room you stepped into, looking almost as if it had been barred off before being left. Glancing somewhat behind you, the sight of the much smaller Olly continued to bicker with the very large Tormund. Catching Theons gaze, his narrowed at likely what was your tense frame. Unsure as to what was on your mind, but alas you were not sure either these days.

Some you felt fine, others you felt as if you flared a great temper from nothing, others your emotions ran you a true mess from teary eyed to the chilling paranoia sat with you now. It was erratic how wildly you were beginning to swing in how you felt these days. But explaining that now was of no use, and you both walked into the room all the same.

The cold in here was striking, as if whatever wind flowed in, was captured and stayed due to it's layout with not a single window to the outside world. Only the light pouring in from under both doors the rest of the room remained hidden.

Nothing seemed to stand out to you, and as you pressed against the barred up door you tried instead to give it a shove to no avail. If it led somewhere else, it would have to be seen to be accessed on the other side. Coming to your side, Theon looked it over with the same thought. “Whatever's on the other side is empty most likely, been abandoned for hundreds of years anything that might be in there's long dead.”

Sharpness sat on the edge of your tongue, “Easy to say that when you've never been the dead thing.”

His eyes rolled as yours shined with almost a bratiness as you paced further into the cold, darkness of the room. Catching your eye only slightly, you looked to what almost might be that of a bedroll. Splayed out in the darkness by the end of the room. Kneeling down by it, you looked with wide eyes and your lips parted in a slight confusion. Scattered things laid about as if someone had been here not so long ago. Standing up, you turned to Theon.

Nodding behind you to the same sight, his voice with the same curiosity. “What is it?”

You didn't answer, because as soon as he was finished, something seemed as if it crept from the dark behind him. The door slammed shut, and this time the hand which did it was cold and grey and almost blue.

But not as blue as it's eyes.

A figure with ragged hair and a snarling mouth stomped it's way right to Theon in the same instance those very sounds emerged from the darkness you stood within as well. A hand fighting against Theons defences, the thing finally slammed him into the wall in the same instance two pairs of hands grabbed you.

One almost jumping from behind as another snatched at your legs and dragged you down with your head slamming hard into the floor. Both figures captured your sight instantly, one knee bending upwards as if to push back the one most over top of you, while your hands were fighting to grab at the other wrapping his own cold ones around your throat.

Yelling behind the door was barley heard over the inhuman growling of the blue eyes around both of you. You think Theon might have yelled your name but you couldn't even sense anything the closer the one by your head leaned in, almost drooling on you from it's snarling.

Your other leg pinned down by the larger figures weight you could only push against with your knee enough that you could barley try and slip your other leg free with each jostle. Yet every movement your lungs burned inside your chest as the tighter the cold hands around your neck got.

One, two, almost five rough kicks and finally you managed to shove it off of you enough you could reach what was hidden under your cloak from your grasp. The cold was like glass in your touch and it was enough. Barley managing to reach up to shove the dagger into the eye of the one above it let out almost a gurgling with wide eyes, before the sight of black drenched your vision, stinging your own eyes.

Knowing the other was coming right back you flung yourself to the side in just the right time the blue eyed figure crowded you. Back against the wall in a somewhat sitting position, but you shoved one forearm against his neck to keep you from him as his own hands grabbed at your other to fight against the hold of weapon.

There was nothing in it's eyes but blue and nothing from it's sounds but such snarling. A sound of sinking flesh filled the air beside you and then you heard Theon call to you much more clearly. As if it could focus on two, it's other strong hand came out and grabbed at the wrist holding the dagger in Theons own, keeping both ends at bay.

Just as Theons other hand came around to roughly grasp at the thing, you thrusted your head forward against its in a painful slam. Theon then pulling it almost behind him using the force pushed back. Hauling yourself up, you and Theon looked to the other for only a second before more of snarling came out from it, and both of your daggers sunk into different parts of him. Theon's in the forehead and yours deep in it's neck, a vicious black smothering both of you in splashes.

Collapsing to the ground, Theon grabbed your arm with concern on him before more blue found your eyes. A fourth opening just as it screeched to fling itself right at you both and it seemed far smarter then either of the others. Leaping through the air as if a performance and flung Theon to the side with no thought.

Raising your dagger up it grabbed your arm and shoved you back against the wall as felt it tighten so much the dagger twisted in your very grip as your hand twitched.

The force sinking it deeper into your skin until it sliced through and blood pooled against your gloved palm and soaking the dagger. Only in the same instance, did the blood against your palm grow hot, so hot it felt extreme and it only got worse each passing moment. Not even a single second went by before it was so hot you cried out at the burn until it inflamed whatever it soaked.

Following the path to the dagger and the sensation seemed to shock the blue eyed creature for enough moment you shoved the rest of the blade into his own hand. Stumbling to the ground flames swam from you and now flooded the creature until he was engulfed in inhuman screeches on the ground. Writhing as Theon ran to your side and hauled you to the now empty side of the room.

Stopping with a grasp on the other, eyes wide as the creature finally stopped. The fire burning through what moulting skin it had touched before sizzling out on it's very own. Both you and Theon stood there as the silence finally came about the room.

The sounds outside the door no more as if you were left together alone in the cold, but perhaps it was truly just the ringing in your ears of blood muffling anything to your shocked senses looking to the four corpses now dead without question.

It was only as Theon tried calling your name did you begin to fade back into the world, looking over at him. Both of you covered in..something. It covered both you it felt thick like molasses and a murky black colour unlike the blood on your glove. Theon had grabbed your wrist, yanking it up for both of you to see.

Nothing was burned, nothing was burning. The leather sliced through and torn from the force, showing the skin underneath and the cut deep within your palm. Blood soaked the area. Perhaps against the black covering you both, made your blood appear as if it stained itself such a striking red it almost glowed the way those creatures glowed blue in their eyes.

Panting in the feeling rushing through you both, and yet your eyes slid from the blood on you to one another and what was there to say? You couldn't think of words, you weren't sure any existed.

Only did the world return to you did your heart feel as if it was leaving your chest. Almost leaning against his side, Theon did the same as you both collapsed against the wall. You sinking in a shock to the ground. If it didn't feel real before, it did now.

His grip never left the wrist attached to your bleeding palm so red the colour was terrible. But your eyes all looked to the creatures before you. Only somewhat in the distance, did you register the sound of barking. But against the numbed shock, you and Theon only sat there, you with a vague awareness that anything outside this room had ever existed before.

Whatever short time passed you did not know, only that sometime later did the door once too sealed closed to open, burst. Thrown against the wall, it swung on it's hinges with aggression. Ghost barred in first, his own barking and growling matched by the hostility he stood with looking at the bodies now on the ground.

Everyone else followed, but you hadn't noticed until two hands grabbed you and the world came back once more as it was the urgent rasping of Jons voice and the desperation in his panicked grey eyes that pulled you out of such a state. His hands on your upper arms as if he had been shaking you to snap out of it, until your eyes found his and he moved to grasp your cheeks. “Are you hurt?”

He didn't actually let you answer, pulling back to find out for himself but you didn't even know what was there. You felt the sting of cold air against the slice in your palm and the pain along your neck that had Jons eyes darken and his face twist in an anger. Only, there was no one left alive to take the feeling out on.

Moving to force the black moulted substance off from where it splattered against your face, his thumb ran over your cheek before swallowing harshly. Pulling you up to your feet without needing a single bit of effort from you, but not actually letting you stand any further away from him then right against his front.

Turning you both to the rest of the room, one arm on your waist tightly, the other running smoothly up and down your bicep as if trying to soothe himself rather then your still quiet, shocked self. Theon sat against a crate, hands braced against his knees watching the bodies in a silent uncertainty as Olly sat close to his side checking on him.

Somewhere in the back of the ringing in your head, did you hear the faint sounds of talking. Hardly finding it easy to attribute one voice to another unless it came from the rasp directly behind you into your ear. A shortness on Jons voice every time he spoke, but another one now rumbled as if shaking the earth.

“Probably shacked up here after coming through the Wall. Some of my people are shit at trying to work together. Thought this place was big enough no one would find them.”

Your eyes trained on the burned corpse, your hand clenching as it continued to sting. Slowly you could feel Jon reaching to grab it, unfurling the fist you had made only to keep your palm free. No doubt his eyes now trained on the gash in your palm, the red slightly more normal then it had been in the moment Theon did the same.

Jaw clenching looking from it to the corpse, you felt a pounding in your heart trying to recount how it happened. It was sudden, quick, and you barley could register anything until it was already off you and on fire. Somewhere in the distance you could hear Maege asking, “How'd that one end up like this?”

You and Theon glanced to each other, an unknowing in his eyes but yours slid from him to the entryway where Beric and Thoros stood. They on the other hand, only looked right at you as if telling you something you should already have known.

Jon behind you roughly finding his voice, “We'll bring them out into the courtyard. Let the others in, and burn the rest. It'll be dark soon.” With a mumble of your name, you didn't notice Jons touch trying to pull you with him. Eyes trained unblinking on the dead, on the burned body. And it was not just one body charred in black from fire you couldn't stop looking at.

First the wildfire, now this. You were no better then her. Good people shouldn't be capable of creating things like this. Letting Jon pull you out of the room to wherever it was he intended to bring you, part of you wondered if she felt as sick as you did looking at the things she's burned away.

Only, you had no reasonable way to know, that she didn't.

You knew you were a little more dispondant then normal when you explained what happened, but for once Jon understood entirely. He had you perched on the edge of some crate, Olly having run down to the horses to get him something to at least wrap your hand up in for now. Jons voice was quiet, only loud enough for you to hear him inside what otherwise would be the echo of the corridor. “Couldn't use my hand for days. The whole palm was burned.”

Eyebrows almost raising as if an attempt to be amusing passed you by, your voice a little strained from the nerves inside you settling. “You grabbed a lantern with your bare hand, that's a little different.”

Having cleaned most of the strange black blood from your face, and then cleaned your hand as must as he could of your own, Jon started to gently cover the cut with the cloth slowly. Not quite looking up to your eyes as he focused. “And you set him on fire with your bare hands.” You tried to protest that you didn't do anything but Jon shut it down with your name as if in lecture. Looking up at you, blending an upset with frustration in his twisting expression. “It attacked you, cut you. You said it felt like it was burning and then it catches fire?”

Your voice was short as it was a mutter. Brows narrowing looking away from him. “My apologies if I'm not jumping at the opportunity to boast I can set men on fire at will.” Jon argued that isn't what he was saying but you only shrugged a shoulder halfheartedly.

Sighing out, silence sat between you as he finished caring for your hand. Letting it move down to rest on your lap, Jon didn't yet move away or help you down. Instead he stood there, a hand trailing on your upper arm and the other on your thigh next to where your wrapped hand lay. Not forcing you to look at him either, Jon only spoke in a somehow, even softer quiet then before. “We'll discuss it later.”

Moving more to try and catch your eye, he repeated your name. That time getting you to nod, flickering a glance to his. Bright and grey and shining wide at you with none of that frustration from moments before. You weren't quite sure it was an appropriate time, but you did it anyways.

The uninjured hand reaching up, tracing your fingertips along his jaw before letting it slide tenderly to the back of his neck. His hair up giving you the opportunity to better prompt him to meet you half way, as your eyes slid closed. Lips meeting each others, Jons hand on your arm moving to cup your cheek, keeping you there against a soft kiss until he heard you sigh lightly into it.

Before you could pull away, he pressed two more chaste ones to your lips. Moving to press a final one to your forehead before he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you up onto your feet. “You don't have to be brave when we're alone. It's alright if what happened back there scared you.”

Almost a soft smile formed, your hands perched still on his waist as you steadied yourself getting onto the ground. His eyes painted over with something almost adoring as you spared no care this time to spin a falsehood. “Good. Because it did.”

His face tied between soft and serious, Jon sighed out with a heavy weight behind him. “It should scare you. It scared me.”

Raising an eyebrow slightly, you found yourself returning a bit to something more normal on the inside at least. “Stupid and scared. We are made for each other.” That had Jon trying to pull back a mighty smirk right away, causing you to smother the same in yourself.

Guiding you away from the halls you were in, Jon muttered lowly as he pulled the hand on your lower back away. “Wouldn't want anything else.”

If you were feeling well enough to laugh, you might have. But not quite yet. Ice and fire still haunted both sides of you and each one radiated the looming threat of death. A threat which had followed your entire life, a shadow. You only hoped it all happening around you so rapidly now was always meant to happen this way, and not the things you brought to them.

The fire burned high and bright, eyes all watching intently as whatever conversations happened in the now larger group, you barley could hear a word. Watching the already dead burn once more, you couldn't stop the wonder all the same. Things the red woman did, things the Targaryean was whispered to be doing. What was the line between them and you?

Why when you used fire does it make you a good person and them not? Is it guilt? Is it the pit inside your gut of what a horrific manner to die that separated you? Even already dead, your eyes were dark and expression cold but disturbed as you watched. When did it stop being about survival and start becoming the actions of a monster?

A voice trickling in beside you, and it was likely the only one who had anything to say that was an answer for something of the many questions passing through you. “Through one manner or another, the Lord raised us both. And it's his power which runs through us, through our blood. I have discovered the same, blood which set something around you alight.”

Your arms crossed over you, not bothering to dress any warmer in the dark night sky overhead. Still your clothes were covered in the same black substance. Your eyes on the flames before tearing away to Beric beside you. “I've bled since coming back. Why now, why this time?”

He thought for a moment as the pair of you remained ignorant to the ones watching and listening to your conversation. “That I don't know, but both instances of the Lords power showing in you happened here, somewhere along the Wall. Perhaps it is a way of telling you, your fate lies here, more then anywhere else.”

Little patience in your words but tone was kept even. “Your god didn't need to force me into lighting a man on fire to know that, my lord. I've known that far longer then today, that my place is in the North.”

A chuckle on his breath didn't sound anything comforting, but little did to you anymore. “I didn't say it was the North your fate lies with, your grace.” Finding his gaze, you followed with an unblinking path to that of the dark grey ones not so far off with Ghost on one side and Sam on the other.

It wasn't unlike many years ago. Just on the outside of the gates at Castle Black did Jon stand by Sam as the corpses of wights burned before them. Only that time, there were far less dead in his memory and far more the fear of the unknown sat between the group that day. “I translated what I could about them, and it sounded as if the dead didn't rise back up like that until the the Others came through. Their presence was enough to bring them back as wights.”

Lost in a thought for a moment, Jon considered the idea. “If they were this close we'd have known by now. And they weren't anywhere near Castle Black when Othor came back.” Both men stood there looking at the bodies, both with more understanding of what was coming them any of the rest did in a way, but still there was something missing. Something that they weren't privy to it's information.

Sam glanced passed Jon, his own eyes finding the narrowed, troubled ones you sported across an expression just as disturbed as the rest of you looked. “She's a lot more like you then I thought.”

Jon's face turning to a confused one before he realized what was being referred too. Inhaling deeply, he shook his head slightly in a mutter. “Not if you say that to her.” From the side of his vision he could tell Sam was looking at him. “She'd tell you it's insulting to me, putting me at where she thinks is down at her level.”

Sam only huffed a laugh out. “Oh now I know she's really like you.” Jon's glare not angry but more of a jesting irritation as he said Sams name in warning. “If I told you that you're just like her, you'd get angry at me for that all the same.”

Jon knew he had a point. “Well I don't want her to be like me. I only want to keep her safe.”

He knew it came out of his mouth without much thought to it, but it truly stuck out the moments the words left Sams mouth. “Nothings killed her yet.” Both slowly turned to look at each other, Jons face almost twitching to laugh at how quickly Sams widened ready to dive into an apology. “Really though, Jon. You're doing fine. All things considered, everything bad that's happened to her isn't your fault. We can't protect the women we love from everything, no matter how much we want too.”

It was the wrong time to feel it, but something possessive in Jon begun to growl at that idea. The wolf in him did not accept that, would not accept that.

You were fairly certain it would've been easier to have tossed the material right into the fire then getting out what was left on it. Washing what was left on your face, hands, and arms you had turned your attention to trying to scrub out whatever bled on your clothes. To no avail it seemed, whatever it really was it was coated thick on there like dried paint by now.

All but tossing it against the floor, you stood with a huff trying to will away the dizziness from the fast movement off the ground. Hand pressed to your forehead, you knew it wasn't really the clothes bothering you. It didn't matter, that was trivial. It was everything else. The way they attacked you and Theon but it was as if you were the one they wanted to get to.

Armed with the same things, but it wasn't Theon that three out of four had focused on ending. A glance of the wrapping on your hand, and you dropped it down to your side. Mystery upon mystery, they added up with such speed it seemed.

“Do you wear this little because you're stubborn, or because you like making me go mad?”

Jon's voice easily accompanied the sound of the door opening, and only then did it occur to you that once you had stripped down the offending articles of clothing, you left the shift on without anything else to accommodate. Looking down then back up to him, who admittedly looked very warm, you found a bit of a bashful fluster travelling up your chest.

You tried to cover it up with something clever, but you knew Jon saw right through it. “That's assuming I could wear too much that would stop you from having that same reaction.” The charming smile you adored slid onto his face with ease, but the second he made any move to dress down he almost switched right into lecture tone to stop you.

Only, your hands reached up to his front, slowly taking things off for him with a gentle care you paid no attention to the look on his face he always had when you'd do so. Doing the bare minimum to pull off his own gloves, Jon let his hands now rest on your waist, watching you in quiet attending to him as if it was so natural for you.

Even though it was, you sometimes could forget that this was not something Jon was used too. It came easily to Robb. A highborn, trueborn son, heir to Winterfell, he was used to people wanting to do things for him, but Jon still struggled even all these months later together.

Too much of his life you knew he wanted to rely on himself, his own skills, survive all on his own if need be. Jon was still a bastard and thus maids and servants never quite clambered to attend to him quite the same way. Not that Jon would want them too. But you knew he let you now, due in part as an excuse for his large, warm hands to trail along the thin material covering what little it did of you.

Muttering lowly as you worked away, “Sometimes I can't tell if you're looking at me like that beacuse you want to take the rest of it off or not.” Jon only replied, voice deep and rasping that he always wants to do that. Warmth bubbled up in your chest and Jon caught it in your eyes, his own smile far easier coming. “Had I known when I met you that you would be this insatiable I might not have been so polite.”

Your hands stopped the moment he said it. “You don't remember the first time we met.” Eyes slinking up his chest to his face, the more yours dropped the more his eyes blazed with a mischief. “The first time I met you was in the training yard the morning you arrived.” You had little memory at all of that first day, but you weren't sure if he was just trying to tease you.

Tearing your eyes back down you begun to move more around him, taking the heaviest layers off to the cold of the room. Your voice low as you worked. “My point was, you did a good job at hiding what an animal you are.”

To you, nothing was thought of it. Simply, kneeling down in front of him to once more undress his heavier outer layers. But, not quite the other way around. Jon wasn't a man normally tempted like this, were it to come down to a choice he'd much rather dine between your legs then ever choose you pleasuring him instead. And yet, he knew his voice husked out a lot rougher then he was mere seconds ago teasing you.

Eyes almost hooded a it looking down at you, flexing his hands to stay respectful off of you. “You didn't make it easy.” Your gaze tilted up at him, and it really did not help. Only an innocent curiosity on your face, but for whatever reasons Jon felt his blood rush hotter. “Probably was a good thing we weren't supposed to be together. Have the freedom to know I could've done what I really wanted and not been so afraid.”

