#the f/f ships are so scarce

[sleepypdng]

Thinking about Moonbuggy tonight 🥮

[tremendum]

heyy, can you write din djarin x reader where she's smth like a princess and he's hired as her bodyguard by her father or brother whatever you want (I know this is basic plot but can't help it 😭) tysm❤️🥰

i got u babes! its cute ive never written something like this but i hope u like it!! <3 its fluffier than anything ive really written to tysm for the request! also this is NOT PROOF READ im sorry

after midnight

(gif not mine!)  pairing: din djarin x fem!reader (afab, use of terms like princess/duchess/daughter)   rating: explicit.  (18+. mdni.)     word count: 6.2k summary: “you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.”  warnings: mentions of political unrest/uprisings, reader resents their parents/family because monarchy is BAD folks, threats of death, but smut (PiV, unprotected), mutual masturbation (m&f), teasing, light themes of possession at one point, mentions of eating. cumplay/creampie. i think that's it.

★  

YOU are no stranger to fear. 

it's been a gently lived life for you, in your several decades orbiting the power of your parents' suns.

the duchess of your family's system, the 'Prize Jewel' your mother loves to say; the one who got the love of the people but sought none of the power. 

you weren't the heir, not to the throne: that duty fell unto your younger brother, as per custom tradition. so you were coaxed into a life of sitting around, humming as your ladies in waiting braided your strands, staring longingly as your brother wielded blasters and vibro-blades; as if that is what constituted a good ruler. 

so perhaps the fear you've grown accustomed to is the fear of the mirrors that so delicately lined your chambers; the mirror that appears on your own face as any noble speaks to you, as your father commanded you to embark on diplomatic missions that should be left to those who have any stake in the future of the system. the mirror which constricts any true personality or truth from presenting you to the galaxy. you were the duchess, your parents' daughter; you were not yourself. 

you'd never gone off world, to either of the other planets in the crown's domain - until the day you did. 

that kind of fear was different. 

the tumultuous tracks of your heartbeat when that creaking drop ramp was sealed, those days ago; the footsteps that rang out like funeral chimes as the tall Mandalorian bowed his head to you before escorting you upwards into the cockpit of the ship that was to take you to the other side of the system.  

you were not, though, afraid of him. 

Mando had been your shadow for several months before you left on your enterprise - you were no longer frightened by the cold, sharp angles of his body, the dark rumbling of his scarce voice. now, that same low hum as he listens to you is welcomed. encouraged. sought for. 

no, the fear was from something else; there was a scratching, a slow but insistent simmering that tightened the muscles of your lower back and your upper neck until you woke up in sharp gasps of discomfort.

maybe the fear was in the winding hills that turned into mountains, jagging up and into the sky; your fear clung to you even as you lifted your legs and climbed over top of them - those towers to the sky - and settled yourself with the acknowledge that your parents had sent you on this diplomatic embarkment to a hostile insurgence group with nothing more than the Mandalorian bodyguard and a datapad containing an ultimatum which was surely the fuse to the ticking bomb of your family's dominating sovereignty. the crashing of a scepter, or the squashing of a bug. 

thankfully your father, in all of his Majesty's grace and wisdom, had offered you a full set of your Ladies of the Household on your journey - as if they'd protect you from blaster fire, or kidnapping, or whatever joys may have lied in wait for you once you reached the rebel territory. 

and he knows you are highly mistrusting of those parasitic Mynocks he calls the Kingsguard; that was in fact the sole reason he'd hired the Mandalorian to be your personal guard.

so your father at least had the sense not to call upon the lord commander to escort you, as it would be likely you'd either be dead come nightfall or your cot would be empty come morning rise. 

so he'd insisted on only the Mandalorian instead. 

a fiercely dauntless man, a walking shield, as clever as he is dangerous. 

after seeing him fight, there was no doubt Mando could protect you from hundreds if he needed to. 

there was a stint by another insurgent rebel group, of which your family was battling many currently; they'd made threats on your life, so Mando has shown up with a personal arsenal and enough intimidation to make any man fall to his knees.

it took all of thirty seconds of staring at his figure, hearing his voice, to decide you'd fall to your knees for him, too.

and just before you were ordered to visit the duke of the defecting planet, you were informed he would be replacing the four kingsguard subordinated to Mando who usually escorted you around the kingdom.

one man instead of five? you were sure the King was finally sending you to your death, punishing you for his lifelong regret that you'd not been a son. 

but you soon came to like Mando and his stoic, taciturn presence. 

and at least your instructions were simply to deliver the ultimatum and leave the atmosphere within the hour; the insurgent's strategists would not, as your father and his Hand had believed, have enough time to read through the full terms before deciding they should just break into the duchess's chambers and slit her throat anyways. 

you escaped the planet with nothing but a blaster shot grazing Mando's side and the hate of an entire species of oppressed constituents hurling insults at the Crown.

no slit throat for you - but in the end, you wouldn't even blame them if they'd tried. 

you know, now, that your fear clouded your eyes, as bright as they may have been back when Mando was hired as your bodyguard. but they grew thick, the clouds lifting into the stratosphere and slipping into Mando's helmet with the modulated, quiet inhales you've come to know almost as your own. you don't think he ever intended to frighten you.

he was there to protect you. and he has. 

he has not left you since arriving to the midway planet, where you'll stay for a few days before returning back to your kingdom planet.

here, there is fresh air, the salt of the sea, deep ripe fruits, and warm breezes. there is no fear here, only heat. 

Mando helps with that, though he won't let you admit it. 

as you stare at that unwavering gaze, surrounded by the gilded intricacies of the farewell feast, all you can do is imagine him. Mando, his body on yours, that cold, heavy metal against the thrill of your heated bare skin. he tilts his head slightly at you; you wink at him over your cup of wine. the man next to you makes conversation about your father's latest agriculture subsidies.

you look back to find the relaxing - bone chilling- gaze on you still. you wonder if he'll crack before you do. 

there have been close calls; once, when you'd drank a bit too much ale in the city square and Mando had carried you back to the keep, tucked you into bed as you tried to pull him in with you - you should stay, Mando - the time he'd agreed to teach you to spar and you'd ended up wide-eyed and pinned beneath his very sturdy frame. 

you've seen the pressure on his flightsuit beneath those layers when you'd teased him - his own admission of guilt, that he feels something for you, too.

when you'd asked him to help you shoot a blaster, when you'd left the fresher open to shower, or not particularly covering up when you prepared yourself for the day. though he was always there, always at attention for the slightest danger. 

even last night, you felt the stuttering in his breaths when you'd sat on your bed, staring down at him - his hand in the nook of your knee, the other unlacing your sandals that'd crawled up your supple calves the entire day. you'd felt his leather hands brush against the soft skin of your thigh, the way that helmet had stared up at you from between your legs. at your service. 

you know he could see the way you jolted when he'd place his hands on your hips in passing, or how you'd get particularly flustered at the flip of a blaster trigger, the flex of a muscle under a flightsuit. you didn't try to hide your attraction to him. 

but all of those things; those moments you had - even the subtle brushes of his hand just low enough on your lower back, the smiles you'd share even with the barrier of his cold beskar, the soft conversations you'd hold just between the two of you: all, under the soft shadows of the moons which orbit you. 

never in the broad daylight.

those souvenirs, the ones which you held close to your heart in the last few weeks, high up in the pews of your heart's cathedral; all idolized yet forgotten with the mornings that rise in clean beskar glinting and sleep rubbing from your eyes.  

-- 

DIN is sure you're looking straight through him.

those eyes; you're coy the way you look at him now, over the meal you eat at the table. 

swirling with mischief. 

that trouble-making look, the one he's studied for months as your personal guard. to the constituents of your family's crown, you were the sweet, young girl destined to marry away and sire many noble children. but behind palace doors, you were alive, you were a bolt of electricity that was never to be tamped down.

Din remembers how fiery you'd been when the King had ordered Mando to escort you to the insurgents with your Ladies of the House. you'd requested they not accompany you in this formidable expedition because, as he recalls you'd said, 'how can my bodyguard spare to protect not me but also ten others? shall we just get it over with and behead us all right here?' 

he'd smiled behind that helmet when the King and Queen had heard your snippy tongue.

and so it was just you and him, as it'd been for months. and he likes it that way, as much as he would never admit that; you're a kind woman, much too old to be under the reigns of your parent's power but too caught in the web of bureaucracy to untangle yourself from it. 

Din sees you tilt your head at him, blatantly ignoring the conversation at the table. heat courses through him at your adamant, keen attention on him despite him likely being the least worthy of your thoughts in this room. still, as always, you tease him. 

a drop of a wink; syrupy, sweet, and much too indecent for the public space; much less for you to deliver towards your personal guard. he burns red under the helmet, heat rushing down towards his groin at the way your lips move around the spoon in your mouth. 

you know he's watching you, of course; he's always watching you. it's in the job description. 

maybe that's the problem: he watches too much. it's always been hard for him to remain simply professional with you, but it's been much more challenging the last few nights as he's tried to get a few hours of shut-eye in the dead of night; with your sweet soft breaths on that large, plush bed that nearly swallows you whole. 

it's been excruciating - watching, as you run your hands over your bare legs, kissed by a sweet silk nightgown. massaging your plush skin, slipping just above the hem before dipping down - your lashes fluttering up at him as he stands tall and at attention over you. 

he was a dead man, and he'd known it the moment he laid eyes on you.

you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it. 

he wonders if the true tragedy after all was his not watching: although you'd left the crack in the door when you'd stepped into the fresher last night, toweling off your soft skin as steam curls round the doorframe and pulls at him like the tentacles of some lust-ridden beast. you'd given him one of those coy smiles last night as you'd slinked out of the fresher: "thought you said you were always watching, Mando." 

you had him wrapped around your dainty, manicured finger and you knew it.

your brows raise at him as you look back up to where he stands, just on the other side of the table, as the diplomats around you at the table buttering you up with a glass of wine, a divine feast, and fancy political phrases. 

it doesn't suit you, as you've claimed to him countless times as you strip the bangled gold from your neck, ears, fingers, thighs and slip into something a little more comfortable and a lot less modest. it doesn't really suit you, he guesses. he likes you much more in the throes of your casual time; wearing trousers and a tunic, blaster strapped to your thigh though you don't quite know how to wield it. when you have no handmaidens to primp you and pluck you, to comb their fingers through your hair or paint fancy colors onto your eyelids. you were heavenly like that, in your most comfortable state. 

that word; heavenly. the word sounds adolescent, when he looks at you.

you transcend beauty; you're alive, you're nothing but yourself, a woman with life and regret that her world bore her name long before she was born. you told him, as he escorted you through the war-torn scrappings of the insurgent city the day before, that you wished to be free from the chains of royalty. to the royal court, you were nothing but a mirror for them to project their desires. 

when you look up at him with those tempting eyes, smirking at him when nobody at the table is looking - Maker, Din swears he will throw away everything he's worked so hard to keep professional. 

-- 

YOU had pulled the best of the feast onto your napkin once you bid the hosts thanks for the feast, hiding it under the layers of your gown as Mando walked you back to your chambers. 

"I kept you some." you offer meekly now, heat painting your face as you offer the spread to him, having taken off your shoes yourself this time. he'd kept his sight on you the whole time, the visor of his beskar piercing you with each movement. 

his helmet tilts in question; you spread open the napkin to reveal the small feast of delicacies you'd packed for him. you wonder how he'd missed it, when his eyes were always on you. 

"you shouldn't have." he's demure in tone, shifting from his casual position leaning against one of the stone pillars near the intricate dressing screen to standing evenly on both long legs; you smile gently, heart fluttering. 

"I thought you deserved some of the feast." you reason, "you did more work than I did, after all." you grin, shrugging a shoulder. you feel the fabric slide over your bare shoulder and it brushes against you like a feather; a ghost of lips that could never be blessed upon your skin. 

cursed to always lie in weight under the heavy support of beskar. 

but his fingers; they're a different story. 

they're gentle, tingling as they brush up the expanse of your deltoid, cascading with a buttery kind touch to return your dress to its rightful place. his hand, swallowed by the leather that protects you so devotedly, trails down your arms, soothing every goosebump that rises in its path. your hand catches his wrist before he can pull away; the tantalizing, intoxicating air in the room rendering him languid as you pull, gently, until your lips press gently to the tip of his thumb.

his breath falters in a staccato as you gently, tenderly press kisses to the tips of each finger; each, a promise. an unnamed affection for the man who does nothing but protect, nothing but exhilarate. the movement feels like the stretch of a plastic band, stretching the tensile strength of your aptitude for waiting, for restraining yourselves. 

you wait with baited breath for it to snap in your faces. 

it doesn't, though. his hand falls away gently, leaving you to still orbit around each other like lonely stars, crossing paths every few blue moons. 

when he speaks, he sounds almost strained. "thank you, ner cyar'ika. you are kind." 

your cheeks are warm and they heat up more when you smile up at him. and this time when you step away into the fresher, you make sure the door is fully closed. 

the water is warm, curling tendrils of milky sweet oils that bathe your skin in a sweet, plush aroma. you return to the main room slowly after you bathe, ensuring he'll have enough time to return his helmet to its proper place before you see. you wring your hair out with your hands as Mando rises from where he sat on the loveseat; his full height shining that reflective metal against you. your warped, clean, scrubbed reflection stares back at you. 

he.... he sees you. 

you've always noticed it; maybe that's why you'd commanded your father's men to leave you at the first sight of the Mandalorian's skills - you see a lot of yourself in him. a life concealed behind the preceding reputation: a princess - young, beautiful, generous, stagnant. a Mandalorian - bounty-hunter-turned-guard, sturdy, resourceful, rough. 

mirrors follow you no matter where you go. they've been thrust upon you your entire life, every snaking hallway of the kingdom winding down reflective images of your youth, bouncing you from person to person, nothing but a blank canvas for the aristocracy to paint their whims upon. 

you suspect, as you stare at Mando's unwaveringly reflective armor, that he understands that more than either of you could know. your heart soars with affection as you pad up to him, craning your neck to take in his entire height. 

"did you enjoy it?" you ask with a small smile, combing your fingers through your wet hair. he nods, "yes, cyare. thank you." 

you shake your head, unburdened by the gesture of gratitude. "let me guess- your favorite was the..." you pinch your chin with your fingers, scrunching your nose as you pretend to think. "chocolate cake." you say finally, tilting your head as you try to gage his reaction. 

a tilt of a helmet, flickering in the candlelight of your chambers. "yes." he sounds surprised; as if you didn't know just as much about him as he knew of himself. it sparks butterflies in your stomach. 

"I know you like it sweet, Mando." you tease, sending him a soft wink as you set your face cloth down on the table he leans against; you stare up at him from this angle, your movements molasses as you smile, hand sneaking around his ribs to hold him lightly. his hand rises tentatively to steady your waist, thumb rubbing the satin of your nightgown. "don't worry, I do too." you whisper. 

he sighs. 

it's a soft, gentle thing; one that nobody would dare imagine your big, bad Mandalorian protector to ever release. but you know him. you see him - Mando is many things, and one of them is hesitant. not unwilling, or shy: hesitant. 

(you'd wait a thousand lifetimes for him.)

"cyar'ika," he starts, tone slipping into that gently warning one - the kind he gets when he's feeling bashful. "I don't like it when you tease me." he chides, and it's - kriff, it's playful. you can almost see the grin behind that helmet; his fingers pinch at your sides gently and you screech with laughter, swatting away his touch but hoping he'll soon return it, much like a magnet. 

"you do, though." you defend, emboldened by the privacy and the budding tenderness that coaxes you into his arms. his hands soothe over your hips as you stare in silence.

warmth surrounds you; coaxes you to mutter it-

"stay with me, tonight?" you whisper, eyes wide at your own words, shocked you'd finally given in to all of the hunger that has swirled between you for all this time.  his helmet tilts. "I am always here with you. my job is to watch you." he says gently, the lilt of guilt ever present in his voice.

you shake your head, eyes shutting in frustration - not at him, never - at who, then? your father? your mother? the last name you've been cursed with for your life? the privilege, the restraint? 

"Mando." you say, pressing your palms flat against his chest. "you know what I mean." your eyes swirl with emotion: please, Mando, I can't keep waiting like this. 

he waits. "it would be wrong." 

you tilt your head, "it wouldn't." but you, much like him, are at a loss for words. a life of inoculation has rendered you unable to express any semblance of amorous emotions, even to this man - the one who is your confidant, your protector, and possibly your only true friend in this world. "I need you. I will-" you swallow, your heart thundering with desire, "I will do anything for you, Mando."  

you can't resist the growing wetness in the apex of your thighs as his helmet moves over your figure, wrapped in a silky robe and still wet from bathing. he hums lowly, a long and slow sound, his head tilting ever so slightly as you clench your thighs in search of relief from the growing pressure. 

"I have wanted you since I met you." he sighs, hands falling from your shoulders. "but... I shouldn't touch you." 

-- 

DIN can see your eyes flicker down as he says it. 

maker damn you; you've always been too clever for him. he sees the hunger swirl in your blown out pupils, the same hunger that plagues his mind and has sent blood rushing downwards. he feels himself throb as you grin up at him, lashes fluttering as a droplet of silky water trails down the expanse of your bare, awaiting neck. 

you know him, you see him. and he thanks all of the stars that you know how badly he needs you, too. 

"well, if you can't touch..." you tilt your head to stare up at him through your lashes, loosening the robe which covers your silk nightgown; each inch that slips down your body, Din feels himself stiffen and heat with desire. "...you can at least watch." you whisper, letting the robe drop before you step back from his figure; his eyes trace over every curve, each smooth line and jagged bump. 

when you're far enough away, he lets out a shaky breath. "gar Kelir ruin ni, dala" he mutters to himself, swallowing thickly as your figure slinks away from him, traipsing onto your plush bed.

his heart thunders in his chest; you lie on your back, gently, eyes meeting his somehow through the shield of beskar as you move your hands slowly, slowly up your legs. silk catches on your deft fingers as you tease yourself, sighing in relaxation. 

Din, standing rigid as a pole as he watches you, cannot look away. you seem flushed, even as your fingers trail over your breasts, toying with the pert nipples which poke through the smooth fabric of your dress. a whimper; high-pitched, breathy as your eyes splinter to Din again. "fuck," you whisper, one hand dragging down to torturously drag the hem of your gown upwards, up, up- 

he's salivating. 

your thighs, plush and welcoming, spread as you spread your glistening cunt for Din to see. for him, he realizes, only for him. a dark wash of possession shudders his whole being as you let out a whimper, the cool air hitting your wet, hot heat as your fingers start to spread your juices; it takes every ounce of restraint from Din to not just pounce on you, take you right now. 

your finger finds your swelling clit and your strangled groan sounds too much like his name - your eyes are hooded, littered with desire and pleasure as you lie out on display for him. 

he can't help but watch; his cheeks, hot. his hands, clenched - his heart, thundering, beating hard as Din watches you touch yourself with hungry eyes. your moans are smooth, melodic to his ears as you slowly dip one finger into your heat, whimpering as the stretch as your greedy little hole swallows you up. 

he can't stand it. 

Din takes a step forward, a staggering, desperate step towards the bed- your eyes snap up from where they'd watched you take your own fingers, eyes blown wide. you whimper, you goddamn whimper it, "M-Mando." 

--

YOU almost pass out when he mutters it, low and baritone. 

"take it off." Mando mutters darkly. 

you stop your languid pumps as you stare up at him, eyes wide as you see him, now looming just over you, eyes trained still on your heat. 

slowly, you sit to peel the dress off of yourself, the material catching on your nipples and sending a shiver down your body. 

you're soon bare; laid out for him, your entire body on display for him as you stare up, chest heaving with desire. his helmet does not leave your form as he watches your hand snake back down, toying with your wetness as it pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress below you. 

there are thousands of things you wish to say; nothing escapes you except whimpers and moans, the muted, heated pleasure swirling through you as you slip your fingers into yourself, pumping languidly. if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the bite of cold beskar on your bare chest; the thickness of a warm cock slipping through you. 

your eyes stay on him instead, though; the reflection of your squirming, pleasured body on his beskar. you feel sweat sheen your forehead. 

your heart nearly stops as Mando slowly starts to palm himself; his cock, hard and strained against the fabric of his flightsuit as his hands pull himself out of the pants. your eyes widen and your fingers start to pump into you quicker, moaning out Mando's name as his hand slowly starts to pump himself. 

his cock, skin golden and veins prominent as he pleasures himself to the sight of you. arousal floods around your fingers as your other finger falls to lazily toy with your neglected clit. one hand grasps your breast and pinches a pert nipple, your back arching as you whimper. 

you need Mando, you need him. 

"fuck, fuckfuckfuck M-Mando, I need you. i-it's not enough, need more." you groan, the dam breaking as the low high you've been riding simmers. 

he stops his own movements, his chest heaving beneath the beskar. 

"I don't-" you swallow around your dry throat, "I don't think I can cum without you." you admit, heart thundering as you stare up at the beskar wall. "please." 

he pauses and your words hand in the air; suspended by a string, one that is tight and ready to snap. 

"stand up, princess." he orders.

--

DIN almost smiles at the speed at which you scramble on eager legs, to stand up, staring up at him with wanton need. he takes a deep breath before one hand reaches out to graze the swell of your breast; the plush give of soft skin, the goosebumps that trail behind his touch. his cock twitches as your hands find him, pumping slowly as you bite your lip. 

he groans at the soft feeling of your gentle hands around his thickness; your lips grazing over his beskar chestplate. 

his hands tug you as he falls to the mattress; a squeal leaves you as your hands grip onto his shoulders, "Mando!" 

he grins beneath the helmet. 

the smile slowly fades into a grunt of pleasure as you eagerly find your place straddling his hips; your wet hot cunt envelopes his cock with your slick, rubbing him as you whimper. "fuck, cyar'ika." he grunts. "gonna fuck you nice and good. promise." he mutters. 

you smile as you nod, "maker, Mando. I've-I've dreamt of this." you mutter. he smirks- he knows you have. he's heard it. 

but the pride is soon washed away with shock and pleasure as you line his head up at your entrance, easing onto him gently; his hands squeeze your bare skin and he wishes he could pull his gloves off and really feel you. 

dank ferrik, you are so tight around him; swallowing his thickness in your greedy cunt as your breath stutters, gasping at the stretch. you're hot, wet, and Din's eyes shut tight at the feeling. kriff, he won't last long. 

you take him gently, slowly, and all Din can do is breathe through it and resist his hips from bucking upwards and spearing you into two.

his brain is a puddle as you fully sheath yourself on him, thighs plush and shaking as you swallow him. 

"that's good." he mutters, breath shaky, his hands guiding you to move against his hips, "how does it feel, princess?" 

"Mando, fuck, y'so big, filling me-" you're moaning and he thinks he may pass out; heavenly, heavenly, you you you- 

you groan as you start to fuck yourself on top of him, your gummy warm walls coaxing Din towards his high, having been spurred along by the pleasure you'd been giving yourself earlier. 

you shudder at the curling sensuality of his words and he can feel you gripping him tighter and tighter, pulsing around him and dragging him down with you into the depths of pleasure. shivers of pleasure coast down your entire body as Din starts to piston up, his thick length, smooth and hard, spearing into your hot cunt. your desire drips down and smothers the fabric of his flight suit; briefly, he thinks he will never wash them again. your breath is laborious as you near your high- Din chases his, too, because this has already gone on for too long and he's greedy, as greedy as your tight, pretty cunt is and- 

he lets out a splintering moan when you cum with a scream; your legs quivering, weakening as you slump against him. Din fucks you through your high with a moan of his own, pushing up into your pulsing pussy, the wetness easing him to spear into you with a fire of ecstasy. 

"good- you're so good, y'feel so good, Mando," you whimper. that's it for him - he cums with a long groan, release snapping through him with a moan of your name. 

he sees colors, shapes of you in a meadow, spread on a blanket with him taking you from above; with you riding him in the cockpit of his ship; you, thighs spread on your father's throne while he delves his tongue through your plush folds. 

you are his. you will always be his, nobody else's. he will consume you.

he fucks up into you as he rides through his high, his seed smearing your chanel as he holds you close. "fuck," he mutters, rolling you both onto your sides as his hand caresses your cheek. 

"s'good." you mumble, smiling at him. 

he smiles back. you can't see it, but he knows you can feel it. 

"m'not done with you yet, princess." he promises, tugging you towards the edge of the bed, spreading your legs to see his own seed leaking out of you, mixed with your own wet, sticky spend. it's a sight better than any he's ever seen; shivers of desire roll down Din's spine. 

and then Din spends his time on top of you, pulling orgasm and orgasm from you until you're crying, shaking and heaving breaths; he's shaky, drunk from the pleasure of your wet arousal. he aches to taste you, to coax you to sleep with his tongue lapping up your spend; he needs to taste you. 

perhaps, another time. 

he soothes himself for now with his fingers, his cock; another time, he will taste you. 

--- 

YOU are exhausted. you can barely stay awake; but as Mando lays with you between the sheets, you can't help but feel so alive. the sun starts to creep towards the horizon line, over the shimmering sea; the gentle breeze of the world flowing through the faint curtains. 

"Mando?"

he cranes to look down at you, his thumb tracing over your spine.

"in the morning," you start, your hand trailing over his beskar. you figure it isn't comfortable to don this armor in the plush of your mattress; he stays no matter, willing to give you what you want. always, whatever you want. forever.

him.

you chew your lip, "will we- I mean, I just..." 

a thumb, warm though marred with old leather, pulls your lower lip from the clutches of your pearled teeth, soothing over the plush, bitten skin. a shiver runs down your spine as he coaxes you to stare up into that endless helmet. 