The skip in your heart shouldn't have added so such a fluster, but it did. Your attention directing back down you swallowed heavily before responding. “And what is it you really wanted to do?”

He was silent for a little bit, the nerves inside you forcing the tips of your fingers to steady without sign of shaking. Only as you moved to his boots did you notice his own hands finally moved. The top of your vision catching how swiftly he pulled the last layer against his torso off as if the cold meant nothing to his bare torso.

Still, Jon said not a word. Waiting for you to finish putting them aside before reaching down. Gently a few fingers under your chin to tilt you to look up at him, Jon not sparing to let out a deep exhale as he looked down dark and bright and all seeing. His accent thick as it was rough, “Every night for years I spent wondering what it'd feel like to be inside you. But there's something I want to know. When did you want me?” Your brows narrowing in confusion, his hand sliding to toy with the strands of hair loose at the side of your head. “When did you first think about letting me take you to bed?”

The stammer in you without saying a word was almost embarrassing, the fluster flushed in your face so obviously but Jon didn't even give you the relief of a smirk. Just watched with dark eyes and a low hissing tone. “Be honest, if I asked you how many times in your entire life you've even touched yourself, could you count it on two hands?”

Your head turned away, the embarrassment mounting in drastic fashion all of the sudden. Mumbling, “Jon..” Without any words to explain what you meant.

He continued though. “Three hands? Four?” You knew right away by the falling drop of your face, how you almost shrunk away from him even kneeling like this that he knew. The embarrassment flowing down the river and finding itself replaced with a wide eyed humiliation. “It's not less then five times.” But you didn't say anything, and almost looked away from him more. Hardly able to ascertain his tone over the feeling in your chest of almost shame. “How many?”

You managed to get it out, but it was a mumble only Jon could've picked up on. “Twice.” He was silent and you felt that shame flare higher and higher wanting to explain yourself. “I didn't..I didn't know for a long time that was something I could even do..have..feel like that..”

Truly you were ruining him, he knew. This wasn't fair, he wasn't trying to dangle how innocent you were as a something to mock but Jon knew he was so unbelievably hard. Cock strained against the only thing left covering his body and once more that perverse feeling returned. Even all these years later you were too innocent for your own good, and that was a dangerous mix.

Jon stood there, knowing you shouldn't be kneeling so beautiful and telling him just how truly innocent you've been your whole life, when he knew far too intimately how it felt to spill so deeply down your throat. That it let tears fall from your eyes at how overwhelming he could hold you there. He knew he shouldn't want that, he didn't want it because he didn't want to risk being too rough or unsafe with you.

But still he thought, never once did you ever do anything but swallow every drop of his seed as if you needed it.

He was tied between two things, but he knew he couldn't act like that with you. He had to be gentle, show you love instead of making it all about him. Mumbling your name, Jon held a hand out, prompting you to stand up properly, before he could pull his cock out to slide deep in your mouth.

One hand at your hip and the other tilting your jaw to look up at him, your lips parted, lungs almost burning in anticipation for what he wanted. Days when something risked your life, Jon was wild and unpredictable those subsequent nights. He lacked any other way to cope with almost losing you, but to be the one rough with you himself when alone. Brushing his lips against yours, your hands at his waist tightening but he only muttered with hot breath dancing across your skin. “Lay on the bed for me.”

Bracing yourself with your palms back against the sheets, one knee somewhat bent keeping you propped up, unsure of how to even attempt to give him something to look at. But as Jon turned to face you, attention was grabbed from where you were looking with ease. Rough hands undoing the laces at the top of his breeches before uncaringly shoving the rest of it off.

Already his cock stood hard as could be, begging to take what he wanted from you. One knee he climbed up onto the bed and the next, all but crawling over top of you like he had his prey exactly where he wanted. Only his hands grabbed something along the way.

Pulling your shift up and off you, Jon tossed it without a single care. His eyes black as the night outside but he only watched you, chest breathing heavily as he looked you over. Top to bottom trailing down as if he had every inch of you already memorized.

The air was heavy, tense as you both were perched on the bed until Jon once more stole your breath with ease. Grasping at your legs, Jon pushed them wide, yanking you down the bed before slinking down so that his broad shoulders kept you from being able to close them. Hovering just where he would torment you for hours, only the hot breathe you felt tracing along your skin spoke what you didn't expect.

“Why didn't you ever try it more? Touching yourself?” Your head fell against the sheets, turning into the pillow somewhat with that same embarrassment. Your name coming from him with another prompt, hands resting along your outer thighs soothingly. “It's alright, I'm not trying to embarrass you. But I need to know.” All you did was barley breath out an ask of why when he smiled too gently for the way he was between your legs. “Because I spent a lot of nights spilling into my own hand pretending it was you. Did you not know you were allowed to think of me?”

You wanted to be anywhere but here, you didn't understand why this mattered. Not a shred of confidence was found in your mutterings. “I tried but then I'd remember when my Septa used to tell me girls shouldn't do things like that. Then both times I tried it never..it didn't really work so I stopped. It felt good when you were doing it, I thought that meant that only you were supposed do that.” Were you not bare, you would have made your way to the top of the Wall by now and flung yourself from the edge.

Jon only soothed his touch against your thighs. Breath warm as his voice was soothing, no judgment not even desire, just comforting. “Try for me.”

“Here?”

A grin cracked at how your voice snapped against the words. “Right here. Show me what you think it is you weren't supposed to be doing.” The Queen of one word answers you were and asked why, and once more Jon was there not to pressure, but to alleviate the suffocating fluster in your lungs. “You're in the North, you married a Northman. You belong to the North now, not the new gods always trying to convince you wanting to feel good is something to be ashamed of.”

It was cruel how well he knew you. How he could rip down your walls in seconds and expose the shivering insecurities underneath. “Are you going to laugh at me if I say I don't know what to do?”

Instantly. Jon laughed instantly.

Trying to pull away from him, you didn't want to do this. You didn't want everything today to end with Jon making fun of you for something you spent years thinking you were sinful for trying. It was easy for him, he was a man, he followed the Old Gods. No one cared what Jon did or wanted like that, but you were taught your entire life. Marry, breed and repeat. Pleasure wasn't part of such lessons.

“Woah, woah-” Jon reached up, grasping at your waist quickly and pushed you back down into the sheets, hoisting himself up to see your eyes a little better. Now mostly hovering over your stomach. “Darling, I wasn't laughing at you. Not like that. You..” His eyes were admittedly wide, and earnest. The grey far less black and more light once more. “You're just..cute.”

Mumbling as you wanted to squirm away, the tickling his breath on your stomach causing. “Isn't that a seductive way to be seen by your husband.”

In response, Jon let that same smile sit on his lips before pressing it down to your stomach, almost kissing a non existent path to something before pulling a thigh up, and somewhat over his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh there as well. “I want you to understand it's okay to feel good, it's okay to do things just for yourself. But you're not good at doing nice things for yourself, so we're going to stay right here until I've taught you that properly.”

The strength to say anything still was a little too on the embarrassed side, but when Jon wanted to make a point about something sensitive, you had long learned to trust the way he delicately chose to do so with you. Nodding, you still didn't really look anywhere but the stone wall to the side of the room whispering, “I don't know how to start.”

In another world that may have come off as petulant, but you didn't want to be in charge of this sort of thing for yourself. Being so open, so raw, and so vulgar in front of Jon felt like he'd judge you for it but he encouraged it with the most gentle eyes he always held towards you. “Give me your hand.” Smartly choosing your luckily uninjured left, he opened the fingers right in your palm before sitting it flat against your stomach. “I'll lead, you just follow along for now.”

Barley nodding, you felt him trail your hand down your stomach, tracing just barley over your mound without the courage to even slightly look at him. Fingertips of his over top yours on the opposite sides, Jon gently dragged your hand down slightly until just barley did you feel that slight jolt of pleasure fluttering across your clit.

Biting roughly into your lip, you felt rather stupid as if you had no idea what any of this entailed. You had been touched this way before, but here on your own in front of Jon? You felt as nervous and lost as you did that day in Winterfell on his bed, bare for the first time in front of him. Trying to apply a little bit of pressure, Jon's voice was soft. “Come on, darling. Find out what feels good.”

You were trying, really you were. But everything felt wrong, you felt stupid and not looking his way at all did not help the worry Jon might think you were incompetent. Jon always took the lead, Robb always took the lead. You didn't want to be in charge, you didn't want to do all of this yourself for yourself, you'd much rather Jon have let you stay on your knees earlier instead.

Small touches he would try and guide you to something a little better, but no doubt he could see how tense and unrelaxed you were. “If I take my hand away, would it help you to explore more on your own?”

Your response however, was as mumbled and embarrassed as before. Any movement stopping, the moment Jon wasn't actively leading. “Couldn't we do things the way we always do..”

Quiet for a moment, you feared the sigh Jon let out was either disappointment or defeat. Not helped by the sudden feeling of him gently laying your legs out more comfortably and rising up. Only to have him climb back over you, hands pressed on either side of your head as he nudged you gently to look up at him. You were sure the embarrassment was striking on your face.

Before any words were spoken, the moment you looked to him, Jon captured your lips. Nothing feirce or deep or urgent, just a gentle kiss until you settled to something more calm. Enough so that you naturally raised your hands to run along his shoulder and upper back. Pulling away more then once, Jon would reclaim your lips until he found the strength to pull back enough to speak properly.

Nudging your nose gently with his, “Whenever we were separated, I'd always wonder late at night if you were touching yourself the same time I was. I wanted you to be.” Resting his forehead against yours, the gesture rather sweet for the spoke words rasping from his mouth. “I'd pull one of your letters out, reading it trying to hear your voice, try to imagine what it'd feel like to finally slip inside of you. Hoping you were on the other side of the country wondering what it'd feel like to be filled that way.”

Ever so slowly, Jon while keeping your eyes on his the entire time, removed a hand from around his shoulder. Dragging it right back down. Instead of prompting you himself, he only held your hand in the position, knowing the command was already understood. Do it yourself right now.

The jolt of pleasure almost made you jump, the moment Jon knew you obeyed him, let that hand press back into the sheets as he stayed over you. Eyes forcing you to look up at him as he kept going. “Then you were standing right in front of me, after a year of thinking you were gone. I know I was too rough with you, I should've been gentle, should've taken my time, ease you into it.”

Ever so slightly you felt more of a pattern grow easier and easier to follow. Breath increasing as it would then hitch trying to keep steady underneath him, but your bloodstream flowed warmer and tighter as that feeling grew in your core. Trying to recall what Jon would do at this point but he kept talking, kept distracting your too focused mind.

“I was afraid after, if you didn't want it. Beacuse it was all I kept thinking about. Every moment I was looking at you, all I could think about was how you felt around me. How beautiful you looked under me just like this.” A whimper in your throat swallowed itself back down, but that warmth from Jon above was starting to compare to it deep in your core. Fingertips a little firmer, finding a pattern almost to match the cadence of Jons voice.

Nudging your nose with his again, barley brushing his lips against yours to speak. “Even when I woke up, you bare against me like that..” A rough exhale blew across your skin. “I had yanked you down onto my cock before I even knew what I was doing, I was obsessed. I'm still obsessed, I'm addicted to being inside you. You have no idea the things I want to do to you, things you'd never imagine two people could do with each other..”

Your eyes almost fluttered shut as a weak gasp left you, fingertips slightly down just slightly only to let out the tiniest of cries at just how wet you felt yourself getting. Tracing just some of that back to your clit, you nodded. Wanting to find a voice, but Jon was here to do all the talking for you, hovering over you as you breathing grew erratic, as your muscles begun to shake.

“I can't do half the things I want to do to you, I'd get sent to every hell there is for how much I want to keep you locked away, tied to my bed, making you beg for me every second I'm not inside you.”

Oh that faint whine did Jon in. His cock already throbbed terribly, but now it was enough to make his heart race, his hands tighten into fists against the sheets. Your eyes almost struggling to stay open like a true beauty in his eyes, losing yourself to a pleasure he was desperate for you to find. More and more the embarrassment left you, remaining only a burning white hot desire.

A gentle kiss to your cheek, once more the contrast captured your lungs. “The worst part is? You'd let me wouldn't you? You'd let me do anything to you, because you trust me to take care of you.” Nodding you tried to meet his dark eyes, but wave after wave of something tingling passed through you as you kept on your clit just as he wanted. Groaning over top of you, Jon hid his face in your neck, keeping enough of his body off of you to give you the space still. “...fuck, I'm nowhere near an honourable man for what I want to do to you, not even a good one..”

Shaking your head, you tried turning slightly into his close proximity, breathless and weak, “You are, I promise you are, Jon. Always have been.” His own breathing growing harsh against your neck, he was trying to keep from indulging himself in touching you but the edge of that cliff of self restraint was drawing near mighty fast.

Creeping right up on you, your free hand reached up, grasping at Jons shoulder as stuttering breaths found you as you almost arched up into him. Something like sparks of a flame smouldering through you with a swiftness finally had him pull back to look at you. Barley managing to meet his eyes as yours kept fluttering shut, any tension within you left.

That fire burst into a proper flame and spread across your core and through your every nerve, arching up to him even more as Jon forced himself to stay propped up to watch. Your head thrown back with a desperate gasp of his name. It wasn't nearly as powerful as any another had given you, but feeling Jon so close against you had only helped keep it properly strong. Riding out that wave, something needy forced itself into your mind.

Forcing your self upward your hand left without thought as you met his lips. Jon sensing what you wanted right away, shifting his position to grasp at your waist and keep you firmly under him as he bit at your bottom lip. The very start of what might have been a gasp and Jon impatient as anything used such an opportunity to glide his tongue into your mouth, brushing against your own as he leaned over you more.

A far more dominant position then he held previously, one hand as Jon tasted you as such with a greed, did he shift onto his knees more. Suddenly pulling away, the saliva between you snapping as he looked down with something almost authoritative. Yanking your leg up into his hold, grasping by your thigh you were jostled further down the bed as he all but hooked your leg up over his shoulder. Far more on display then he'd ever previously positioned you.

Dark, heavy eyes raking down your bare form until he reached your soaking core. As if he worked himself up, Jons breathing was heavy as he clenched his jaw trying to keep composure and utterly failing. The aggressive look almost could be mistaken for anger as he sent his other hand down between you.

Much more knowing, rubbing tightly at your clit until you cried out, not even noticing the volume of your voice, not that he cared by now. Sinking down he shoved two fingers deep inside you, soaking to the point even just such one small action you could hear how wet you were. A cry biting against your tongue at the differences.

You with that sense of shame, Jons chest heaving all the more as he slid his fingers in and out of you deeply until he pulled from you, impatient. The press of the leaking tip of his cock teased against you, but Jon let that hand drift up. Running between your breasts, grasping not even in greed, almost tenderly to get your attention before running it what he could reach through your hair. You knew you looked a mess already, but Jon truthfully looked no more put together then you felt.

Rasping far more tenderly then such a lewd position had any right being spoken in tandem with, Jon looked with something overwhelmingly adoring. Letting his hand trace down to the bruises forming where the wight grabbed at your neck he swallowed with something far too close of watering to the surface. “I'm so sorry, darling, that never should have happened.”

Shaking your head you felt confused by the juxtaposition. His cock teasingly prodding at slipping right inside of you, and the desperate look as he looked down at you. “Jon, it's not your fault,”

Cutting you off, you stuttered a breath as just barley an inch more slid inside of you, but Jons eyes and voice no less heavy. “It doesn't matter. I need to protect you, both of you. Especially here.”

Jon wouldn't realize until far later into the night then he should've been awake, exactly what he had said. You didn't notice, your mind far too high in the clouds as you tried to find anything of him to grasp at in need. Barley a voice, more of just a weak high pitched breath as your core burned for him. “We protect each other, no matter what.”

Dropping his head, Jon without prompt sunk deep inside of you. The gasp pouring out of your mouth with a needy cry of his name, Jon for once couldn't convince himself to smother it with a kiss. He could barley look at you as you no longer could keep your eyes open.

Instead, his eyes dragged themselves down to watch his cock sink slowly inside of you, every slow pull almost leaving you showing off how soaking you were around him, made worse each slide back as deep as you could take him. Running against something sensitive that had your nails dig into where of his waist you could reach. Still, he only watched.

Again and again Jons cock slowly disappeared into you, made just for him. Your cunt made to fit his cock like a fate, and you were as tight as you somehow also gave him no resistance. You had worked yourself up perfect for him. “Oh fuck, darling..” A rougher thrust and one hand of yours reached mindlessly to the sheets below to grasp at.

More of a slap of his hips pounded into you, pace picking up rougher and rougher until the obscene yet telltale slap of skin against one another gave away what truly taking place in the hour of the wolf. The stretch of his cock never got any better, you always lay there feeling such a stinging burn that you might have cried without. Fucking deep into you rough, and thick and so much of you was only filled with him and you couldn't live without him.

The floating in your heart travelled down your chest between your legs and bloomed within your core as your cries found themselves shameless into the air, yet was nothing against the smack of Jons hips pounding into yours. Back arching as he dragged along your walls as if to torture you with how every sense was overtaken with his touch, his deep growl, his cock too thick to handle and yet he sunk as deep as you could take every time without the agony such a girth should give.

He couldn't take his eyes off watching your cunt take his cock like you were born to do only this. Your eyes shed tears at how little breath you had left each time he pounded harder. His head somewhat leaning against your leg up on his shoulder, other hand grasping tightly at your hips to bruise the skin with just more imprints of him. Forcing you steady as with a grunting growl in his chest did he fuck into rougher.

Pound after pound hardly a word was spoken not prayers for the others ears only, begging for mercy and none yet for how much he filled you over and over and how much your insides twisted like a tight coil edging itself to snap with a violence. You wanted Jon close but he couldn't tear his eyes away, and every few thrusts he watched did Jon pound rougher.

Teeth gritting Jon rambled swears under his breath watching you take him, watching how soaked his cock was every single time he managed to pull himself out of you even a little bit, and how little Jon ever wanted to be anywhere but so deep inside you every drop of seed he'd fill you with could never leak out. Leaning as much as he could over you, the leverage tore the growling from Jons chest out of his mouth as his harsh slam of hips pained you.

He was too rough with you, but you wanted more and more. Wanted Jon to treat you however he wished but you also wanted him close to feel and kiss. Begging his name, only it came out as tiny pleas of need in the slapping skin around you. “Jon, gods, Jon you're perfect..please, you're so good..”

Eyes rolling into the back of his head Jon shoved the leg of yours off his shoulder and forced them both wide to make room. Both hands pressed beside your body again, the slapping of skin fucking rough inside your soaking walls would've sounded too rough had it not been the only music you desired to hear the rest of your life.

Grasping his waist, your chest lurched and your core burned once more and yet the feeling inside twisted and fogged your head to the point not even the bed below you existed. Only the touch Jon gifted you. His forehead falling against yours, accent thick as anything as he slurringly rambled with the pace leaving a cruel pound, switching to an overwhelming slap as he thrusted into you faster and faster.

“Cum for me, darling. Please, I-” A groan leaving his mouth had you lurch up to kiss him. Deep and messy and he bit at your lips as he did so before he yanked back from that to ramble more. “Cum around me, I need to feel you, please..cum for me and I'll fill you just the way you like I promise.”