"what is it, mesh'la?" his voice is deep and soothing in its modulated baritone. you preen at the nickname in his native tongue and though he has willingly taught you words and phrases of his language, you are unsure of this one's translation. it sounds lovely coming from him. 

"please don't take me back." you whisper. 

he tenses under you; you can feel it. you wish you didn't have to plague him with your burdens of asking him such a crime; to take the duchess, the girl made of nothing but stardust, and give her the life she deserves. 

a whisper of your name. quiet, an exhale gentle and barely picked up by the modulation function of the helmet. 

--

DIN has been waiting for you to say it.

he wonders just about when he realized you were going to ask him to take you away. was it just now, after you'd finally connected in bliss? was it last night, when he'd taken a blaster shot to protect you - his job, of course, but a lifetime of debt to repay to him, you'd claimed - or, perhaps, was it all those months ago? 

your words pull him from his shock as you mutter softly.

"would you take me with you? away?" 

all the moments shared between your two souls wait with baited breath as Din tries to find his words through his thundering heart. 

"in the morning..." he parrots your words from before, but with a different tone. regret. his heart thumps as you tilt your head, bare shoulder glinting in the light of the moons. "will you still want that? will you want..." he doesn't finish the question, but he doesn't have to. not with you.  want me? 

you look at him with eyes so soft he almost melts. "I've always dreamt of leaving my life. it's not who I am." you're firm in your words, hand curling over his shoulder as you blink, "I never thought I would act on it. I had nothing to do, nowhere else to go. but now..." you shrug and he starts to feel hot at the implications in your voice. 

Din's heart thuds importunately under your sweet palm; could you feel it, under all the layers that separated his body from your bare one? 

"if-if you'd have me... it'd be a dream to stay with you. wherever you go." 

Din can't breathe; so many words burst to the forefront of his mind, but all he does is stare in awe. 

you'd been watching life through the jail of your parent's grasp your whole life; and what is the princess of a mid-rim planet to the rest of the galaxy? 

stardust.

"wasted dreams?" you ask softly, shaking your head, "that's worse than death, Mando." 

-- 

YOU fall asleep with Mando's arms wrapped tightly around your middle; the weight of beskar pushing you deeper into the comfort of knowing you've spent your last night ever in this system. 

his words echo in your head. 

in the morning, mesh'la, we will leave here. wherever you'd like. 

it's illicit; the things you're about to do, the traditions which will be seared. your eyes, bleary with exhaustion and hope, looks to the mirror across the room.

you lie in the arms of the Mandalorian, bare besides the plush sheets which wrap around your figures - and when you stare into the reflective piece of decor directly across, it's you who stares back in the reflection. you smile to yourself.

stardust.

those moments, you hope, will shine in broad daylight now in tandem with the sweet secrets after midnight. 

-

taglist: @silkiers @toobsessedsstuff @millersdjarin @tizylish @cloufire @kalea-bane @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @hello-th3r3 @bbyanarchist @ponyboys-sunsets

-

requests open. message for Din's taglist or Joel Miller's!

-

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” ||[10/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

"You're the one, You're all I ever wanted. I think I'll regret this."

— Mitski, "Your Best American Girl"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (live action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.

The past echoes behind you, as does the uncertain future that lies ahead. Where you go from this point on, you'll have to be quick about making your decision. There is unrest in the waters, and not everyone knows how to swim.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, Buggy being a simp, flashbacks

A/N: .... Half a year later, and an update. As I've mentioned several times already, I'm sorry for the delay. A lot of things have happened these past couple of months, work has been hella hectic, and I'm moving into a house next month. This chapter is not too long, but I hope it'll do until the finale. If you notice any grammar mistakes, no you didn't.

It's tough to have so much love in your heart but nowhere to put it. It festers in your body, churning until it sours and rots into something unspeakably ugly.

You try not to remember, but sometimes your mind possesses a will of its own; sadistic in nature, taunting you with images of events you wish would leave you be. 

You recall that day. You see images of it flash through the synapses in your brain on more than a few occasions; twisting and knotting until they form an enlarged image of what you have dubbed the day you were acquainted with true pain.

It was a rainy day, not even a month after Rogers departed from the world of the living. The winds were picking up, the ship was rocking like she intended to knock you off balance and leave you at the mercy of the waves. 

Even still, you refused to let go.

The tension between Shanks and Buggy was palpable through your fingertips for a while by then, the reasons behind which were entirely unknown to you. The way they looked at each other was vehemently acrimonious, yet you had no clue as to what had detonated this rift. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think about it?

Maybe you were so desperately naive as to believe that things would stay the same, even when it was plain to see that they wouldn’t.

Buggy and Shanks had always been … at odds with one another, but never in a way that struck you strange before. They were simply like that, for as long as you’d known them. Their rivalry was benevolent in nature, just boys being boys, pirates being pirates.

Not that day.

You had been talking to Shanks on deck, moments before it happened. The subject of your conversation has long since evaded your memory, but that’s all you did. Conversing.

Then, Buggy was there, only that he wasn’t there either. There was something different about the bright blue eyes you used to hold in such high regard. They were cold, inexplicably hostile. 

Foul.

There was rage in his irises, and that had been beyond the kind you were acquainted with. It was scorching, tenfold sharper than the kind you received from your foes. 

Only that he wasn’t one of your foes.

It was Buggy.

Your Buggy.

And you were on the receiving end.

“You’re going with him, aren’t you?!” He demanded in such a way that you felt like it wasn’t him at all. An impostor.

Whether it was the surprise or the shock that ensnared you, you didn’t answer at first.

“ANSWER ME, DAMNIT!”

“Buggy…” your voice was hushed, scarcely making your vocal cords vibrate with each syllable. “What are you—?”

“I saw it, so don’t bother denying it!” 

He stomped over to you, and it felt like the planks beneath his feet were about to break. “Just tell me! Tell me that’s what you’re going to do! Just get it over with!”

You tried to reach for him, intertwine his fingers with your own; a safety line amidst a storm. He never rejected the gesture before, but when your digits fell upon his soft skin, he yanked them off like your touch was molten lava.

His limbs were quivering, hands knotted to fists, burning with heat yet trembling with cold at the same time.

Then, he said three words. 

Three words that would come to haunt you for the next two decades to come.

“I hate you,” he snarled. “I wish we’d never even met. Be with him if that’s what you fucking want! What do I care?”

“Buggy—“

For a moment, you didn’t know how to breathe. 

How to blink. 

How to feel. 

You had been stabbed before. Burnt. Slapped. Stabbed. Whipped. Tortured. 

Long before Rogers brought you with him, you thought yourself well-acquainted with all the pain the world could provide. It marred your bones, painted your flesh, scarred your skin. The indents still stained your arms and legs, your face, yet nothing could compare to the agony that followed Buggy’s words.

Your heart felt hollow; submerged in neck-deep waters with no bottom in sight.

“Buggy,” the corners of your eyes were stinging, yet you could not recall if you were crying or not. The feeling was a foreign one, so much so that you had no way of recognizing the sensation. 

He left after that; turned his back and walked away, and it was the last time you ever saw him in the flesh.

The next couple of years following that incident were blurry, you can’t remember much of it. It was as though your brain decided to dismiss those memories in an act of self-preservation.

You remember staying with Shanks for a time, whether loyalty or self-preservation, it didn’t matter. You stayed until just the mere sight of him rendered your guts to stones. 

You had no reason to resent him. He was good, among the best, but he could not provide a cure for your affliction, so you decided to leave the Red-Haired Pirates.

Shanks never begrudged you.

After parting ways with him, it didn’t take you long enough to establish a crew of your own, and a name. “Cross-Hairs”, the moniker you replaced with your real one. It’s been so long since anyone acknowledged your actual one, it’s as if it never existed. 

Some people saw a strong woman with enough broken bones on her record to know she would ensure their survival just as much as she could guarantee their demise, yet they still placed their bets on it.

Thus, the Cross-Haired Pirates came to fruition. Escaped convicts, thieves, general rogues, but efficient people in their own rights.

They feared you as much as they respected you. Your crew was among the most loyal people you’ve ever met. 

If you told them to bark, they’d bite. 

If you commanded them to kill, they’d do so without question, but they’d still leave their lives in your hands. They were your pack of loyal hounds, but you were a wolf in their ranks. Your say was the last of theirs.

You don’t regret letting them go. You had nothing more to offer them after you’d found a reason to stay in Foosha Village. Whatever violence remained in the world; they could find it in your absence. 

Some of them chose to disagree with your decision, demand that you remain their Captain; their checks would never run empty, but they were silenced quickly enough with the swing of your blade.

You’re not proud of the person you were, yet you could credit your survival to her. 

Blood, bones, tears, and pain, it never mattered to you, yet it granted you a superior seat on the food chain.

You became the beast haunting everyone’s dreams. The shadow in their path.

Even so, the pain of other people could not relinquish your own. 

You burned every day and every second for twenty years, so you turned the world to ashes in kind.

———

Long ago, Cabaji found his captain on deck one night with a bottle nursed against his sternum, his back against the railing, and his knee propped up to rest his head on. He was drunk, and although it wasn’t an unusual occurrence on its own, it was still unnerving.

“Captain, you alright?”

“‘m fine,” Buggy answered tightly, lolling his head back and forth. It was dark outside, no moon, yet the first mate could spot the redness across the Captain’s cheeks. “What t- time is it?”

“Just past midnight.” Cabaji frowned at the pathetic display, and with some hesitance, crouched down so he could put a finger on the clown’s forehead. Holy shit, what a fever. “Captain… You’re burning.”

“Burning?!” Buggy wheezed, as if he’d been told the world’s funniest joke. He threw his arm out, bottle raised high, and repeated: “Burning? Oh, that’s just great! I never took you for a jester, Cabaji! That title’s usually reserved for yours flashy truly! You tryin’ to upstage your captain or something?”

“No, Captain.” His right-hand man lightly put his fingers on the clown’s forehead again, mindful of not letting them linger lest he wanted to lose them. “You’re seriously burning up. How long have you been out here?”

“Five minutes, an hour, fuck, twenty years perhaps!” Buggy took another sip of the half-empty bottle in his hold. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it did wonders for his mind. His troubled, asymmetrical library of a brain whose caretaker had long since abandoned their charge.

The jester leaned the back of his head against the hard surface of the railings, tipping the bottle carelessly to the side so that its content could spill onto the wooden floor without any concern. It stained his pants; he'd reek for days, but there was no urgency in ridding himself of the splotch. “How can I burn when there is no sun out, Cabaji? Answer me that.”

“I don’t understand… it’s the middle of the night, the sun will be back tomorrow.”

“MEH! WRONG!” He continued to laugh with no sense of humor. No joy. No nothing. Just hollow breaths meant to mimic his trademark sound. With no short amount of effort on his part, he almost tripped himself trying to get up to his feet. 

His next words almost struck the first mate as … hollow somehow.

“The sun stopped shining long ago.”

———

You can’t sleep, but it has nothing to do with the added weight on your abdomen. 

Buggy, even with his entity body stripped from him, feels heavy and sleeps soundly, and he snores. You can't help but marvel at the view, mindful of your movements as you do. 

He looks to be at peace, completely so. Content. You'd think that he'd be a bit more wary considering he's currently stuck on a ship with people who want nothing more than to throw him overboard, yet here he is.

He's here.

With gentle hands unbeknownst to you, you carefully pry him off of you and settle him back down once your body’s out of the hammock. 

He can rest, you think, and he does so like a newborn.

Even with your body no longer attached to him, you can’t help but marvel at the sight. His eyes are closed, breathing even, as though he’s completely at ease with the world. Light as a feather, you tug a strand of hair away from his eyes and resign yourself to a night of wandering to ease your nerves.

The air on deck is cold. You find Ussop leaned across the steering wheel, sound asleep. You have half a mind to scold him for his negligence, but the other half remind you that in essence, he’s still just a kid. He should rest as well.

So, you find a blanket and carefully pull it over him, hoping that the cold won’t catch him as easily as Arlong’s men probably will at one point.

The waters are calm as you lean over the railings to observe them. The moon isn’t full, but it still dons a soft light across the waters. You relish in the ambience the night sky grants, finding serenity in it all. 

“What’re you doing up?”

You snap your head down to find Buggy’s head poised next to your arms, having hopped over to you on the railing. He must’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, or maybe you had been uncharacteristically caught off-guard. 

He looks tired, but not disoriented as he props himself closer to you. If he’s moody from the lack of sleep, he doesn’t voice it.

“You’ll fall off,” you warn him.

“You can still swim, can’t you?” He points out. 

“What makes you think I’ll jump after you?”

“Won’t you?”

You glance back down at him, and you can vaguely spot an ounce of sincerity in his eyes; a genuine question that conceals the deep-rooted vulnerability underneath. It’s a rare look on him, or maybe it’s the hole of light in the sky playing tricks on your brain.

The two of you say nothing to each other for a while, but your eyes never shy away from each other. To be honest, you have no idea where this … this is headed. You’re not sure what to do about it either. Twenty years has left a gaping hole in your chest, akin to a supernova that swallows everything around it.

Turns out it will still consume any scraps of your youthful affection too, and you can’t tell if it fills the hole up or further deepens the void. You’re not sure you want to know.

“You should head back inside,” you finally say. “It’s cold outside.”

“So what?”

“Being a head surely leaves you at a disadvantage against the elements, does it not?”

If he had shoulders, he’d shrug, but he makes a pretty good imitation of it with just his head alone. “Dunno, but I don’t care.”

“You don’t want to catch pneumonia and die or something, do you?” I

t wasn’t meant as a joke at first, but the moment he hears it, a snnnrrrrrk develops into full-blown laughter that’s a hair width away from waking your crew members.

You don’t know what possesses you, but hearing him laugh like this, so genuinely, conjures a laugh of your own. It’s more hushed and subtle in comparison to your companion, but it’s there and it feels so strange to have it erupt from your chest. 

When was the last time you laughed? 

After a while, your combined laughter gradually quietens and when you look at Buggy next, you see him with eyes the size of plates, like he couldn’t believe what he just witnessed. Not in an alarming way, but in … adoration. Just unadulterated, complete awe.

For some reason, it pains you to have him look at you like this. After all this time. So, you turn your head back to the sea and let your gaze linger there again. You’re reminded that, like the waves, you can’t go back to how it used to be.

“When you’ve retrieved your body, you can go.”

Buggy freezes. "... What?"

"Once you get your body back, you can leave. I'll tell the crew you disappeared." 

It'll be easier for the both of you, you justify. He can get back to being Captain Buggy, and you can go back to being ... someone. 

You're no longer a captain, and you have no interest in playing the part again. He'll have his freedom, and you'll have your contentment in knowing that you have once more gotten to look him in the eyes.

It’ll hurt, but pain is an old friend.

He doesn't say anything for the longest time, but you can hear the cogs churning in his brain. "You mean ... You don't want to go with me, after all this time?"

You glance over your shoulder to the door to the kitchen area. "I ... Care much for the boy, and I know you tend to carry grudges. I don't intend to be involved with that."

"You don't have to be!" Buggy insists, almost urgently, like he's afraid you'll leave on the dot. "You can stay with me, and whatever business I have with the rubbery pri-... I- I mean, the kid, I'll keep it to myself."

You spend a second looking down at him, scrutinizing him of any signs that he's being false, before you avert your gaze back to the waves. Truth be told, you've never thought much of what to do once you left Luffy's crew. 

As far as you're concerned, you don't have anywhere to go back to. Maybe you'll return to Foosha village, pay Makino a visit, or maybe you'll become a wayward at sea. Make coin where you can, visit Shanks sometime?

But joining Buggy?

Now that's a thought you never believed would cross your head for a long time.

"I won't be a good circus performer," you admit.

He makes a pfsssssh sound, tongue waggling out of his mouth. "'Course you'd be! The strongest woman in all of East-Blue! People will bankrupt themselves just to see you in action! C'mon, just think about it!"

You bury the urge to remind him that if anyone will commit any bankrupting, it'll be him. Joining Buggy's crew, after so long? A part of you thinks that it can open a window of opportunity to provide closure. Grant him a chance to make up for his misdeeds.

Another part reminds you that the pain he once brought caused you two decades of misery, so why give him the opportunity to attempt the same once more? In all your life, only he’s ever possessed the power to render you so small. 

You might be among the strongest pirates across the seas, but someone always held you by a leash; dragged you, pulled you into every direction, and demanded your obedience. Rogers freed you from the leash altogether, but Buggy remains the only person you freely gave your leash to. You gave it to him, and he let it go.

Are you willing to hand it back to him, knowing what happened last time?

How does the saying go? 

Bite you once and twice, shame and all that.

"We should head back inside."

———

Coco Village, you think, is a lonely place; void of life; desolate. It reminds you of where you originally came from before Rogers brought you onto his crew all those years ago. A hollow replica of how it used to be.

A feeling of cold stretches across your skin at the memory of it all, like a layer of frost having come back to torment you. 

You glance around at the halfway-demolished huts, and you see its denizens with nothing behind their eyes. Whatever hope once resided in their hearts abandoned them long ago. It brings you no joy, but it doesn’t necessarily bring you any melancholy either.

It is not your sorrow to bear.

Nojiko’s cabin, on the other hand, seems like a pleasant reprieve. It’s not much, but judging by the delicate way she handles herself and her equipment, it’s a home.

A home hanging on a thread from Arlong’s pointy nose.

While Sanji’s helping Nojiko clean the plates, you’re seated across from Usopp, with Buggy’s head poised between you on top of the table. Wherever Luffy and Zoro are outside, you’re certain they’re concocting some sort of plan to get Nami out. 

It’ll be the first time he’ll have to make up a thorough plan, rather than making it up as he goes as he’s done so far.

You’re curious as to how it’ll go, though you’ll follow nonetheless. Your presence here with them depends on whether he’ll make it, and if he does, you’ll finally part ways.

You love Luffy, almost more than you’ve loved anyone else in your entire life. You were there to watch him grow, you were there to patch him up, to make sure he had food when Makino couldn’t afford to spare any. 

You love his hair, his eyes, the way his smile all but brightens up any dark corner in any room. You love him so much so that you’ll leave the moment you know he doesn’t need you anymore.

The thought, while maintaining a rooted spot in your brain, lessens your appetite and causes you to play with the food on your plate. It’s long since grown cold in your negligence.

Suddenly, a loud "BOOM!!" promptly snaps you out of your mindscape and back to reality. Buggy cackles, and although you're not the intended target of his joke, it still irks you to some limited extent.

"Can you just be quiet?"

"Aw, come on. Where's the fun in that?" There's a malicious glint in the clown's eye. "Do you really think your little toys can get through the skin of a fish-man?"

You have to commend Usopp for his resilience. "These are smoke bombs."

"Smoke. That's rich..." Trailing off, Buggy eyes your meal with the subtlety of a puppy looking for scraps, licking his chapped lips. "Makes me think of how long it's been since I've had any smoked fish." 

You spare him a wayward glance, fork ceasing its massacre of the flesh on your plate. Usopp notices the change almost instantaneously as he tinkers with his makeshift bomb.

The reply from the slingshot is quick. “Don’t give it to him.”

“As opposed to what?” You quirk an unbothered eyebrow. “Let Sanji’s meal go to waste?”

“Eat it yourself, then! You’ve hardly had any!”

“I’m not particularly hungry at the moment, and it’s either the trash or the clown.”

Usopp scoffs. “Like there’s a difference.”

“HEY! I’M RIGHT HERE, ASSHAT!”

Sanji perks up at the commotion and looks at you from over his shoulder, hands still wet from the washing. “I do hope you’re not discussing the possibility of discarding my food. Not when Nojiko has been so lenient as to lend us the necessary ingredients?”

Usopp shakes his head. “It’s worse! She wants to give it to the fucking clown!”

Sanji glances at you, and he speaks in that soft tone he primarily reserves for the women in his company. “Was my meal not to your satisfaction, Madam?” 

You incline your head to him in a way that’s meant to convey approval. “It was, make no mistake of it, but I’m afraid that my appetite is rather lacking at the moment.”

Buggy looks between the two of you, and his mood sours considerably. It’s as though a fire is burning in the back of the room, and the scorch threatens to incinerate the furniture and all the people inside. He halfway hopes it will, but although his Devil Fruit has granted him a plethora of powers people can only hope to dream of, prokinetics are evidently out of his reach.

No one notices, however.

Then, a minute goes by, and Sanji finally shrugs. “As much as I can’t condone Usopp’s anger, I can’t condone a good meal being wasted. Do with it as you please, my lady.”

Buggy guffaws while Usopp pales, but your face stays the way it’s always done. If anyone were to notice the way you discreetly inch the plate towards Buggy, they keep their opinions to themselves. 

If Buggy stares at you like you hung the moon and the sun in the sky, you keep your observations to yourself.

You don’t say a word, but you want to say a lot. 

You wish to say more than you've ever said before.

But you don’t.

———

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[commandershepardvasfuckit]

4th part with Daz’ai

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

As with the first 3 parts there’s no strong story so if you skip a part then it should all make since, but as each part is a direct continuation you may miss context.

F!reader x m!zandalari troll x f!draenei x m!worgen

Group sex, fingering, double penetration, knotting, fisting.

————

Sitting at the bar of the tavern here in this little town on the edge of the map you still were not quite sure how you got there. Well, actually you did know. You had gone back to Daz’ai ship the next day just like he had invited you and ended up on your back on his desk getting railed within an inch of your life, which you had expected. What you had not expected was an invitation to join him sailing for two weeks on his patrol.

You learned a few things about him. One: while he captained a warship, he was actually an explorer. He got his start in the Golden Fleet sailing on an exploration vessel, and worked his way up the ranks to eventually captain his own small ship. Once the war broke out even non-combat sailors and captains were stationed on fighting ships and after the war he was allowed to use the warship for patrol and exploration.

Two: despite his free and open spirit, Daz’ai never slept with anyone on his crew. He lamented ‘handling things himself’ between ports and how it would be nice to have someone around who was not on his crew.

Three: everyone knows Daz’ai and his reputation. Scarcely a moment had gone by since you docked where he was not in conversation and catching up with someone.

Which brought you to now. You had been sitting next to him in the tavern when one of the most beautiful Draenei woman you had ever seen walked up and began chatting with him. Most surprisingly was when she starting speaking to him in Alliance common he was answering back in it.

“Wait? You speak alliance common!?” you nearly yelled at him in common after speaking orcish the last few days.

“I do” he shrugged.

“So why haven’t you the last few days with me?”

“I don’t like speaking common unless I have to. In Dazar’alor the language is Zandalai, in the Horde it’s orcish, here it is alliance common, so I’ll speak it when necessary”.

“But there was no reason for us to be speaking orcish if you know common!”

He just shrugged, “You came to Zuldazar, to Dazar’alor, without knowing the language, so I can’t speak my tongue with you, so we’ll both just speak a different language then”.

“Don’t be so stubborn, Daz’ai” the Draenei woman chimed in, “And be a gentleman and introduce me, will you?”

He sighed, but you learned the woman was Mizra, a local shopkeeper born and raised in this little town.

“And where is your husband?” Daz’ai asked.

“On his way, we were just closing up the shop for the night when we saw you dock” she said, “Here for very long?”

“Just overnight, picking up supplies and having a little fun” he answered.

“Your ship, or our place?” she winked “And how about your new traveling companion, does she have the same idea of fun as you? Would she want to join?” she asked.

“Ask her yourself” Daz’ai said.

Mizra turned and smiled, “What say you? I’m assuming you’re adventurous if you’re tagging along with him” she elbowed Daz’ai’s side.

“I’m the first non-human she’s been with, so I think she’s trying to be at least” Daz’ai smiled.

Mizra was close to you now, her hands on your knees and her tail wrapping around your leg, “Well, if you are interested in expanding your horizons I can definitely help with that. Sounds like you’ve never been with a Draenei?”

“No” you answered.

“How about a worgen?” she smiled.

“No, never” you answered again.

“In that case, I think you may enjoy joining us” she was so close to you, her lips brushed your cheek when she spoke.

You looked up at Daz’ai, trying to gauge what he was thinking.

“Don’t look at me, I can’t answer this for you. I’d love to have you along, but of course you don’t have to, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You can always enjoy the town and then head back to the ship and I’ll be back later” he assured you.

“I, I think I’d like to come along” your heart was racing. You had never been with more than one person at a time, and only with another woman a few times before.

“Wonderful,” Mizra smiled, “how about you two head back to the ship, and I’ll go let Barton know the plan, we’ll be there soon”.

“Well see you there” said Daz’ai.

Back on the ship you sat on the edge of the bed feeling a little nervous, not sure what to expect, so lost in thought that the knock on the door made you leap out of your skin.

“Just Mizra and Barton” Daz’ai kissed the top of your head, “And if you don’t like something it’s ok to stop, no one will be mad at you, ok?”

“Ok” though you were still nervous.

Mizra wasted no time making herself comfy next to you, grabbing your hand and giving you a smile “I’ll take care of you, just trust me and let me know if you need to stop, ok?”

“Ok” you swallowed down your nervousness as best you could.

She leaned in and pulled you into a kiss, her tongue quickly parting your lips and placing a hand on your cheek. You relaxed into it, letting her lead while you felt Daz’ai’s familiar presence behind you. He sat behind you with his legs on either side of you and his hands on your hips to pull you back against him.

Mizra’s free hand slipped under your shirt to give your nipple a soft pinch, causing you to moan into her mouth. You felt Daz’ai’ much firmer hand between your legs, rubbing at your clit over your pants. She pushed against your chest, making you to lean back against Daz’ai before breaking the kiss and giving you quite the smile.

She said nothing, but swiftly got to work helping you out of your pants and undergarments, Daz’ai helped you slip your shirt off and busied himself with playing with your breasts instead.

She looked up at you for just a moment before slipping her tongue between your folds, playfully licking you up and down several times before turning her attention to your clit. You watched as behind her Barton hoisted her hips up into the air and flipped her skirt up, taking his time to line up before sinking into her.

Mizra moaned against your clit, sending warm tingles through your whole body, “Don’t go to hard darling, I want our new friend to have the full experience after all”.

He was massive compared to her, leaning over her with his snout buried against her neck, “Then don’t make me wait to long” his voice half laughing and half growling.

You felt Mizra’s fingers against your entrance, teasing for a moment before sliding one in though she only swirled it around for a moment before removing it. Then you felt her reaching under you and pressing her slick fingering against your backside. You whined as her finger slowly entered you, unaccustomed to the feeling.

“Relax” she cooed at you, “You’re so tense, and we can’t have that”. She slowly worked her finger into you all the way to her knuckle and you squirmed from the feeling.

“Darling, fetch me my bag, will you?” she asked Barton, who huffed but did go to get her the bag. “And you, Daz’ai, pants off and on your back please”.

“Yes ma’am” you could hear the smile in his voice.

“And my new little friend, you need to relax, Daz’ai can help with that so up you go” and she gestured to Daz’ai who was now stripped down and leaning back.

Your face was bright red, sure you had ridden him a few times, but not in front of anyone. You climbed on top on him, keeping your back to Mizra and Barton so that you could just focus on Daz’ai, and slowly lowered yourself down onto him, thankful that you were still ready for him from earlier before you docked.

Mizra placed a hand on your back and guided you to lay down on him and you happily buried your face into his chest.

You heard Mizra digging through her bag and the sound of a bottle of something opening. Once more your felt her slick finger enter your backside.

“Mmm, Daz’ai I can feel you in her” she practically purred.

You felt her stroking her finger inside you and teasing him through the thin layer of separation. She slowly worked a second finger into you, gently spreading them apart and working you open.

“Oh pretty girl” she cooed at you, “You keep tensing up so much, not much experience with getting fucked in the ass?”

“None, actually” you muttered into Daz’ai’s chest.

“Oh? Then I’m going to have a lot of fun getting you warmed up and then watching my husband show you how good a thick worgen cock feels stretching you out”.

Mizra continued, slowly adding a third finger, though now as you got used to the sensation it was starting to feel incredible. Between Daz’ai lazily thrusting up into you and Mizra fingering your ass you were always a whimpering mess and on the verge of cumming.

“I think she’s ready for you darling” she said as she removed her fingers.

You felt shifting around and then large, clawed hands on your hips, “I’ll go slow, I promise” came Barton’s gruff voice.

His tip must have been as thick as Mizra’s three fingers and you whimpered as he pressed in. You had never felt so full, between Daz’ai’s already impressive size that you were still getting used to and now Barton slowly filling your ass, your mind was rapidly going blank.

Mizra kept a close eye on you, watching your face and instructing Barton to either go a little farther or wait and let you adjust. It took ages, but eventually you felt the fur of his thighs brushing against you and his full length buried in you.

“Doesn’t he feel incredible?” Mizra asked you. She had moved to be sitting next to you and was playing with your hair.

You whimpered a ‘yes’ against Daz’ai’s skin.

“Go ahead darling, but go slow with her” Mizra told Barton.

Slowly he rocked his hips against you, tentatively giving a few small thrusts to see how you handled it and the beginning a slow pace of shallow thrusts while you adjusted.

Quickly you were reduced down into a moaning, blubbering mess. Daz’ai alone was more than enough as if, but now being between the two of them you barely had a thought left in your head.

“Daz’ai” Mizra began, “Stop just playing with her and fuck her for real”

“Just didn’t want to overwhelm her” he leaned down and nuzzled the top of your head.

“She’s okay now, just look at that cute face. She’s practically drooling on you. And I have other plans for her, so get her nice and relaxed for me, will you?”

You felt Daz’ai sped up, jostling you around quite a bit and causing up to bounce up against Barton and deepen his thrusts.

“Doesn’t that feel so good?” came Mizra’s voice in your ear, “I know it’s one of my favorite spots to be in”.

You could only nod at her, and even that was difficult. Your vision was a little, blurry and hazy from tears, they were good tears from being so overstimulated by it all, but it still made it hard to see. You did not last long now that Daz’ai was not holding holding back. Quickly coming undone, not even able to make a sound, just softly whimpering as the waves of pleasure spread out across your body.

“Finish up gentlemen, it’s my turn to play with her” Mizra said.

Daz’ai continued his steady pace and pulled you tight against his chest, he seemed to like having as much contact as possible. You felt him twitch and throb in you and and warm flood of cum as he moaned in your ear. He really did make the most incredible sounds.

Barton had sped up only slightly, still following Mizra’s directions to a tee though and not getting to rough.

“Tell me, sweetheart, do you know what a knot is?” Mizra asked you.

Despite knowing what all those words meant individually, at this moment you could not string them together and figure out what she was asking. “A knot?” you stammered out.

“Mmhmm, I think it’s time to show you what the best part of fucking a worgen is” Mizra affectionately scratched Barton behind the ear.

Barton began thrusting quicker and you felt something else press against your entrance. Something firm and large. He kept up his pace until a particularly rough final thrust you felt whatever it was press into your already overstretched ass and cause you to yelp in surprise before groaning at the new sensation. You felt the flood of cum deep in you and the intense stretch from the base of Barton’s cock that had now been shoved into you.

“Feel that?” asked Mizra, “Worgen have a wonderful trick for keeping cum from leaking out, that nice thick knot at the base. Though once it’s in, it does take a while to come out”.

As if to demonstrate Barton tugged back an inch or two, though the knot prevented him from being able to decouple himself from you.

“So now what?” you asked.

“Oh don’t you worry, there’s still plenty of fun to be had while you’re stuck like that. Daz’ai, Barton, won’t you be a dear and help her up so she can sit on his lap?”

It was not the easiest, but the two of them helped you eventually sit up onto Barton’s lap with your back to his chest and Daz’ai now removed from you and sitting next to you.

Mizra wasted no time positioning herself between your legs and without saying a word she plunged a few fingers into your dripping pussy. “Nice and relaxed now” she smiled.

Her fingers were not near as thick at Daz’ai’s cock had been in you, but still felt incredible with how Barton was still filling your ass. You felt her adding fingers and pressing in farther until she was stretching you almost as much as Daz’ai did.

She giggled, “Look what a good job you’ve done Daz’ai, that’s my whole hand”.

You were panting from both the actual feeling and just the thought of it. The feeling of Mizra wriggling her fingers about in you was making you see stars as she tried to find what you liked.

“You feel that?” she asked.

You gave a soft whine in response.

“I can feel that knot in you so easily, must be really stretching you out” she teased and rubbed his knot through you.

“Don’t break her” Barton chuckled, his claws resting on your thighs and occasionally he would slowly drag them up and down your sensitive skin, giving you chills.

At this point you had leaned sideways a bit so you could rest against Daz’ai. He was playing with your hair and kissing the top of your head while telling you what a good girl you were.

Mizra continued stroking Barton through you, rubbing your gspot with every move and making you clench down on her hand and around Barton.

“You know that knot will never go down like that” Daz’ai said.

“We have all night, and maybe I want to see how many loads she can handle while staying plugged” Mizra responded “Or maybe I just want to see how long she can handle that knot”.

She continued playing with you and Barton and teasing you the whole time.

“My love?” she directed to Barton.

“Yes?” he answered.

“You can go again, can’t you?”

In response he softly began bouncing you on his cock, his knot getting driven in just a little bit deeper.

Mizra continued stroking him though you, “Does that feel good? Getting your ass knotted by my husband’s big cock while I help him get off?”

It felt like you could barely breathe, both your ass and cunt were so overstuffed, your whole body felt over stimulated, but still Mizra did not relent. Your stomach did flips as you felt her brush her fingers against your cervix.

“Wow, even this far in you I can’t find his tip, he’s even deeper in you than I am” she said.

Barton was growling in your ear as more cum flooded into you, making you feel impossibly full, though Mizra was not done with you.

You lost track of time, how many loads were pumped into you, and how many orgasms you had. Mizra finally took pity on you when it seemed like you were on the verge of passing out, withdrawing her hand and just laying her head in your thigh while you waited for Barton’s knot to go down. You felt the flood of cum drip out of you once it was able to, leaving quite a puddle.

Mizra and Daz’ai doted on you while they helped clean you up, peppering you with little kisses and constantly asking if you were ok, which you were, just exhausted too. Even Barton had his head resting on your shoulder as was gently scratching your scalp and apologizing for his wife’s intensity.

Once you were clean and dry, the bed sheets changed, and everyone was certain you were alright Mizra and Barton left for the night, bidding you farewell and that they hoped they would see you again.

You laid on Daz’ai’s chest while he ran his fingers up and down your back. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked.

“Mmhmm” you sighed into his chest, too tired to talk, but feeling incredibly content.

“Good, I’m glad you joined us, though maybe that was a bit intense for your first time like that” he laughed.

“You’re still speaking common” you muttered.

“I don’t think your brain can handle trying to speak orcish right now. Just rest” he kissed the top of your head and pulled the blanket up over you.

[alexbrunn]

I have mini question:3 do you have plans a draw Henryk x Abella? :3 I love your art style ❤️

In general, to be frank, I don't have any definite plans in drawing anything (with the exception of the Forgiveness and Reconciliation comic).

I'm usually guided by the appearance of an idea and draw them as soon as they arise in my head, so that I don't forget or lose the motivation to draw them. So it's hard to say where the next idea will take me and who exactly it will be with: Pav/Marcoh, Abella/Henryk or maybe other fandom? So I can scarcely give a definite answer to that question.

However, I do love this ship a lot and it's second to me in all of F&H, and I so much love Henryk himself as a character with his theme because it's very close to me. He opens up so well in pairing with Abella... You can be sure that I'll have content on this ship.

I can now show two of my older works..... or rather one in two versions.

[vodika-vibes]

hiiii! i would like to send in a request for your follower event please!!! i was thinking of a monster/ghost au where the reader (i’ll leave gender up to you i’m not picky lol) was a medic for the 501st and was dating echo but died. so the reader is now a ghost haunting echo after he joins the bad batch!! i’m not sure if i want echo (or even the bad batch + omega) to be able to see the reader so i’ll leave that up to you as well if that’s okay? it’ll be like a surprise!! but i do want this to have a happy ending if possible please!!

Oh Traveler Come

Summary: You’ve always been a practical person. Realistic. So when you’re killed in an attack on the Resolute you’re legitimately surprised to find yourself sticking around after death. It’s not the way your world is supposed to work. But, when you find yourself bound to Echo, Echo who you were dating before he died, you start to think that maybe there’s a reason for it.

Pairing: TBB Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1542

Warnings: Some angst

Prompt: Ghost/Monster AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I wasn't sure, at first, how I was going to write this one, but I think I kind of like the idea that I came up with. Thanks for your request!

“What a hell hole,” You scrunch up your nose as you trail after Echo into the barracks of his new squad, “Honestly Echo,” You say to your boyfriend, former boyfriend, who you know can’t hear you, “You should bully them into cleaning more. This is a crime against me.”

Echo doesn’t respond. Of course he doesn’t. He can’t see you, though sometimes it feels like he can hear you.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on your part.

You’re a ghost. You died in an attack on the Resolute. Well, to be more precise, you were killed by Ventress. At least, you’re pretty sure that’s what happened. 

To be fair to yourself, you don’t actually remember dying.

But you’re a ghost, so you must have died. It’s the only logical conclusion. 

For a time, you were attached to Fives, and then he died (and oh, isn’t that just infuriating? You know everything that Fives learned, but you can’t tell anyone-) and then you found yourself hovering over Echo.

You suppose it makes an odd sort of sense. You’ve always been closer to the domino twins than anyone else on the ship…well, outside of Kix. Although, you’re not disappointed that you’re not stuck haunting Kix.

Absently, you roll in the air so that you’re lounging on your back, you tuck your arms under your head and cross your legs. Being a ghost is weird. You can only travel so far away from Echo before you’re snapped back to his side, floating through walls still feels…weird. And you constantly feel like you’re spying on the boys.

Also, you don’t need to sleep anymore. 

You shift when you hear a thunk, and you make a face when you see Hunter stripping his armor off. Time to make yourself scarce, just because they don’t know that they’re being haunted doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t allow them some privacy.

Sure, if you’ve seen one naked clone, you’ve seen them all. But still.

The only person you have any interest in seeing naked is Echo…and even then, not when he’s not aware that you’re watching.

You allow yourself to drift through the wall, and then sit up and cross your legs, lazily allowing your gaze to drift over the men walking through the hall.

What a lonely existence you’ve been cursed with.

Your hands find no purchase. Your gestures catch no eyes. And your pleas, whether they be whispered or screamed, reach not a single ear.

What horrific crime must you have committed to be cursed with this? It must have been truly awful-

“Hello?”

There’s no other explanation-

“Helloooo?”

This has to be a punishment-

“How are you floating?”

Wait, what?

Your gaze snaps to right in front of you. There’s a small child, a little blonde girl, standing in front of you, looking up at you through wide brown eyes. “...you can see me?”

“Yes, of course I can.”

“Gods,” You drop from the air until your kneeling in front of her, “How long has it been-” 

She reaches out and presses her hands against your cheeks, and you’re surprised that she can touch you, “You’re cold.” The little girl says with a small frown, “Like touching ice.”

“I’m a ghost, little one.” You say through a choked laugh, “I have been for what feels like ages.”

“My name is Omega.” She says with a bright smile, “What’s your name?”

You blink the tears out of your eyes, as you introduce yourself. 

“Would you like to come to my room with me? You must be so lonely.”

“I wish I could, but I’m bound to Echo.” You jab your thumb towards the door.

Omega looks from you, to the door, and then back to you. “He can’t see you?”

“Nope.”

“Or hear you?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s so sad!” Omega looks like she’s about to cry for a moment, and you flounder, unsure how to fix this, if this can be fixed. And then a look of determination crosses her face, “I’m going to help.”

“Are you?” You ask, bemused.

Omega steps around you and knocks on the door, loudly.

“They’re not going to believe you, kid.” You note as you take to the air again, folding your legs once more.

“I’ll make them.” Omega replies just before the door opens. Crosshair looks out the door, looking right through you, and then he glances down at Omega.

“...what?”

Omega lifts her chin, “I’m looking for Echo.”

Crosshair raises both of his brows, and then he turns to the side, “Echo, there’s a kid-hey!” He stares at Omega as she pushes into the room, and you, laughing quietly, trail after her.

“Um…which one is Echo?” Omega asks you, seemingly uncaring for the bemused, and bewildered, looks that were being aimed at her. 

“The one with the prosthetics.” You say, amused, “They’re going to think you’re crazy, Omega.”

She frowns at you, and then turns to look at Echo, “But I’m not.”

“I know that, you know that. But ghosts aren’t supposed to be real, kid.”

“Then tell me something that will make them believe me.” Omega counters.

“Uh…kid? Who are you talking to?” Hunter asks slowly. 

Omega says your name and you watch as Echo jerks, and something pained crosses his face. “She’s dead, you can’t be talking to her.” He says bluntly, and you’d almost believe that he didn’t care based on his tone, but there’s something so heartbroken on his face that your heart lurches painfully.

Omega stares at him for a moment, and then she points at you, “She’s right there. She says that she’s been following you for a while.”

Echo glances at you, or, well, at the spot where Omega says that you are, and the look of pain on his face only becomes more pronounced, “That’s…cruel, kid.”

“No, I-” Omega turns her gaze to you, “Help?”

You hesitate, and then you float over to Echo and lightly reach out, as if to touch him, though you stop before you actually manage it. “Tell him…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break my promise.”

Omega dutifully gives him your message, and Echo jerks in surprise. 

“She’s…actually here?”

“Right in front of you. She’s crying.”

You laugh through your tears, “Don’t tell him that-”

“Sorry.” Omega says sheepishly, “She didn’t want me to tell you that.”

“Why can’t I see her? Or feel her?”

“I don’t think anyone can.” Omega says thoughtfully, “She said that I’m the first person to see her since she died.”

For a moment, Echo looks wrecked. But then, he knows better than anyone how much you hate being alone.

You pull away from Echo, and return to Omega’s side, kneeling so that you’re closer to eye level with her, “Omega. I need you to pass on a message, exactly as I say it. Can you do that?”

She turns to look at you, “I can do that.”

“Good. Good girl.” You breathe out, and then you start speaking.

You tell Echo, though Omega, about Fives. About what he learned, about what got him killed. Omega is shaking by the time you finish talking, horror and fear on her face. 

“We need proof,” Echo says quietly, “Cyare, please tell me you have proof.”

Omega, her hands shaking, gives him your answer, “She says that the proof is in your heads.”

“Then we need to do something about this.” Hunter says, “Omega, can you be the go between for us and the ghost doctor?”

“Ghost doctor?” You repeat under your breath.

“You…believe me?” Omega asks, her eyes wide.

“It does explain why Echo always smells a little bit like ozone.” Hunter says with a shrug, “Come on, let’s get to the bottom of this.”

Half an hour later, Echo is hacking into a computer terminal when he stumbles on a file with your name on it. The file is a very detailed description of the attack on the Resolute, the attack that you thought killed you. 

Turns out, Ventress didn’t kill you. 

She used an ancient force ability to separate your soul from your body. According to the notes, you were meant to be bound to Ventress, as a weapon to be used against the Republic, only instead of being bound to Ventress, you ended up bound to Fives, and then Echo.

Your body is located on a small asteroid in wild space, kept in a deep coma to keep your soul wandering. Tech quickly makes note of the location, and then they go back to work at dealing with the chips. 

A single line of code added to the chips software by Tech, as well as a forced update to thc chips, meant that Order 66 could never be activated by anyone. And if someone managed it, the new order was to protect all jedi, rather than kill them. 

It would give the Jedi time enough to survive, if nothing else.

Then the Batch flees Kamino, with Omega. Intent on going to claim their doctor’s body, and then head to the Jedi temple in the hopes that they’ll be able to put you back in your body.

You and Echo will get your happy ending, you just have to fight for it.

And, really, isn’t that the case with all happy endings?

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chptr 14

🧡❤️🩶💛🚒🐦‍🔥

"So what's the plan?" Rigby jogged up alongside John.

"Here," John pressed a button at his wrist and the rock face in front of them opened; much the way a garage door might.

"Impressive," Rigby mused aloud. He let out a long, low whistle as he stepped inside.

"We need to clear a path around the pool. Jetpacks just won't cut it if we're gonna try n' stabilize One," John pointed to his brother's green Bird.

"Need me to pilot her?" Rigby's face held more than a trace of excitement.

"Oh...no, sorry," John scratched the back of his head.

"You'll be driving one of her pods. When we've cleared enough of the debris, and the villa has been stabilized; I may need you in Phoenix's carrier to help with moving One."

Rigby straightened and gave a nod.

"Time is scarce. Reports say Alan's okay, but we have a further three people in the villa who may require urgent medical attention, and I can't risk McCready's team in there until we know they have a chance at making it back out again," John sighed.

Rigby cleared his throat; his face visually construing a silent inner-debate.

"What?" John urged, then winced inwardly at his tone. Adjusting to Earth's gravity appeared to be even more wearing when fearing for your family's well being.

"You know, you can call them by name - Virgil and Gordon. We...we have your back," Rigby gave John an awkward clap on the back.

The clap echoed around the cavernous hangar.

John swallowed hard to staunch impending tears. There was a second's pause, before the astronaut stepped into his missing brother's Bird.

*. *. *.

"Knock, knock!" Parker called to signal his arrival outside of Alan's door.

"Erm...am I supposed to say who's there?" Alan's young voice came back.

" 'Oo's there? Well, hI'm glad to see that yer haven't lost your sense of humour along with yer bedroom!" Parker chuckled as he worked the lock on Alan's door.

There was a satisfying sound of the latch clicking, and the door swung open.

"Looks like you could use an 'and, Master Alan," he smiled, extending a hand.

"F-A-B-," Alan enthused, hauling himself up, and into the corridor, with Parker's help.

The teen cracked his back.

"Welp, I think I now hold the Tracy Island record for the longest pull up!"

*. *. *.

"We had to make an 'ole in Master Gordon's window to get to you. 'Fraid your brother's parking had made somewhat of a mess," Parker gestured towards Gordon's rooms.

"Didn't you teach him to drive?" Alan grinned.

"Cars, young Master Tracy, not rocket ships! And, I'll 'ave less of yer cheek! Scott might not be firin' on all cylinders at the moment, but you mark my words - I 'ave a memory like an elephant!" Parker chuckled, wagging a finger.

"You look like one too!"

"Oi!" Parker swatted at the teen as he ran.

*. *. *.

John and Rigby had made light work of clearing the debris surrounding the villa, and the structure was stabilised enough for a team to head up to help locate Virgil, Grandma, and Gordon.

"HELLO? VIRG? GRANDMA? GORD-"

"-OVER HERE!" Gordon hammered a small rock against a metal support beam.

The team tentatively picked their way over splintered floorboards and around mounds of rock that lay strewn across what was left of the comms room.

"Allie, is that you?"

"The one and only! I've brought some friends with me. Didn't wanna hog all the glory, y'know?"

"Phoenix?"

"Yup!"

Jonesy took a step closer, with a small hydraulic whine from the suit.

"Jonesy?"

"S'up Gords? I like what you've done with the place. You're kinda lacking in the door department though."

"Well y'know what Virgil always says; if you can't find a door, make one!" Gordon called from behind the fallen rocks.

"My thoughts exactly!"

"WAIT!" Tycho was almost pulled forwards into the rock face as he tried to stall Jonesy's suited arm.

"The structure's too unstable. Any attempt to move these boulders risks the whole lot coming down on top of Gordon," Tycho gesticulated wildly.

"Yeah, let's not do that." Gordon deadpanned.

"So what's the plan?" Jonesy couldn't deny that the thrill of using the exosuit had him itching to use his new superpower again. Two tonne boulder? No problem! He'd just shifted it like....kapow!

Tycho dragged his hands down his face as he thought.

"Hmm...we need to get a better view of what we're dealing with. Right here, we can only see half of the puzzle." Tycho pensively ran a hand down the largest boulder.

"And how are we gonna do that?" Jonesy was under the distinct impression that Tycho wasn't referencing the exosuit.

"I think I have just the thing!"

The scientist bent down and unfastened the clasps of a small metal case he'd carried down from the carrier.

"Jonesy, meet Mini Max.”

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

31 - Light in the Darkest Storms

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

Length: 19.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character death, flashbacks, discussion of virginity, references to past rape, smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, breeding kink

Notes: Holidays are over so we will go back to the regular posting schedule from now on. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Winter Town had scarcely ever been meaningfully populated in your time outside of war. Many who worked in the castle walls of Winterfell would find homes there but the town itself was not needed much when it had been the warmth of summer. But the closer you got the more you could see as the people all found settlement rivalling that of White Harbour or Barrowton, should you wager a guess you would say the more the people gathered it would be perhaps a fortnight or twice that before some fifteen thousand Northerns made home.

Only this time, it would be a King in the North to which the Northerners were gathering to settle close by in the winds. But whereas Jon Snow fit in this world without a shadow of a doubt, it was those echos of doubt shadowing over looks certain people were giving you. More then normal now, and many with a sense of unease.

The display on the journey home had rattled your own people and now they looked at their dead Queen as if her mind had snapped and were waiting for the rest of it to show it’s ugly head. But you didn’t know what to say to them to quell such concern, you had barley accomplished enough of it to bring Jon back down to something calm. He hadn’t been since that night, his eyes on you were not that of the same disturb as the people, but they watched you dark and close all the same.

Your horse riding beside his and constantly you tried to pretend as if you couldn’t feel his gaze, but in truth if you turned to look behind you, many gazes would’ve suddenly turned away abruptly. At least Jon would hold it with the same look.

Narrowed eyes with something protective behind them that he wasn’t sure how to express, not with how you’ve been.

When he had brought you back to your quarters on the ship, he had sat you on the edge of the bed, crouching in front of you with his hands keeping you steady on your upper arms. Asking you what happened, but you only stammered. “I’m- I don’t even remember getting out of bed, never had a dream like that..” You could only hear Hazzea’s screams that erupted into nothing as it was charred away along with the rest leaving nothing but black bones to haunt you. Or the look in the eyes of that dragon which was terrifying as it was angering.

It looked to the girl with nothing but a need to kill and then flew off, but how could you tell him that without sounding like only a dream? It must have been, but you didn’t feel like it. Your dreams varied from ominous to vivid and confusing but they never made you feel as if you were standing in the real world. It felt as real in that temple as it did when you turned around to find yourself back on the ship.

Cupping the sides of your cheeks, you hated how Jon’s face had been twisted into something just as upset as you felt on the inside. Grey eyes still tinted with a red behind them as your hands curled into your palms to keep them from shaking. His thumb running over your cheek as his voice was a bit breathless in his own worry, “Darling this wasn’t just some dream, I’ve never heard you scream like that..” Looking over your just as unsure state, Jon tried to tilt your face down to meet his eyes as they drifted away. “You weren’t -do you even know what language you were speaking?”

Your answer however, was specific. Too specific to the point it took Jon entirely off guard as his head jolted back a small bit. But it also dawned on you as you once more fell from his gaze, how specific that answer came in an instant.

It was the first flag that made you both feel uncomfortable over the matter, you had dreamt and spoke in a language you knew nothing of despite recognizing it coming from your mouth. “Do you know what you were saying?”