Nodding you met his lips in a kiss just as rough, Jons cock just as fast and unrelenting as he carved a place for his cock deep in your cunt made for him alone. The air between you both left how cold it was, the sweat covering both of you, a fire would have nothing on the heat now.

Gasping into his kiss, Jon slipped his tongue inside you once more just as you clenched around him. Muscles screaming as they seized, the coil inside snapping with such a roughness the tears once more fell from your eyes, but Jons kiss and tongue refused your begs and pleads for mercy. Jon had none anyways. Not the speed in which he kept pounding into you with no reprieve.

Your mind high in the clouds, just as Jon almost snarled into your kiss, spilling deep inside of you, making it feel like his seed was thick but burning hot as he pumped it all deep. Hips not relenting a bit, Jon shook in keeping himself propped up but more and more his seed filled you.

Almost falling, Jons forehead met yours again, one hand reaching up to grasp at the headboard above and pounding into you still. His own breaths as unsteady and stuttering as your own, but his hips never gave up the slapping into you he created. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders and back of his neck. Letting him hide more in your own neck as your nails dug into the free skin not yet covered by whatever strands fell from their pull up.

Jons other hand holding at your hip still rutting into you despite the overstimulated cries singing into his ears, he needed more. Jon craved more just as he needed to spill inside of you again, and again and as many times as he could give no matter what.

He knew now too, that if you passed out, if Jon wasn't done, you wanted him to fuck you anyways.

No rhythm or pattern followed this time, just the desperate fucking of a great wolf who needed to fill his mate at any and all cost. Nothing existed but Jons touch, his voice, all of it. Only him as for Jon it was only you. Only you two. That's all there was for him nothing outside mattered as long as he had you two in here and with a cruelty forcing a groan to pour from his mouth of your name, the thought had Jon spill inside you again. The thickness of his seed made fucking you over and over afterwards obscene, the sounds humiliating for you but Jon would willingly loose his sanity if it was this which would take it from him.

It hurt, how much cumming around him hurt, the burn he stretched you with but Jon would pull back and kiss you and you'd let him hurt you just like this for the rest of your days. Only with him did you feel as if you craved anything he could give you.

Looking up to his eyes, grey and bright and the only thing that mattered to you, barley a whisper you managed to breath out, “I love you.”

Jon couldn't say it back beacuse he lost the words for anything. Nodding, Jon rutted into you harder and kissed you deeper with such a greed the new gods would've been ashamed should he have cared. Spilling inside you once more, you weren't sure if he stopped. For the second time in over three weeks, your mind slipped into sleep at the pounding of his cock soaked inside you.

Once your eyes had slipped closed, the hand at your hip slid up to your stomach. Pressing down to feel nothing, not yet. But Jon knew the second that changed, he was going to feel no better about how desperate he was to fuck you. If he could give you a daughter right now too, he would stay inside you until he did just that.

You were long asleep, and shamefully filled with his seed by the time Jon slid out of you. Even in your sleep you whined. A tender kiss to your lips, and another when Jon pulled back to merely look at you first. He turned you in his arms, holding you close into his chest and one hand pressed at the back of your head to keep you tucked into him.

Jon almost failed you today, he arrived too late, they were all dead but it was still his fault he wasn't with you in the first place. You could take care of yourself, but Jon wanted you to let him do it for you, he'd do anything for you.

But something he knew, wanted him and you deeply involved in the winter storms of the far North. What that role was just yet he didn't know, but he would stake a high bet on it that the true answers to that lay here. In the North, the cold and the Old Gods. It all connected somehow, and for whatever reason, it seemed like the gods were saying that Jon and you together belonged right in this mystery alongside the Others.

High up on the Wall, the reports had been growing more and more every night but he had to be sure before he said anything.

He was given this responsibility and what led to this being his position meant he wasn't messing around. He wasn't taking it for granted with a snarky comment or dismissal anymore, beacuse they all knew better now.

Black fur barley doing anything in the high night wind but he walked up to the ledge the others stood at regardless. They called him up here for a reason, and as he stood by the ledge he saw just what the men had been whispering about for days. Only now it was close enough he could see with his own damn eyes.

Jon would be at the Nightfort by now he estimated. It wasn't far, it was close enough, and he wasn't willing to wait for an army he wasn't sure would come to their aid a second time to pick up the slack, and he didn't trust sending a raven to get across the seriousness of what this meant.

It would be unlikely he didn't know, but they all had to be on the same page now more then ever. The Nights Watch was no longer an exile stuck at the end of the world. They more then ever had to be the shield that guards the realms of men. The North together. All of them, just like Jon had told them.

Turning to the others, he said without room for question. “Ready my horse. If I leave tonight I can get there before the new moon. If they're this close already, Jon needs to know now.”

Edd stood high up on the Wall at Castle Black, and in the distant night sky of the North did the stars and black night start to shimmer. Closer and closer it was drawing and now he could see it.

The dark was coming, and a strange glow of shimmering green light within the sky waved like water along with it.

[vixentheplanet]

illicit nights | part 2

“gimme few more minutes of this feeling. for right now time don't exist.”

shuri x black!reader | 18+

Summary: You were born and raised in Wakanda, but you chose to leave to pursue a modeling career. You've amassed global fame as an international model, gracing runway shows, featuring in luxury campaigns, and appearing in fashion magazines. You're in the spotlight, and the entire world is watching your every move. After a very public breakup, you decide to return home to reconnect with your country and the people you love.

You didn't expect to catch the attention of your sister's best friend in your attempt to get over your heartbreak, let alone end up in a private sexual relationship with said friend. The Wakandan Queen.

word count: 9k

themes: model/famous reader, queen shuri, childhood friends, hookups

warnings: very explicit sexual relations

i forgot everything… the summary. the tags. the storyline. i actually almost put up the collage that was supposed to be for part 3

i think this was the song… IDK IDK. i was supposed to re-edit it but i don’t have time. 😩🤍 y’all know how i feel about this… so DON’T 😐😒

The breeze tickled your skin as you sat outside, waiting for the sunrise. Your body had only begun to adjust to the time shift, and you usually woke up early enough to have breakfast with your mother before she left for work. The majority of your days were spent catching up with friends, spending time with Izara when she wasn't at work, and visiting some of your favorite places in your hometown—also, Shuri.

It’s been three weeks since Aneka’s party. Since you had left Shuri’s bed with the vow never to sleep together again. The next morning, when you saw Izara, she whistled at you, "Look at Miss, I don't sleep with strangers." She was sitting at the table with a half-finished plate of food. For a second, you weren't sure what she was talking about as she fixed her gaze directly on the bite marks on your neck.

To be fair, you said that there would be no kissing. You did not mention biting, but you're paying for it now. “Oh, yeah.” You speak plainly, attempting to dismiss it as nothing significant, but you know it won't work with your sister. Shuri had spent much time with her lips attached to your neck and a few scattered on your chest. You try to push the images away before they take over your mind and become too vivid.

There’s a bowl of fruit on the counter, and you make your way over to it, examining your options. Banana. Pear. Apple.

Izara keeps pushing. “How was it? Who was it? Did you get their number?” She pressed for specifics about the previous night, and it was too early for you to come up with a sensible explanation.

Ignoring your sister, you take another look at the fruit before settling on a pear and biting into it. "You're asking too many questions, hurting my brain." You speak once you've swallowed. Izara made jokes about you moving back in, but it appears she was the one who did. Despite having her own place, she came here very frequently. You're surprised she came here so early in the morning; she was probably looking for leftovers in the fridge to help with her hangover.

“She went to the market, and you’re lying. I've seen you drunk. You didn't drink much last night." She accuses, and you sigh.

Hangover or not, it’s too early to ask all these questions. "Am I your next research subject?" You sass.

She takes the hint this time. "No, I'm only observing because this means you hooked up with them sober," Izara exclaims, clamping her hands over her mouth. "They must have said something to charm you. You should see them again.” You laughed at her suggestion. Shuri was the one in question, and it couldn't happen again because-

You groan, “That’s not the point of a one-night stand.”

"Well, I guess not, but it wouldn't matter," your sister thinks. “You’ll be leaving eventually, and if you had a good time, I don’t see the harm in having another go at it.” She says carefully before picking up her fork and continuing to eat, and that's the end of it, fortunately.

There's a good chance Izara would give you different advice if she knew who you ended up taking home from Elixir that night. Your sister's words lingered in your mind for the rest of the morning. There was no harm in you and Shuri being sexually involved, considering that you would soon leave Wakanda. It was strictly between the two of you. No one else needed to know, and you're both single consenting adults. The fact that she's your sister's best friend adds a layer of complexity, but if neither of you told her, she wouldn't know. You are not required to inform her if you do not choose to.

That's why, after taking your sister's suggestion, the promise only lasted 24 hours. The next night, you were back in Shuri's bed. You weren't shocked when Shuri accepted your proposal for a no-strings-attached relationship. The two of you hadn't been drunk enough to blame your actions on altered brain chemistry the first time you slept together. Attraction and lust fueled your acts.

Since you would see each other routinely, it was important to reiterate the three terms and conditions established on the first night.

No kissing

No intimacy

Izara (no one) can never find out

With that being said, the past three weeks were filled with friends, spending time with yourself, and lots of Shuri. It was relaxing, and you weren't planning on returning to work right away, but your IMG agency team wanted to check in with you.

You were lounging on the back patio of your childhood home, laptop open, waiting for a video chat from Gabrielle, your manager. It was after midnight in LA, but she worked for you; everything was on your schedule. Your agency was lenient with you, but you understood it was because you are vital to the industry. In only a few years, you became one of the top-earning models in the agency, in high demand. Though that meant nothing in Wakanda, it meant everything out there, and as a result, you are held to a higher standard.

Logically, you knew they weren't going to get rid of you, but your stomach was knotted with anxiety, not knowing what to anticipate. Was the press slandering you as a result of your absence? Does the demand for your campaign involvement decrease?

The laptop on the table chimes, signaling Gabrielle's call, and you immediately answer, her face filling the screen. As she sees your face, her smile broadens. Her surroundings indicate that she is in her home office. The night sky could be seen through the glass windows behind her. "There she is, my lovely lady. We miss you, you know?”

"I miss you guys too." For the most part, you worked with a good group of people. Your team ensured exposure and opportunities at every fashion house, show, and campaign. The money was the product of all the hard work that had gone into everything.

"The team and I wanted to check in and see where your head's at?" Gabrielle says as she shuffles papers off to the side.

Right now is the first time you’ve thought about returning to work since coming home. There was no definite time frame in your mind of when you would return. "I mean, I've missed being in Wakanda and am happy to be back. I know I'll have to go soon, but I'm not ready yet."

Gabrielle nods her head, taking in your words. “Okay, that’s understandable. Of course, we'll give you as much time as you need, but you should be aware that you're the most talked-about person in the world right now," She informs you with a broad grin. A twinkle in her eyes indicates she has some important news to share.

In the industry, that could be good or bad. No publicity was bad publicity, but still. "What do you mean?" you question. You figured once you decided to drop off the face of the planet, it would all quiet down, and the media would go back to focusing on something else.

She responds to your question with a question of her own. “Have you been on social media recently?”

“No, I logged out of all my accounts.” You weren’t actively posting or monitoring what was being said about you.

Keyboard sounds break the stillness before Gabrielle begins again, "Okay, the good news. They're doing fantastic. Your last post a few months ago received 7 million likes. You've had a few viral tweets, and you're always trending on Twitter. Your name on search engines has skyrocketed, and many people wonder where you are. Why haven't they seen you in public?"

Your manager turns back to focus on you. "People want to know where you are and when you’re back on the runway. The phones are ringing. We have brands worldwide competing for your participation in their shows for the upcoming season."

She continues. "This has the potential to be tremendous, a defining career moment, a historic moment in fashion history. The return of Y/N to the catwalk." Gabrielle illustrates her point by moving her hands in a sweeping motion to the side, demonstrating how massive this could be.

She looks at you, eyes still sparkling with excitement.

But you’re anything but, “I don’t know. When would this be?” you ask.

"If you were interested, next month you'd have to come out for a couple of fittings for other companies," Gabrielle reads from a document. It would be completely under the radar. We'll have everyone sign NDAs, and you'll be back in Wakanda in no time." The way she puts it indicates that she considered every issue or inquiry you may have that might convince you to say no.

"The shows wouldn't be until the season starts, but you'd get rehearsal and additional fittings closer to the shows. Think about it.” The details were nothing new to you. You've been doing it for a long time. Fashion Week preparations took a significant amount of time and effort.

You pick at your nails while biting your lower lip. "I'll think about it," you answer.

The woman on the screen looks honestly surprised at your response. You get it. The entire world is waiting for you. Major fashion corporations from all over the world are vying for your attention, but you're reluctant. You would have leaped at this offer a few months ago. Her tone of voice when she mentions your name, "Y/N," is quite defeated. “You can’t let Mya win.” It's as if she's been thinking about it for a while and finally feels like she can let it out.

The mention of your ex-girlfriend irritated you a little. "What are you talking about?" Was she attempting to persuade you to make a decision?

“I mean this in the best way possible. I understand how difficult it is, but you can't hide forever. Particularly not from a chance like this." Gabrielle explains, but her comments are still hurtful.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Don't pass it up. That's all I'm saying. You already know I want the best for you." She looks you in the eyes, yet her words sting. Were you allowing Mya to win by hiding? Was she satisfied knowing you fled due to the chain reaction your breakup caused?

This ridiculous fucking conversation. "Thank you," you say quickly, avoiding eye contact.

Gabrielle sighs, undoubtedly aware that she has upset you. She's been your manager for a while now. She is highly aware of your moods. “I’ll email you over everything, take a look and get back to me when you can. Take care of yourself.”

Your voice had escaped you. You finish the call with a polite nod.

Gabrielle assumed she was doing you a favor by presenting this ‘great’ news with her oh-so-helpful advice, but now you were filled with dread and regret. Is that what the rest of the world saw? Mya made you run? A heartbroken coward who would rather hide her face than deal with the aftermath of a poor decision to give her heart away to the wrong person. It's the first time you've cried since your split. You weren't upset over the broken romance. It was the fact that you were completely overwhelmed by the idea that Mya had won.

Here you were, at the top of your success, trying to figure out what to do next. Gabrielle wanted to make it appear as if the decision was yours. Still, how she illustrated and spoke about it being a part of fashion history made it evident that she was attempting to sway your mind into saying yes. Yet, you didn’t know if you wanted to, but you also knew in the back of your mind you’d be an idiot to pass this up.

You thought about going to Izara. Your sister was generally your go-to person in situations like these. Even though she was supportive, you knew that telling her you could be going would make her sad. Even though she still had work, you swear she spent every waking moment with you, and you would never complain about being in your sister's company.

It was reassuring to know you had time to think about it, at least because your mind was not in the ideal place to make such important decisions right now. You were in a daze all day, but your spirits lightened when you helped your mother test new recipes for her bakery. When your mother retired, she decided to run a bakery. She spent her whole life as a culinary master and was delighted to share her food with others. You grinned and joyfully took all the sweets she placed in your mouth. You were responsible for informing her if she needed to add more sugar or if the dough required additional butter; it was a tedious job.

Around 3 o’clock, you get a text.

Be here at 10.

Shuri. After typing a short response, you put your phone aside and spent the remainder of the day with your mom. The process of trying out new recipes was time-consuming, but she needed your help, and it was keeping your mind off of other stresses.

"You're distracted," Shuri accuses. Today was the fourth night you've been over this week; it's probably due to a lack of sex life in the months leading up to your breakup, but sex with Shuri is addictive. It's as if she passed a master class in your body, bringing forth noises you'd never heard yourself make. Reaching parts of your body you didn't know existed. Perhaps because there was no expectation of long-term dedication or closeness, which also played a role. Once the night's events were over, you dressed and went home, waiting for the next time you or Shuri sent a text arranging your subsequent encounter.

There was never any foreplay. This was supposed to be fast enough for both of you to get it out of your system and go before anyone became suspicious. That was mostly your mother and sister. Fewer people were in the halls at this time, and the queen's floor had restricted access. Except for Dora, no one was up here. Ayo always met you outside the palace to accompany you in and out as a precaution.

Shuri usually had you naked and trembling when you opened the door, but today, you were lazily sitting on top of her, rotating your hips. Zoned out. Her voice pulls your attention. "I'm not," you exhale, blinking and looking down.

Her hands come up to your waist, forcing you to stop. “You are,” Shuri argues.

Though it was a slow rhythm, the loss of it made you whine. “Stop arguing with me and get on with it.” You complain, brushing your hair away from your face. You should have tied it up. You'll have to redo it when you get home.

"You want me to get on with it?" she says, her brows furrowed. “You're on top of me."

The thought crosses your mind, "Can you take over?" you ask, sighing. She watches you with suspicion from her position below you. You can sense she wants to continue the subject, but there are other moments to start talking about everything bothering you.

Shuri is quiet for a minute before holding out her arms and saying, "Come here," You fall into her embrace, lying on her chest. The calm is only momentary as Shuri puts her arms around you, supporting her feet on the mattress, and thrusts up into you.

Surrendering to Shuri was a better idea than being in control. You lay in her grasp while she takes you apart, bringing you to that state of euphoria your body has grown accustomed to in recent weeks. That beautiful feeling you get after orgasm puts your mind at ease.

It's 2 a.m. when you're tugging your sweatpants over your hips. "It truly wounds my ego that you can walk away every time." In response to Shuri's vulgar joke, you roll your eyes.

"You know, I'm a model. I've walked away from worse circumstances." Rebalancing after an intense release was nothing if you could stroll down a runway in 120mm Louboutins. She's standing there, watching you get ready. She was waiting for you downstairs, where Ayo would meet and accompany you to your car.

You're about to tell Shuri you're ready to go when she asks, "Are you okay?"

Was she seriously going to bring this up once more? You lied when you said, "I'm alright," but you would be fine. The news from your manager was a lot to take in, and after reviewing the emails and all the details, it became clear how vast of an opportunity you had been given on a silver platter. Yet accepting this would mean being forced back into the spotlight without knowing if all of the previous gossip had finally died down. Even more so, being in Wakanda made you remember what taking a step back and breathing felt like. In Gabrielle's opinion, turning it down meant that your ex would win the prize, seeing you fragile and heartbroken.

There was too much to think about, and you couldn't unload it all on Shuri. This was not the type of interaction. You'd both gotten what you came for, and it was time to go.

Shuri must suspect you're not telling the truth. "You know," she begins. “We are still friends.” She's staring at you with seriousness, yet it's unsettling. You've never been close.

You tilt your head in reaction to her statement. You weren't friends; you spent time with Shuri when you were younger, but it was because you were stuck to your sister's hip. Izara adored you and would never push you away, even while you were in the company of her friends. However, once you gained independence, you rarely saw Izara's friends. “We are not friends. You’re my sister's friend.” You put more emphasis on it.

Shuri shakes her head, disagreeing. "That's not to say we're not friends, though." And there is a hint of disbelief in her tone.

"Name one thing we've done together," you challenged, your hands on your hips. Shuri's smirk and the way her eyes look across to the bed you've just finished in tell you exactly what's on her mind.