Distantly you nodded a yes, you could see everything in that temple clear as Jon was now. The enormity of a foreign culture you were ignorant to, the languages far from Westerosi common, the guards, the Queen at the very top and the two knights beside her. It was not the misting blurs of a dream world as you would recall. It was only half a story, one that was rambling as your mind still felt attached and Jon hardly could grasp how such a dream linked to what he saw.

Whispers of a Targaryean with three dragons and on the journey home you have a violent dream of dragons burning a child alive, Jon thought it could be a coincidence, but he felt doubt over it.

You had hardly slept since then, spending much of the nights out against the side of the ship looking out to the blackness over the night waters. One night he would convince you to try and sleep, the next you wouldn’t budge. It was as if you feared sleeping in chance of another dream, and perhaps you did.

Now as the sights of Winterfell came close as you all rode up, Jon beside you looked somehow like every other Northerner, and yet with the air of a King. Warm with the dark fur around his shoulders once more made him look intimidating but not with such in eyes. Grey eyes wide and bright, looking at his people with more then a humble nature, still finding it odd in his mind, that they would bow and kneel to him as “your grace”, as he nodded and acknowledged many of them.

You could only hope you didn’t look as lost and exhausted as you felt, tired of looking weak and pathetic at Jon’s side. The Queen who was losing her mind in the eyes of his people. A shame on his family that should be considered.

It had been busy the moment the gates of Winterfell rose up, neither you nor Jon bothering with much decorum. Things needed to be done and you wanted little time to spend watching people watch you. A decent number of resources on their way but you had to trust in others to covey details to the smiths on what exactly they were looking at. Groups finding purpose here and elsewhere as men around all worked to attend to the King in the North’s return but as you climbed from your own horse, your hands stayed attached to the saddle. Glancing around as whispers found their way in your mind, tingling against your skin as each flicker of eyes towards you spoke of judgment.

As one of the stable boys took the liberty of guiding your horse away you stood in the clearing feeling lost. Gloved hands now at your sides tensing and retensing as the whispers dulled to the increasing loudness of your beating hard in your ears, until it all came to a heart stopping end as Selyse came to your side. Eyes narrow and sharp as she quietly called your name, you could still feel your heart in your chest as you looked at her, but with a silence on your tongue waiting for her to speak first.

Glancing to the side before coming a step more to your front, “Maybe it is best if we bring you inside for now.” It might have been concern on her, but it was hard to see and every single even minor look in your direction made the whispering grow deafening. As if only a girl, you swallowed before nodding saying no words.

It was as Selyse shared a look across the way to Ser Davos, did the man’s attention diverting grab Jon’s eyes. Noticing your mother place a hand at your back and guide you inside without a word to anyone.

She knew her way around the castle well enough by that point, a fortnight here after your departure to White Harbour and she knew when places were busy and when not. It also, was the perfect time to bring you into the more quiet side of the kitchens to sit you down. Requesting a tea from one of the ladies there as she sat down at a small circular table just slightly to the side to look at you. A grown woman you were, but you knew your mother was looking at you and could replace it with the image of a young Shireen having a bad day in need of quiet away from others.

Not much of a mother to you in a long time, but she had been for Shireen’s entire life and for now that would have to do. Her voice was thankfully low in nature as was yours, “I haven’t seen you that nervous in a crowd since you were a girl.”

Quietly thanking the woman who placed a warm mug in front of you, it was brought just enough to your lips to blow ever so slightly at the steam before wagering a sip. Too hot to taste still, but the heat warmed your blood and sent out the remaining shivers of cold from you. Having another before slowly beginning to take off the cloak around your shoulders and let it drape over the back of your seat as did your mother. Hands still in gloves but felt the heat as they both cupped the side of your mug, “You should have seen me at my wedding. I was so nervous I wasn’t sure I was going to even make it to the Weirwood before passing out.”

Hardly letting out a chuckle, Selyse watched you for another quiet moment. “Celebrations were never quite a tradition in our family.” You knew she wished to ask, but instead found other things to occupy her voice that eased you into things. “The first time you came home from the North, you had asked your father and I, if feasts were supposed to be loud and chaotic. I remember not knowing if you were disappointed we never had ones such as that or not.”

You mustered half a smile, “Likely a bit of both.” She rose an eyebrow in question as you took another sip, “I enjoyed watching the others have such a good time, but I was worried you and father would be mad at me if I participated. Was worried about a lot of things from that first visit, thought if you both knew I’d never be allowed to return.”

Tilting her head in slight amusement with a lighter air on her tongue, “That assumption clearly did not work out in that manner.” Nodding at her, your eyes felt distant. Trying to not see the stares and hear the whispers and you felt your chest tighten again. Leaning forward to you, she lowered her tone with a murmur of your name. “Is there nothing more you can say of that night?”

Hand stopping as it was reaching the liquid to your lips, you sighed and let it drop back down. If the servers milling about were listening, they did a very good job at not showing it. “I told you, I wasn’t even aware I had gotten out of bed, I know even less then what they all saw.” It was silent for a second before you looked down at the table away from her, “It felt as if everyone was speaking about me out there, like everyone was watching and whispering about what happened.”

“No one was doing such a-”

Your tone almost snapped, but it reigned in almost as soon as you opened your mouth. “They were, we both know they were. Everyone had been. I have one nightmare and now my own people look at me as if I’ve lost my mind.”

Your mother was quicker then you it seemed, “You look at me as if I’ve lost mine some days.”

Narrowing your brows for a moment, you relented just as fast in acceptance. “You are following a belief, a faith. I had a dream that made me walk and scream in my sleep. Two very different kinds of insanity, I would say.” Your nails tapped at the mug as your eyes slipped closed as long as you inhaled deeply. “I’ve hardly slept since that night. As if I know falling asleep one night I will have another dream just like it, but maybe this time I’ll do worse then scream.”

Both knowing the answer to it, she put the suggestion forth regardless. “I can speak to Maester Wolkan, essence of nightshade could help you sleep-”

Your tone was sharp as was your eyes, “I’m not about to begin relying on a few drops of poison every night just so I don’t have scary nightmares, mother. Besides, it wouldn’t help how little I’ve eaten either.” All you could see was the bones, those black, charred bones of Hazzea as clear as day and then you’d hear her fading scream and all appetite would leave you. Nothing felt appetizing when such senses invaded your mind.

Leaning into the quiet, only sounds around that of shuffling, bubbling and whatever they were preparing behind you, your mother was more stern then before. “You barley take care of yourself as it is. Always running yourself ragged trying to do everything, you will be able to do that even less if you have no food or sleep in your body.” Trying not to roll your eyes, knowing she was only stating the honest truth. “Dying once has not made you immune from starvation.”

Sighing deeply, you knew she meant well. Taking food for granted was not something she nor your father were uncaring with. “Plenty of books in Winterfell, could always made soup if I let things get that dire.”

The dropping look in Selyse’s face was one you knew she had given Shireen too many times when she got too clever for her own good. “I am trying to get you to care of your well being. Strange events have followed you since your death and they are only getting stranger. You need to be looking out of more then only other people now. Especially if-”

Cutting her off sternly, you didn’t want to hear about this. Not now. It hadn’t been brought up since before that dream and you were beginning to feel a creeping voice in your mind that had been gone since the months leaving Castle Black. Ones that you were too much of a burden, too much of a problem again.

Jon knocks down one problem with you, and another takes it’s place in a matter of days. You should have stayed on Dragonstone with your father, at least you wouldn’t be in Jon’s way thousands of miles apart. Maybe if you got up and left right now, everyone would be too busy to notice you disappear.

It choked your throat and down to your lungs in an ill sensation at the anxiety of, would Jon secretly be grateful once you were gone? He was too kind to tell you to leave his life, he always was. Always placated your burdens as if they didn’t weigh him down horribly. Once afraid you would be dragging Robb into a miserable life married to you, but it seemed he was the wrong wolf you were the constant of issues for.

Silence painful before you sighed, not a sign of strength holding your resolve left in your eyes. “You and father don’t have to worry about this sort of thing.” Softening in your eyes, was an apologetic sorrow that was bright for any to see. “You haven’t had to wake up every single day for months, worrying you are getting in his way. Standing between him and real happiness because you don’t know how else to contain how you feel. I was worried in Castle Black I was ruining his life and now it feels like I’m back to doing just that. What do I even offer him? What as a Queen do I even bring to his cause he could not do himself, better?”

Selyse didn’t have an answer to that, because you did not want one. It was a spiral that begged for others to toss you away in worth or use as you spent a year in a new life being tortured with. More for you had changed in those months then many encountered in a single lifetime.

It hadn’t been sitting there to pressure you, it was almost hidden away so any who wandered in might not have spotted it, but you did. You saw it almost right away and the second you traced your fingers over the fabric you found yourself sitting back on the edge of the bed. Material in hands as you ran over the details. It was clearly made to fit you with detailed accuracy.

Had it been meant as something in your face, likely there would’ve just been people there already to put you in it. Instead it sat alone, in the quiet room for you to contemplate. It would be your choice this time, both of you and somehow that felt more strange then it did the first time. Neither you nor Robb had a say in it, and it was to happen at the end of what turned out to be the start of a nightmare that had yet to end.

Not much of the ceremony did you recall. Were your life to be staked on it you’d have no way of saving yourself if the only rescue was to recite the words you spoke. Did you even breathe? You were a blur walking towards the Weirwood and part of having no choice in the matter made that memory easier to look back on then the willing one you had now.

Women like you weren’t supposed to choose. It wasn’t how it worked, you never grew up expecting you’d have a say in it. The way Cersei Lannister made it sound like you’d be sold off like some broodmare and perhaps for many it was as such. You were lucky it was Robb, more lucky then most highborn women ever would get. But here you were with a choice of freedom and that was more difficult to do.

Coming to terms with having love after Robb was growing a bit better, more time spent considering the truth that he would not want you to be miserable after him, but marriage? Forsaking the name he shared with you and taking that of his brother? Jon came first, but Robb was never less then he was.

It was all so complicated in your mind.

Still now, you could see the hateful eyes in Catelyn, how if you made this choice she would look down at you forever as something more horrid of a word then you’d prefer to think coming from her. A woman who parts of your life acted as a mother, was your mother by marriage in war for three years and ended that life on nothing but good terms. If you chose to do this, she would hate you for eternity.

“I can't tell if you hate it or not.”

Head snapping up, only then realizing you hadn’t even heard Jon enter, or the door close behind him either. Your brows narrowed in question before he gestured down to the material in your hands, an easy breath coming out close to something of a laugh as you shook your head. “On the contrary, it’s eeiry how well you knew what to tell them to make.”

Stepping closer, Jon gave half a smile. His voice low and somewhat quiet as he sat next to you, but a decent foot of space between his body and yours was almost staggering in the quiet. “Almost like I’ve known you most of my life.”

A more genuine grin came about you, looking up to not anything of significance on the stone wall ahead as your tone fell in an amusing monotone. “My father’s known me my whole life and he couldn’t even tell you if I have a favourite food of any kind.”

The lightness in Jon’s voice had you without notice, forming an easy grin on your face even if it didn’t quite match the soft but combating glaze over your eyes. “Easy, you love peppercrab stew, stuffed clams, anything that comes from the sea.”

Muttering a playful in mocking return, “Almost as if I grew up on an island.”

Jon ignored your jest, “And even though you claim you don’t like sweet desserts, you would live off of blueberry tarts if it was possible.” That time he caught the playfully offended look in your eye at being called out, a laugh easier on his lips then it came huffing from yours. “I also know you hate Dornish wine because every highborn in King’s Landing drinks it by the barrel, and that you think serving pigeon pie at weddings is disgusting.”

Your fingertips were tracing along the ornately stitched design, noticing it was almost a seamless blend of what looked like carvings of antlers as they trickled down into outlines of a wolf only noticeable up this close. None but you or him would even be near enough to make out such details but you knew they were intentional. “You would too if you were saw how many dead and bloodied pigeons end up inside those things before they’re cut open.”

Leaning back a bit, his palms braced more against the fur along his bed as Jon kept his eyes on nowhere but you. “Good thing I didn't tell them to make it.” Your head rose up a bit, hands stopping in motion as you looked to nothing once more hesitant in your shoulders, as Jon leaned forward again this time a bit closer as his voice rasped more beside you. “We don’t have to do anything, we can go back out there and just let our people enjoy a good night, but I need you to tell me if you want this or not.”

You could hear Robb clear as day, voice warm and soothing behind you as his hands ran along your arms before giving yourself over to him.

“If you don’t want this, I need you to tell me. We don’t have to do anything, but you need to be honest with me about it.”

He had given you the exact same out, and you didn’t take it then and it ended better then you could’ve imagined for the time you and Robb had with each other. Would taking that opportunity from Jon now be nothing but a regret? Or was otherwise being too selfish?

“Before I married him, I told Robb I was worried he would be trapped in a miserable marriage being with me. But we didn’t get a choice, we had to do it no matter what. But this time, if you marry me, it’ll be my fault if you end up hating your life.” Looking back up to meet his eyes, Jon was closer then before and instead of even entertaining such an idea, he cupped both sides of your face, pulling you up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss.

Your hands dropping the material into your lap as your hands reached up to press against his chest with your palms flat. It was soft, not teasing but keeping you just on the edge of needy as he would pull away just long enough that you wanted to whine and chase his lips, returning back to you as one of his hands danced back to run his fingers through your hair.

Pressing another innocent one, Jon then pulled back only enough that he could look you in the eye as yours slowly opened again. “You make me happy, and I make you happy. That’s enough. But we don’t have to do this-”

Shaking your head, heart almost so light it could fly from your chest and be lost to the skies hiding above the stone walls. Your hands ran up to gently wind around the back of his neck as you leaned up to kiss him, even a more gentle one then before. Almost just a tender press of lips before you pulled back. “I do, I- I just, my head is so confusing how it feels. One moment I’m sure as any has ever been that I want to be with you, and the next I’m terrified I’m wasting your life and you’ll hate me for it.”

Tracing his nose along the bridge of yours, Jon’s voice was a low rasp, “I suffer through a lot of things I hate, just add one more to the list is all.” If his intent was to make you fight between laughing and rolling your eyes he succeeded. Pulling away from him with a failing to hide grin fighting against him trying to yank you back.

“I only want you to be sure you won’t regret this down the line. Not easy to change your mind about a wife when you’re King.” His thumb running smoothly along your cheek and jaw, nudging your nose with his before capturing your lips once more. Only pulling back enough so your lips brushed his as you spoke, “You’re making it very hard to have a serious discussion, do you know that?”

Kissing you once more, Jon muttered against your lips, “Good.” Before capturing them again, one hand swiftly moving the fabric from your lap off to the side with a small toss blind, before moving you back, hands at your hips to all but toss you to the middle of his bed that time. Eagerly climbing up over you, meeting you with a sweeter kiss then was suitable for how much he just handled you like a rag doll. Both of his hands sat at the sides of your head, his voice deep as his grey eyes shined bright down at you. “Do you need me to prove how sure I am of marrying you? Because it also happens to be the same as showing you what my favourite dessert-

Calling his name indignantly, you laughed while feeling a fluster rise up your chest and into your cheeks instantly, Jon laughing brightly down at you. “Isn’t the man supposed to act a gentleman? Treat the innocent maiden with respect before a wedding?”

Jon trailed his lips easily down your neck, nothing more then greedy kisses to the sensitive skin as he spared you from him marking it with his teeth, muttering into your skin, “Innocent maidens as far as I’m aware, don’t normally let the man take her the way I do you, before the wedding.” He grinned again you tried to move out from under him, only making that embarrassment in you worse as he leaned more so you couldn’t hide from his words.

“If I ask any crew on our journey home if they think you have any innocence left for me to take from you, they'd say yes?” Running his lips down your neck to your collarbones, tone twisting to a deeper husk. “Or did everyone already hear how hard I took you at night? How much you tried to keep quiet but you just can’t stop yourself from sounding so beautiful when you cry out for me,”

Just as Jon shifted, one of his hands moving down along your dress as he reached the skirt already bunched up from his movements did you reach out and snatch his wrist. A playful mischief in his eyes as he pulled back to look down at you again, wanting to laugh at the narrowed look in yours. “Did you and Robb form a secret pact to endlessly embarrass me, because you’re both naturally quite good at it.”

Pushing up more to look down at you again, palms back braced against the furs of his bed, Jon smiled more softly this time. “No, but I do need you to tell me what you actually want to do. We can stay right here, I’ll strip you bare and taste you until the sun sets before I finally fuck you and everything can stay the same.” Leaning down to kiss you once, your hands running along his shoulders and one wrapping behind his neck gently as he looked back at you. “Or, we could do all of that, just a bit later after I’ve married you. But you have to be the one to decide. I’ve wanted to marry you since I was a boy. I made it this many years, I can wait as many more as you need.”

Rarely did this embarrassment extend passed only such a small amount of people, but as you heard the knock on your door did you know it was exactly that. You didn’t have much of other options, and asking felt like a child playing a game of fantasy, but it would be a sad display for you to do it alone. The guard outside the door calling to you, “Ser Davos here to see you, your grace.”

Inhaling deeply as your heart raced, you grabbed a long shall to partially wrap around you almost to hide what you were clearly wearing. “Send him in.”

Walking in, he could tell instantly what you were feeling. Having done mostly everything yourself, you preferred unlike last time, not to have handmaidens fuss over your hair and face, but it also meant you had spend some time now alone with your thoughts. “Your grace,”

Dropping any act of formality right away, your voice was higher in pitch as you also spoke probably too fast to sound proper. “Is it childish of me to ask if I look even halfway decent?”

Davos laughed however, walking in more with a comfort. “I’m not exactly a man with the best sense of dress, especially if you ask my wife, but you look beautiful.” Watching you sigh out as you almost defeated sat down on the edge of the bed, you found little comfort in what now was your former bedroom. Davos watched closely, finding a similar assessment Ned Stark had before him. “Of all the things to make you nervous and this is it.”

Your head made a move to fall into your hands, only to recall you at least had attempted to hide your lack of sleep with some kind of makeup. Leaving them flat on your lap as he sat next to you. “If it’s possible I think I’m even more nervous this time then the first, and this is when I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Looking you over closely, he asked the question on the tip of his tongue that he suspected you were just nervous enough to answer honestly. “Why not tell your father you might be getting married when we left Dragonstone?”

Wanting to shrug you knew that wasn’t the right response. Sighing deeply, your hands wrung together as your head stayed hanging down. “When I married Robb, the only family I had there was Robert. Renly wasn’t there, Shireen wasn’t, my father or mother..I was just shipped off to the North with no one there with me.” The last thing you wanted was to feel this choked up, forcing it down deep inside to not break you, even as it peeked through in a tiny crack of your voice. “Lord Stark gave me away last time. Raised me here almost half my life then, and even when I thought my own father was gone he was still the one I missed. The one I miss now. And I know that makes me sound horrible-”

“It doesn’t.” Looking up at him, your eyes stung red as your heart constricted trying not to feel like such a child at how much you wished Ned Stark was here this time too. Davos though, held not a single ounce of judgment in his face but a comfort only that of a father could give. “I admire your father in many ways, but I’m not blind to the difficult relationship you two have had your whole life. He’s a tough man to get close too, and Lord Stark was father enough to you that when it came down to it, you chose to return to your husband to try and save his life together when everyone else thought you’d go to Stannis.” Leaning forward more to ensure he had your proper attention, “If I can miss your baby sister like she was my own daughter, then you can miss Ned Stark when he was your father by marriage. It’s okay to miss the people we love.”

Nodding, you swallowed harsh to force down those heavy pains in your lungs to the depths. “My father sent me to marry Robb all alone, and then called him a usurper and a thief for leading his own people when they felt like they had nothing. Called me a traitor for siding with the husband he married me to.” Almost lost for a moment, in the memory when Robb had reassured you so gently that if fighting your father was what was to happen, he refused to let you shoulder it alone. “I know you barley knew him, Robb..but you know Jon..”

Davos reached an arm to wrap around your shoulder, glad on the inside at how easily you let him comfortingly pull you into his side. “I do, and I know he loves you more then anyone in this world could love someone. Was quite the grouch when you were in White Harbour because he didn’t know what to do with himself without you.” You huffed a laugh, but moved little else. “It doesn’t matter of these things come for us all in winter, because as long as Jon has you, he has a reason to keep going, to keep fighting back.” He was quiet, hoping you’d listen to him more then only hear him. “I know I’m not Ned Stark, but I’ve known you your whole life, so how about we get ready to give you away before your husband to be just comes looking for you himself.”

Laughing in his side, Davos joined as well. Giving you a moment to collect yourself, you breathed deeply as your heart slowed to something more manageable. “I know you’re only here because of my fathers order, but I’m still really grateful you are Ser Davos,” Your hand reached up to the necklace that you had yet to take off once. “And I know Shireen is too. She didn’t get to be at the last wedding, but thanks to you she will get a front seat this time.”

Pulling you up, you knew he could see the threat of tears wanting to fall and without even a doubt did he pull you into a hug. You couldn’t have known it, but you fell right into it just as Shireen had the day she learned of what happened to you. And he felt that pull of a father just as strongly. Before coming to the door, Davos stopped and turned to you, nodding down to the shall wrapped around you with a pointed stare.

Anxiously you gripped it tighter before exhaling deeply and undoing it. Nervously putting it down on the bed as the ivory dress now was allowed to breathe. “It’s almost unnerving how well Jon knows you, was trying to find the right way to describe it when he wrote back here from Dragonstone. Complaining that he knows what you looked like in his head but hadn’t the life of him to figure out how to describe it.”

You didn’t realize that Davos knew Jon had been thinking about this, and the surprise was shown in your eyes as your lips parted slightly with an unspoken question. “Ended up having to go ask your mother what he should be telling them,” Your eyes widened more as he laughed. You beginning the question of if she knew when he only answered, “Honestly, your grace, I think he was relying on you being a bit oblivious at times. By the time we left harbour you were likely the only one who didn’t know.”

Shaking your head, Davos in a clearly practised manner, held his arm out for you to loop around and you felt none of the awkwardness which your actual father would’ve provided you with. “Thank you for this, Davos, for everything.”

An easy smile came over his at the very faint one you were trying to hide on yours. “Nothing to thank me for, I’m here because I care, not because I was ordered to be. Your father would’ve kept me on Dragonstone had I not been the one to suggest coming back North with you to be his eyes and ears.”

The halls of the castle were cool in the fabric, but it had been made with something warm enough that you were certain at the least would not freeze you to death. “Why?”

“I believe in your father, but I’ve also spent over four years watching him make questionable choices. As far as he’s come, I’ve felt much more useful at you and Jon’s side. Better listeners you two are then Stannis Baratheon if anyone can believe that.” Your laughter echoed through the empty halls as you came to the doors leading to the main court yard, and from there it would be a nothing walk to the godswood where it was all waiting.

Standing by the doors, you inhaled shakily. “All our lives we never thought we’d be able to be together, and now I’m supposed to just walk out there and marry him like it’s easy.” Don’t let your eyes sting you told yourself, not now.

“It is easy, you just walk out there and do whatever it is Northerners do when you pray to a tree.” Both of you almost burst into a heavier laugh at that, swallowing a doubt down with a nod as he prompted you to stand straighter as he did. “Come, time to give that man the one thing that might make actually him happy for once in his life.”

Jon knew Arya would’ve been mad she wasn’t the first person he told. She had seen him kiss you in the stables when he was sure you both were alone, and later came storming into his room with a shove far too strong for a girl her size, angry he didn’t tell her.

Amusingly, she had gotten more angry the more he refused to admit it. Trying not to yell at him when Jon told her sneaking around with a highborn girl wouldn’t be a very respectful way to treat you. Saying you were nothing more then a friend, only to have her huff, turn away from him muttering “I forgot it’s normal to shove your tongue down your friends throats for no reason.”

Giving her a nudge in the back as he snapped back at her, “When you're my age, try go making some and then you’ll find out.” At that point she had thrown something at him, only to get tossed over his shoulder like she weighed nothing more then a pillow to get unceremoniously tossed onto the bed in her own room as she shouted this conversation wasn’t over yet.

But, he knew she was smart enough to realize why he and you were hiding things, and didn’t really bring it up again. Instead she sometimes would end up playing diversion to give you and him time alone without the others pestering you. Arya had always adored you, and while he never confirmed anything to her face they both understood she got what was happening.

Then that damned raven came. The month leading up to their arrival was filled with Jon growing increasingly unhappy, trying his best to placate Robb’s misgivings about what you and him were being forced into. All without giving away how angry he was that Robb was finally getting the very last thing Jon had solely to himself.

It was a little easier once he was already at the wall. Far from direct reminders of you, he had the time to let that heartache simmer, even though he was aware it had not once gone away. Instead he found a life full of other recruits who hated him, an instant contempt in Ser Alliser Thorne who from day one made it his life’s goal to make Jon as miserable as possible. If the knife wounds in his chest spoke anything, he’d say the man did indeed succeed in that endeavour.

Slowly it became a bit easier, learned how to better tune Thorne out when it mattered, and found common ground amongst the other recruits. Then one day, Jon was in the training yard helping teach Grenn a better grasp of the basics when he stopped mid way through and looked behind Jon, “What in seven hells is that?”

While Jon didn’t think much of Samwell Tarly at first, it changed soon. Watching the man stammering through an introduction with nerves worse then yours, only to watch Rast enjoy beating him senseless despite him being on the ground asking for it to stop. The normal thing to do, would be to let it happen and Pyp had even tried to pull Jon back as he moved forward. But it lasted only as long as it took for the man on the ground to yell in pain that he yields.