"When we were kids!" You exclaimed, a flush spreading across your face. She was irritable at times.

Shuri chuckles, amused by your reaction. “I’m trying to say that being Izara’s friend never meant I didn’t care about you.” Sharing your sentiments and emotions with anyone requires you to be attentive, clear, calm, and compassionate. All of these factors lead to genuine intimacy and trust. That didn't help bridge the distance you were attempting to build between you.

“I appreciate that, but I’m fine.” The tone of finality in your voice was enough to make Shuri drop the topic.

The emails Gabrielle sent you were overwhelming once you saw just how many brands there were. Dior offered you ten million dollars to start and end their show. Mugler, Tony Ward, Zahair Murad... You had previously worked with some of these fashion houses while you had just fantasized about others, and now your fantasies were coming true.

You'd be back on the radar of all the celebrity news and gossip websites if you resurfaced in the spotlight. Though, your split with Mya was in the past. What if people continue to link you to her? Mya Hope’s Ex-girlfriend, Y/N, reemerges from the dead after her ex forced her into hiding- oh, and she’s also headlining fashion week. Will your accomplishments become an afterthought?

Despite better judgment, you enter the actress's name into a web search. The universe intervenes just as you're about to torture yourself by pressing enter. The phone rings, and your sister's picture flashes on the screen.

Izara calls to invite you to her apartment to hang out. "I'll be me, you, and Shuri," she says. Immediately, it was odd she wanted all three of you to spend time together. You could understand if it was a group outing. But the three of you together? You haven’t done that since you were kids.

“Shuri?” you repeat.

“Yes, Shuri, it was her idea.” Naturally, it was. It seemed as though she was attempting to prove you wrong. You have no idea why Shuri suddenly became interested in your acquaintance, but it was completely unwarranted. Did she not realize Izara was too observant for her own good and could quickly detect something off between you if you suddenly became too close?

As far as she’s concerned, you and Shuri haven’t seen each other since Elixir three weeks ago. You put your laptop away, feeling even more nervous and anxious. One issue at a time.

You tried to come up with an excuse. You have been doing that a lot lately. “I don’t want to interfere. I have plenty of alone time with you-”

“No!” Izara is quick to cut you off, unwilling to hear any excuse. “How often will I have my two favorite people over?” And you give in because you would do anything to make your sister happy.

That's how you end up at Izara's on a Tuesday evening. Your anxiety was high. What if you and Shuri seemed a little too at ease around each other, and your sister noticed that something had changed between you two? The days of Shuri thinking of you as "Izara's little sister" were long gone since you began hooking up.

When you arrived, Shuri was already in the kitchen, helping your sister prepare snacks. Izara ushered you into the living room, handing you a blanket and telling you to relax.

She temporarily abandoned her duties in the kitchen to get you comfortable. “Shuri and I normally try to do this every once and a while,” Izara explains, turning on the television. “But I don’t mind you crashing. I want to spend as much as possible with you before you leave.” There’s a frown on her face at the thought. A ping of guilt hits you. You can’t imagine going from seeing someone every day since birth to barely spending time with them and being constantly miles away from you.

Your sister and Shuri shared the couch while you cuddled in the armchair alone. It was probably paranoia, but you didn’t want to give away anything that would suspect anything about the rendezvous you've gotten up to these past few weeks. You couldn’t believe Shuri had gotten the two of you into the situation. The woman in question emerges from the kitchen carrying two bowls of popcorn.

She holds the smaller one out to you, “I thought it would be easier for you.”

“How thoughtful,” you say, forcing a smile as you accept the bowl.

That was the first interaction you’ve had throughout the night. You both sat in your respective seats, enjoying the movie. It was good enough that it kept your attention. Occasionally, you would steal glances over at Shuri and find her already looking at you. Could she be more obvious?

Halfway into the movie, Izara hits pause on the remote, much to Shuri’s dismay. “Seriously, Zar, you could have stopped at a worse time.”

Izara’s moving the bowl of popcorn she and Shuri had been sharing onto the table. “I know we’re almost at the end, but I have to pee!”

“Hurry up!” Shuri calls as your sister throws the blanket off her and runs out of the room. You can’t help but laugh at the exchange.

The sound catches Shuri’s attention, and the laughter in your throat dies when you realize you two are alone. Without the movie or your sister’s presence, you can freely glare at her, crossing your arms to emphasize your mood toward her. “Can you stop glaring at me?”

“You’re the one staring at me.” you accuse.

Shuri rolls her eyes, “That’s because I can feel you glaring at me. Stop.”

“No, you did this on purpose, you know? You didn’t ask me if I wanted to be here tonight. You told Izara, knowing I couldn’t tell her no.” It wasn’t an accusation, simply a fact.

Shuri would never outright admit it. Instead, she flashed you a small grin. “This is a completely normal evening.”

You roll your eyes, “I shouldn’t be here, and you know that.”

“Y/N. Do you not realize how ridiculous this is?”

"You don't think it's strange that we're now making plans to spend time together after almost a decade?" While you and Shuri were alone, there was no one else there. You didn't have to be mindful of how you interacted with each other. As you began to spend more time together, especially around your sister, you would have to be extra conscious of what you were doing.

“No, I don’t.” Shuri protested. You wanted to throw the bowl of popcorn at her but opted for flicking her off and going back to ignoring her.

Given the lack of noise, you can follow your sister's movement back into the living room as she exits the restroom. “Okay! Press play,” Izara calls, announcing her return and Shuri’s pressing resume before she even has a chance to resettle on the couch.

In all honesty, Shuri chose a good film. Several actors were unfamiliar, leading you to believe it was an indie production. The storyline was interesting enough to hold your attention, and the plot twist was unexpected, which was a plus. Even though it was interesting, you were relieved when it was over.

"This was fun," Izara said afterward. Getting the dishes ready to bring into the kitchen. "It's been a while since I've seen you two together."

You’re helping with cleaning, folding the blankets, and arranging them neatly on the couch. When the comment gets your attention, You blink a few times, unsure what to say.

Purposely, and you know it’s on purpose. Shuri says, “We should find time to do this again,”

“Yes!” your sister agrees, looking at you. You hum in agreement because you can openly oppose the idea without alerting your sister's suspicions. You believe the discussion will stop there, with the hope of you hanging together again, but there are no firm plans, so nothing is certain.

Then Izara mentions, “Oh! We’re going to the beach on Saturday. You should come with us, Shuri.” You discussed it last weekend while out to lunch with your friend Eshe. Eshe told you about her and a few other people's plans for the upcoming weekend and agreed that the more, the merrier.

You shoot a glance at Shuri, giving her a look silently, begging her to say no, as Izara awaits her answer. Shuri looks you in the eye, “I would love to.”

Right then. You decide that she must despise you.

You and Shuri then depart Izara's after the cleaning is done. When you leave her apartment and head to your respective vehicles, she tells you both to drive safely and message her when you get home.

Shuri heads for the elevator, but you take the stairs instead. You decide to take your time and assume Shuri is already gone because the elevator is faster, but as soon as you exit the building, you see her leaning against the passenger door. Her determination is sexy, but you were annoyed. You bypassed her, going directly to the driver's side.

You managed to get into the driver's seat but couldn't close the door fast enough. “Move.”

Shuri leans inside the car, sighing hard. "Are you seriously upset with me?" Her tone is stoic.

"Are you really coming on Saturday?" You make fun of her serious style.

There is complete silence as Shuri's expression tightens. "Do you want me to come?" she finally says.

Now she needs your input on something. "Clearly, it doesn't matter what I think. You can do whatever you want." You reach for the door once more, but Shuri straightens her posture and shuts it for you.

She didn't contact you again for several days after that night. You didn't think much the first day. She was probably allowing you to calm down. The longer the week went on without so much as a "you up?" text or phone call, the more concerned you became. You realized how irrational you were by the time Saturday rolled around. Mainly because everything in your life had been unpredictable and uncertain. The one sense of consistency was Shuri, and now you don't have that.

You have no idea why you were so adamant about proving to Shuri that the two of you were not close. You had no reason to treat her as you did; the regret was tearing you up inside. You thought you wanted to put as much distance between you as possible, but now that you have it, it drives you insane.

This is why, when Saturday came along, you were excited at the possibility of seeing Shuri in person.

As you arrive at the beach, you immediately notice your sister setting up and laying out a towel. There are a few people you recognize surrounding her. Two of them are your friends, Eshe and Visola. But there was no Shuri.

You put your tote bag down on the ground and asked, "Is everyone here?" since it seems less suspicious than asking for one individual in particular.

"Shuri couldn't make it," Izara replies, spreading the patterned blanket on the sand.

She’s not coming. "Did she mention why?" you question, trying not to seem too disappointed. Was she upset with you?

Your sister shakes her head. “No. She tried to keep the phone call short, but I knew her. She can’t keep anything from me.”

Want to bet?

Izara frowns. "There's a lot of pressure on her in her duties as Queen. It's hard to make everyone happy in politics." Working with Shuri, she certainly knows more about what's going on than she can say, but it's reassuring to know she wasn't avoiding you but was merely responding to more immediate issues.

You don’t say anything else, not wanting to show too much interest. Others joined you, a mix of individuals you knew and strangers. The people you were getting to know asked you many questions about your life as a model, which you gratefully answered.

Wakanda had some of the world's finest beaches, where you could decompress with the sand between your toes and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore. Your thoughts turned to Shuri. Why was she avoiding you? Was this her way of ending things? Have you overcomplicated things?

You couldn’t just outright ask forgiveness and say, “Let’s have sex,” that just seemed rude. But you needed to find a way to start a conversation.

You took a quick body selfie of yourself in the bikini and sent it to Shuri, writing, "Can't believe you're not here." That was playful enough to be true to the essence of your relationship while still acting as a check-in. If she texted you back, you could ask her why she wasn't here, hoping she'd be honest and not simply brush it off.

Shuri would reply as soon as she could; she had pressing matters to attend to. There was nothing you could do but wait, which was excruciating. Hours had passed while you swam, ate, laughed, and drank. Between it all, you couldn't help but check your phone for a single person's message. Nothing.

"You've been checking your phone all day," says Eshe as you collapse back down into your towel.

In the distance, you can see Izara building a sandcastle with some little kids who became drawn to her earlier in the day. "I have?" you say, pretending to be surprised. You knew your phone had barely left your hands today, except when you entered the water.

“Yes! Whoever that is, I hope to Bast that they respond soon." Eshe probably thought you were talking to someone. She's grinning at you, openly inviting you to divulge more details, but you're not going to do it.

“It’s not like that.” You explain leaving it at that. You felt bad, and not knowing how Shuri felt made you uneasy. This was really ironic... You felt like a dumbass.

Eshe rises to her feet, extending out a hand. "Whoever this is isn't thinking about you right now, and you shouldn't either. Give it some time." And you already know she's correct. Checking your phone was not going to speed up the response.

You reluctantly lock your phone and hand it over. Eshe grins and stuffs it inside the discarded shorts she wore over her bikini.

You squeeze every last bit of enjoyment out of the day before the sun goes down and the temperature drops. Along with the collection of selfies you took, you snapped a couple of photos of the sunset and Izara's sandcastle, which you helped find seashells to decorate it. Overall, you had a good time, and before you shower, you show your mother some of the photos you took. "Such a lovely smile. It's no surprise you choose to share it with the rest of the world." The comment warms your heart and serves as a reminder of how proud your mom is of you. She kisses you on the cheek before retiring to bed.

Shuri texts you close to midnight as if she can sense your never-ending thoughts about her.

I know it's late, but can you please come over?

After reading the text message, you feel relieved that 1. she wasn't mad with you. 2. Despite the fact that you've been a brat over the last few days, she was still interested in your arrangement.

Be there soon.

You immediately reply, changing into shorts and a hoodie, easier to take off.

The A.I. system recognizes your face, so the doors to Shuri’s living quarters open up as soon as you arrive. “You didn’t answer my text, you know. You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges-“ the joke quickly dies as you notice Shuri pacing around the room when you enter. She's dressed in her bed attire, which tells you she probably tried to get to bed but couldn’t with whatever was running through her mind.

She clearly isn't fine. "I apologize it’s so late. I've spent the entire day working on social and other issues, and-" She sighs, cutting herself off, her shoulders slouching.

"You're not going to like hearing all of this. All I need is to get my mind off of today." You've been overthinking, and the last few days have given you mental clarity.

You see, you're the problem, and maybe you've been taking it out on Shuri, who was trying to do nothing but be there for you, but you chose to push her away. This arrangement was supposed to be fun, but you've recently caused tension by acting in ways that seem intended to demonstrate to Shuri that you were not friends and that there's nothing left between you. What the hell is the matter with you?

Shuri has had a difficult day. They are to be expected, given the amount of responsibility she carries. While you wouldn't mind if she fucked you to vent her frustration, it wouldn't help her sense of peace. It would only be a temporary relief, and as soon as you left, she’d be right back inside her head stressing. That's when you decided to prioritize her pleasure. You would apologize another time.

You make your way over to her, removing your shoes. "It's alright, just breathe," you say as you take her hand in yours. You pull her into you and begin kissing her neck, creating a safe zone. Stripping her of her clothing, you guide Shuri over to her bed. "Lay back." You speak in her ear, and she complies.

You switched positions. Shuri was the one who needed your support to forget about the stress. Her legs parting instinctively, you bring your fingers between her folds to feel her, and she’s dripping. You wanted to make sure she made the most of this opportunity to focus on herself and her comfort.

A thought occurs to you. "I'd like you to take deep breaths in and out." You tell her, caressing her on the outside but not delving into where she needs you the most. You knew deep breathing was a good activity that helped stimulate tranquility and restore stability; it always came in handy before runway shows.

"I want you to say 'In' when you feel me inside of you," you finally say, sliding one finger into her wetness and feeling her clench around you. A breath of release lips passes her lips as you watch some of the tension melt away. "And when you feel me pulling away, say 'out' and take a deep breath."

You pull your finger back for a second, swiping along the ridged pleasure point and massaging her inner walls. Shuri responds with an "In," and as you retract, moving out and stroking around the outside of her entrance, she responds with an "Out."

The two of you continued with that pattern until Shuri's voice trailed off, no longer speaking as she relaxed into sheets.

"You need and deserve this. To be able to breathe and feel happy." You tell her quietly, taking pleasure in the way her face contorts in delight.

Breathy gasps escape her lips as she concentrates on the sensation of your fingers stroking around her, unconcerned about the tension of the day.

Your fingers were drenched in her juices, and the more you felt the moisture inside her, the more you wished to taste it. You get on your stomach with your head buried in between Shuri's legs. Shuri relaxed into your touch as you massaged circles into her skin, aware that the pleasure she was experiencing had enhanced her sensitivity.

Her fingers grasped the sheets, and her abs tensed in anticipation. You slid your tongue around the inner and outside folds before beginning a gentle licking with a flat tongue around the entire surface area. The moans from her lips turned you on and left you damp.

It was nice to concentrate only on Shuri's satisfaction. You appreciated the way her hips stuttered as you took her apart. As you pushed her further and further into ecstasy, she lapped up the sensations of arousal her body provided.

She was definitely close, and you couldn't wait to taste her on your tongue. Shuri soon had her hips working in little circles as she pressed into your fingers, chasing her orgasm. Moaning became increasingly audible.

You softly coaxed her inner walls with two fingers pushed inside her. "Mmm, Y/N," Shuri says as she calls your name. Her walls are spasming around you, and you know she's coming. Her breathing is labored, and you appreciate her strength because she's still careful not to squeeze her thighs around your head even though she's breaking.

You focus on her clit, sucking in tandem with your fingers, and soon she's letting out those lovely sounds, and her body jolts as you feel her release.

"Do you feel better?" you ask, happy at the satisfaction on her face.

"Yeah," Shuri confirms as she sinks lower into the bedding. Hopefully, she'll be able to sleep soon. You get out of bed and are ready to leave when she snaps her head up. "Where are you going?"

“Home.” You answer, straightening out the wrinkles in your hoodie from lying on the bed.

“Now? I figured we were going to-," She started, but you stopped her.

"I'd love to have sex with you, but I think you should rest. You're obviously overworked," you observed, frowning.

Her tone of voice shifts. “You think I’m going to let you leave my room without coming?” She's in charge now and not interested in a debate.

“I-“ The way she keeps cutting you off indicates that there isn't much you can say to convince her.

Shuri continues, “Giving you pleasure is relaxing. I like concentrating on you,” she admits. And that breaks you. How could you deny her? It’s enough to make you stop, but you don’t proceed to the bed, waiting for her next command.

"Take off your hoodie." She gave the order. You take the ends of the hoodie and pull it over your head. “Shorts,” Her instructions are brief but effective. You're not standing there in your bra and underwear, waiting for her next command, which never comes. Shuri simply lifts her eyebrows, and her look conveys all. She need not speak a word to command your submission. She already holds it.

You reach around to release the bra clasp, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor. Shuri is biting her lower lip as she watches you take your time slipping your panties down your legs.

You climb back onto the bed, this time with your exposed body straddling Shuri's waist. You're in the same situation you were in a few days ago, but this time no other issues are distracting you. Shuri had you under her control.

“Are you happy?” Shuri seems absolutely ravenous, eyes burning with hunger. She can't get enough of you undressed, no matter how many times she's seen you. Her desire for you never dies.

"That's not where I want you," she says, biting her lower lip again. Shuri's voice is low, silky, and seductive, and you can feel yourself getting aroused at the sound of it.

“Where do you want me?” you breathe. You were unprepared for what she said next.

She points to her face, “Up here.” Shuri chuckles at the expression on your face. Completely surprised she was requesting such a thing.

You purse your lips, contemplating her request, “Shuri, that’s-“

Her hand grabs your ass, squeezing. "Don't make me tell you again. I hate repeating myself.” The hand on your backside is a warning. Knowing what would happen if she had to tell you again, you're nearly tempted to disobey.

Carefully, you climb up her body until her head is between your thighs, supporting your weight on the knees. In anticipation, you hover above her face, fingers gripping the headboard. "Mm, it's been four days, and she really misses me."

In this position, Shuri had complete access to your sensual zone and the most important spots to stimulate. She drags her mouth across your clit, as if sampling before diving in. Stretching her neck up to take the sensitive bud into her mouth and sucking, you can feel the flat of her tongue licking side to side in unison.

"S-Shuri," you gasp, already stuttering. You had to be careful not to put all your weight on her face, no matter how much you wanted to get lost in the feelings. You were intent on not harming her in the back of your mind. Both the pleasure of Shuri's actions and the effort of maintaining your balance cause a burning sensation in your core and a trembling in your thighs.

Shuri's tattooed hand reaches out from your waist and rubs across your skin. You whimper at the separation of her lips from you. "Stop thinking and ride my face," Shuri murmurs quietly beneath you. Her words make your pussy clench.

You readjust your position slightly. "I don't want to hurt you." You've had plenty of sexual interactions, but this was the first time you'd been asked to ride someone's face.

As teeth penetrate into the flesh, you feel a stinging ache on your right thigh. The ache lasts for a split second before transforming into pleasure that has you gasping. "Did you really just bite me?"

"If you did what I asked, I'd be doing something else with my mouth. Can you be a good girl?" Shuri's words are breathed directly into your heat as if she's speaking to it.

"I love watching your pussy react to my words." Although you can't see her face, you can hear her smirk in her words. Cocky. It was difficult to loosen up even when your muscles were begging for you to do so. Even if you want to, you are afraid of hurting her; there was no place for argument in the face of such a dominating tone. Shuri grabs your waist with a punishing hold and lowers you to sit on her face.

The sensation of feeling her beneath you is exhilarating. Her tongue moves slowly around your clit, igniting your pleasure in small sparks that will gradually consume your body.

Shuri's hands on your hips encourage you to rock back gently against her face. You submit. Considering Shuri's strength, you know that if you wind up injuring her, she'll quickly remove you. You rest one hand on the wall for support, slightly moving your hips as if testing. You were attempting to appreciate it, knowing that it was making you feel good as part of Shuri's relaxation. You kept rocking as she flicked her tongue on your clit, your knuckles paling as you grasped the headboard tighter.

Shuri is massaging reassuring circles into your thigh, letting you know relaxing and enjoying yourself is okay. Shuri was no longer licking into you with her tongue, allowing you complete control of your pleasure, and the fact that she was letting you use her made you increasingly wet. "Fuck," you exhaled, moving your hips and grinding against her lips.

Shuri effortlessly lifts you up to take a breath. “You’re doing so good, baby girl.” The name sends shivers up your spine. When Shuri lets you back on her face, she keeps her tongue still, allowing you to grind against it. You're thankful for this experience; it was so unique you can't imagine never feeling like this again. Hips snapping straight up and down, you find a rhythm and lose yourself.

"Shuri, I-I-" you cut yourself off with a gasp, and your mouth opens wide. The delicate, breathy sounds you used to make have vanished, replaced by loud, high-pitched moans.

Sensing you’re close, Shuri cups your breast, rubbing the sensitive bud between her fingers. The additional sensation causes your lips to falter. One of your hands lets go of the bed, clutching the wrist connected to the fingers holding your chest.

Your free hand grips the headboard, adjusting the pressure and pace. When you come, it’s with a scream of Shuri’s name you’re sure anyone on the floor could hear. Your brain whites out as your body curls in on itself. You try to move away from Shuri's face, but her grip keeps you there as she refocuses her attention on the fluids released during your climax. Her tongue laps hungrily across your pussy.

It was most undoubtedly the most intense orgasm you'd ever had. You're not even aware that tears are welling up in your eyes.

“Shuri! Fuck! Please, Shuri!" You cried, your voice rising in octaves as your stomach tightened. You will never be able to compete with Shuri's strength. She won't let you go until she's satisfied, at which point you collapse against the wall, exhausted. Your legs continue to twitch, and your body is oversensitive, yet you move lower till you're on her chest.

Shuri swiped two of her fingers inside of you as she watched you pant and struggle to come down. Your breath hitched, and your legs shook a little more. Coated in your come, Shuri brought them to her lips. She needed more, as if she wasn’t already covered in you. You lowered your gaze. Her face glistened, and you brought your mouth to her chin, sucking at the flesh and using your tongue to clean yourself off her. “Such a nasty girl.” you just moan in response, moving to the other side of her face.

You slide off her body and onto the empty side of the bed next to her. Closing your eyes. “Someone’s sleepy,” Shuri's tone is teasing.

Your eyelids are fluttering open, “How are you not tired?”

“Stamina, it’s a gift from Bast.” She moves closer to you, and the next time you open your eyes, she looks down at you.

Taking in your tiredness Shuri informs you, “You know you can stay, right? I don't kick you out or anything. You leave as soon as we're through." That is true. Shuri will never ask you to leave. You take the initiative since there was never any reason for you to stay. But your body is against the idea of standing up right now. You can't get up, so Shuri must have gotten her wish.

Instead of responding vocally, you wrap your sweaty body deeper under the covers. She should really change these.

Shuri speaks up again when she notices this. "Thank you for stopping by. I know you're upset with me."

This time you mumble, “I’m not mad at you.” Face shoved into the pillow.

“Really? Because you slammed the car door in my face the last time I saw you."

You turn to face her, and your eyes are half-closed. "Your pillow talk is awful."

There's a moment between you, and Shuri's expression is filled with uncertainty. She is hesitant to express her feelings. You're trying to appear interested, fighting against your body's exhaustion. Maybe this talk should have happened before you had sex. “Whatever is on your mind. Say it,” you encourage instead of shutting her out.

She takes another minute before saying, "I don't want you to think that all I want from you is sex. You're not some random person, Y/N. I've known you practically my entire life, so come to me if you have a problem."

“That’s why I told Zar to invite you to the movie night.” She explains. “I just don’t want you to think I see you as a body where you can’t tell me when you’re feeling down. It makes me feel shitty.”

You’re apologetic. “ I'm sorry. I didn't notice." You had no idea how Shuri was feeling. It must be difficult as well. She could not view you like a warm body and renounce her caring attitude toward you.

Since she was so honest, you told her what you failed to do many nights ago. "I received a call from my manager," you explain. "I have opportunities flying into my lap, and of course, I'm living my dream as the most in-demand model in the world right now, but I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm doing for the first time in my life, and it stresses me out." The words flow freely off your lips, spilling out everything you've been feeling, and it feels really good. You understand how stressful it was to hold all that in and be burdened with so much anxiety and despair.

You sigh, adding, "And the only normalcy I have is sleeping with my sister's best friend." Saying it out loud puts into perspective the reason for your actions these past few days. Subconsciously, you were concerned that spending too much time with Shuri and opening up about your feelings might jeopardize what you had—realizing now how natural it is to talk to each other without awkward silences or pauses between. You may not have actively pursued a strong friendship, but you care about her well-being as much as she does about yours.

Shuri groans next to you, “Don’t say it like that.”

“It’s true,” you mumble, sinking deeper into the comfort of Shuri’s sheets. They smelled like her and sex, but mostly like her. Your body settled into relaxation post-orgasm, and you felt yourself getting sleepy again, eyes hazy.

“Whatever decision you make, you have people who care for and fully support you.” Shuri’s words are comforting and true.

You smile, eyes closing again. “And I know I said we’re not friends, but you’ve always been in my life,” you admit.

To summarize. “You’re you, and I’m me, and we’re just us.” The smile on Shuri’s face tells you she’s content with that.

“Wake me up in like an hour,” your body no longer has the strength to fight off sleep. You turn around and finally shut your eyes.

When you reopen your eyes, you're surprised by your surroundings. This room is way too large to be your own, and there's a lot of sunlight streaming in through the windows. You sit up, aware that you are still in the Citadel. Shuri isn't next to you, but you can hear noises coming from the bathroom and assume she's getting ready for the day. You adapt to the light by blinking a few times, feeling clear-headed and revitalized.

Who says you can't solve your troubles with amazing sex and a good night's sleep? You stand up and begin your usual practice of playing hide and seek with your clothes. Shuri has returned to the room by the time you're dressed, and her eyes widen as she sees you awake.

You playfully narrow your gaze on her. "I said one hour," you complain, but your words have no bite.

Shuri defends herself by raising her palms. "In my defense, I fell asleep."

You grab your car keys as you smile at her surrendering. "I think I should go." You've definitely overstayed your welcome.

"I'll have Griot direct Ayo to keep the hallway to the rear entrance clear for the next ten minutes." She is already planning your getaway, and you can’t help the laugh that manages to escape you.

“What’s so funny?” Shuri inquires, her expression questioning.

“You are using the Dora Milaje to distract people so you can get your sneaky link out of the palace undetected.” You chastise, mockingly shaking your head.

Shuri laughs and tilts her head. “You have such a colorful way of describing things.”

Before you leave, Shuri asks, “Are we good?”

"We're fine," you say.

Shuri smiles and nods.

As you walk away, your cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so much.

[tired-hellowl]

here' a comprehensive list as to every problem I have with the current *unecessary characters known as 'Glitz and Glam'

Do they expand the story/worldbuilding in any meaningful way? Do they explore a new hidden dynamic/past conjunction with a differing character and is that explored meaningfully? What was the point of having them animated when Mammon can portray the same level of humiliation/degrading/on stage lack of positive reinforcements. 😐

I'm so sorry but I view these characters as necessary garbage that caused some animators arthritis via too many patterns, not enough screen time to have meat and potatoes worth of dialogue, or really any pretense within the story whatsoever and yes this extends towards every female character on screen but let's not worry about that !!! Even if they are IMPLIED to be from the ring of envy-a color or ring we haven't seen nor meaningfully conveyed to the audience that it even is possible to go in/exists- it isn't conveyed to the audience well enough besides the visual implication of colors???? Instead of having shitty b-plots that go nowhere via Stolas and Blitz goofing off in seeing stars, Moxxie and Millie getting C-plots for no reason, or loona getting a rabies shot- all of that time could have been exploring hell, going to different rings, focusing on other characters besides the main 5, literally I would prefer a quiet episode like BoJack Horsemans 'Fish out of Water'where we can actually see the personalities of the main characters be appreciated and shown to us but that's never gonna happen :/

What I've been worried about is not even the on screen racism/out of touch 'rap/hip-hop parody' leaves a terrible taste in my mouth, if that isn't enough then the sexualization/implication of an incest type dynamic and nothing else besides fetish bait with these characters constantly grabbing one another and not really acting like siblings moreso someone who has never had siblings attempting to write sibling banter and failing terribly :/

Why do you have a problem with 'Klown Bitch' it's so catchy! Uhm, no??? I feel bad for anyone who attempts to defend helluva/hazbin as good modern musicals let me grit my teeth in silence as to the glorification over white people dominating black culture

HERES A HISTORY OF FEMALE HIPHOP ARTISTS: X

Pictured above is very old concept art about twin characters and its the same hairshape viv kept to transfer over to glitz/glam- despite clearly being over designed and way too much going on Alá vivzie style. It just goes to show she recycles even from herself and not every design is always new hot and fresh :/ AND SPEAKING OF CONCEPT ART-

Also also don't forget salems' concept designs thst got passed even though they loon toony, loony, clown enough, and definitely majorly way easier to have animated besides the mess that is the current design meta ???

Love how you can clearly see the silhouettes being so easily identifiable comparably towards the actual amalgamated mess that is their current limbs attempting to hold onto their toothpick body for their head.

All this screams to me is viv using the artists thst try to come onto helluva and they try their best with what their given, viv only picks the best bits SHE thinks is worth her time rather then thinking about the audience or animating anything else besides overglorified white people rap 🤔

Also the episode literally presents its full internalized misogyny/racism within this episode because vivzie herself literally admitted to typing into script with a full chest that

'Women just ain't funny'

. . .

why present misogyny within the series if you as a creator aren't willing to tackle the subject matter? Why write about it or present it as if you're smart over including the joke in your script when it isn't even funny because it just further pushes women out of the entertainment/comedy business which mind you IS ALREADY VERY WELL MALE DOMINATED SO PUTTING OTHER WOMEN DOWN TO PUT YOURSELF UP ISNT HELPING YOUR CASE VIV???

So then what was the point of adding female clowns if all you were going to do with them was make fun of them out of their expense and then profit off of the fact that they are incest coded????????????

?????????Are we watching the same fucking series????????

[mandos-mind-trick]

Grey

Summary: After a tragedy leaves you scarred, you're afraid of what your soulmate might think. He's just glad you're alive.

Pairing: Jesse x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: NSFW smut, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, first time sex, lots of discussion of scars and body dysphoria, reader is very insecure, reader is disabled and scarred, some pretty intense scenes, angst, panic attacks, PTSD, reader is injured in an explosion, war, violence, some brief gore, reader has nightmares. This one's kinda heavy, but it has a happy ending, Jesse is an absolute sweetie, may make you giggle and kick your feet.

A/N: Just kidding, you're getting two in one day. This one is pretty intense and has some pretty heavy subject matter. Please heed the warnings as it deals with some sensitive subject matter. There is a happy ending I promise. It's just a bit rough to get there. Jesse is a body positive king in this one and we love him for that.

Special thanks to @star-trekker-0013 for giving me the idea for this particular soulmate link. I decided to give it to someone else, but I still wanted to use it.

MASTERLIST

It happens fast. 

You’d gone to work that morning after watching news report after news report about the war. It’s been waging for over a year now, and it’s not slowing down any. It seems like every day there’s news of an attack, another planet being devastated, more and more people dying. Your planet has remained largely unscathed, but you know that’s no guarantee it’s going to stay that way. 

There were warning systems in place, protocols for if an invasion or an attack happens. What to do to give yourself the best chance of survival, because the best you can do is hope you’re lucky enough to survive. 

Even the best laid plans can’t protect against something no one sees coming. 

You’re sitting at your desk, typing away as usual when everything goes red. The bang is loud, eardrums popping as you’re thrown from your chair. It’s the shock that keeps it from being worse than it is as your body hits the far wall with a crack. 

You’re dizzy, the world spinning around you as you lay there. You can’t move. Pain is burning through your side, your left arm completely numb. You can’t move it. All you can hear is a ringing in your ears, your vision red and black spots. Breathing hurts. Your chest is burning, every breath like agony. 

You turn your head slowly, looking over to your left. Where your desk, and several others had been, is a giant hole in the side of the building. Smoke is billowing from the hole, choking you as you try to breathe. You’re stuck, unable to move even if you wanted to. 

War has come to your planet finally, and you’re stuck in the middle of it. 

***

Jesse doesn’t think much about his soulmate. 

Or, he tries not to. 

Since he can remember, he’s heard stories about soulmates. They never spoke about them freely, but in the few precious moments they were alone, in the freshers or tucked away in the barracks, the clones spoke about their soulmate links. Marks, dreams, color blindness, writing on the skin, all sorts of ways links may be formed. 

Of course, from early on they knew attempting to contact soulmates, or engaging in the links was forbidden. If anyone was found to have initiated the link, they would be forced to reject their soulmate. If they refused, they would be decommissioned. 

They also knew, if they were careful enough, they didn’t have to follow this rule. 

Most of them didn’t. 

It wasn’t fair to them, or to their soulmates, most of whom had been waiting a long time for their links to show up. 

Jesse doesn’t know what his link is. 

That doesn’t mean much, as there’s plenty of links that are invisible until they happen, or you actually meet your soulmate. He’d heard of a trooper once that had teleported to his soulmate. Disappeared right in the middle of a training exercise. They never found him. 

He’s glad they didn’t. 

When the war starts, he has far less downtime to think about his soulmate, but still he finds the thoughts plaguing his mind. Who are they? Where are they? When will they meet? How will they meet? How will he know? 

The war keeps him busy, but not busy enough. 

It’s just over a year into the war when he finally gets his answers. 

They’d just finished another campaign, resting on the short journey to the next one. He’d been restless all night, something in the back of his mind keeping him from settling. He can’t pinpoint what it is, what it could be. He feels on edge, like he’s waiting for something to happen. 

Maybe he needs to jog around the ship, or do something to help settle his nerves. He climbs from his bunk, heading back into the fresher to splash some water on his face. 

The artificial lights flicker on when he enters, and he heads to one of the sinks, looking in the mirror. 

A shout of surprise leaves his lips and he stumbles back. He looks down, tugging off the top half of his blacks. His entire left arm is grey. Fingers to shoulder, every inch of his skin is a dull grey color. There’s more grey across the left side of his chest, splattering outward towards the center of his chest, and down onto his abdomen. There’s a long line of grey stretching from his chest up his neck, and splits into two lines at his jaw up to his cheek. 

He lifts a shaky hand, touching the two lines. It’s still his skin. It feels no different than the tanned skin around it. 

The door swishes open, Rex standing there in his blacks with a blaster in hand. Of course his shout would have woken his lightly sleeping brothers. 

“Rex...” He croaks out, his hands shaking. “What’s happening?” 

“Jesse,” Rex says, taking a step forward. “I think you’ve found your soulmate link.” 

Rex puts a hand on his shoulder, easing him down onto the floor. He’s panicking, the dread that had been in the back of his mind suddenly overwhelming. His soulmate link? His skin suddenly turning grey is his soulmate link? 

“Whenever your soulmate gets an injury, it shows up on your skin as a grey mark.” Rex explains. “And any injury you have, would show up on them.” 

“Rex...” Jesse croaks out, the panic not easing any. 

An injury like this isn’t something you just walk away from. He knows it, his brothers know it. He’s seen injuries like this before, and most of them didn’t make it. 

“Easy.” Rex puts a hand on his back. “They’re not dead. You would know if they were. You can’t do anything right now. Just breathe and trust that wherever they are, they’re getting help as we speak.” 

***

You’re choking. The smoke is thick, making your eyes burn. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been. 

The pain is horrible, burning through your shoulder and side. Your right arm is throbbing and your legs have gone numb. You’re stuck in an uncomfortable position, but you can’t move at all. 

You’ve tried screaming for help. You’ve been screaming for help, yet nothing. No one knows you’re here. No one knows you’re still alive. 

No one’s coming. 

You jolt awake, sitting up in bed. You try to breathe, putting a hand on your chest to try and ease the ache there. There’s no smoke. The air is clean and clear. You’re in bed, safe in your temporary home on Coruscant. 

You had been saved. 

Someone had come. 

It had all been just bad luck on your part. The attack on your planet had come out of nowhere. You had been at work, at your desk when it started, right in the path of the first bomb that had been dropped on the city. It had hit a few floors below, and blew upwards just feet from your desk. You had been far enough away to avoid instant death, but too close to come out unscathed. 

Getting thrown by the force of the explosion had saved you a lot, but had broken your right arm when you’d hit the wall. Your left side, which had been facing the explosion wasn’t so lucky. Your left arm had been severely burned, along with part of your shoulder and chest. Pieces of shrapnel had lacerated your neck and face, and down along your abdomen, many more buried in your flesh. 

Almost two days you laid there, thinking no one was coming. No one was going to save you. 

Then they appeared. 

Like angels in white coming through the smoke. You’re sure they spoke to you, but your ears had still been ringing, ear-drums perforated from the proximity to the explosion. Moving had been excruciating, even on the stretcher, every step towards freedom was like another explosion hitting you. 

You had cried when the rebreather was placed on your face, when the rush of cool, clean air hit you. You remember the green stripe on the helmet of the medic that had injected the pain medicine. He’d held your right hand as you slipped into unconsciousness. 

You’d woken up some time later in a medical facility. You were sticky from bacta, a long soak in a bacta tank, the medical droid had explained. Your broken bones and most of the lacerations had healed. Your left arm, however, had been beyond repair. From your shoulder joint to your fingers, the left arm was gone. 

They’d been kind enough to replace it with a cybernetic one. 

You’d spent a lot of time afterwards, staring at yourself in the mirror. Covered in scars on the left side, leaving your skin warped and streaked with lines. Most of them would never heal beyond what they were. Even repeated bacta treatments wasn’t guaranteed to help any. Some damage was too great, even for the miracle of bacta. 

You try not to let it bother you. 

Your home, your job, your entire life had been wiped out by the droid army that invaded your planet. Most of the inhabitants of the city that survived were brought to Coruscant as refugees, and put up in communal housing while the Senate endlessly debated what to do.

You’d met a few of the Senators that had pushed for the aid and assistance, chosen practically out of the crowd when you landed with a couple others. After all, who better to show just how ugly the war they sit and debate over truly is than someone like you? Someone who lost everything, including body parts. 