If Thorne had thought putting Sam with him as his watch partner was to punish him, he underestimated just what kind of person Jon was. It took barley any time standing up there as Sam told him why he was there for Jon to realize it. This was someone who had bravery in his own way, being able to tell him how his father had considered him worthless and would either have him take the black or would kill his own son for not living up to his expectations. He was someone who didn’t deserve to be treated the way his father had, the way Thorne wanted everyone else to treat him as well.

After that, being friends with him was easy. It had been a long time since Jon had met anyone who was just easy to talk to, easy to be friends with. They had been scrubbing down the tables one day, Sam having brought up how the brothers would sneak off to Mole’s Town to see the girls at the brothel and for whatever reason, Sam had the right combination of Jon’s trust that you came into his mind and refused to leave for a second. You were right there, and he couldn’t look away.

Jon hadn’t even so much as said your name since stepping foot outside the Winterfell gates and gods help him did Lord Tyrion ever try. But as he listened to Sam he felt that familiar ill in his chest that he did when riding away from you. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit unfair? Making us take our vows while they sneak off for a little Sally on the side?”

Glancing up to him with a bemused twist on his face, Jon almost mocked him for it, “Sally on the side?”

Relenting a bit, Sam found it in him with no malice to be amused as he was slightly put off by the topic at hand. “It’s silly, isn’t it. What, we can’t defend the Wall unless we’re celibate? It’s absurd.” Jon almost offhandedly spoke, not really thinking of it in the same terms, as he had only ever eyes for one. Once you came along, Jon didn’t really have the energy to care about other girls. Commenting from his own point of view that he didn’t think Sam would’ve been so upset about it.

Feeling bad instantly as Sam dropped his expression a little as if expecting better of him, “Why not? Because I’m fat?” Jon saying no earnestly, and while Sam clearly hadn’t taken Jon in offence coming from him, he suspected this was someone who was used to having his character put up in scrutiny a lot of his life as he found an almost jesting lecture of a tone to him. “I like girls just as much as you do.” A pause in his words as he came down to something more in the world of Sam’s own realism. “They might not like me as much.” Then it came down to a shadowing of insecurity that Jon knew too well on himself. A wish to shrink in on himself and hide way from a world ready to look at him in judgment, but a trust in this room that at least Jon wouldn’t. “I’ve never...been with one...” Glancing up from his work to Jon he tilted his head at him as if in on a truth that didn’t exist. “You’ve probably had hundreds.”

Were Sam not so serious, Jon genuinely might have laughed. Initially thinking to himself if Jon was what Sam thought someone girls would want, introducing him to Robb might just break the remainder of his mind. Whether he even found them attractive or not, not once did the girls around Winterfell or the scatterings coming in and out of Winter Town ever look Jon’s way once when Robb was around.

But, he also found not any reason to lie to him. Jon looking up at Sam with a quiet honesty, “No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you.”

Doubt was the first look, then a disbelief as if he must be full of it. “Yeah..I find that very hard to believe.” That was a fair point he contended. There was no denying that girls would look at the two of them and find more of a general majority with a preference to one over the other, but not much of that shallow attributing of looks mattered to Jon.

He didn’t think much of Sam when he first stepped into the training yard, but quickly found a friend that was becoming someone he could genuinely trust. And perhaps, it was that feeling of trust which made Jon fight internally as Sam looked at him. That wonder of, what did it matter?

Jon spent his entire life hiding what he felt for you, because he knew it was never going to be a life he could have outside of fantasy. Six years he would sneak in the shadows with you, and in public he had to always be aware of how close he was getting. Not to get too handsy, not to be too physically playful or affectionate, not to look at you too long when he wasn’t supposed to.

But here? In a frozen exile at the end of the world? What harm would he do to you here by speaking life into the love still agonized in his heart? He took yours here with him, and Jon wondered what it would feel like to talk about it. He never had, denied it to Arya even when he had been caught, but never had he said a word about what you two were to each other.

Sam though, Jon had the feeling that if Sam was trusting Jon not to be judgmental of him, he should trust the same in return. A lightness in his grey eyes washed over as he could still see you as if it were months ago in your last visit to Winterfell, at least your last visit leaving a Baratheon.

“I came very close once.” Sam’s attention perked up, but Jon struggled to find the words to describe without giving away the truth of who you were, and his generalization came off as awkward. “I was alone in a room with a naked girl, but…”

“Didn’t know where to put it?”

Clearly he was amused by how easily Jon snapped his head over to him with a glare, despite how it was most definitely a jest. “I know where to put it.” But he still wasn’t explaining himself well.

Sam trying to prompt him with any details that could paint any picture. “Was she…old and ugly?”

Jon shook his head, voice low as if offended by the sheer idea. “No. No, she was..beautiful. More beautiful of a girl then I had any right to have in my bed.” It tipped on the edge of his tongue, but the moment your name came from Jon’s lips it was as if it all spilled out and he had no sense to contain it. “She’s-she was my best friend. Knew her for almost fifteen years, came to Winterfell to learn under my father but the second I saw her? I don’t know if there was ever a time I wasn’t in love with her.”

He could see Jon wasn’t really here, his physical present but there was sad softness in his eyes that was so distant that he was trapped in a memory. “And you two almost..?”

Nodding, he almost breathed out a laugh. “We had never done much, thought we had all the time in the world. We liked taking everything slow, but we were still each others firsts for everything. Spent six years sneaking around with her behind everyone's backs and finally we thought we were ready. We were alone, I had her in my room and she let me take off all her clothes..”

Many years later from that moment, together in that hot bath after reclaiming Winterfell from the Boltons, Jon had tried guiltily to skirt around the subject when you had innocently asked what he told Sam about you. Considering that when Sam in that moment had tried to discreetly ask about your breasts Jon had looked away for a moment before shaking his head at him. Both of them amused at how clearly there was a bit of a perverse image in Jon’s mind as Sam asked, “That good?”

“Better.” The smile on his face though was still as far away as it was genuine. “More then better, soft, like they were made to fit in my hands perfectly, sensitive too..” Almost laughing to himself at how easily he found even just a simple amusement in teasing that, “Gods she was so sensitive to anywhere I touched her. We never got very far together but with what I did do, sometimes I’d have to kiss her just so the whole castle didn’t hear..”

Coming back around to the point, Jon could still see every part of your nerves as you looked brightly up at him. “We were alone, and I had her naked on my bed, I was nervous but I knew she was too. Could barley convince herself to take my shirt off without my help. But I was hovering over her..and..I couldn’t do it..”

It wasn’t just a simple insecurity in his voice turning then, and Sam was smart enough to pick up on the mood change easily. Asking why he couldn’t, and Jon looked at him with something akin to a bit more pain then Sam expected. “What’s my name?”

“Jon Snow.”

Jon guiding him to an answer that Sam was forming behind his mind, asking him, “And why is my surname Snow?”

It didn’t really clue in his mind at that time, but Sam seemed almost hesitant to say it. As if about to call him something that to Sam, didn’t seem very nice. He was someone who was likely ridiculed and looked down on his whole life, and perhaps the idea of Jon experiencing that in a different way felt strange to him. But he knew what answer Jon was waiting for. “Because…you’re a bastard from the North.”

Come the present it had been a long time since he had felt that pain strongly, but in that conversation, in the memory as he hovered over you on his bed? Jon knew exactly the fear he had felt looking down at you, despite how much he truly wanted you. And it came out in that level of pain he felt.

“I never met my mother. My father wouldn’t even tell me her name. I don’t know if she’s living or dead, I don’t know if she’s a noblewoman, or a fisherman’s wife, or a whore. That day though..it should have been easy. I had my girl all to myself, no clothes on, but all I could think was, what if I got her pregnant? And she has a child, another bastard named Snow?” Swallowing down something that flashed in a self hatred in his eyes, Jons voice lowered almost just to himself, despite Sam hearing it easy. “I couldn’t ruin my own child’s life just because I was in love with a girl I wasn’t allowed to have.”

As Sam looked at him, once more Jon wondered, what was the point in hiding it? He said your first name, but in what world would telling Samwell Tarly in Castle Black have such a backlash that it would destroy the marriage you now had. “I don’t think I understand, you’re father’s still a Lord. Why wouldn’t you be allowed to be with her unless she was someone -”

When it was out there, it was out there and clearly whatever common girl Sam was imagining was nothing close to the truth. “Unless she was someone in the royal family?” The wide look on Sam’s eye was missed as Jon clenched his jaw now looking back to the table. But the strain in his hand refused to let him distract by going back to work. “Someone like King Robert’s niece. A beautiful Baratheon girl who spent her life in the Crownlands and the capitol. Around all the other royals and nobles, sitting on the small council because on top of everything else, she’s so smart too.”

He exhaled deeply, “A girl like her would never be allowed to marry a bastard. And if I slept with her, and I got her pregnant? I’d have been the one to ruin her life. Our child would grow up just another Snow being looked down at for existing..” Trying to shake off that heavy weight on his shoulders, Jon tried to look back up more casually at Sam but it wasn’t really a facade either bought. “That’s not a good life for a child.”

But then the gears in Sam’s head begun to turn, begun to connect the dots to come to the conclusion Jon had still been dancing around. “King Robert’s niece, but that would mean she..”

It wasn’t anger or even jealousy, just defeat in Jon’s voice. “It means she’s the girl who just got married to my brother. To Robb.” It wasn’t pity in Sam’s eyes but Jon felt sick over it all the same. It would be later that they would talk more, that Sam had come to learn about Jon’s family in general and clearly no matter the sore spot there, he didn’t hate Robb for it, not even close. But it didn’t mean as the two men stood there it didn’t still hurt.

In the quiet that followed, Sam did what he did best. There was nothing left to say that Jon wanted to share, and there was no use in keeping him feeling as tense as he was. Leaning against the other side of the table, Sam found light jest in his eyes as he said, “So..you didn’t know where to put it.”

Maybe the memory wouldn’t have been such a sour one, if the rough housing as a result of being made fun of wasn’t interrupted by the despising contempt of Ser Alliser Thorne. Ironic in a sense Jon thought, that the conversation he walked in on, was about you. Was about the woman he would murder Jon for going to rescue, was about the woman who would behead the man himself for said crime.

As he stood by the Weirwood, his eyes finding Ghost sitting a respectable distance away to not spook the crowd of spectators, Jon couldn’t help but think about Arya. About how she would’ve been endlessly offended that Jon had told Sam the truth of you before he had told his own sister, and as he considered the truth, that he now knew without a doubt, her direwolf Nymeria was still alive and well out there? He wondered if in another world where Arya was still alive, how mad she would then also be to not even be at Jon’s own wedding, to you of all people.

But in truth, Jon was still hoping he wasn’t going to wake up from this as a mocking nightmare. He had long given up the idea of marrying you. The very fear he told Sam of accidentally giving you a child came right from knowing a Snow wasn’t going to be allowed to come close to marrying you.

Yet now he stood as the last of the Stark’s, even if only in his blood. The one his people called King in the North and you were willingly setting aside both strong family names given to you by birth and blood to be down at his level. He told you you didn’t have to, but you refused his entire life to let him think you saw him being a Snow as any indicator of how you looked at him.

He was scared of having a child with you, a bastard named Snow. Only now, that was exactly what your children’s name would be, but without a single shred of the prejudice against being a bastard. His children being called Snow, would merely be seen as the King’s children. Not the King’s bastards, not the bastard boy’s own bastard children.

Just his and your children alone.

“Am I allowed to say it’s weird seeing you here?” Jon smirked a little at the voice, he felt weird standing there. Turning to look properly at Theon, they both knew it hadn’t stopped being strange that the only ones left were the three of you. The ones always odd out of the family, two of which never belonging to it by any sort of blood in the first place.

As the two men stood out in the cool air, Northerners around much more quiet and respectable then when the crowd had been full of Southerners and the royal company. The snow around them in winter and no one but the North that mattered here to witness it. It felt weird, but it also was right. Jon’s voice low as he looked between Theon and the woods as if you’d appear from nowhere. “My last night in Winterfell, I stood on the other side and had to be the one watching her marry Robb. I only hope Robb is okay with me taking his spot with her this time.”

Theon however, was only calm with no doubt as he shook his head. “He’d be grateful it was you.” As Jon looked at him, eyes shining with something like hope for that to be true he elaborated. “It started to feel weird the longer you weren’t around. The three of us would stand there and we all knew you were missing. He didn’t talk about it much when she was there, had enough on her mind with her father. But Robb would say he at the least wished you could’ve been there just so she had someone to talk to. Hated that the only thing she knew to occupy herself was work more, and Robb could never find the time to force her to relax on her own.“

Jon couldn’t tell if he wanted to smile or let his heart drop. He would wonder did you miss Robb for this, prefer him to Jon for that and yet Theon was standing there telling him Robb wasn’t far from the opposite side of that dilemma. “Trusting me with his Kingdom is a far cry from saying he’d want me marrying his wife.”

Theon however, felt something of confidence in a fate he knew was worse. You and him both knew that Robb died hating him, died thinking he was a traitor who killed Bran and Rickon. There was little that could top such an ending for the two of them. Almost as if rapidly to change the subject between them he moved to ask Jon, “What do you reckon is running through her mind?”

It was quiet, but the exhale was there and it was shaky. “Knowing her nerves, probably deciding whether or not she thinks she’s making a mistake.” Jaw clenching slightly, his voice lowered so there was no chance another heard. “Spends too much time worrying about if she’s a burden, can’t think of another way to make her realize it’s the opposite then this.’ He was quiet, of all people Jon had certainly never said anything near it to Theon. “But I’ve always wanted to marry her. I’ve never not been in love with her, my whole life I knew I’d have to give her up. Used to spend hours as a boy wondering how to convince my father to let me marry her one day. ”

Nodding, he was glad Theon found a way to ease that tension still sat in his throat. Looking away from him with a shrug, “Well I’ll force you two to do this if I have too. Sick of watching you both be shit at doing anything that would make you happy.” Jon raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if he was on more the edge of somewhat offended or amused that he wasn’t entirely wrong. “Don’t give me that look. You being King in the North doesn’t mean I can’t tell you when you’re only being miserable because you’re too stubborn.”

Something akin to part of a laugh found Jon, both of them looking away in jest. It was a strange dynamic carving itself out now with him, he was always closer to Robb and then all he knew of him was how he betrayed Jon’s family. Theon had cemented himself as someone that Jon couldn’t stand by and yet he brought you to Castle Black when Jon failed too, and you both arrived together with a bond that left behind the betrayal that once had you and Robb calling for his execution.

But Robb was gone, and Jon wasn’t. Moving forward between them was slow, but every day it got a little easier.

In the quiet as wind calmly blew around in the snowy landscape of the godswood, Jon only hoped that if Robb was watching, he found peace that he was trying to mend the bridges that Robb died before he could finish building. The North was their kingdom, their people. Jon wasn’t the King that Robb was and he couldn’t try to be. But he hoped he was putting the work Robb died for back together enough to make his brother proud. He also couldn’t help but hope that everything he’s done, and now marrying you?

Jon hoped that his father was proud of him too in his own way.

“I’d rather face a thousand armed men then get married in front of all those people.”

You had never seen an inch of war when Ned Stark had told you that, and yet now you fully understood exactly what he was talking about. Having eyes on you wasn’t the nerve wracking aspect, you could do that in a sense of duty but this was more spectacle. Eyes for entertainment in it’s own manner and that was not what you were used too. You were not the one calling for attention.

The sight around the godswood was almost the opposite of the last time. Instead of a bright sun still prevailing lush green surrounding it with the small pond sitting by it reflecting off, it instead was that of cold. Yet, it almost felt more fitting for Winterfell as a whole. The pond partially frozen over on one end a snow banked the edges of the other.

Leading all around the snow was so white that it blended into the Weirwood and the red of it’s leaves stuck out as if it were the only colour to truly exist. The sky was fading from the gold peak of evening and found itself in shades of blue turning darker by each passing hour that had not taken away from how illuminated it all fell onto.

The last it seemed as if too many people were there, too many eyes and so much of it was ones that would turn around and stab you and the Starks in the back. Yet this time, even as the ones attending were people you both knew and trusted the right people weren’t there. There wasn’t enough.

Many were missing that deserved to be here, and their absence made the whole affair feel on the edge of bittersweet. It had taken blood and death to get here, but you two had risen from that darkness when none else had. It almost however felt identical as the moment anything came into view did ragged nerves deafen and blind you to everything but the pounding of your heart.

No decorations, no pomp, just the North and the godswood as it always was. And this time, no eyes you needed to hide from or avoid, yet still, they made you nervous all the same.

Ser Davos had adjusted his hold from light to something firmer and more comforting, sensing the tension as eyes all fell upon you. None could hear from such a distance, but he leaned more to you with a soothing “Don’t look at them, look at him. They aren’t here.”

You barley reacted, but he could tell by the small exhale of air from your lungs that you tried to ease down, relaxing more. The air was a bit stinging on your skin, but perhaps that helped you feel so drastically in the moment.

In the sights of the Old Gods, little needed to be presided over in terms of vows for marriage. Seen as a bonding of two people and less like an agreement upon two parties that requires much guidance, witnesses. No septon leading both to the end as if the marrying parties need to be hand held along the way. It was common amongst the Faith of the Seven, septons would do all the work, all the speaking when in truth there was little which needed to be said.

This wasn’t about the crowd, it was about the couple.

Faces that now you fought beside watched you both, others more proud then admiring. You dared not look at Maege Mormont. She'd had a mouthful to say to you about how you left for Dragonstone separate, and came back to a marriage.

No fanfare for the Southerners watching as the only ones who were there needed none for their sake, and the rest all knew this had nothing to do with them as people or even the North. Your mother, while not with the Old Gods, didn't follow the Seven anymore, and Ser Davos didn't care.

The Starks had been raised with the Old Gods and the new, as Catelyn grew up under the Seven. They all varied in who followed what stronger, but there was no question that the one who felt no connection to the new Gods was Jon. Catelyn was not his mother, he had no obligation to follow the Seven except for doing as such so Robb didn’t do it alone. But the older he got the more he let go of it.

You could remember once, jesting to him and Lord Stark that they both looked as if they were worried about bursting into flames if they set foot in the sept. Perhaps it was fair no one was left in Winterfell who preyed to the Seven. As much work as Jon still was putting in to rebuild what of Winterfell had been left in ruins, the Sept built specifically for the woman who shut him out his whole life did not quite reach the top of his priority lists.

Jon needed nothing but the Old Gods in his life and thus as he stood by the Weirwood it was that connection that mattered only. Without a shadow of doubt, Jon Snow was of the North.

“Don’t look for me in the ceremony. I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

You listened to him that day. Knowing your future lied with The Young Wolf you were marrying and had to let Jon take that part of your heart away with him, and so you didn’t glance to him once. Now though, there was no one to look at, no one to hide your gaze from. This time, The White Wolf was the only one there with anything that mattered, and there was no use in hiding.

The dark fur around his shoulders made him look strong and fierce, sat broadly over his shoulders as the leathers across the rest of him were tied between greys, and browns and shades of black that made him stand out against the snowing land around him. You couldn’t pay attention to the way he looked at you, you already had to focus to keep your heart steady. You couldn’t handle how easily Jon painted thousands of words in the shine of his eyes when looking at you.

But you were handed over to him, a gloved hand reached out to pull you gently to him and truth be told there could have been yells and screams of war right beside you and you’d hear none of it. Just you two, in a place that you both grew up thinking was the one thing you’d never be allowed to have with one another. The freedom to be each others.

As Jon’s fur cloak was draped over your shoulders, the nerves melted into the ground and left you the longer his bright eyes refused to leave you. Still with your hand held in his, he carefully guided you to kneel before the carved face of the Weirwood in the cold of the snow and hadn’t let go as both of you closed your eyes as the wind blew around you.

You had prayed once to find a true life and love with Robb, and the Old Gods had granted you that. This time however? That love was still real, and it was real towards Robb just as strong and pure as it was towards Jon. You didn’t need to pray for love or a future that would bring a marriage peace. Not this time.

As the wind blew cold through your hair and dancing in a sting across your cheeks, you slowly opened your eyes, turning to look up to the carved face of the Weirwood. A quiet moment passed as you both stayed knelt there, lives so much more complicated then the last time you had been here and yet the nerves which had you shy and meek with Robb didn’t find it’s way back this time once more.

Jon no longer felt the need to hide what it was between you, and he would not pretend it was otherwise ever again. He was a man who felt things very deeply and very raw, and having to hide that all from people seeing the way he wished to be with you was a step too far in this new life. You couldn’t help but hope and pray that you were still good enough for him.

The gloved hand still wrapped on the cold ground with yours tightened to grab your focus back as if he could sense your mind drifting away. Flickering your eyes to the side, you could see his grey eyes shined so bright that they could light up a pitch black night sky. Standing with ease himself, one hand still holding yours to lead you up, and his other gently steadied you at your waist as for a moment you looked to one another.

Only one final thing was left, and the last was innocent and small as Robb sensed your ragged nerves, but Jon looked deep into your eyes with a softness that could drown you. And you knew it was only love he wanted to show these people he felt for you.

Taking a step close as you turned to look up more at him, the hand in yours leaving to gently cup the side of your cheek, thumb running along the skin. Just as your palms innocently found a resting place flat on his torso, Jon’s other hand left your waist.

Cupping your other cheek and lower to your jaw so he could tilt your head up to fit him. Closing the gap between you, it was not a shy peck but something needing with passion radiating from it. Lasting a few moments more than appropriate, but he kissed you with the same energy as if alone, almost sending you a step backward had your hands not been held tight against his chest. Only pulling back when your arms slid up more to his neck and the temptation to deepen it was found in him.

If the crowd had made a sound, neither of you heard it. His thumb still running over your cheek as he pulled from your lips to look at you before a genuine smile fell over him. Almost breathing out a laugh along with how brightly he smiled and you hadn’t even realized a teary eyed one came over you.

A moment of weakness, Jon leaned in for one more kiss. One a bit deeper as the sounds of a proud and amused crowd filtered in finally. But just as Jon pulled from your lips, gently tracing the bridge of your nose with his, he turned partially to look at his people. A playfulness in his tone that many had not heard from him so easily since having all been reunited under a new King in the North. The other hand on your jaw slipped down to your hip as he turned to them.

It was a bit love sick, but you hadn’t looked away from him yet. You found no desire to, just looking at a man too handsome for his own good that now gifted you his own name as you stood not just a King and Queen, but man and wife.

“It’s been a tough few months, and I think I speak for us all when I say it’ll do us all good to enjoy a celebration even just for tonight.” You only at the last second noticed a tinge of mischief in his voice as you failed to also catch the arm on your hip sliding down over the skirt of your dress. Just as Jon’s voice raised to a playfully louder projection, Jon knelt quickly to wrap an arm under you and in an instant swept you right off the ground as if weighing nothing. “Now, let’s get this one inside before she freezes.”

The surprise of the action, had entirely caught you off guard, barley able to wrap your arms around the back of his neck in a laughing protest “Jon-”

A wedding of Northerners indeed, all of them laughing in approval and goading into their King’s playfulness despite you almost wanting to hide in his neck in an amused fluster at Jon picking you up in his arms in such a grandiose display. Certainly not what the rigidness of the Seven usually called for.

Ser Davos looked a mix of proud and amused at both, before sharing a glance with Selyse with a tilt of his head as if to tell her to ease up in any disapproval of the people's entertainment. This certainly hadn't been how Stannis treated her at their own wedding that was for certain.

But, without saying a word of it to any, Selyse did feel a smile as she gracefully followed the crowd near the back. She had never met the man Stannis married you off too, and many times regretted the things she said about him when you all stood on opposite sides of a war.

She never met Robb Stark, but she knew Jon Snow and she could certainly say, she's never seen anyone pull such an easy smile and laugh out of you then he was doing now.

It only for a moment, had slammed into your mind as you stood there. You were fine, and it hadn't come into your thoughts up until music begun to play. It sounded not a single thing like that sound, but all the same your eyes darted to those playing it. As if waiting to see when they would brandish their blood soaked truth. Heart beginning to race in that moment your lungs tightened to something you could choke on, in a second did a whisper hit your ears but you wanted to whip around to see him nowhere near you. Despite the cracking of his voice speaking loudly in the hall.

“Your Grace, I feel I’ve been remiss in my duties. I’ve given you meat and wine and music, but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. Afterall, my King is long overdue a wedding gift for he and his Queen.”

Barley for a moment did you stand there on your own, but the hall was no longer the warm comfort stones of Winterfell, instead the stuffy air of The Twins as blood rushed from your veins to pool in your stomach and mouth as the world faded to muffles. The sounds as if they had been underwater, your vision so blurry you barley knew the world outside Robb in front of you.

Blue eyes haunted you and so did the powerful voice which would be the last thing you though you would hear. As if speaking into your ear, looking over the hall of people enjoying themselves as you stood back amidst a nightmare. You hadn't considered what was said in that moment, your mind was fading so fast you had perhaps mere seconds left and it meant nothing as Robb fell beside you.

“Jaime Lannister sends his regards.”

It echoed, and echoed in your mind. You heard it again and again right until the truth of music came back into sounds as a warm figure came to your side. Just as a hand tilted your chin to look over at him, you found Jon's grey eyes in a warm concern and a silent question. Looking back to the hall, you were in Winterfell and you could breathe once more.

Instead of any answer, you forced the echo out of your ears as you cupped his jaw gently and leaned up to press your lips gently to his.

Public affection as such was not Jon's preference, nor did you wish to be one to initiate it, but if just for tonight here was the only place it made sense. If you judged by the way Jon's hand found your waist to pull you a bit more into him, he agreed if just for tonight.