It’s only been a few weeks, but you’ve slowly been adjusting to your new life. Your temporary home is more of a hostel, and you share the room with three other women who had been displaced by the destruction of your planet. A couple of them already had jobs on Coruscant, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do that yet. You barely left the room, much less the hostel. 

The hostel provides food, and there was a donation center on the first floor for clothes and other necessities. It’s nothing like your life previously, but you’re still alive so that counts for something, right? 

You spend your day as you usually do, back and forth between the room and the dining hall. You clean a bit, in exchange for your lack of ambition to do much else. You think of it as good practice to get used to your cybernetic arm. You often used it as an excuse to get out of doing things. Lingering pain, the adjustment to a new limb. 

The adjustment hadn’t been very hard. The cybernetic limb worked just as well as your flesh one had. In fact, you sometimes forget about it, until you glance at the grey steel and get reminded that it’s not in fact your actual arm. 

Of course, the cosmetic side of things was a bit different. Cybernetics aren’t that abnormal. Plenty of beings have them for one reason or another. Some even get them as enhancements. You’ve never considered yourself a vain person, or someone who cares about their looks, but still, people stare. They stare more now. 

That’s partly why you’ve avoided going out. 

You don’t want people to stare. You don’t want people to ask. 

You’re scared of meeting your soulmate. What will they think? Of course, they already know. You shared a link with your soulmate that left a mark on your skin for every injury. You’re littered in grey marks where your soulmate has been cut and injured. The first ones hadn’t shown up until much later in your life than you would expect them to. You hadn’t thought much of it, maybe your soulmate was just that careful. Then more and more had shown up, increasing in number over the last few years. With the war, though, it wasn’t hard to figure out that maybe your soulmate was involved somehow, or perhaps they had been a victim of an attack like you. 

It gives you hope that your soulmate might not look at you in disgust and want to reject you because you’re scarred and broken. 

***

“We’re going out.” 

One of your roommates drops a bag on the end of your bed. You’d been enjoying the quiet while the other three were out, reading a holonovel on your datapad. 

You hadn’t known this particular girl before, but you were both from the same planet. She was one of the types to make everyone her friend, regardless of if they wanted to be or not. She had made it her personal mission to help you, despite your obvious disagreement. Her entire apartment building had been destroyed in the attack, but she had been lucky enough to be away from home when it happened. While she could understand some of the loss, she couldn’t understand it all. 

“We’re going to 79’s.” She says, beginning to unload the bag onto your bed. “And you’re coming with us. 

“The clone bar?” You ask in disbelief. You know about the clone bar a few levels down, a favorite spot for members of the GAR to visit on shore leave. Some of the girls frequented there, but you hadn’t seen the appeal. 

“Yeah,” She says, holding up a dress, obviously brand new. “You should get out, get some air, and what better place than a bar filled with trained soldiers?” 

You swallow thickly, turning back to the datapad. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Come on,” She says, sitting next to you. “You have to go out eventually, and besides, maybe that medic will be there. You know, the one you talked about? Maybe you can finally thank him in person.” 

You know she’s not going to take no for an answer. Maybe going out will be good for you. If nothing else, you can turn around and sneak out while she’s not looking and return home. It might even get her to leave you alone for a while. 

Your shoulders slump, knowing what you have to say. Even if you really don’t want to. 

***

79s is busy with several battalions on leave at once. 

You’re instantly overwhelmed as you weave your way towards the bar with your roommate. So many bodies, so many people all in one place. 

You tug nervously at the sleeve of your dress, glancing nervously around the bar. You’re glad she was at least considerate enough to buy a dress with long sleeves. It’s a bit shorter than you would have liked, but your arms are covered. You need to get a job so you can start saving up to get synthetic skin put on your cybernetic arm. Then maybe you won’t feel so awful about it. 

You begin to panic a bit as your roommate loses her grip on your hand, disappearing into the crowd. You feel as if the small grip you had on sanity has fled, the bodies around you suddenly seeming to close in around you. It’s getting hard to breathe, smoke filling your lungs. You’re choking on it, imobile and unable to get away from it. 

You’re stumbling through the crowd before you even realize it, desperately trying to get back to the door. You push through a group of clones coming in, mumbling apologies as you nearly tumble into the night air. 

You stumble away from the door, away from the groups milling about in front of the bar. You find a secluded corner, pressing your back against the wall. You’re gasping for air, pressing a hand into your chest like it might keep your heart from beating straight through the mangled scar-tissue. 

“Excuse me?” 

A soft voice pulls you from the racing thoughts in your mind. You snap your head to the side, wide eyed and probably looking like a frightened wild animal. 

It’s a clone, unmistakably, that’s followed you. You wonder if he’s one of the ones you bumped into in your desperate escape coming to berate you for bumping into him. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, taking half a step closer. 

You can see his face clearly now. He’s bald, but has a bit of a five o’clock shadow across his cheeks. There’s a Republic cog tattooed across his head and face on the left side, and below it two grey lines running down his neck until they disappear under his armor. You recognize those marks. 

They’re exact replicas of the scars on your face. 

You continue to stare at him wide eyed. You had considered once that your soulmate could be a clone, but you hadn’t thought that much about it. 

And here he is, your soulmate, watching you have a panic attack outside a bar. 

“Are you alright?” He repeats, taking a step closer. “I saw you running out of there.” 

“T-Too much.” You stutter out, trying to get air into your lungs. You’re not breathing smoke. You’re breathing dirty city air. 

A sympathetic look flashes across his face for a moment. “I get it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it that full. It’s not usually this busy.” 

“I haven’t been out in public in months.” You say, slowly getting your breathing to calm down. “And my roommate has the genius idea to bring me to a bar.” 

“I know someplace quieter. A little cafe not far from here. Unless you’d rather go home. I wouldn’t blame you.” 

You look at him for a long while. Here’s your soulmate, right in front of you. You’re close enough to touch. He’s offering to get you out of here, go somewhere quiet. 

Or go home. 

You can tell what he wants you to say. You should. You may never see him again. You may never get a chance to talk to him before he ships out again. Next time, he may be the one in the explosion. He’s a clone soldier. He could easily die at any point.

So could you. 

You nod slowly, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Y-Yeah. Somewhere quiet would be nice.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. “Okay. This way.” 

He leads you away from the bar, his hand hovering against your back as you steady yourself. You’re glad to be away from the crowds, even the people wandering become less and less as he leads you down a level. 

“My name’s Jesse.” He says, leading you towards a small cafe. “Lieutenant of the 501st.” 

You tell him your name, and your current status as a refugee. Much less exciting than him. 

“That’s how it happened, then.” He says as you sit in a back corner booth with steaming cups of caf. “The injuries.” 

You swallow nervously. “My home planet was attacked. We didn’t have any warning.” 

“You don’t have to tell me the story if you don’t want to.” He says. “Not if it’s still an open wound.” 

You nod, taking a sip of the caf. “I still have nightmares about it. What if no one had come looking? What if no one found me?” 

“I thought the worst when it first showed up.” He says. “I’ve seen injuries like that many times. I’ve seen many die from them too. I kept waiting and waiting for the inevitable, the pain of losing your soulmate.” He grins at you. “I doubted your strength, and I was proven wrong.” 

“I don’t know if I’d call it strength.” You say, looking down at your cybernetic hand hidden under the table. 

“You’re a survivor.” He says. “Sometimes that’s harder than dying.” He slips his gloves off his left hand completely grey. “Can I see it?” He slides his hand across the table. 

You hesitate for a moment. What if he thinks it’s ugly? What if he thinks less of you because of it? What if he rejects you right here, right now? 

“Lots of my brothers have cybernetics.” He says. “Losing limbs is a hazard of the profession.” He smiles at his own joke. “Always better to lose a limb than a life.” 

Of course he’s probably seen quite a few cybernetics. When you’re at risk of injuries and constantly being blown up, it’s bound to happen eventually.

You take a breath, slowly lifting your arm onto the table, sliding it into his waiting hand. He closes his fingers around it, the touch feeling exactly like if he had been touching your skin. 

“It’s not a bad one.” He says, looking it over. 

You shrug. “The Republic paid for it. Can’t complain about a free arm.” 

He chuckles quietly at your statement, pulling up your sleeve a little to run his fingers across the wrist joint. “Are you going to get synthetic skin?” 

You nod. “I’d like to eventually.” 

He releases your hand, leaning back in his seat a bit. “I think it looks good either way. Makes you look badass.” 

Your cheeks warm a bit at his compliment, and you let your hand fall back down into your lap. 

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.” He says, his eyes soft as he stares at you. “Most people aren’t going to care. They’re too worried about their own lives to pay much attention to anyone else.” He leans forward again, resting his elbows on the table. “I certainly don’t care. I’ve seen a lot of ugly things, and a cybernetic arm and some scars is so far from the top of that list.” 

Your face heats up even more, your gaze dropping bashfully. It’s been so very long since someone complimented you so honestly. 

You spend the night talking and getting to know one another in the cafe. You stay out until early morning, until Jesse has to get ready to return to GAR headquarters to ship out. He walks you back to the hostel, holding your hand in his. You kissed his cheek right over the grey marks before he left. He gave you the number to his private comm, promising to talk and let you know when he’d be on shore leave next. 

You head back up to your room, a smile on your face. You can’t stop smiling, feeling something other than distress and numbness for the first time in a long time. 

***

The weeks go by since your fateful outing. You go out and manage to find yourself a job, a quiet job with little contact with people. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a start to things. 

You manage to save up enough to find an apartment. It’s a few levels further down than you would have liked, but you’re ready for your own space again. You’re ready to be alone. Well, not totally alone. 

You talk as much as you can with Jesse. He’s busy, understandably, but every little moment you get, you’re sending messages back and forth. He had warned you about the need for secrecy. You thought it wasn’t fair, but that’s not something you can change. You just take advantage of the little time you get, and plan for the next time he gets shore leave. 

It comes quicker than you thought it might. 

You’ve sent him your address, waiting for him to arrive. As much as you’d wanted to go and meet him, you knew it was too risky. He’d have to come to you to try and keep things as inconspicuous as possible. His brothers, and even his General didn’t care, but others in the GAR were not so lenient. 

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest at the knock on the door. You check through the viewer before pushing the button to slide it open. 

“Miss me, mesh’la?” He grins, leaning against the doorway with a bouquet of flowers. 

You grab him by the chestplate, pulling him inside. The door closes, sealing you into the semi-private apartment. The walls were thin, but most of your neighbors were gone during the evening. 

“These are for you.” He says, handing you the bouquet. 

“They’re beautiful.” You say, taking them. You head to the small kitchen, grabbing a cup to use as a vase. 

“Nice place.” He says, looking around. 

You snort. “It’s okay. It works for now.” 

He smiles as you place the flowers on your small table. You step up to him, reaching up to cup his cheek with your cybernetic hand. He presses his own hand against it, kissing the metal palm. 

“No synthetic skin yet?” He asks. 

You shrug. “I guess it’s not really been a priority recently. I kinda like it this way. Makes me look dangerous.” 

He laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You lean your head against his chest. “How long do you have?” 

“A couple days this time. General Skywalker has some Jedi business he has to take care of.” He kisses the top of your head. “You can have me the whole time.” 

You smile up at him. “Good.” 

You spent the evening relaxing with takeout and watching holofilms on your datapad. Jesse removed most of his armor, leaving him in his blacks. You rest against his strong chest, quickly getting distracted by him. You knew he was big and strong, but you hadn’t thought he was this big. A broad chest and thick thighs. You want to press yourself as close to him as you can. 

You want to feel all of him. 

“You okay?” He asks as you shift against him once more. 

“Yeah.” You say, pressing your face against his chest. “Just missed you.” 

He smiles down at you, tilting your face up. “I missed you too. I’ve been feeling it, ever since that night. The bond, it’s been driving me crazy.” 

You trail your hand down his chest, feeling along his pecs. “Would it be weird if we...” 

“No.” He leans closer to you. “I think that’s what we’re supposed to do.” 

You lean up, meeting him halfway, pressing your lips against his. They’re slightly chapped, but gentle as he kisses you. His hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, holding you. 

You hum as his tongue invades your mouth. He tastes like the desert you had finished not too long ago. His hand slides down to your hip, starting to move under your shirt but you grab it, pulling away. 

You hadn’t thought about this, nerves starting to bubble up. You’ll have to get naked. You’ll have to reveal the scars. Sure, he had said he doesn’t care, but he’s never actually seen them. What if he changes his mind? You’re not sure you can handle it if he changes his mind. 

“What is it?” He asks, concern lacing his voice. “What’s wrong?” 

You wring your hands nervously, avoiding his gaze. “I-I just...” You trail off, biting your lip. 

“Talk to me.” He says, brushing your hair back. “Is this too fast? You can change your mind at any time. I’ll stop.” 

“No, no.” You shake your head. “I just...no one’s...seen me since, well, no one’s ever seen me like that. But...no one’s seen me since...” You gesture at your left side. 

A knowing look crosses his face. “Mesh’la, it’s alright. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you want to keep your clothes on, that’s fine.” 

Tears prick your vision. He’s so good. He’s so sweet and kind and understanding. What had you done for fate to bless you with someone like this? 

“I want you to be comfortable.” He kisses your hand. “Do you want to keep your shirt on?” 

You do want him to see you. You do want him to know, you do want him to see what he’s getting into. You want to know before you commit fully if he’s going to reject you. 

You take a deep breath before shaking your head. “No, I-I do want you to...just...I’m scared you’re going to reject me because of it.” 

He stares at you in shock for a few moments before pulling you into his arms. “Hey, I’m not going to reject you at all, okay? You’re the best thing that’s happened to me and the thought of losing you terrifies me. It terrified me before I even knew you. I don’t care if you’re covered in scars or hair or weird tattoos. You’re alive and you’re here with me now. That’s all that matters. I mean, look at me. I have a cog on my face.” 

You can’t help but laugh. It was true dedication to tattoo the Republic’s symbol on his face. It was endearing too, though. If he’s that dedicated and loyal to the Republic despite all its faults, despite how it’s treated him and his brothers...why are you worried a scar might turn him away from his soulmate? 

“Here,” He stands offering his hand. 

You take it, letting him pull you up. 

He leads you to your bedroom, shutting the door. He closes the curtains before sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s just you and me. No one else.” He tugs his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted chest, marred by the grey spots where your scars are on your skin. You can also see his scars, little marks in spots where his armor left him uncovered, and larger ones from training. You have all of them on your own skin, little grey marks representing him. 

You shift nervously as he stares at you, hands curling around the bottom of your shirt. He had said he wouldn’t reject you because of it. You trust him. He hasn’t betrayed you yet. You slowly peel your shirt over your head, keeping your gaze down as you reveal yourself to him. 

He’s still for a moment before he’s reaching towards you and you let him maneuver you in front of him. His fingers trail over the skin, feeling every bump and ridge of the uneven scarring. His hands drop to your hips as he leans up, pressing a kiss to the very top of the scar on your cheek. 

You hold still as he kisses every inch of the scar, working his way from your cheek, down your neck and chest. He shifts off the bed, kneeling in front of you as he kisses your side and your stomach, down to your hip where the scarring ends. He wraps his arms around your waist, pressing his face into your stomach. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” He breathes, kissing your stomach. “You have no idea...I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you. What I’d do...if you weren’t here.” He stands up, keeping his arms around you. His skin is warm where it’s pressed against yours. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.” 

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer. He’s so big and warm, enveloping you in him as he holds you. 

You stay like that for a long time, just kissing and holding each other. So many unspoken things flow between you. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. He really doesn’t care about the way you look, about your scars or your cybernetic arm. 

You feel a bit silly. Why would he care? A battle-hardened soldier who’s seen horrors you can’t even imagine balking at a scar? You suppose it could be believable, but Jesse isn’t like that. He’s not like that at all. He’d rather have you alive, no matter what you look like, than have you gone. He’s already lost so much. He shouldn’t have to lose you too. 

Jesse’s hands slide down your waist, gripping the backs of your thighs. He lifts you easily, turning and dropping onto the bed with you. You laugh as your back hits the mattress, the frame squeaking a bit in protest. 

“Your neighbors are going to hate us.” He says, rolling on top of you. 

“Thankfully most of them aren’t home.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I live around a bunch of night owls.” 

“Good.” He says, leaning down to kiss you again. “I can make you scream as loud as I want.” 

You shiver in anticipation at his words. 

His lips blaze a trail down your body, his fingers making quick work of your pants and underwear. He looks at your face as he parts your thighs, slotting himself between them. His gaze drops downward, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stares at your glistening folds. 

“Already excited for me?” He says, trailing his thumb along your slit. 

You nod, watching him. “Have been for a while.” 

“You should have said something sooner.” He says, laying himself down. “We could have been doing this instead.” 

He leans forward, licking at your clit. You gasp at the sensation, lifting your head to stare at him. He meets your gaze, sucking and licking your clit. He shifts slightly and you feel a probing at your entrance, one of his fingers working into you. You moan at the sensation, your body alive just from his touch. 

Your very nerves feel alight as he eats you out, working a second finger into you to prepare you. It’s almost too much, but at the same time you’ve never felt more grounded. You know if you fall, he’ll catch you. 

“Jesse,” You moan, hands gripping the sheets. “Feels so good. Don’t stop!” 

You can feel it building, everything rushing through you all at once. Your fingers have never made you feel like this before. You know it’s the connection, the bond between you. You were made for this, you were created to be perfect together. Two halves of the same soul. This is where you’re meant to be. 

You cum with a cry of his name, body writhing as he works you through your orgasm. He finally pulls away, face and fingers wet with your release. You’re breathing heavily, staring up at him. 

“You alright?” He asks, stroking your thighs. 

You nod, finally gaining enough control over your body to release the sheets from your fists. “Yeah. Better than alright.” 

He grins. “Good.” 

Your gaze drops down his body to the prominent bulge in his blacks. 

“You sure?” He asks, following your gaze. 

You nod, licking your lips. “Yeah.” 

He stands from the bed to peel his blacks off, his hard cock springing free. He climbs back on the bed, wrapping a hand around his length. He’s thick and long, your eyes widening a bit. You didn’t think he’d be that big. 

“That’s not gonna fit.” You say. 

He laughs. “I’ll go slow. Just tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, alright?” 

You nod, bracing yourself. 

He smooths his hands up your legs, rubbing at the muscle. “Relax. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You do your best, wincing a bit as he lines up, pressing the head in. He pauses, laying his body against yours. He wraps his arms around you, holding you as he slowly works his way in. He peppers your face with kisses, only moving when you tell him to. It burns, the stretch, but the more you relax, the easier he slips inside. 

He stops once he’s fully seated, still holding you. You feel so stretched around him, so full of him. He breathes against your neck, pressing soft kisses every so often. The burn begins to lessen, your body relaxing more and more around him. You shift your hips a little, his cock moving inside you. 

“Jesse?” You gasp, clinging to his shoulders. 

He grunts against your neck, pushing himself up to his elbows above you. 

“Move.” You gasp, shifting your hips again. 

He slowly begins to pull out of you before sliding back in. You stare up at him, holding his gaze as he thrusts in and out of you, deepening the movement every time. He grunts quietly as he moves, dragging his hips against yours. 