It was easy to laugh and speak that night. None of the girlish fears plagued what was to come, and none of it too was buried under the new feat of having it with one you never thought you would have. Last time there was hardly any food to speak of that sat in your stomach and only wine to stop the nerves from overtaking, even though they did anyways. Robb had at once point placed a gentle hand on your thigh whispering that you should try and at least at something.

Now, it was not at all the same. You knew what you were in for in terms of what came after such a reception and none of it was unknown. Food and ale were shared and the longer they were consumed the more rowdy the Northerners became, much of the night spent speaking with many as Jon would ensure you stayed right beside him with an arm pulling you into his side if you strayed too far.

The way in which some joked with you, did Jon's hand on your waist hidden by his fur still over you, slip down to your hip in a tight grip had you wondering just as you did over four years ago.

What exactly did this wolf have hiding in his desires?

When the crowd had noticed the newly weds had snuck off, they had no idea when you both had done so. Only some with the vague memory and ideas, that such a practice seemed common amongst the Stark men on their wedding nights. The tradition is fun when it is anyone but their own wife.

It was almost strange that it felt normal. As your eyes were trained out of the window, the new moon overhead on the clear night as Winterfell felt alive and the woods just beyond were as calm as they looked serene. Crackling of a fire increased as more wood was added to it before that warmth came and enveloped your back.

Jon's hands weren't greedy as he slipped his fur from your shoulders, letting it sit to the side as he pressed his chest into your back, one arm slipping around your front and holding your hand firmly over your stomach, the other running up and down your waist as he silently looked over you from his angle.

Neither of you rushed anything when he brought you back to his room, Jon's gentle rasp murmuring in your ear to give him a moment to stoke the flames that had gone low in his absence, leading to you finding the open window. His room was always on the colder side, more air blowing through that chilled things right down but in exchange Jon was diligent about keeping the fire properly tended too. Keeping warm in the bed was not an option for so long, only the easy to fake innocence of spending time on the fur before his fireplace was where Jon would explore you in early years together.

Both of you for the time were content looking out the window, Jon resting the side of his head against yours as you partially turned to nuzzle a bit into the feeling. Your voice was quiet as you could feel two scenarios swirling as images in your mind. “Jon, I know it won't change anything or why I'm even thinking of it..but, before everything, before Robb..I'm sorry I wasn't ready for you that day.”

His brows furrowed as he looked down at you, but your eyes looking wide at the outside winter but your voice was quiet and restrained. “There's nothing to be sorry for. I wasn't ready either.”

But you shook your head, throat a bit choking as you spoke. “I know, but I- we promised that day, that we would wait for the other to be ready. To have our first proper time with each other..but I didn't..” Jon tried to follow your thoughts but it went somewhere he didn't expect you to go on such a night. “I promised I'd wait for you, but I didn't. My first time was with Robb.”

You swallowed heavy, no regret was in that night together but the other image in your mind was something you thought you knew what it was, until he had yelled at you otherwise. Your voice quiet, “I'm sorry it meant that you..” You trailed off, but a distant and strained low tone in Jon finished as the hand around your front pulled you closer.

“It meant my first was Ygritte.”

He said nothing of it, but you felt the stiffness behind you. Your hand running along his arm as you moved to push the soft material up over his wrists to lightly trail over his skin. “No one deserves that to be their first. It should've been with someone who actually cared about you.”

Feeling him hid his face somewhat in your neck before turning to press a gentle kiss to the skin he found there, his voice was heavier then he wanted you to pick up on. Something painful he wanted to hold back from you noticing. “Don't apologize for what she did. None of that was your fault, you married Robb. You're first time was right to be with him.” Trying to protest that he didn't deserve what happened to him but he cut you off. A more firm and confident kiss pressed to your neck this time.

Silent for a moment, but what he said next had made you firmly pause. “I saw you, in the middle of..I saw you.” The hand over your front slowly made it's way to your scar as your breath hitched. His voice low in your ear, “You were telling Robb you were pregnant. I saw you both, could hear you together, and I kept seeing a child that looked like mine. Had your eyes, but looked like me. I kept seeing it, and it's the only thing that got me through that night.”

Finally turning in his arms, Jon settled them along your waist both as you reached up to cup his cheeks, leaning up to press a single kiss to his lips. Pulling back his grey eyes were painted over with a tenderness that was brewing with something close to adoration, and he found exactly the same in yours to his. Speaking in a whisper as you ran your thumb along the facial hair trailing his jawline. “I can't take away what she did, but now we have all the time in the world to let me make it up to you.”

Leaning forward more, you could feel his breath on your skin, his hands smoothing down to your hips running them over your dress a bit more sensually. “You've more then made it up to me, and I don't want her to have any part between you and me. She's gone, we're here and you're my wife..” As he tried finishing his thought, a breathless laugh left him weakly as he looked you over, a shine melting down to a genuine smile as he look at you. “My wife, you're really my wife..”

Nodding, your smile was close to something that threatened to swallow you whole, the ingenuity in his face that was so incredibly rare. “Your wife. Baratheon, then a Stark, and now a Snow.” He shook his head with a half hearted laugh trying to act as a scolding disapproval but not a hint of malice was in your words and it clearly struck something deep in his heart over the ease of it on you. “Hey, you were the one who claimed it sounded pretty attached to my name.”

Invading your space, Jon ran his lips again over your neck making a sensitive path to just below your ear before rasping into it, “And you're the one who said I was biased about you.”

Your hands trailed to grasp at his shoulders, ever so slowly moving to take his leathers and armour off as you tried not to shiver. “That was because you were trying to pretend as if men wanted to get my attention when we both know that's not true.”

Chuckling, Jon didn't stop you from slowly undressing him. Knowing the moment he took your dress off he wouldn't stop, and you almost shivered more at the thought. Your early time with Jon was so soft and innocent, going from that to Robb's dominating and filthy nature had been something close to a culture shock at the time. But now, it was finding out the darker part of Jon's mind may have been locked away more then you once thought.

The leather armours and tunic now off, left in a softer grey undershirt he snatched your hands when you went to pull it off. Looking down at you with a darkening in his eyes. “I could name fifty men out there who would do anything for a chance to fuck you.” An embarrassed fluster ran over your nerves so fast that Jon even picked up on it. Stepping forward with your hands still in his as they now sat at your waist, him pushing you backward. A small smirk at you trying to modestly shake your head, “So if I brought Tormund in here you're going to tell me he wouldn't jump at the first chance he gets to be inside you?”

Gods be good, Jon and Robb were both just as sadistic about embarrassing you, and you were pretty sure they both got off on it. Everything about the woman you tried to be all your life, and the two wolves with the love of your heart managed to be smug that they knew how to make you fluster in an instant. “He..we don't, it's only banter Jon I promi-”

Pushing you back further his eyes darkened more and his voice dropping more to a husk every time he spoke, “That wasn't an accusation, darling. Only a fact.” Just when you found a voice to say something playful back to try and gain any upper hand, Jon let go of your hands just as he shoved your back into the stone wall, pressing you into it as he rested both hands on either side of your head.

A knee pushing your legs apart as much as he could from under your dress but he refused to take it off of you. Just enough space to slide his foot in the under of your skirt to keep you more trapped on most sides to escape him. In juxtaposition to his rough tone, Jon gently ran his nose along yours before nudging it playfully. Your hands reaching up as he spoke, letting his curls fall loose. “If I wasn't here, he'd be the one to spend all night fucking you.”

Fingers raking through his curls, stopping gently to readjust when they'd reach too wild of a tangle to be gentle with, each time your nails scratched his scalp as he swallowed harshly enough you could hear as he did so. “I only want you, Jon. I promise, you alone.” He exhaled heavily, the fact that his mind was tied between his lust and such an innocent way you had spoken that with had him stop his teasing.

Trying to reign himself in to not scare you off, but you continued to run your hands through his hair and for a moment of weakness, Jon let his head fall into your neck with a grunt at how good it felt. Not even pulling or tugging, just raking through his curls as you felt his chest rising and falling a lot to keep himself collected. He tried murmuring your name, but the soft tone was light and airy close to your ear, now that held no seductive, playful intention despite how pressed into the wall he had you.

Jon pulled back a bit more from you. One hand running through your hair as he looked at you with a quiet in them. “I try to be gentle, I want to be gentle with you.” A conflict once more sat in the grey as you let one hand run over his hair back, while the other rested close to his cheek. “When I would imagine what our first time would've been, I always thought it would be slow. Take our time, never imagined me being so rough with you.”

This time, you grabbed his hands making your way both to his shirt as you covered his to pull it up and off, letting the material drop wherever it landed without a care. Reaching himself, you still in the ivory dress Jon had made specifically for you, knelt down carefully. Your palms braced on his thighs as you looked up with eyes shining wide at him. “And yet I love you all the same.”

Not waiting much for him to respond, you moved to take everything else off, leaving only his pants before you looked back up at him. The black ink seeped into his gaze again, one hand ran down the back of your hair while he looked at you with a silent, dark sternness as he nodded down at you.

A shaky exhale left at just how brooding yet confident he seemed as he looked down to you, slowly pulling them down his legs until there was nothing left on him. Your hands returned to his thighs, flat against his skin as you were so close to his cock. Already it looked thick, and painfully in need like he had been hard for quite some during throughout the night before even getting to his room.

But you didn't presume, and you waited for Jon as he moved to gently gather enough of your hair in a large hand, holding you steady without controlling your every movement. Enough that you knew he intentionally made sure none of it would fall in your face. Him putting his mouth on you made you nervous, but somehow as you knelt there, you knew he was struggling to let you do it to him.

His voice husking in a deep gruffness, “This is what we're going to do,” Your posture straitening up instinctively at the low authority he spoke with. “I'll let you take me like this tonight, but you have to promise me that you're not just doing it beacuse you think you should.” Your brows rose in a surprised question as he let his free hand trail across your jaw and lips. “I don't expect this, and I don't want you thinking I expect this. I'll let you have me in your mouth tonight, but you need to promise me you'll let me take care of you properly from now on.”

Your heart raced, something strange at how wanted to be the one to taste you, without any return when you'd give it willingly as much as he wanted. “Can we not negotiate equal terms, your grace?”

Jaw clenching, you also felt how much he was trying not to tighten his grip too much with his handful of your hair. “I want to take care of you, the only thing I want you to do when we're together is to feel good. Help me make you feel good, and I'm happy.” Your name came from his lips softly, “Are we alright with that?”

Genuinely watching with a true question before relaxing as you nodded. “I am.” Seeing there was something else on your mind he waited patiently as if his cock wasn't tinged a bit red there was so much blood rushing into it. “Is it still alright if I..” Your fingertips braced on his thighs a bit more as you bit your lip a bit nervously as if he'd say no. But he nodded silently for you to continue.

Gentle licks to the tip of his cock before you slowly made your way down his length, licks and pressing your lips all down him like a kiss. Down one side and then the other as Jon's stomach tensed at the sensation. One proper kiss to the tip before you slowly took him into your mouth, cock sliding easily in your mouth from how well you already licked his length but you didn't stop until you made it half way down.

Letting him slide in and out of your mouth half way, a hum around his cock too as you sucked. You wanted to savour it, savour how heavy he felt on your tongue and how much your jaw stung from the stretch so early.

Your eyes were closed as you made another small noise in your throat like a humming whine when you went deeper. Took more of him, half way to over two thirds of the way before you hadn't had enough air, by the time you could suck up and down his entire size up to the black coarse hair around the base. Your heart racing at the panic of him so deep but you just whined instead. Jon's cock soaked in your warm mouth, you hating coming off of him for too long, wanting to keep him in your mouth properly, always making him feel good, always feeling him twitch and throb at each deep suck.

Your fingers tensed against his thighs, and with not much room to go behind you at the wall, Jon readjusted his grip on your hair before ever so slowly moving. Giving you enough time to relax your throat, as he guided your head to bob along his cock at a steady, slow rate. Pulling you nearly off him before sinking so deep in your throat you couldn't take anything else and slowly right back. Never giving you a second to catch up but he also never pushed you anything close to rough or demanding.

Throbbing in your mouth, Jon felt that sensation almost too soon. Worked up almost from the very moment he had seen you looking at the very dress still adorning you. Him bare with his cock being soaked by your warm mouth as you almost lost yourself to the feeling. The beautiful ivory dress showing nothing even risque. Just modest, long and covering like you were most comfortable with but the image of such a sight mixed with such a filthy act drew him close.

He told you he'd let you have this, but his insides burned and the feeling too out of control as the desire to shove you down his entire cocks length roughly, over took him, did he suddenly pull you off him entirely. The sight of you gasping for air as a mix of your saliva and what of his seed already coated your tongue visible from the sudden movement.

Looking up at him with a question, “Jon?” But as Jon helped you stand he barley gave you any time to form more of a sentence before he grabbed both of your cheeks. Pulling you into him as your hands wrapped around his waist to steady yourself. Shoving you hard against the stone wall Jon pressed himself tightly against you, one hand slipping to your jaw to tilt your head up, making it far easier for him to bite your bottom lip and slide his tongue into your own mouth.

Your hands pressed flat against his chest, the jagged feelings of his scars sending a distressing feeling in your mind but Jon wouldn't part from your lips long enough to let you linger on the thought. Licking and brushing his tongue against yours as he felt you start to writhe against him.

Trying to call his name between the only breaths be let you have, Jon pulled back with a heaving pant and seething in his teeth as he looked you over. A full foot back from you as he eyed you down as if you had nothing before he knelt just enough to grab the skirt of your dress. Pulling it up and up until he could toss it onto the ground, yanking the fabric hiding your soaked core from him down enough that it tore as he slipped it down your legs.

A hand on your hip almost prompting you to step out of them as Jon looked you over once more, were it not you one might have mistaken his look for unimpressed but you knew all to opposite. The darkness in his eyes as he grabbed one of your hands, guiding it to his cock. You looked small trying to wrap around how thick he was, even moreso as his hand stayed, guiding you to stroke his cock with tight, quick and somewhat rough strokes.

Your eyes flickering up to his, Jon nodded in bright approval before letting you stroke him on your own, one hand cupping your cheek and the other around the back of your head, threading through your hair and somewhat grabbing the back of your neck. Jon once more captured your lips, biting your bottom one every time you let his kiss distract you. His breathing as he kissed you picked up, demanding you let him deepen the kiss as the sounds were almost loud against the fire crackling on the other side of the room.

Your veins felt too hot, the room cold with the window beside you wide open but you could feel sweat forming as if your entire person burned in Jon's presence. His grip on you tightened as he shook in your touch, cock twitching in your hand.

Just as he groaned a mumbling of your name into your mouth, Jon send the hand on your cheek down to wrap around your hand on his cock again. Moving along with your strokes as he came, painting your lower stomach where your own scar was with his seed and on your mound. Grunting out as he moved to bite at your neck as the last of him covered your skin.

You almost felt too overwhelmed, like Jon's mind was racing far quicker then you could keep up. Finally moving your hand from his cock only to grasp at your wrist, and slamming it up in his hold against the wall beside your head as he stared at you. A small ask of his name as he stared you up and down.

Pulling away suddenly Jon did outstretch a hand to guide you to the other side of the room. Turning to stand somewhat behind you running all along the skin of yours he could reach. “Our first time was almost right here.” Leaning to rasp in your ear, “Will my wife let me fuck her in our bed?” Nodding, Jon kissed the side of your head in response. Pushing you forward, “Lay down for me.”

Braced up on your palms as one knee bent slightly as you lay on the fur, Jon just looked at you with a shake of his head to drive a thought out of his mind it appeared. Slowly he almost appeared to approach you on the bed like a predator, prowling towards what he wants. Climbing up on top of you though, Jon left a lot of that on the ground outside of here.

Kissing you gently, no tongue, no teeth, your hands innocently running along his shoulders and back as Jon held himself up with one hand and caressed the skin of your waist with the other. Nudging your nose with his in between each kiss, he pulled back to look at you, that intense greed not so close to the surface. Jon moved to partially lay beside you but leaned over enough so you were on your back still looking up at him, your legs intertwined with the other. His hand tracing your cheek as he leaned to kiss you softly again.

Your hand ran along his shoulder and up through his curls. “I love you.”

The smile was almost boyish that came over his face. A brightness back in the greys of his eyes as he muttered back, “I love you, more then anything. A year ago I still thought you were dead, now you're my wife.” A small huffing laugh like he was simply in disbelief.

“And you're King in the North. Finally home where you belong.”

Almost a bashful look came over him, your grin pulling a incredulous one from Jon as he rolled his eyes playfully. “Big home for just the two of us.” Your heart lightened but Jon just looked at you with an adoration as he felt lost in his own mind. “If we're lucky, this time next year maybe we'll have at least one more to add.”

Both of you laughing at how easily you slipped such a dry, “Oh, just one? Changed your mind?”

Jon looked at you once more before leaning down to kiss you, marking his way down your neck and collarbones, as you sighed out high pitched. Jon climbed back to rest between your legs, stopping his mouth at your breasts. Greedily grasping rough handfuls in both hands he groped the skin as his lips kissed around them before jumping with a bite to your nipples. Pulling a gasp and your legs failing to close now as they were on either side of his body.

You could feel the spark inside of you growing, you core feeling more like matches striking at it trying to ignite but still overwhelmed as you hissed at each rougher tug of his teeth. Just as you cried out at one did Jon relent, soothing your breasts in more of a caress before moving to pull your legs open more to fit his broad upper body.

Slinking his hand through his own seed covering your mound, Jon dragged two fingers through it before landing on your clit, rubbing tight, harsh circles into it that had your head arching back. Your core burned the touch and yet you couldn't decide if you needed more of less, but you trusted Jon to give you exactly what you needed. Rubbing rough and fast your orgasm snuck up on you suddenly, a tightening in your stomach that had you cry out.

Legs around Jon shaking just at the peak of you lungs stopping in desperation of on overwhelming pleasure swimming through you, Jon tugged your hips up to his mouth. Licking sloppily at your clit and down flat along your folds. Running that pattern up and down as if smearing what wetness you granted him to soak all over you, before he would taste it all for himself. Sucking at your clit making you jump with a surprised whine of an over stimulation.

But Jon licked and sucked more at your clit, holding your legs and moving them over his shoulders before grasping tight at your hips, as he ran his tongue just as his fingers did but he kept soaking you. Licking, a nibble of his teeth that had your back arching in sparks of need only to have him sooth it with a kiss before licking gently back down to your cunt where you were soaked.

His tongue running inside you, your breathe hitching even more as if no air would come to you, but Jon's hands were gentle and his tongue was precise. Knowing what made your insides twist like a burning coil, your hand gently running through his hair and none of it held the intensity of just before neither of you rushing towards an end this time.

Despite the cold air from the window blowing in you felt a thousand leagues warmer then you should have between the fire beside, the fur under and Jon between your legs you could feel sweat dampening your hair, stuttering breaths as you felt the coil twisting inside as Jon licked deep inside of you along a sensitive wall that almost made you feel something swell up like tears.

His hands on your hips tighter before finally yanking you to his mouth, soaking you as much as you were him. One hand changing paths, Jon reached up grasped at your breast, groping as the hand not in his hair held onto it, Jon licking sloppily along your cunt to your clit and back before burying his mouth inside you, twisting the hand on your breast to hold yours resting now in the space between them.

That burning pleasure tightened and tightened until the coil snapped and you were blinded by the light that had you arching your back and crying out Jon's name. Growling into your cunt more as your hands tightened in his hair until you were shaking from the sparks of pleasure still hitting you after. Rising up, Jon used that hand with yours to push it against the bed, keeping your fingers interlocked as he used his other hand now to align his cock with your soaking core.

Looking down at you, your eyes wide and red from tears begging to fall as you heaved for proper air Jon gave you one kiss before slowly sinking inside you. Not a single instance of resistance as his cock slid as deep inside of you as you could take him, clenching soaked, tight and warm around him he already throbbed inside of you with a groan. Burying his face in your neck as he slowly pulled out only enough to get halfway before needing to seek you out again.

Whatever show the open window let sounds out free to be heard with, was non existent in the reality of your own ears. Jon slowly thrusting in and out of you, face buried in your neck as the sounds from you were weak cries that you couldn't spare the energy to muster enough for. Only music for Jon it was what he could hear of how wet you were around him.

His other hand reaching up grab yours, and push the same down just on the other side of your head fingers intertwined as he kissed you. Tongue asking for gentle permission across your lips before brushing against yours, his kiss as sensually slow as his cock sliding in and out of you.

Pulling now out to almost completely outside of you and right back to as deep as you could get. His hands held yours tightly as his kiss grew more needy, a bit deeper and urgent as you clenched around him. His cock dragging along such a sensitive wall you were almost embarrassed it was causing you to soak him so much more.

Legs shaking around him, Jon slowly fucked right along that wall until you cried out against his lips, a beg for air and reprieve neither of which was granted to you. Fucking you slowly, until Jon had to start thrusting harder to get as deep when he had enough. Grunting he let go of your hands and snatched you up, surprising you as he flipped you both so he lay on his back.

You now more perched up in his lap, looking down at him your hands braced on his chest as you suddenly turned very flustered at the angle he was looking at you like. Lungs paused, not normally a position you found yourself in, but Jon's eye were bright and adoring as he looked up at you.

Finding your hips he guided you to hover back over his cock, your nervous eyes finding him as he husked out, “It's alright, darling. You're doing so well,” His grip slowly helping you sink down on his cock but from this angle he was deeper then ever, seated so fully inside of you if he came this deep inside you, you didn't know how you wouldn't find yourself with child in the morning. Groaning himself, Jons head flew back against the pillow as his eyes closed. Hands never leaving you, guiding you to move up and down his cock at his own strength and his own pace.

Moving you so that you were dragged along that sensitive wall against him as your eyes sealed closed with a stuttering breath. Airy voice as your nails dug into his chest as you moved slowly along with his hands moving you up and down. “You-fuck, Jon you feel so good, so, so good inside of me please..”

But Jon didn't speed you up or let you speed up. Just keeping you on a slow, overwhelming pace that had you feel every single inch of him every wet slide inside you. Dragging you along for his own ride that had your muscles burning and tingling, a fire amongst the wetness Jon sunk his cock inside.

A whine clawed it's way from your throat, begging his name but your eyes sealed closed trying to catch your breath with each thrust inside. Sitting up suddenly, Jon shifted you both so you were straddling his lap more, as one of his arms wrapped around behind you to keep you steady against him, the other holding onto your hip as he begun to move you a little harder against his cock.

Your hands reached for him, winding behind the back of his neck and up into his curls as finally the sounds of the room begun to slap together more as you moved with him bouncing on his cock with a more raw need. Tight around his neck, Jon took the arm behind your back and grasped at one of your breasts, tugging and twisting your nipple as you kissed him.

By each second you lips were exploring one another, Jon moved you harder up and down on his cock. A bigger yank to pull you onto him as you moved just as eagerly as the pace increased in speed. A steady sound smacking of your skin together and your cries grow more to quiet whines that stuttered with every single bounce on his cock.

Tugging somewhat at his hair, made Jon fuck up into you a little harder each time you did as he moved from your breast to keep your lips to his, a hand at the back of your head not that you wanted to go anywhere else. Let the fire of his desire burn through you until nothing was left but what you could offer his lips and his cock.

Faster and rougher, using both hands, yanked your hips up and down on his cock as the sound grew louder in volume and tempo. Holding onto one another tightly Jon felt you seize up in his arms the coarse hair around the base of his cock raw as it rubbed against your clit each time and just as your orgasm washed through you was it mixed with the hot seed spilling deep inside you. Balancing the other out as your legs almost widened around your straddling more almost desperate to feel such hot cum was tearing through you but kissing Jon meant you wanted no parting words over it.

But then he kept fucking you, kept bouncing you on his cock at the same speed and roughness. Instead of easing you back up he dove back in, the wetness graced his ears as music better then anything someone could come up with. Letting go of your lips, Jon looked up at your eyes, his own blown out and pitch black, now both his hands on and guiding your hips still. “Fuck, should never leave.” His voice a deep rasp, “Should stay like this together for good, keep you right here with me until I know I've given you a child..”

A faint moan came from your mouth as you felt that burn of desire again and Jon swallowed your cries into his kiss until you could compose a sentence.“Anything to make you happy..I promise...”

Nodding, he whispered up at you, “Then we stay here, right in our bed, however long it takes..” Your orgasm slipped past your notice as he was shallowly thrusting deep, seizing in his touch and around his cock before Jon groaned your name out too, spilling deep inside you again and yet he still was hard.

Kept fucking you, as you both wrapped your arms around the other as you felt tears for the pleasure setting you on fire only screaming for Jon, the world outside of him did not exist.

Once or twice you rested, Jon keeping you on your side more as he would gently move to tip a drink of water gently down for you, keep you with the right energy, but it wouldn't last. Jon would flip you once more onto your back as he took you more times then he or you could count.

For once, neither of you had any real dream of sorts and as you stayed wrapped up in each others close arms facing one another, Jon pulled you into his chest. Neither of you also had noticed that you both only fell asleep mere hours before the sun rose.

You fell into a slumber with no real thought, cunt burning and aching from Jon's cock, stomach thighs anything else painted with whatever cum you couldn't take deep. Your mind was safe and settled that night in Jon's arms, and Jon had no dreams to haunt him the same.

The only peace left in the brewing storms of the world at least was found in your bed, in Jon's arms.

[tozettastone]

I'm kinda noob at searching for Naruto fanfics... The only thing I ever read was one singular ItachixSakura fanfic at ff.net possibly nearly 10 years ago. I recently searched for Akatsuki-centric fics, but the ship I'm looking for is kinda scarce in AO3... Or is it just the regular numbers, I've no idea. Anyways, since you've been here for long, can you point out where I should start? Maybe the platform distribution was a bit different back then on the good old days? Thanks!

There's about 3–4 times as much Naruto fanfic on FFnet compared to AO3! And AO3, as a rule, pretty much always contains proportionally more M/M fanfic than any of the other archives. So, yeah I would say the experience would be different, probably.

There are obviously exceptions, but if we're discussing general trends about on what platform you find what kind of fics, then:

Generally, AO3 is biased towards plotty romance and M/M pairings.

Generally, FFNet is where you get a lot more of the gen power fantasy/self insert/rationalist type stories, but for most fandoms it also has more M/F.

Generally, Wattpad is dominated by M/F and I understand that it's also where the Reader × [character] fic is most likely to be posted.

The global tumblr tags are where context goes to die. Who knows!

For Naruto specifically, small archives like TONFA still exist.

The easiest way to find something on AO3 that's really popular is to filter on fandom and sort by kudos. This isn't necessarily the best way to find something you personally like.

When I'm looking for fics on AO3, I try to find one fic I think is fun (many tag filters and trial and error, I'm afraid), and then go through the bookmarks and see what other fics have been recommended by the same people who made a bookmark recommendation for the fic I liked.

You haven't really explained what scarce ship you're looking for, so it would be hard to get any specific recommendations, although you can always ask people if they have any specific favourite fics that meet your requirements. More generally you can certainly find fic recommendations on social media. The #naruto fic recs tag on tumblr will show you a bunch of people's lists of recommendations, which might help you find something.

[olderthannetfic]

I absolutely agree that everyone should write what they want and if they are not into F/F then that's alright, we just like different things, that's normal. However, I can't help but roll my eyes when I inevitably see the argument that "oh, but there are NO interesting female characters! not a single one! and they NEVER have any interactions with each other!". And people keep saying that like it's the universal truth and not a matter of what media you choose to interact with. I'm not saying you should abandon/change your fandoms or something. I'm just saying that I, too, felt that there were scarcely any interesting female characters to be found when my main fandoms were shonen anime which, to paraphrase that one tumblr post, were written by authors so misogynistic that they accidentally wrote gay romance. In comparision, my current fandom has a majority of female characters with hundreds of meaningful interactions and diverse personalities, including a handful of ones with all the classic characteristics of tumblr's beloved sad wet blorbos. And while before I only passively enjoyed F/F and were mostly into M/M, now I have so many ideas for my messy, complicated F/F ships! I guess it helps that I'm bisexual too. And again, I'm not saying that you should seek different fandoms out of duty, I'm saying that what media we interact with has a lot of impact on our stance in this discussion.

--

I know, right? You'll see someone assuming things based on... like... The Untamed and then Word of Honor will have way more interesting women with some f/f potential even if it's still a m/m thing where women aren't the point.

Shonen manga aren't my go-to for female characters, but man is there a gap between the very most blockbuster anime for the very biggest weekly jump manga vs. some random-ass shonen manga from a less popular magazine.

And that's just talking media that's about dudes.

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 14: The God's Eye

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence, angst, grief, death

Words: 3.5k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

It comes to him in a dream first; the ghost. Faceless, colourless and shapeless, he knows it is coming for him. It follows him wherever he goes, until he can hardly tell the difference between waking and dreaming.

He can scarcely remember his burning of Pinkmaiden. He remembers heat, screams of terror and then agony, the light of Vhagar’s fire, burning as bright as the sun and banishing the darkness of night. He was reminded of how his brother had sounded in the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, his raw, throaty screams as his flesh mingled with his melted armour. Which would be a worse fate, dying or surviving to endure the pain for so long?

Where Aegon’s suffering had made Aemond the equivalent of a King, Pinkmaiden had only made him more of the monster that he is.

He feels it, settled on the edge of a cliff overlooking Ironman’s Bay, the empty feeling in his chest, as though the Gods are withholding fragments of his soul.

He doesn’t know where his brother is now. Perhaps Aegon had found some sense after all and crossed the Narrow Sea to seek refuge in the type of life he always wanted, far from the Keep, far from the crown. He doesn’t know why their men fight for a King who could be dead, or who could have abandoned them altogether. And yet he knows his role in this war has been set out for him, one which he follows mindlessly. He is his family’s terror, the only one who can give Daeron and Cole enough time to rally their forces.

He hears so little as of late. He hasn’t seen another person’s face for weeks. For a time he allowed himself refuge in a tavern with his hood over his hair and his sapphire eye hidden in shadow but eventually he decided comfort was not worth the risk.

Daemon is in the Riverlands, he knows that much, hunting him but never able to catch up to him. So far his uncle has not thought to look this far north, where he can see the Iron Islands clustered in the west and Seaguard to the east. Ships pass the sea before him but he remains unnoticed, as does Vhagar, buried on the shoreline amongst dirt, sand and rocks. If she is hungry she will find a flock of sheep or a herd of cows, but for now she is content to lull herself into a long slumber, occasionally letting out a low grumble as she breathes.

He hunts rabbits and does little to shelter himself from the harsh sea air, the rain and the spray of the sea when there is a storm. He is numb to the cold and the discomfort, retreating into his dreams in the hopes he might find some comfort in a vision of his mother or his sister.

More than that, he prays the Gods will show him an image of Lucerra. He would take anything. The small, stubborn girl disturbing him in the library, grinning as she presented him with a winged pig. Her furious little face when he held her by the throat in the cave below Hightide. He would take the tears she shed in the Hall of Nine, her silent, wide-eyed pleas for forgiveness. He would take the woman who stood before him at the Red Keep, at Storm’s End, the feeling of her skin, the sound of her breath.

Her voice is less than an echo in his head after so many moons. The memory is elusive, he fears he will never picture it clearly, but he can remember her words. My blood is precious, uncle, if you want it you shall have to earn it. 

In Rainwood, they say a ghost circled Shipbreaker Bay in the days after his niece’s apparent demise.

When the dragon with pale grey scales finally comes to him, he knows what it means. Not a ghost, not the one he had been imagining. Grey Ghost, the wild dragon, the beast that attacked Daeron and Tessarion in the Reach, now the second mount of Princess Lucerra.

He mounts Vhagar as the sun sets, its light bleeding across the sky like an open wound, spurred on by desperation and something hungry, like bloodlust. Grey Ghost is quick, flying out of his view but he can guess where the dragon is leading him, southeast, towards Harrenhal. Aemond does not know if they fly to death or salvation.

There is hardly any blue left in the sky when the five towers of Harrenhal fade into view. The setting sun burns in the west like dragonfire, licking at the darkened clouds and shining down onto the surface of the God’s Eye.

The black banners of the pretender, Rhaenyra, hang over the gates to the castle. Below its walls, by the lakeshore, is not the opponent he had expected to meet.

Caraxes rears his head to the sky and lets out a shrieking roar, teeth bared and eyes ablaze. He can feel Vhagar lurch in anticipation. All of her battles, save for Rook’s Rest, have been like bloodsport to her. She wants to fight, wants to rip her talons into flesh, sink her teeth around something larger than a farm animal. But he feels something else, a slight hesitation, a sad sort of growl sounding in her throat, 

Daemon has donned his riding leathers and stands beside his dragon. He holds Dark Sister before him, resting his hands on the hilt.

He sees no sign of Grey Ghost, nor his rider. 

He lands Vhagar along the lakeshore, keeping Caraxes out of reach to avoid premature violence. He is determined this will be done properly. His boots land with a crash against the pebbles once he climbs down, his hand lingering on Vhagar’s saddle.

He remembers the night of the dinner, Viserys’ final hours, as his uncle had stood between him and Jace, eyeing him like a parent stares down a petulant child, a faint smile on his lips. It had amused him, watching the bickering of boys.

Now there is no amusement in Daemon’s eyes, no sense of excitement. They have all suffered too many losses for anything other than pure hatred.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were slaughtered at his order, Helaena left to rot in her grief, to leave her last living child motherless. What were the children to Daemon Targaryen? They were his kin, his brother’s grandchildren. Their deaths didn’t put him closer to the throne, didn’t win him any allies, but it wasn’t about strategy, was it? It was about pain.

Aemond doesn’t care to count the seconds or minutes they spent in a silence, broken only by the rush of the waves and the hisses and growls of their dragons.

It is like standing face to face with a wild animal, anticipating what he may do, which move he may make.

He sees Daemon’s eyes flicker momentarily to the sapphire that sits in his left socket, and smirks. In some cruel twist of fate, a dull pain blooms at the base of his skull, but he endures it.

“You’ve come out of hiding at last,” Daemon says.

An unease pools in his stomach. For a moment he thinks he sees movement in the sky above him, but when he looks, there is nothing. 

“I was under the impression I was being hunted,” Aemond retorts.

Daemon laughs. He means to mock him but it’s not quite careless enough to be convincing. “Do not flatter yourself, boy,” he says. “Your whore said you would come.”

An unsettling feeling washes through him, like he is being watched.

Alys. He had left her in a cell with the bloody remains of the rest of House Strong, evidently not long enough for her to starve before Daemon’s return to Harrenhal. “Did she care to say why?”

Daemon’s lips curl into a sneer. “Do you still believe you are owed a debt?”

He recalls a cold thrill that had come with killing Rhaenys. It hadn’t been enough to justify the anguish he had seen his family suffer, how they have continued to suffer. He wonders if killing Daemon will satisfy him. 

Still, his uncle is not the reason he followed Grey Ghost to the God’s Eye.

She must be here somewhere and he doesn’t want to wait any longer. He hungers for her like a man starved. He wants to feel her, her heat, her blood, his hand around her throat and her heartbeat under her skin. He wants to see her eyes again, full of fire and fury. 

He can feel Vhagar’s urge to fight beginning to boilin his blood. He welcomes it, lets it fuel his anger and his grief, pounding in his chest like a war drum. “You have lived too long, uncle,” he says.

Daemon sheathes Dark Sister and reaches up to grab at Caraxes’ saddle, ready to mount. His voice is solemn but his eyes are dark with vicious intent. “On that much we agree.”

And so Aemond mounts his own dragon, fastening the chains that secure him to the saddle. He looks to the sky, then to the castle, waiting for a flash of pale grey scales, a dragon’s cry or a girl with dark hair. He finds nothing. Grey Ghost must be here and yet there is no trace of him or his rider. He clenches his fists around Vhagar’s reins and digs his teeth into his lip. His patience is wearing thin.

Caraxes moves first, leaping from the ground with an ear splitting screech, breathing a stream of fire into the air as he flies.

Vhagar is slower to follow, scrambling over the pebbles to push off from the ground. He feels the force of her wings against her own body, hauling her to ascend, pursuing Caraxes into clouds of grey and red, the sea of flame.

He braces against the fire, roaring in his ears as they break through the clouds and come into the vastness of the sky. Daemon and Caraxes are nowhere to be found. Through the spaces in the clouds and the fire below them, the God’s Eye watches, bathed in red by the setting sun. Soon enough it will all be black.

Vhagar roars, deeply and furiously. A bait, a call to battle.

As suddenly as a thunderbolt, the red dragon breaks through the clouds. Caraxes surges towards Vhagar with eager teeth and talons. She breathes a plume fire unlike anything Aemond has ever seen. Caraxes avoids the stream as he goes for her side, slashing at her belly with his claws and screeches as he rears his head, ready to strike her neck.

But Vhagar gets there first. Aemond’s jaw clenches instinctively, the taste of blood pooling on his tongue as Vhagar sinks her teeth into Caraxes’ shoulder. The dragons writhe and thrash in a deadlock, unrelenting in their attacks but determined to escape each other.

They start to fall. It is a chaotic struggle, beating their wings, screaming in agony and rage, pulling away and ripping at each other.

There’s nothing Aemond can do. He tries to urge Vhagar with the reins, tries to scream at her to let go, to obey, but his efforts are all lost to the wind, the spurts of dragon’s blood rushing through the air, desperate bursts of flame.

Until Caraxes wrenches his claws away from Vhagar’s side. His wings struggle as they fall but he scratches at Vhagar’s head, urging her to release the grip on his shoulder. She does, only to close her jaw around his neck with another snap of her jaws.

The lake is getting closer.

For a moment he wonders if he could jump before the dragons hit the surface of the water. He probably wouldn’t survive the fall, and even if he did, his riding leathers and the chains that keep him fixed to Vhagar’s saddle would weigh him down.

They will die with their dragons then.

He hears the call of a dragon, not the aged roar of Vhagar, not the piercing cry of Caraxes.

Through the haze of blood and fire, his eye finds a pale figure on the lakeshore, another dragon.

His heart stops.

Grey Ghost darts into the air, and glides around Vhagar and Caraxes, coming clearly into view.

And he sees her.

He can hardly make out the details of her face and he feels all the more deprived of her. A silver breastplate glimmers on her chest like dragon scales, catching the final crimson glow of the sunset. Dark hair flies behind her with the force of the wind.

Her hands aren’t on the reins, her arms are outstretched. At first he thinks she is reaching for something, until he realises she’s holding a bow when she reaches for an arrow from a quiver strapped to her back. 

He feels frozen, helpless as he watches her position the arrow and pull back the bow string. It would be a quicker death than drowning, and it would be by her hand. He might find peace in it, if only he could see her face on final time.

It is just, surely. He threatened her, demanded she repay her debt with her body and then her eye, pursued her through a storm and watched as she fell through the clouds with the pieces of her dragon.

He tells himself he deserves it, for the way his mother looked at him when he returned from Storm’s End, the way Helaena couldn’t stand to be near him, the screams echoing in his memories, for all the pain he has caused.

The anticipation doesn’t have a chance to set in. He feels himself knocked back by something lodging itself in his shoulder and even then he cannot take his eye from her.

Vhagar lurches, screaming in pain as something hot and wet seeps through his leathers and the shirt underneath.

The shock takes a matter of seconds to wear off, then there is just a searing pain.

His dragon releases her jaws from Caraxes’ neck. Caraxes’ claws continue their assault on her head, aiming for her eyes, but she is almost indifferent to it as she turns her attention to Grey Ghost.

Vhagar can hardly move from underneath Caraxes, but she can drag him with her. Grey Ghost seems to be larger than Arrax was, but it will only take Vhagar a single snap of her jaws to claim both dragon and rider.

He can’t watch Luke die again. He will not.

He can scarcely breathe, can hardly think straight or see anything clearly, but he musters all the force his lungs can manage and wrenches on the reins. “Daor, Vhagar!” he commands. “Ziry daor!” Not her.

Against her desire for blood and her own stubbornness, Vhagar obeys. She turns her head once more to Caraxes. With a slash of her talons, she makes another tear in his belly. Blood gushes from the wound like a river, streaming through the air as the black surface of the God’s Eye comes closer, and closer. 

This will be a battle with no victor. As Vhagar delivers her blow, Caraxes twists his neck and sinks his teeth into her throat. She tries to cry in pain, but it is muffled as she gargles on the blood that floods her gullet.

Aemond tries to look for Luke and Grey Ghost again, but he cannot find them. He sees blood, he sees flames, he sees the colours of sunset in the sky and the lake.

He has to get out of the chains, but he does not know if he has the strength.

He looks up, or what he thinks is up, following along Vhagar’s neck, to where Caraxes’ jaws are clenched around her flesh, along his red hide, to his back.

Daemon is standing in the saddle, Dark Sister unsheathed and poised before him. He should be falling– in fact he is, falling with the dragons, down, down, down, his sword ready to strike.

Daemon means to kill him, before they can meet the water.

He would give his life to Luke, but he will not allow his uncle the satisfaction. 

He doesn’t stop to consider if he has the time, he knows he has to act. First he takes hold of the arrow in his shoulder, snapping off as much as he can of it, bearing his teeth through the pain. Then he heaves the heavy chains to unhook them from the saddle.

As the point of Daemon’s sword comes to meet him, Aemond hauls his body out of its path. With his left hand he reaches for the hilt, and clasps his fingers around it.

With the force of Daemon’s falling, the Princes are dragged from Vhagar’s back.

Aemond has one final chance and seconds in which to take it.

He grips the hilt of Dark Sister as harshly as he can, crushing Daemon’s hand under his grip. He twists his uncle’s wrist, driving the point of the sword into his stomach and driving it forward into his flesh, as far as it will go.

He doesn’t hear a cry of pain, a final grunt or an exhale of breath before the treacherous waters of the God’s Eye consume them.

The noise of their battle, of screaming dragons and roaring fires, are engulfed in a cold, black void. Everything drags him down, his leathers, the force of two dragons hitting the water, and the weight of the limp body run through on Dark Sister. 

Aemond does not fight it. He feels the sting of cold water against his skin and in his nose and throat. On his tongue he tastes blood but cannot decide where it is from, torn between icy numbness and pain. It is everywhere, his shoulder, his limbs, his chest…

Vhagar is gone. For the first time in so long he feels incomplete. 

But even then the thought of grief fades into the cruel quiet of the lake.

Perhaps his end will be peaceful after all. He is not sure he deserves it, but he wants it all the same.

He hears his heart now, pulsing in his ears, echoing through his veins. 

He thinks of Helaena and his mother and wonders if they are being kept together or apart. He thinks of Daeron, fierce, young, vulnerable, the only dragon rider their family will have left. He thinks of Aegon and Maelor and can only hope they are safe. He thinks of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, little white nightgowns seeped with blood, and tightens his grip on the hilt of Dark Sister.

Something disturbs the water above him.

He can see their faces through the darkness, a thousand and one, constantly shifting. Without saying a single word they tell him he is safe.

Something like a limb curls around his torso and grabs him. The pressure on his chest is excruciating but he cannot scream with water in his lungs. It hauls him up. He feels the break through the surface of the lake but he still cannot breathe. 

He wonders if this is the Stranger himself crushing come at last to claim his life and face whatever judgement the gods will pass on him.

Until he lands on solid ground, though not quite solid. It shifts beneath him, cold and sharp under the palms of his hands and the side of his face. With his heart drumming frantically in his ears, his body acts for its own survival, pushing him up onto his hands and knees, retching up blood and water, gagging on the taste it leaves in his mouth.

He hears something land on the ground before him and knows it is a dragon. Through his own struggle he recognises the sound of footsteps against the pebbles, slow and cautious.

His vision is blurry and the only light the sky can offer is a gloomy red. He can see the gleam of it against Dark Sister, the sword of Visenya, Maegor and Daemon, just beyond the reach of his fingertips. 

A hand that is not his own closes around the hilt and brings it out of his line of sight, the point coming to rest at his throat.

Retribution will come with fire and fury…

He drags his body back to rest on his haunches so he can look up at her.

She’s covered in red, her skin under the sunset, her skirt and the sigil of the three headed dragon embroidered on her riding leathers. But she is unmarred by blood, either her own or another’s.

She looks eerily peaceful, a quiet rage simmering under the surface of tired eyes and a soft, rounded face. He does not take his eye from her and she meets his gaze without shame, without fear or pride. He thinks then, he would be content to die at her hand.

He waits for the blade to pierce through his throat, for whatever warmth is left in his body to fade and for the world to go dark again. He waits for the pain to finally end.

… and so it will be your salvation.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

Series taglist: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarsslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

[themushroomofdeath]

The Healer and the Warrior f!original character x law | just rotten fluffy, ship dynamic

Some people spends their life fighting, while others are natural protectors.

She understood it the moment she met him, the real him. He was a fighter. A child who had to survive horrors no human should've to, walked many lengths for a chance of living another day, persevered through many cruel and harsh obstacles because he couldn't succumb to it, he had to persist for those who didn't have a chance to, for their legacy. Put on a mask of indifference and severity, to keep going. Close your heart, because everything you know is how to fight for your life. You don't have time to heal, your world is merciless and ruthless. 

But she was a healer, someone who only knew how to care. She lived an isolated life, but she craved for something to protect, yearning to serve, useful, needed - to love. And as if it was meant to be, she found someone who longed for someone like her.

Fluffy hat thrown somewhere between the mess of limbs and blankets, silky strands of hair tickling her skin with every soft breath from his sleeping form. Her fingers tenderly caressed his scalp, helping lull the tired man to slumber, preventing him from leaving her embrace today. Yet another day of fighting him into allowing himself to relax for once. It was honestly hard to keep his brain from the incessant need of studying, working, planning, making sure everything (and everyone) was safe and in control, repeat. Nights where he just relaxed were becoming ever so scarce, and as a fellow doctor and his lover, she knew it was time to step in. It took all her manipulation methods to stop him from dramatically sighing (multiple times), telling her off, almost shambling her back to their shared room, before he relented. They both knew he was powerless to her reassurances, affections and big puppy eyes, and after being in such a long term relationship with the Surgeon of Death, she was shameless about using it whenever necessary. It was all worth it in the end, watching his face finally relax after hours of being scrunched in a frown – sometimes from concentration, sometimes from pure annoyance. The mere sight filled her chest with warmth and love for the man. It was not easy to love the captain of the Heart Pirates, even to someone who could call herself his best friend and confident, he would be always someone used to the safety of his tall and thick internal walls, never ready to let someone in, afraid to be hurt and to hurt a loved one in the process. But she understood that beyond those walls, laid a scarred child, too used to loneliness and rejection – crying for comfort. And by the time she reached his inner child, she had already sworn to herself to love and cherish him till her last breath, and perhaps beyond that. I will protect you. Willing her thoughts reached for that child, hidden by the darkness of his hidden walls. I will not leave despite how many people wish to take me from you. I will make myself invincible, I will hurt whoever stands in our way, if I have to. I'm not afraid. And kissing his physical and figurative forehead, she vowed one more time. I will be by your side and I will hold you, no matter how long you need me to.

“I love you, Trafalgar Law.” - Smiling at the new tightness of the arms around her, who seemed to acknowledge her tender whispers, she continued. - “Only you, my heart. Forever and beyond.”

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Venomous Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: M Status: One-Shot Characters: Lilth (F!Tav), Kagha Ships: Lilith/Kagha Additional Notes: Canon Divergence, I Can Make Her Worse Word Count: 4.2k Summary: Lilith investigates Kagha with the intent of finding knowledge to use against her. Yet the more she learns, the more intrigued she becomes, until she settles upon her own method of dealing with the druid.

read below or here on ao3

The first meeting between Lilith and Kagha is contentious, to say the least.

“You think me a monster,” Kagha states grimly as the tiefling child runs crying from the sanctuary, and Lilith can see how one might reach that conclusion. Her new companions certainly agree with the statement, though a sharp look from Lilith silences their mutterings. More than that, the druid is clearly willing enough to play the part; she cuts what can only be described as a sinister figure, with her pet snake coiled around her shoulders and her pointed chin tilted defiantly upward.

But ‘monster’, Lilith thinks, is only ever a reductive term.

The other druids aren’t like their leader. Some clearly disapprove of Kagha’s orders; others revel in them. Yet whatever they think, none speak out against her. They cower or they grovel or they glare with the ineffectual petulance of children, and in the end they all bend to her will. Lilith had entered the druid’s sanctuary expecting to find more of the common cowardice she’d encountered outside the stone doors. Instead, it seems she’s finally managed to find someone with a bit of iron in her spine.

It’s an intriguing discovery…or it would be, if Lilith didn’t have vastly more important matters on her mind.

Still. Lilith allows herself a moment to study Kagha before she finally replies, sharp and steady as a dagger. “No. I think you cruel.”

Kagha’s mouth thins and her eyes narrow as she readies herself for the condemnation she is so clearly expecting. It occurs to Lilith to be offended by such an assumption, but she scarcely bothers; such assumptions of high-footed judgment are common enough, given the clear aasimar features which shine through her golden veins and copper-burnt hair. As if some vague inner radiance should compel her to spare a thought towards the morality of others.

“It is not an insult,” Lilith clarifies. “Cruelty is often required of a leader. There are certainly far worse qualities which one could be accused of.”

“Such as?”

“Weakness, for one.” Lilith’s tone turns dry. “What use, after all, is a snake which refuses to bite?”

Green eyes flash as Kagha ponders this response. Those eyes stay fixed on Lilith, taking the woman’s measure just as surely as Lilith is measuring her.

Just what are you up to here? Lilith wonders idly, and she allows her mind to skim lightly over Kagha’s, not venturing deeply enough to be detected, but enough to outline the shape of her thoughts. There is a hunger to this druid, she quickly realizes, and not an unfamiliar one. She thinks of power; she thinks of protection. Paranoia, too, colors her inner musings, and already she is anticipating some sort of trick from the outsider before her.

But for all her prying, Lilith has nothing to hide. Not from Kagha, at least. She meets the elf’s gaze without hesitation, and eventually Kagha eases just enough to give a sharp nod.

“You speak truth. I admit, I am surprised. But you understand what it means, to protect what is important no matter the cost.”

“I suppose I do.”

“Then you understand why I cannot allow any outsiders to remain.” Kagha's words are razor-edged, and the snake at her neck hisses in emphasis. “I have no more aid to offer you than I do to the encroaching devils. Leave before the rite is complete, or be expelled by force. There is nothing more to say on the matter.”

Lilith’s spirit rebels against the blunt dismissal, but she has little to barter with here. She leaves the sanctuary with nothing to show for her efforts, save for menial errands and half-hearted leads. A simmering heat builds in her blood as the irritation seeps in, and the air around her begins to crackle, but Lilith bites back her temper and forces herself to focus on the problem at hand.

The problem: these druid healers are useless, the tieflings are not worth her time, and something dangerous and alien is living inside her head. Half of her companions are likely to stab her in the back at a moment’s convenience. The others are even worse, bleeding-heart do-gooders who want to waste time playing at heroics. Her only plan is a thin one, and she is reluctant to pin her hopes of survival upon this mysterious Halsin.