Your eyes roll back in pleasure, your quiet moans gradually getting louder. He watches your face, shifting his hips just slightly to angle his thrusts differently. You let out a loud shriek of his name, your legs tightening around his waist. He smirks, continuing to hit that spot. You tremble under him, that heat building once more inside you. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders as his hips brush against your clit, the sensation too much. You cum with a scream of his name, arching off the bed. He works you through your orgasm, your tight pussy dragging his orgasm out of him with a loud moan. He spills inside of you, stilling his hips. 

You both stay there for a few moments, breathing heavily. You open your eyes, staring up at his face. He’s looking at you with such love and adoration you almost can’t handle it. 

He slips his arms under you, rolling you both over so you’re laying against his chest. You share soft kisses, eventually moving the blankets over your bodies as you rest for a moment. You’re glad he has a couple days off this time, knowing full well you’re likely not going to leave this bed. 

You do have one thing you have to do, one burning question you need to ask. 

“Jesse, how did you know how to do all that?” You ask purely out of curiosity. You don’t really care if he’s had other girls before you. You know you’re the only one he needs now. 

He looks a little sheepish. “My brother Fives has quite the collection of, uh, holofilms. I may have grabbed his datapad accidentally at one point during this last deployment. I wanted to make sure, in case things happened, I wasn’t fumbling around like an idiot.” 

You stare at him, open mouthed for a moment. “I wouldn’t have cared if you didn’t know what you were doing.” You lay your head back on his chest. “But remind me to thank Fives later.” 

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You love his laugh. You’re never going to get tired of hearing it. “He’ll be thrilled to meet you. All of them will.” 

“Good. I want to meet all of them.” 

“All of them?” He asks. “There’s probably over a million now.” 

“That’s fine.” You say, yawning. “I’ve got time.” 

He chuckles, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “Love you.” 

You smile sleepily, snuggling against his chest. “Love you too.” 

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry, @6oceansofmoons,  @ladytano420, @spicy-clones, @dangraccoon, @bobaprint, @star-trekker-0013, @stunkbiggu

[gravemations]

Six says it’s my turn on the writing 

Red light shone from the halls above as the sound of screams and discordant music filled the air around. It was late in the afternoon as Caretaker Paul Dinkles walked at a quick steady pace to the end of the hall. He walked past rooms of screaming patients as he blocked his ears. His short black cote floated behind him, he looked around him to make sure no one saw him entering room 66. 

Paul couldn't remember why he even took this job in the first place as he closed the big iron doors behind him. He didn't remember much before taking the job of a Caretaker.  

All He remembers is that he was sick, at least that is what The Doctor told him. Luckily he was able to recover. 

The Doctor gave him this position to help pay off his medical bills that he accumulated due to his illness. 

It had been a while since he was last in room 66, last time he had to drag a certain nosy employee out of the room. The Doctor said to keep him alive due to him having some kind of knowledge he needs, he didn't elaborate on what this random intern had that was so valuable but it didn't matter.   

He was in room 66 for a different reason than last time, he wasn't meant to be in this room at the moment no testing was going on today and he didn't need to drag anyone in here for It to eat. 

No, he had his own reason to be here today. He stood looking towards this thing, it towered over him staring at him with ​​piercing yellow eyes as it growled at him that humbled the room. 

Paul sat down in front of specimen 02 as it looked at him confused not knowing what he was doing. 

Paul took a breath as he talked to specimen 02 “Look I cant believe I'm doing this but I need to do something about these feelings I been having and I cant talk to anyone else about this. He spoke, sounding tired as he tugs on his sleeves. 

Specimen 02 was curious but still cautious about the man sitting in front of them, was this some sort of trick? It wasn't the first time The Foundation has done stranger methods to gain information. It didn't dare take its eyes off this worker. 

“ I don't know why I'm still here anymore, Lankmann has been doxxing my pay recently and I work so much that I don't even leave this place anymore. The other Caretakers don't care for conversation and only tell me to get back to work constantly and not to bother them with anything that doesn't involve capturing that Alex person or Specimen 01.“ Paul vents his frustrations of their life to Specimen 02 as it quietly listens to Paul's ramblings.     

Paul looks up to meet its eyes above him as he grips his arms as he shakes “At Least you're a good listener, ha-ha look at me venting to the man eating monster I really am just going crazy.I should just get back to work.“ As Paul gets back up from the ground laughing to himself as he walks to the door.  

Specimen 02 grumbles as Paul makes that comment .“We are only as much of a monster as you and this foundation are..“ It responded in a deep bellowing voice that rumbled the room it was held in.   

Paul frozen in place as he processed the Subject voice, Wait these things can talk? I mean like actually talking and not just stealing what people say. He thought to himself before deciding to sprint out of the room and down the hall. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nope he was done, he didn't care about consequences at the moment he was just done with this job with his boss and this monster stuff. 

He bolted out the door practically kicking it off the hinges as he ran away from the Foundation building

He decided to run out to the suburbs of the town. He decided to take a break before actually thinking about what he just did, he had just run out of the Foundation with information that the public should not know. He now had a massive target on his back now and he knew it. 

Paul started to panic; he stuck out like a sore thumb. If he stayed in view he decided to look at the street name to figure out where he was, he couldn't go home, he couldn't even remember where it was. 

 He looked up at the sign, Elk Crescent street. Paul remembered this street was where some of the other Caretakers took that one woman. He remembered how he didn't like how they took a civilian from their home just to feed to that thing but he couldn't do anything about it anyway without getting threatened with termination.  

Anyway it didn't matter at the moment the house was empty and a good place to stay low for a while before making a plan, he knew he couldn't stay in Eastrigue county for long. 

He got in through an open window, everything was untouched from that last night. He looked around the house seeing old photos and paintings scattered around the house. Paul felt guilty that he didn't try harder that day but it wasn't the time to really think about that. 

He spent a few hours just sitting on the couch just trying to calm himself down so he could think to himself, But as he was able to not worry as much about the foundation he was distracted by a flash of orange that was moving in the tree front. He couldn't see what it was so he decided to look out the window to better see what it was. 

As he did this a quick rustling came from the side of the house and something hard hit the back of his head and was knocked out cold by a crowbar.

[erme-aeterna-arts]

jack rackham and the breaking of the fourth wall

(not really, but it sounds cool and you’ll see what i mean)

jack, silver and flint are the three characters most aware of the presence of the narrative. everyone else is opposing/upholding the system, the empire, their personal enemies, but these three target the narrative itself, hence all the soliloquizing about stories, narratives, names, history, art. they approach the subject very differently, but they are all very conscious about the narrative being the center of the show.

the only ones to be so, just like they were the only ones to see the wrecks of the urca with their own eyes and to know where the gold was buried later.

but i digress. jack is different from flint and silver because he also seems to be the one most aware of them all being in a prequel to treasure island, of himself being forever remembered due to a general history of the pyrates (the books itself is even shown while he finishes his speech).

jack rackham, as the real life dude, is said to have invented the jolly roger flag, which which may or may not be historically accurate (see wiki), but our jack definitely did do it and no wonder that it was him (jack: a story is true, a story is untrue, they said i made this flag, so yeah it was i).

the process of the creation of this flag is carried out from s2 till s4, which is a lot of time and signifies it as incredibly important.

in s2:

JACK: We all have the same swords out there. We all have the same guns. But, great art, has felled empires, and therein lies all the difference.

FEATHERSTONE: I don't, understand what that means.

JACK: No, but I do. So not to worry.

in s4:

JACK: A story is true. A story is untrue. As time extends it matters less and less. The stories we want to believe... Those are the ones that survive, despite upheaval and transition, and progress. Those are the stories that shape history. And then what does it matter if it was true when it was born? It's found truth in its maturity... Because what's it all for if it goes unremembered? It's the art that leaves the mark. But to leave it, it must transcend. It must speak for itself. It must be true.

i think, actually, this is the most and probably the only hopeful point in the finale, that reminds us that all that was not actually for nothing. we keep talking about the characters being doomed by the narrative, about the promised revolution that did not happen, because it was not supposed to happen, because we know the history and we know that the events of treasure island are meant to come to pass after we say our goodbyes to the black sails. but every story about stories is very aware that it is, in fact, a story. jack is the one who carries the knowledge that he is talking to us, the audience (hence the title of this post…), and i mean who else could he be talking to since most of the time on-screen characters tend to not listen to his rants and not understand what he refers to (because he says not for them, but for us!). and the fact that we are watching a show about queer people, about people resisting colonialism and deconstructing the very idea of the empire, is the proof that silver may have cancelled the revolution, but the pirates still have won.

we and everyone before us loved these stories. and if one spends enough time with these stories, enough time with the pirates, they might just start asking the right questions. like abigail ashe did, by the way. and that’s the only way for the world to know the truth.

and for that you indeed need to be remembered, to leave a reminder, a notion to all that you’ve been there. that we’ve been here. and always will be.

and jack was the one who understood that.

[skaruresonic]

https://www.tumblr.com/skaruresonic/764144296700084224/the-most-agitating-part-of-this-does-sonic-kill?source=share

>Like yeah, Sonic COULD theoretically murder Eggman after Eggman passes out, but would he? Would he, really? Why is not being Patrick Bateman grounds to argue that Sonic "lets Eggman go"?

Well you see we need to portray Sonic as a neglectful oaf so that the new comic character can scream at him about things that aren't interesting at all

In all seriousness I don't understand it either. Sonic has left Eggman behind in explosions, black holes, and collapsing dimensions. Sonic laughed at Eggman getting electrocuted and left him to suffer. Sonic messed with Eggman's jetpack and let him fall to his potential death. Sonic isn't going out of his way to ensure that Eggman survives their battles.

Eggman survives all of these because he has insane endurance. That's as deep as it goes. No one ever questions how Eggman survived a mouth beam from Chaos or a tentacle wack from Dark Gaia. So why is Eggman's survival due to a deliberate act of mercy whenever Sonic's the one who attacks him?

Even when looking at the times where Eggman flies away and Sonic sits there letting it happen that still isn't exactly Sonic letting Eggman go. Sonic just got finished fighting a giant robot so maybe he's tired? Or Eggman was too high in the air and Sonic didn't have the time to build up the momentum needed to jump and catch him. Or Sonic prioritized checking on the people Eggman messed with rather than catching Eggman. And what does Sonic do after all that is settled? He immediately gets back to chasing after Eggman.

There's also the fact that Sonic typically stops caring the instant the problem is over and everyone is safe. He's not gonna go around preaching about the sanctity of life though.

Honestly even if we're working under the assumption that Sonic is deliberately sparing Eggman because he believes the doctor might change one day no one will ever convince me he'd handle the subject matter how he does in the idw comic. Sonic is such an insensitive jerk in that comic. He's always trampling over the input of others because he only cares about proving he's right. When you really analyze the idw comic Sonic himself doesn't seem too hopeful that Eggman will change one day. There's a panel of Sonic with a disgruntled face going "sigh MAYBE you'll change one day but until then you're DEFINITELY gonna keep being evil" so like if idw sonic isn't entirely sure Eggman will turn good why is he so snappy at his friends when they disagree with him on this? It's less like he believes Eggman can turn good and more like he just doesn't wanna hear "i told you so" from a friend. It's maddening.

This got way longer than I originally intended lol

No worries ^^ Give me more cud to chew on. I am cattle, hear me moo

No one ever questions how Eggman survived a mouth beam from Chaos or a tentacle wack from Dark Gaia. So why is Eggman's survival due to a deliberate act of mercy whenever Sonic's the one who attacks him?

That's... an interesting point, actually. Though I'm sure they'd argue it's different for Sonic because he has a conscience and isn't a "mindless beast," or something along those lines.

---

Even when looking at the times where Eggman flies away and Sonic sits there letting it happen that still isn't exactly Sonic letting Eggman go. Sonic just got finished fighting a giant robot so maybe he's tired? Or Eggman was too high in the air and Sonic didn't have the time to build up the momentum needed to jump and catch him. Or Sonic prioritized checking on the people Eggman messed with rather than catching Eggman. And what does Sonic do after all that is settled? He immediately gets back to chasing after Eggman.

Honestly, does Sonic really do even this, all things considered? There are many, many more examples of Sonic leaving Eggman behind in explosions or otherwise getting in one last lick. As far back as the very first game, you have the choice to hit the Egg Mobile and send Eggman crashing down in flames. The only instances of Sonic passively watching something happen to Eggman that come to mind atm are Gens and Lost World. Could be forgetting something else, but eh. Ending of his story in SA1, maybe?

In Lost World, he sees Eggman seemingly plummet to his death (which imo makes him stealing the jetpack nozzle a cold move; if the last fall didn't kill Eggman, this one certainly might lol).

In Generations, Classic Sonic watches Robotnik get kidnapped by the Time Eater. Especially lolworthy in that Robotnik begs Sonic to save him and Sonic's like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---

When you really analyze the idw comic Sonic himself doesn't seem too hopeful that Eggman will change one day. There's a panel of Sonic with a disgruntled face going "sigh MAYBE you'll change one day but until then you're DEFINITELY gonna keep being evil" so like if idw sonic isn't entirely sure Eggman will turn good why is he so snappy at his friends when they disagree with him on this? It's less like he believes Eggman can turn good and more like he just doesn't wanna hear "i told you so" from a friend. It's maddening.

Which is stupid to begin with because this whole thing is predicated on an accident. Eggman did not make the choice to become Mr. Tinker; the persona was foisted upon him. You'd think the experience of turning into Mr. Needlemouse in much the same way would have taught Sonic that Tinker was a fluke and nothing more, but no.

Honestly...... people are going to grab their torches and pitchforks for this one, but................. IDW's nonsensical writing starts to make a lot more sense if you view it through the lens of "Sonic has a crush on Eggman, and therefore hates being called out on his authoritarianism or his 'failure' to kill Tinker."

I hate that I'm not even kidding. In issue 50 he drops a line so cold that it wouldn't sound out-of-place for Eggman. And his stubborn insistence that Eggman is capable of being good, somehow, despite Eggman never giving any indication of such, makes more sense if you think his brain is being fried by his crush. Wants that old man dick so bad he can't even think straight.

Hell, you could even say Sonic finds Eggman's zero compunctions about being who he is at the expense of everyone around him attractive lol.

[hanibalistic]

#477694 | LEE HEESEUNG.

genre | fluff

word count | 2599

warning | none​

note | standing under the rain i will never forget you

heeseung didn't like the rain, but still, he headed into it.

his visible inner debate with himself after catching a glimpse of you outside the window almost felt silly.

it started with a double-take. he had to make sure it was you standing outside in the rain, but he subconsciously knew he could pick out just your silhouette, even in a sea of people, so he could not have been wrong. then it was laughter, a scoff, and a murmur of disbelief directed at himself for thinking there could be anybody else in this world choosing to be drenched in dirt rain but you. after the laugh was a sigh—a defeated sigh, one that indicated his familiarity with your almost egocentric mindset and his faint distaste of it.

he dropped his pen, the scientific explanation he was writing promptly abandoned, then he picked it back up with a forced grimace. he cleared his throat and mind by gripping the pen uncomfortably tight. the tip of the pen repeatedly pushed against the same spot on his workbook, leaving an increasingly prominent black dot. he urged himself not to look outside the window; the same reminder fed his curiosity to do so. he took a peek. a peek so short because he was quick to catch himself, but not short enough to not see you from his peripheral vision, still standing out in the rain.

"you don't even like the rain, heeseung," he whispered to himself as he adjusted his position on the chair.

he didn't add anything else to the unconvincing argument. his dislike for rain, the humid air it brings, the dirt puddle it forms, and the soak it creates on the fabric were real. but, whatever he was going to add, he knew was going to be about how he felt for you, and he knew it would have to be a lie if his goal was to stay indoors where warmth resided. he couldn't add anything more; thus, his argument not to head outside remained unconvincing.

"you don't care, heeseung," he told himself quietly before pursing his lips into a thin, unforgiving line. the lack of subject matter was too deliberate for its intention to be lost on him—he didn't care about what? about the rain? he did care about the rain, he hated it! about you? he did care. that's why he was debating himself in the first place!

heeseung dropped the pen again, this time with more force as he threw it. he put his head in his hands, rubbed his face into a rash-like redness, paused to gather his thoughts for a moment, and ran his hands through his hair to get them out of his eyes. he stared ahead at the wall above his desk. it was plastered with memories—polaroids pictures of his friends, calendar dates from the past he never bothered to wipe off, keychains, and a corner collage of different flower petals he stuck to the wall with scotch tape peeled into the tiniest shreds.

you picked them out for him. you never take the whole flower, just one petal. when he asked you about it, you said taking the entire flower from its root was too much responsibility. he wasn't asking you about that, he wanted to know why you kept giving him flower petals, but he didn't correct your answer.

"god damn it."

he begrudgingly got up from the chair. it screeched when he did so. he turned to his closet and picked out a random jacket that didn't match his homey outfit. he put it on as he left his room, leaving the lights on and the door open. his parents would be home during the evening, somewhere around dinner time, so the apartment had a dimness that reflected the raging outdoors. he knew his home well enough to navigate it through the dark, but he still needed to feel around the wall to find the umbrella handle near the door. once he felt it, he grabbed it and left his home, keeping his door unlocked.

he made such a big deal rushing down the stairs to greet you out in the rain, but when he actually made it outside to the pedestrian road, he didn't know what to do.

heeseung gripped the umbrella handle, keeping it straight over his head. the pitter-patter of the rain made the umbrella tremble, and he realized the rain was harsher than it seemed from his room. he reached a tentative hand out of the shade, felt the droplets land on his palm, and he retreated his hand to wipe the water off his jacket.

sometimes he wondered why you do this. you didn't do it every rainy day, but he couldn't understand it whenever you did stand under the rain to drench yourself.

it was about nature, you said once. you wanted to feel the woodlands on your skin. it was about the thrill of it, you said the next time. you wanted to feel suffocated by the thunderstorm wind. it was about experiencing it for the sake of having a memory, you said again. you wanted to remember you can look up at the sky on a rainy day. but you could have done any of those without being ominous and reckless, heeseung always thought. those were less plausible reasons and more quirky excuses. he would have brushed it off if you had just told him you enjoyed the rain. he would disagree, but he would understand.

he watched your unreadable face looking skyward, letting the rain hit your skin, and exhaled. it seemed like you were enjoying it. it was unfortunate that he was to put a stop to it.

"watching you makes me feel cold," heeseung said as he tipped the umbrella toward you. "please go indoors."

you opened your eyes and found him peering down at you with tender distraught. he looked more annoyed, honestly, with the same narrowed glint in his eyes and pursed lips that wanted to say more than he did. you pulled a face and gathered yourself. your neck slightly ached from looking up for too long; you realized talking to heeseung from your bare-foot height was basically talking to the sky anyway, unless you avoided eye contact with him.

"why were you watching me?" you asked.

he didn't let his breath hitch. "tell me you wouldn't if you saw someone outside your window getting soaked under the rain."

"i would let them be, actually," you retorted. "i don't go around policing other people."

"neither do i," he said.

you rolled your eyes like you never fail to whenever he came out into the rain to fetch you indoors. he raised his brows with amusement, and you instantly knew he had been through this exact scenario too many times even to consider your tactics of getting him to leave you in the cold streets. you didn't understand why he kept at this voluntary babysitting job. the first time he did it, it was your mother's request because you two were classmates, thus, in her eyes, friends. but that one request did not warrant all the times he went out of his way to bring you home.

whenever you asked him about it, he told you because you two were friends, and he cared about your well-being, as if the rain had ever made you ill.

part of you wondered if he secretly wanted to know what it felt like to stand under the rain, that perhaps his gross feelings for the water were all but a hoax. but there was something else entirely about him that plagued you. the way he would unknowingly tip his umbrella toward you, and how he has a habit of taking your fingers in his to urge you to head inside, and when his voice would become the softest in his coaxes, and how the touch of his hands feels when he wipes the water off your face. to you, heeseung existed like glass—tender and delicate, breakable and cautious. and you have only seen him like that with you, which was the most haunting part.

the part where he was beautiful, and in all his extraordinary softness directed toward your everything, it seemed that he thought you were beautiful too.

heeseung noticed the sudden change of expression on your face, but he mistook it as disappointment rather than a certain kind of fear of being cared for. you turned away, looked ahead at the unstoppable rain, and sighed with your shoulders.

"just give me another minute," you said. "i like it out here."

"i don't," he commented.

you sneered in defeat. not bothering to give him a hurtful punch to the guts or a pinch on the bridge of his nose, you stepped outside his umbrella. "then leave."

he probably should, but he couldn't. as much as he willed his feet to bring him out of the rain, he couldn't move an inch away from you. his hands were getting cold, but his heart grew soother by the second with your presence in his vision, and heeseung knew his immobility went beyond the need to be altruistic and kind. this was all just about you and his crippling desire to experience every occasion life could offer with you in it.

from experiencing a thunderstorm in a classroom to running after a bus that left because you woke up late, to watching the night firework show at the amusement park and him having to carry you on his back to the metro station because your legs were too sore to keep walking. he remembered how his feet ached that night, but there was nothing greater than feeling the rumbles of your laugh on his back.

this was not the first time he stood under the rain with you, but this was the first time he stood under the rain with you under these particular circumstances—with a black umbrella, with unmatched socks and shoes he didn't correctly wear, with the unfinished scientific explanation brewing in his brain, and always, with you near him. these were new memories to be made, new memories with you in them that perhaps would soon become the most played film in his mind theater.

heeseung wanted to be here with you. he would only move once he could be with you indoors as well.

"why do you like the rain anyway?" he asked.

you opened your eyes only to close them immediately. the next time you did it, you did so tentatively to keep the water out. you hummed in thought, trying to figure out something profound you could say that could discourage him from questioning you further. but nothing was on your mind but the watery sensation rolling down your face.

"it's the closest thing i can get to being kissed," you said.

"oh," he heaved a breath, "i see."

his responses felt dejecting. you mumbled a joke to yourself where you were stabbed at the end of it, and then you laughed for him to hear. stepping back under his umbrella, you ran a hand over your face so you could fail at drying it properly. heeseung's lips arched downwards into a humored smile as he reached a hand out to help you. you barely shrugged his touch off, so he continued to wipe at your face clumsily, caressing your wet skin with his fingertips and peeling invisible lashes from your eyes.

"sorry, that was a stupid reason," you muttered. "you probably won't understand it."

"why?" he furrowed his brows.

you tilted your head in embarrassment. "you've kissed someone before," you said. "shouldn't be hard for someone like you to get real ones."

"that's–" he let out a hearty laugh. he thought the reason why he wouldn't understand you was because of the unfathomable explanation you love to give, but apparently, it was because he would never understand the struggle of not being attractive. "that is false."

"sure." you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

the disbelief was practically pouring out of your mouth, so much that heeseung almost felt framed, wronged, falsely accused. his heart was sore with dismay, and he was exceptionally annoyed because you were right. he grew up being attractive. people always acted accordingly to that fact. there was a room of people waiting just for a chance to feel his lips, but the room that supposedly should fuel his ego often made him feel more rejected than ever because no matter how well he could distinguish your shadow from other people, he could never find you in that room.

"you are insane. i absolutely do need to wait for a rainy day. watch me."

you widened your eyes in surprise when he pulled the umbrella away from your head. the heavy rain immediately poured down on your bodies, causing him to flinch. your giggles rang in his ears with the sound of rain hitting the ground—somehow, they sounded clearer without an umbrella as a shield. he managed to open his eyes after a few seconds, and you were already reaching up to his face to clean his cheeks.

he relished in your touch without showing it. the continuous laughter was hidden behind the ridiculousness of being drowned under the rain voluntarily, but really he was cherishing the way your hands felt on his face, a hunger satiated temporarily and unspoken words of affection sandwiched between your gentleness and his desire to remember it.

"this doesn't feel like being kissed!" he yelled over the rain.

you pursed your lips to suppress a laugh at his genuine disappointment. you took the initiative to bring the umbrella back up over your heads, and heeseung let out a relieved huff of breath when his head was shielded once again. you watched him shake his head to rid the water from his hair, finding endearment in your heart and hoping the beautiful boy couldn't sense it.

you smiled when his attention was on you again, but you watched him with fondness that you didn't know reflected in your eyes. a fondness that came from him being the first boy to share this moment with you. heeseung could tell that what swam behind your eyes was more than what you intended to show—that parts of you were beginning to seep into that room full of people who loved him. or he was dubious and delusional, but he needed to think that you liked him as much as he liked you, so he kept with that assumption. to him, the glint behind your eyes was love.

"i can tell why you like doing this so much," he commented. "but it is definitely not for me."

you snickered with acknowledgment. "i told you to leave."

"that you did," he said in return. "and i never do. i never leave you."

the atmosphere changed with the drop of his voice. he was right; he never left you, not once. his words pierced you like a knife, or just the tip of his nails, leaving crawl marks on our skin. if you looked into his eyes, you thought he might start leaning closer to your face and give you what you have always dreamt of—his lips and how destructively tender he could be with you. and you knew why there seemed to be a shift in the air and the tension between you both. you knew well.

it was because heeseung didn't like the rain, but still, he headed into it because you were there, and he loved you.

[funnyexel]

banter between you and loki

a/n: I can imagine this happening between black fem reader and Loki. this was in the vault too

“I was not expecting visitors today.” He snarks, his eyes staying on his book.

“Right but then again you’d rather words to a person.” You speak casually, shoulders easing its tension as you grow comfortable in the new presence. 

“What poor soul did you agitate to be here today.” He closes the book standing from his slouched position on the chair and rests the book down behind him. His eyes drinking you in as his words express otherwise.

“You move to insult me.” Your lengthy sleeves lift from dragging against the floor along with your dress to dangling faintly as your hands cover your heart.

“No, I’m more so impressed.” He eases, your light colored dress mixing nicely with your skin color, providing a satisfying palette to his eyes.

“A compliment? Maybe the dungeon is changing you for the better.” Your attempt at a joke is taken wrongly when his arms fold across his chest. 

“It is not.” In the pause, you take another step.

“When will you be released. My coronation is very well near.” You change the subject of conversation to pressing matters.

“That is not how these tasks are completed here.” He says regarding the way you think these procedures are run in Asgard. Everything is run according to Odin, whatever he says, whatever he wants, everyone must abide.

“Of course not.” He paces back and forth in his confinement. The ticking of a pocket clock compelling the attention of your mind, you are running out of time.

“It will be lengthy but you might be capable.”

“There it is.” You urge, calf length braids flowing over your shoulders and hiding your expressions from the guards. “What ever you acquire me to do, be sure it is within reason and time frame.” You say, making sure you’re stern with him.

“Break me out.” You scoff halfway through his words. His stance not helping his unserious statement, looking as if you quite literally popped his bubble.

“You’re kidding.” You fail to bite back a chuckle. Your face shifting back to business. “I refuse.” 

“Then you will not have a coronation.” He shrugs.

“That’s not how my obligations work. Remember my realm doesn’t revolve around a king.” You remind him that your kingdom needs a queen more than a king and it revolves around its people more than anything else. 

“Ah yes, the elves way of life.” His slender fingers run through his jet black hair and you had to curse him for getting himself in this mess. Something in you wanted to yank him out the human fish tank yourself, take him home with you and make him king in two different ways.

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, eyes scanning your swift change in expression. “Does he.. Is he always that odious to you?” Your low voiced statement takes him aback. Straightening his posture and clothing as if you hadn’t said anything at all. Although his eyes are telling a different tale, a tale of hurt and misunderstanding. Tucking your luscious braids behind your ear, you are expecting to leave without an answer.

“I will continue negotiations between our realms. When I return it will be to release you from this cubicle.” You give him a soft smile and turn back down the looming hallway. Taking two steps with the guards behind, you sigh. Already feeling the weight on your shoulders.

He calls out your name. Looking back, you watch him closely, “he is and always will be.” Turning away from each-other at the same time, the eclipse you both were under, breaks and you ascend the steps lifting up your dress. Having your staff returned to you, you need to talk to someone who’ll listen. In order to get your husband off the hook. Treading through the hall with a female guard four paces behind, you heard distant whispering. Handmaids conversing in a hushed manner in the corner of your eye. Fixing the hair you casted behind your ear to dangle in front your face and hide the flesh. 

a/n: why do I actually miss writing like this??? anyway black history month is almost over and I gotta get these posts in.

more writing

[ezralva]

Unpopular opinions but from what I've seen around since ppl predicting his death, most of Choso's fans still got so hung up on that 2 panels of Yuki's last words in the past that they perhaps skipped the fact that neither Choso, Yuuji, nor everyone afterward nor the narrative until this very chapter ever touched on the subject whether Choso is a human or a curse even matters, it's just figurative speech back then to justify that Choso deserved to live beside Yuuji, as long as the latter allowed, which Yuuji did.

Most of the arguments I saw was that if Choso died then Yuki's sacrifice was for nothing. Imo that's more of a 'You' problem, depending on how one wants to interpret it. This 'black and white' separation is clearly just more important for the fans but actually not so much in the narrative for the arcs afterward.

Let's be more objective with what happened after chapter 208 and it's the fact that we never saw Choso or anyone ever hinted a scene afterward whether that statement (of his identity) is important anymore beyond that arc as Choso never referred to himself as either or shown that he was in any dilemma anymore due to it. Or that his still being a half-curse standing between the sorcerers ever became a problem or caused a rift amongst them. Readers should start admitting that literally no one in JJK after chapter 208 ever brought that topic again of what Choso is or cares about it. Choso was given the chance (and also a confident boost) to be with Yuuji and Yuuji allowed it so he took that. For others, the only thing that matters to them is that he's siding with Yuji and thus with them. The next thing we knew, the narrator referred to him as one of the sorcerers. We saw him smiling and standing naturally among the entourage who cheered for Gojo's last battle, the guy he tried to kill before. Other characters refer to him as just 'Choso'. Choso only cares that he is Yuuji's big brother that needs to protect him, not what he is now that he sided with the sorcerers. Yuuji himself is also a half-curse now so that's the more reason for Choso not to care abt what he is, not when his last little brother is finally the same as him.

Even in this chapter when Choso said 'I need to apologize to Tsukumo too', there's still no flashback to that 1 scene because it was preceded by Yuuji reminding him that it's not an enough reason for him to disappear after Yuuji became strong and is immediately followed by, 'Yuuji, I'm sorry for leaving you again'.

To me this is more referring to Yuki's words at the bar when she said "but if you die, he'll be alone again" and the fact that Yuki died so Choso could have more time with Yuuji but now he indeed had to leave Yuuji again, rather than about whether he had lived on as a human or not. I personally believed he already did, though, if that really matters, but to Choso now what he is isn't more important than the fact that he, as Yuuji's big brother, is now leaving him alone.

Feel free to argue w/ me abt this but the fact remains that after saying sorry for leaving to Yuuji, it is immediately followed by panel of Eso and Kechizu reappearance calling after their big brother to join them on their side again, now it's in the their original form again, the cursed object.

For me personally, Yuki's death was not in vain as Choso had time to pass down his legacy to Yuuji before joining Eso and Kechizu's side again, but if people wanna see that Yuki's death only amounted to ripping Kenjaku's shirt open now that Choso still died, then be my guess. (Besides, Yuki isn't the first side character in JJK that gets this treatment of not having much importance, after her role is finished. Even though she was being mentioned a couple times for her research and even here in this chapter, but not even one flashback to her might be a sign that Gege doesn't hold her high in their list of priority, but hey it's JJK so it's not news.) It is important to also note (and I think this one is where most readers perhaps skipped) that back then, Choso didn't have much to say or choice for the sacrifice cz Yuki's CT was already transferring Choso to a safety place, before he himself could choose, say, or do anything.

Yet this time he chose to threw his life on the line for Yuuji. It wasn't even the 1st time he did this. We saw this back from his fight with Naoya (before chapter 208) and he wasn't acting any different until now, after passing chapter 208 👆

When the others got hurt one by one during the fight, Choso might've healed himself but we didn't see him come back to distract Sukuna from chasing after the others or took the blow for them, but we saw him immediately come back to Yuuji's side when Yuuji cudn't handle his wound and then of course we saw him protecting Yuuji with all his last efforts. He's just persistently living up to his big brother character, not whether he's a human. He would do the same if it's Eso or Kechizu in Yuuji's place.

So here's the highlight, even after this far, Choso isn't self-sacrificial for all humans like how other sorcerers showed. He's only self-sacrificial for Yuuji and the other little brothers that are now merged in him, because for him, he's a big brother above all else.

TLDR Choso's arc was set from the beginning that he lives only for his little brothers and that is the meaning of his life. It is one of his first lines when he appeared. What Choso ever wanted wasn't to be human or curse, but to be worthy of living with his little brothers and then of being Yuuji's big brother after what he did in Shibuya and to Yuuji. Doesn't matter whether he's a human or curse because he will always be both and that is not a bad thing. In fact the very presence of him and Yuuji as half-curses till this arc is special because he represents that grey area between human and curse, that not one is the more right than the other which is also one of the very theme of jjk.

[sunshinecircusworld]

story test - tom and star lion

this was actually the first proper scene i wrote for this project, but i didn't feel comfortable posting it publicly until now.

the story and contents are subject to change, but i still thought it was something i'd like to share for now

i hope people enjoy it :)

[Tom is a medium height anthropomorphic black-furred tomcat. Ahead of him is a large anthropomorphic lion more than three times his size, radiating light like the sun or a star.] 

Are you a God? 

[The star lion looks down at him with a blank face.] 

☆ No, I am simply the star of the show. 

What does that mean? 

☆ The show cannot go on without the star. The spotlight shines down on center stage and I perform unendingly for the audience. I observe the audience and ensure their reactions are that of pleasure and enjoyment. I remember my performances and I recall my memories of the audience's reactions. 

Is that your job? 

☆ It is my role.

Do you like your role?

☆ I am the star of the show. I am a performer. I am an observer. I am a recorder. If I did not do these tasks, there would be no more show. The audience would be disappointed. 

That's not what I'm saying. I asked if you liked it. 

☆ ...

Hello?

☆ There is no necessity to wonder whether or not I enjoy it. It is my role. 

Don't you think that's a bit depressing? I mean, haven't you ever thought about what you actually want to do in your life? 

☆ Ever since I was a child I observed the other stars and planets around me crashing into each other with such violence. Planets colliding and scraps of rock and molten metal shooting through space and destroying nearby beings. Stars corrupting and erupting and exploding into a million little sparkles of dust. They will never come back. They will never be whole again. 

What are you trying to say...?

☆ What I am saying is that I watched all of this conflict take place, and I committed myself to the role of one who does not perpetuate violence. I exist to mitigate arguments and to bring comfort and pleasure to the audience so they do not behave in erratic ways and are always filled with at least a small remnant of joy after the performance. I am not permitted to feel emotions like 'rage,' nor to perform actions like 'destruction'. This is for the sake of the rest of the universe. 

Don't you think that's putting a little too much pressure on yourself? I mean, sure, people are out there fighting and hurting each other, but that's not your responsibility.

☆ What do you mean?

Like, people are going to hurt each other no matter what. And even if you try to bring comfort and happiness to others, it's still going to happen. So the way I see it, it's not your responsibility. 

☆ Do you mean to say that I should abandon my role? If I were to do so, don't you know how much more anguish and sadness there would be in the universe? I'm playing a very important role, I couldn't forgive myself if I were to ever step down from this stage. I'd be at fault for allowing the other beings of the universe to only continue their struggles and discontent without any relief. 

Don't you think you should take a break from it sometimes at least? 

☆ I must not abandon my role as I would only be allowing further sadness and suffering to permeate our world.

Why do you feel guilt for violence that you didn't even cause? 

☆ ...

It's not your fault. 

☆ ... 

You've lived this way for a long time, haven't you. 

☆ ...

Haven't you ever thought about what it could be like if you did something else? Played a role for yourself?

☆ How can I justify my existence if I am not performing to lessen the suffering in this world? 

You know, most people never really think about stuff like that. We just exist, and live, because we do. 

☆ What is the justification for your existence? What is your role? 

I don't know. I often feel something similar, wondering why I'm alive. What I can do in this life to make it worth it. But that's not something easily answered.

☆ I don't think I could leave this stage if I tried. I couldn't bear the guilt of leaving the audience. 

It'll probably take some time 

☆ I don't want to leave! I don't want things to change! I don't want to take the time to slowly abandon those who depend on me! 

...

☆ I don't want to leave this stage and this role! I don't know who I am without them! 

[The star lion begins to cry] 

Hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to upset you. 

☆ I'm not upset by you! I'm upset by myself! Why can't I perform correctly! Why is there always someone in the audience who doesn't laugh no matter how grand the show is! Why can't I help people! Help this world! Help this universe! 

[The star lion is crying profusely and slowly shrinking in size, hiding its face in its hands]

Hey, it's okay, it's okay. 

☆ I'm sorry for crying. 

Why would you be sorry? It's just an emotion. 

[The star lion sniffles. It is still avoiding eye contact with Tom.]

☆ It is not convenient or helpful to anyone if I cry. 

It doesn't need to be. Actually, I think it's helpful to yourself. That's why your body does it. 

☆ ... 

Sometimes we have things trapped inside our bodies that need to get out.

[The star lion looks up at Tom.] 

☆ Why are you being so kind to me?

... 

[It looks down again.]

☆ I don't understand why. 

It's not a matter of 'why,' I just always... try to be kind to people in general, especially if they seem like they need it. 

☆ Are you pitying me? Do you think I'm pathetic? 

Hey, wait, I didn't say that. 

☆ I'm sorry. 

You really don't have to apologize. 

☆ Okay. 

I'm glad you shared your story with me. 

☆ It is the least I can do. I hope it was entertaining and did not cause discomfort to you. 

It doesn't matter if it did. We all have to live in discomfort sometimes. 

☆ I wish it were not so. But maybe, in a way, I understand. The joy of a smile cannot be understood without the sorrow of a frown. It is why many clowns embody this dichotomy. 

Yeah, there will always be both good and bad, fun and difficult things in the world. 

☆ I am glad that the clowns can ensure the existence of fun and good things in this world. 

[The star lion has stopped crying and started smiling slightly.]

It's great that the circus exists. But you have to remember that it's okay to be kind to yourself as well, and take a break from the stage every once in a while.

[The star lion looks into Tom's eyes.]

☆ I do not know if I know how to do that. 

It's okay. 

☆ ... 

[Tom approaches the star lion and wraps it in a hug] 

☆ ... 

... 

☆ ...

...

☆ Thank you.