There is not much to be done about any of it. Halsin is the only one who might know anything about these strange tadpoles, and he is the only one who might sway the grove into providing aid to outsiders.

Yet Lilith’s mind continues to return to Kagha, that sharp, vicious snake of a woman who so obviously has secrets of her own.

An idea slowly forms, and with steel in her step Lilith strides across the grove’s clearing to the small gathering of tieflings. Simpering parents attempt to grab at her, but she pushes past them and places herself in front of the child she’d plucked from the viper’s jaws.

The little girl’s eyes widen as she stammers out some sort of thanks, but Lilith has no patience for that. She did not intervene for the sake of receiving thanks; the judgment of this infant was merely beneath her, and she’d been impatient to put an end to the matter and prevent further time-wasting chaos. Now, she wonders if she might be able to reap some benefit from her actions.

“Tell me,” she says to the girl, “when you were sneaking around the sanctuary in search of this idol, did you manage to find anything else?”

-

Their second meeting is far more revealing.

Lilith admits- Arabella is a clever little girl. The notes she’d found in the sanctuary’s hidden rooms pointed Lilith in quite the unexpected direction. One trek through a cursed swamp later, Lilith returns to the grove with just the kind of knowledge she’d been hoping for.

She requests a lone audience with Kagha, and fully expects to be denied. But perhaps the druid senses that something has changed, for she acquiesces with only token reluctance. Lilith’s mystified companions are left behind as Kagha leads Lilith to her study, her fingers grazing a rune to seal the stone door behind them.

With guarded but undeniably curious eyes, Kagha finally gives Lilith her full attention. “Speak, then.”

The contempt behind the command causes Lilith to bristle. “If you remember, I did request that we speak alone.”

“We are.”

“Are we?” Lilith casts a pointed look to the corners of the cavernous room, where rats scurry unimpeded through the cracks in the wall. It’s impressive, really, that she could not sense the magic before. Now that she knows what to look for, however, Lilith can pinpoint the faint imprint of magic which typically clings to shapeshifters. Returning her gaze to Kagha, Lilith channels her powers to whisper her message directly to the druid’s head.

I assume Olodan is listening in?

The effect of the name is instantaneous; Kagha flinches and glances to the rats, all but confirming the truth of Lilith’s suspicions.

What follows is a long moment in which Lilith is genuinely uncertain as to what course of action Kagha will take. The push and pull of different choices flicker rapidly through their shared thoughts- will Kagha turn on Lilith, raise the alarm for her new superior, reveal that their carefully hidden secrets have been uncovered?

She does not. Instead, she turns back to Lilith with venom in her eyes, and through clenched teeth hisses, “Stay out of my head, sorceress.”

Lilith sighs. Fine.

She lifts a hand and weaves a Silence spell through the air, bending it around herself and Kagha so that they may speak in partial privacy. If the rats demand later to know what they discuss- well, that is Kagha’s problem. Lilith is content enough to temporarily stave off their interference.

“If I may inquire, what exactly is a shadow druid?” she asks by way of bypassing further indignant delays. “I cannot say I have encountered many before.”

Her question is met with sullen silence as Kagha peers around her, feeling out the silent barrier with her own magic. A reluctant hint of admiration breaks through her hostile exterior, but only for a moment; when she turns back to Lilith, her mask of superiority is firmly back in place.

“It is hardly a wonder you know so little of us. Druids do not often venture into the Hells.” Kagha’s biting words do no injury to Lilith; rather, she is somewhat impressed.

“You recognize the source of my power, then.”

“Do not look so pleased, warlock. You’re not half as clever as you believe. Holy magic may run through your veins, but you stink of devils all the same.”

Lilith gives her a razor-thin smile. “Do not be so close-minded. Even aasimar know how to make a deal. And, obviously, so do you.”

“I do not act for my own sake,” Kagha insists. Lilith raises a skeptical eyebrow, and the druid sneers. “Believe me or not, it matters little. But my desires extend beyond a simplistic ambition for control. This is about protecting my home.”

The force of Kagha’s emotion catches Lilith by surprise as the druid takes a step forward, her arm outstretched to gesture toward the doorway and the sanctuary beyond. “You have seen the destruction outside our grove for yourself. Armies march, illithid feast with abandon, the roads are littered with the goblins’ victims. Were it not for the shelter of the mountains, the shadow curse of Moonrise would have swallowed us up already. Isolation is our only hope, and I will do whatever it takes to make this a place of safety for my people. They come first, before anything and anyone else.”

“Halsin never understood that in the ways I did. But Olodan and the shadow druids- they know that survival requires an unshakeable resolve and a willingness to make sacrifices.” Kagha’s gaze hardens, and her voice turns bitter. “I know the others do not all agree with me. I see their looks of resentment. But there are just as many who do understand. I have their gratitude, and their loyalty. If you mean to expose us, know that I will not be fighting alone.”

Kagha’s passionate words turn themselves over in Lilith’s head as she regards the druid before her. She can no longer rifle through the woman’s thoughts, not while she is maintaining her carefully crafted Silence barrier. Yet even without this advantage, it is clear that Kahga believes fully in every word she says.

Good. Now that there are no lies between them, perhaps they can get somewhere.

“I understand,” Lilith says simply, and when Kagha scoffs, Lilith inclines her head in a gesture of allowance. “Very well- I do not understand the priorities of your druids, nor your drive to protect these people who would condemn you for fighting on their behalf. What I do understand is sacrifice…though I tend to refer to it as payment.”

“You presume to compare my actions to your dealings with devils?” Kagha challenges, and Lilith grants her another brittle smile, pleased to see that she has caught on so quickly.

“I do. So let’s make a deal, you and I.”

Kagha’s acidic eyes narrow carefully. “Speak plainly.”

“Very well. I know Halsin was studying illithid tadpoles. What I want is his research. All of it. Every note, every attempted cure-”

The vessels, an insistent voice purrs in her head, and Lilith grits her teeth at the interruption but carries on anyway. “Every specimen. Additionally, I want to know everything he knew about Moonrise Tower and the curse that surrounds it.”

It’s a gamble, this negotiation. But all negotiations are, in some way or other, and Lilith is well-practiced at turning tables in her favor. Her tadpole fuels her in this effort, coating her words with persuasive honey, sharpening her insight as she watches Kagha’s reaction.

With every specimen Lilith has consumed, this power has only grown. And as the days pass and Lilith remains un-transformed, her thirst to know why intensifies. She cannot even say with certainty that she is still searching for a cure; what she wants is to unravel the mystery of what has happened to her, and to hunt for additional morsels of power. This deal, if done correctly, can serve both these needs.

But her reasons matter little to Kagha. To Kagha, only one question is important. “You want all this, in exchange for…what?”

A fair question, and one which Lilith has a more than fair answer. “I ensure Halsin never returns.”

For the first time, Kagha appears truly struck by her words. Her shoulders hunch, her brow furrows; her voice is strained as she asks, “He still lives, then?”

“He does,” Lilith says carefully. Whatever reaction she had expected, this was not it. Perhaps even now, and even through all their differences, Kagha does still care for her absent mentor. Perhaps Lilith has miscalculated.

Unlikely as that is, there is only one way to find out for certain. “People are searching for him, you know- your healer, for one, but she is not alone. With that many eyes, he won’t be difficult to find. Maybe the goblins will kill him themselves before that happens…but maybe they won’t. How long will your reign here last, if he returns? What do you think he will make of what has happened in his absence? Perhaps your shadow friends could help you fend him off, and perhaps some of the grove would even stay loyal to you when the matter is done…but that is no sure thing, is it?”

Kagha shivers at the question, and for a long moment goes silent. When at last she answers Lilith, her voice is solid as stone. “Halsin was weak. He would never be able to do what must be done- what I have done. So yes, you are correct. Were he to return, he would undo everything I have worked towards. He would leave us vulnerable, open to attack, and for what? To assuage his own conscience. To chase after his own peace of mind.”

She chuckles, dark and angry, and her fingers curl bone-white around the wooden staff in her hands. Lilith can practically read the battle playing out behind her eyes as Kagha argues with herself, until finally the druid takes a deep, shaking breath.

All negotiations are gambles, and this is a particularly one difficult one to make. It is, incidentally, impossible for Lilith to deny the rise of respect she has for this woman when she senses her reach a decision.

“He is a good man, Halsin,” Kagha says quietly, speaking to herself more than to Lilith. “But good men are only useful in times of safety. When danger is at the door, a strong leader is needed to fend it off. I will not see our home fall. Not to goblins, not to mindflayers- and not to the weakness of our own leaders.”

Lilith steps forward, hand outstretched. “Do we have a deal, then?”

Kagha’s fingers are lean and calloused, and they squeeze tightly into Lilith’s wrist as the druid takes her offered hand. Lilith is once again reminded of the snake- its grip and its poison, its willingness to strike should the opportunity present itself.

As she looks Kagha in the eyes, she does not bother to hide her admiration. There is, after all, very little a warlock values more than opportunity.

-

The third time Lilith returns to the grove, a celebration is held in her honor.

It is not all accolades and cheering, however. While the tieflings give Lilith thanks, the druids begin arrangements for a funeral to honor their fallen leader- the elf Halsin, who died so tragically at the hands of the goblins. Nettie and the others weep when Lilith brings the news, but they thank her all the same; better that they know the truth, they say, rather than continue to wonder over his fate. Now they can rest easy, knowing that their leader was avenged and the goblin fortress burnt to the ground.

And they can see the wisdom, they finally admit, to what Kagha was saying all along. Had Halsin listened to her from the start, he would never have died so needlessly.

Kagha approaches Lilith at the end of this meeting, with a countenance of grim satisfaction. “The tieflings have agreed that come morning, they shall finally leave us,” she says. “Once the last outsider is gone, the rite of Thorns will be performed. Until then, anything you desire in the archdruid’s chambers is open to you.”

“They are your chambers now, are they not?” Lilith asks, and Kagha’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“For now,” she concedes, “but not for long. I suspect they will be Olodan’s once the Rite is complete and our alliance is revealed.”

Lilith gives her a curious look. Loyalty, she knows, can be a strange thing. Amongst devils and demons, it is a simple matter of serving whichever master grants the most power- and ultimately, in all things, serving oneself. She does not see this type of logic in what Kagha is saying now.

“You needn’t turn the grove over to Olodan,” she points out, and Kagha gives her a sharp look. It’s almost enough to make Lilith smile as she continues on, unperturbed. “You have the idol of Sylvanus. You have the Rite of Thorns. You even have the full support of your people, now that you are their only authority. You hold the power here- were I you, I would not hand it over so easily.”

“I did not do this for the sake of becoming archdruid,” Kagha snaps.

“No,” Lilith agrees. “You did not. Yet the option is open to you. Ambition is no sin, Kagha.”

“I fear your time with devils has dulled your sense of what is and is not sin, Lilith,” Kagha replies, her voice dry and brittle as kindling. But beneath that offense, perhaps, lies that spark of something hungry which Lilith recognized upon their first encounter.

Kagha turns away before Lilith has a chance to inquire further, gracing the warlock with one last nod and a swift, curt statement. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

And work she does. Lilith leaves her companions to the tiefling’s celebration; they would only slow her down, and she herself has no desire for song or festivities. Her interests lie in the hoard of notes and books, in the well-documented observations made of infected bodies and cursed shadows and everything in between. Some of it goes back decades, centuries, and it is exactly what Lilith had hoped for. There are still no easy answers or quick solutions, but over the course of the night she manages to assemble quite the collection of knowledge.

Then, of course, there are the tadpoles, extracted carefully from the hosts collected in the druid’s infirmary. Lilith stows them carefully in small glass bottles and tucks them in the pockets of her bag, savoring the power she senses within.

Consume them, the voice in her head urges, but she restrains herself. These creatures hold power which Lilith has no qualms over using, but they pose a questionable danger as well. Lilith is no stranger to risk, but she is not so eager to endanger her own mind.

So Lilith removes only one of the creatures from its containment, letting it weave between her fingers before encasing it with both hands. It takes but a thought for the power to leach past her skin, through her blood, into her mind. The creature’s power surges through her, and she feels her brain alight with new ability.

“An interesting practice.”

Lilith turns to see Kagha standing in the doorway of the study, her piercing eyes narrowed in judgment. “I should not be surprised to see such unnatural things from a warlock,” she continues. “Anything for power. Isn’t that right?”

Her tone might be considered accusatory, were she not correct. Lilith gives the woman a nod of acknowledgment, letting her now-empty hand fall to her side. “Yes. I admit, I’m surprised to hear a shadow druid object to such things. Your own magic is hardly a thing of pure divinity.”

“I did not say I objected,” Kagha says, lifting her chin, and Lilith is more certain than ever that this air of disapproval is merely the druid’s default state. Indeed, her prickliness fades somewhat as her gaze sweeps over the materials Lilith has gathered. “Are you satisfied, then?”

“Rarely,” Lilith says, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. “But I found what I came here for. It was a pleasure dealing with you Kagha- and I do mean that.”

She does. Kagha has proven herself both poisonous and vindictive, yet for all her thorns she is easily the most appealing company Lilith has found thus far. There’s something oddly reassuring in her sharp-tongued barbs, and even her pointed glares have gradually eased from hostility to something almost appreciative in their measurement.

That look, somewhere between contemplative and admiring, surfaces now as Kagha takes a step closer. Her gaze traces over Lilith’s features- measuring, judging, deciding- and a resolution settles within her eyes. It’s reminiscent of the look which fell upon her when she first threw her lot in with Lilith, and it sparks a curious heat in Lilith’s chest.

This is, Lilith realizes, is the first time the two of them have been properly alone.

“A shame,” Lilith continues in a softer voice, “that I must leave so soon. Alas, that was the deal.”

“The deal was that you leave before the Rite is completed,” Kagha says. “We have some time left yet.” And it is she who closes the distance between them, catching Lilith’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Lilith returns the kiss without hesitation, opening her lips to Kagha and spurring on the druid’s passion. Kagha guides her backwards until her legs hit the desk- and then further still, pushing herself forward until Lilith reaches behind her and sweeps her pile of books to the floor. Not once does she break the motion of her mouth against Kagha’s as she seats herself on the wooden surface, as her legs part to wrap around Kagha’s waist. She simply pulls the druid’s body ever closer, and Kagha complies eagerly.

“I did say my chambers would be open to you until morning,” she whispers into Lilith’s ear, her voice low and breathy.

An anticipatory shiver runs through Lilith, but even now she cannot resist. “Your chambers? So you’ve given thought to my words, then?”

“I have. And I think I like your ideas, warlock.” Her hands play at Lilith’s robes, undoing buckles until she can push the skirts up around Lilith’s waist, her nimble fingers tracing patterns up her thighs. “And I’ve come up with a few ideas of my own.”

Lilith releases a soft moan and lowers her lips to Kagha’s neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone, down her shoulder, her hands rising to loosen the straps of the leather armor which threatens to impede her progress.

The promise of Kagha’s bedchambers is soon forgotten as the druid presses Lilith further onto the desk. Kagha’s chest is now freed completely of her armor, and Lilith presses ever more kisses to her bared flesh, her body shuddering as skilled fingers slide between her legs.

No, they will certainly not be making it back to the bedchambers tonight. The rough wooden surface against Lilith’s back is hardly what she could call comfortable- but then, comfort is not quite what either of them are looking for.

-

Kagha rises with the dawn, and Lilith not long after. Few words are exchanged as they prepare themselves quickly for the day; they both know the Rite is coming, and that Lilith will need to gather her companions before the final sealing of the grove.

Lilith brushes and smooths her hair as best she can, and she fetches her robes from where they lay discarded on the floor. She can feel Kagha’s gaze upon her as she moves, and she meets the druid’s eyes without shame.

“Thank you,” she says evenly, “for your aid and for your time. It genuinely was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Kagha scoffs and shakes her head. “Warlocks are insufferable,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “But I suppose I should thank you in return.”

She walks past Lilith to rummage through one of the shelves at the far end of the room. After a few moments of searching, she returns with a small wooden item which she places in Lilith’s palm, and Lilith must admit to slight confusion as she finds herself in possession of a carved token.

“This will allow you passage through the grove’s sealed borders,” Kagha says simply. “In case you have need of my knowledge again. Or…in case I need another deal.”

Her fingers trace lightly along the back of Lilith’s hand- and then she is gone, departing the study without another word. Lilith watches her go, the token heavy in her hand before she finally slips it into her pocket.

It is unlikely that she will ever need to use it; her business with the grove is finished and done. Yet in spite of herself, she does hope her path crosses with Kagha’s once more.

[leonidele]

20, 23 & Wild Card (pick one you really want to answer, but no one's asking)

oooh an ask! I'll be obligated to answer

20: part of canon you found tedious or boring tgcf: middle of book 2 to (skipping book 3) middle of book 4 was filled with suffering after suffering with no remorse or lingering thought on what was happening. I know we got a break in between, but the past arcs were just- too much, not dull per se, but a very calm and assured downhill that I could not sympathize with. awkwardness? I can handle that with the grace of shi qingxuan the icon themselves. morally questionable scenes? I can walk past them with the uncaringness of he xuan. corny sweet poppy love? give me more! suffering? tiresome to read. I have too much of that irl. but in return, in 17: there should be more of this type of fic/art WU MING.

Wu Ming got too little screen time, got pummeled on by both bai wuxiang and bless his heart Xie Lian himself, got the closure he needed eight f-cking hundred years later (I would argue that not even then it was really for Wu-Ming and all he got was to see his beloved suffer for him) and was never addressed to again other than an 'oh yeah haha hua cheng was wu-ming so he knew all of that already' instead of an 'omg wu-ming you're alive I don't have to mourn you' confrontation that we deserved,

and even now I only barely scarcely find new wu-ming art. (and even then it's from the officials. Wow look canon is doing a better job than you in developing underdeveloped characters!!!) 23: ship you've unwillingly come around to

Tianlang-Jun x Shen Jiu.

Obsessive fans of time travel (like me) would know that if you want the fics, you'll see a lot of this ship in particular.

Now, I wasn't there when it kickstarted. I don't know where it comes from. it made little to no sense to me. I mean, it's shen jiu obviously he's soulmates with YQY why separate them??

oh, oh how it grew on me.

I can and will argue about how this is the healthiest trope of all of MXTX. because of how much the writers focus on the traumatic experiences they both went through, how they refuse to be hurt again, how they spend time healing both together and away from each other, how they grow to stand up to the people they love and distance themselves because of the toxicity that builds up their dynamic and how they learn to let go, even if others will not. it's about healing and moving on and-

... eh, let's just say I like it somewhat. just a little.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

29 - Shrouded Truth in Sickness

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

Length: 14k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past child illness and death, mild mentions of violence, mild disturbing imagery, smut, p in v, light sexual descriptions

Notes: Jon is in fact not wearing a fur cloak in any of these scenes, unlike the show. As Dragonstone is very far South and is in fact, way too warm and humid for fur, Now, none of that matters, but it's important to me that you know that. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

For all that you had been doing, you could hardly remember much of what was said as you all sat around the painted table. Much of the Royal Fleet was typically at Dragonstone as it was far more advantageous then from King’s Landing, so for much of the fourteen years Robert had been King thus had allowed your father to serve his duty from home. On one hand it meant you stood watching him leave harbour for war so shortly since your return home. Yet, it also had meant only two short months later, you stood in the exact same spot watching him return. 

High on the black stones down to the shores you had stood high up, holding Shireen up right by your cheek and waving her tiny arm at the ships coming home. She had finally been old enough you could take her on simple walks around the castle grounds telling her stories the whole while of father. Your mother had said she would not be able to understand you, but you cared little. Always bright and animated as you spoke to her she was always engaged with what you said even as she neared three months. 

You perhaps had gotten used to how to talk to young infant girls like so from the last number of trips you had made to Winterfell. The first return you made was when you had met Lord and Lady Stark’s first daughter. A bright hair of Tully red, even moreso then Lady Catelyn herself, Maester Luwin had jested that little Sansa must have strong Tully in her blood more then Robb. She was a well behaved girl, quiet if not a bit fussy at times but you were quick to play big sister with her at that very young age. 

Arya was more of the one however, that prepared you in the end.

Mischievous and loud, always looking for something to do, or someone to play with her and she had latched onto you quite quickly. By the time you had returned home some months ago, your mother was about ready to birth Shireen. Shortly after she came into this world, father left for war so you had spent two months doing everything you could do ensure she didn’t feel neglected. She even at so young, had a babbling energy about her that clearly little Arya had prepared you to handle. 

So when father returned, it felt odd to suddenly be pulled back from spending time with her as he insisted on keeping you focused on your lessons. It was one night such as those where your father had his men all meeting around the painted table, your mother still recovering from giving birth and thus Shireen was left under the watch of her Septa. You were up with your father, sitting only a few chairs down from him with paper and ink in front of you. 

You had one easy task, or at least, one task with a simple rule. Everything spoken in that meeting, you were to write and translate, and it would be checked to make sure you had not let your time North let you forget all of your language lessons. Whatever they had been talking about, you scarcely recalled however. 

Reaching for the ink once more, your hand had hovered in place over it. In fact, all of you seemed to have stopped. Your Uncle Alester had later said that it looked almost as if you had accidentally caught sight of the candle lit flames situated near the empty middle of the painted table and had no longer had the ability to look away. The reflection in your eyes was tense, and you seemed not to have realized you were not paying any attention or moving. 

Only when he had called your name did it pull you out of it. But as if having no awareness of where you had been, your hand dropped and thus knocked the small glass bottle of ink all over. Some spilling onto the wooden writing desk sat on your lap, the bottle crashed down with a smash all across the floor and spilling more ink onto there and most it had made it’s way all over the front of your dress. 

The sudden onslaught of sensations had startled you greatly, causing you to jump from your seat with a gasp and all eyes flew over to you with various stays of confusion as to your outburst. But all you could do, was stammer. Looking at your father with no explanation as to what happened, but he had simply dismissed you, that he would look over what you had done up to that point tomorrow. 

The walk back to the corridors where your room and now Shireens room sat was frustrating. You uselessly wiped at the ink now ruined the dress on you with no understanding of what really happened between you in the middle of correcting a word you translated incorrectly to flying back as you had sent the bottle of ink all over you and the floor. 

All you did was reach your hand up, and your eyes caught glance of the flickering flames of the candles in the middle of the table and it was enough to take your mind away. Had that been all of it, you might have recalled looking into the flames and seeing strange images flying through it and painting across your eyes as they transfixed you to them. Until your uncle had called your name did it coincide with another calling your name that you, at the time, didn’t recognize, and it forced you back to the room you sat in. 

But, it wasn’t the only thing to happen that night, and thus it was forgotten for a while.

Passing through the corridors, you could feel the damp, stuffy air even from the distance and huffed in annoyance. You walked a bit further, peeking enough into Shireen’s room so that you could both see your Septa, but not enough she could see your dress and lecture you. “My father says I am to watch Shireen for the remainder of the night, that you need not return until mid morning.” Her brows narrowed as she looked up from the cross stitching she had been working on, calling your name in sternness.

Before she could say anything more though, you disappeared beyond the corner shouting, “Please leave her door open, I will only be a moment.” You heard her sigh and grumble but as you hid somewhat behind your heavy door you could tell she had left. Giving you the chance to peel off the ruined dress before she could see, changing into something much more simple but warmer. 

Only some minutes later and you made your way into her room. Shireen looked asleep when you had poked your head in, but it seemed the sound of your voice pulled her awake. Her infant’s bed with wooden pulls just enough that she could slumber without falling, you pulled the front and sides all the way down as she blinked awake more with a babbling on her lips. 

Standing up you moved to the largest window which had the ability to open, to the edge of the room, which Septa Moelle had closed. Annoyed you shook your head as you spoke to your sister in a dramatic manner, “Oh it is far too cold child, I will freeze to death before the night is even up.” Dropping to a more normal tone, “Honestly Shireen, you’d think she grew up in Dorne how much she complains of such cold. This is nothing,” your head turning to glance at her now sitting up more to watch you, “Wait until you come North with me in some years, now that is what cold truly is.” 

The cool breeze filtered in with a nice rush over your exposed skin that alleviated the damp air around the castle. Glancing to her once more, she seemed content as every to just have you speak at her. Unlike your mothers insistence, Maester Cressen said that as long as you speak to an infant, it helps them learn language faster. So it was alright she would not properly understand you for some time. 

“Now, which story should we read tonight? If you have any suggestions, speak up.” Turning back you ran your hands over a pile of books you had brought in to her room. Ones you did not care to read or keep for yourself anymore, however you thought she may was well see for herself if she found any interest in dragons and wars long passed.

So you begun to read the stories to her, spending many nights you sat crossed legged on her or your bed, with her propped up comfortably in your lap with a book open before both of you. You would read carefully out loud, pointing to each sentence you read as her bright green eyes followed intently. 

Voice morphing into low and high pitches of differing theatrics when you would go over something whimsical happening, gasping and pointing to drawings attached and helping guide her tiny hand to where you were pointing. Sometimes repeating certain words until she babbled out more nonsense before pressing a kiss to her cheek until she giggled. 

Four times now your mother had lost one of your brothers, and now The Mother had finally heard your prayers and hers and granted a child. A sister, and you were taking full advantage of what you were beginning to think you’d never have. 

Biting your lip in thought, your nails tapped against the cover of one book about The Young Dragon in consideration, when you heard a simple thud. Turning back, you saw a small doll laying flat on the ground and a little Shireen giggling along. Shaking your head, you left the books behind, walking over to her bed.

Kneeling down you recognized the doll was a brand new one father had bought from a merchant when he returned home. The dress had been hand painted to match that of the house colours even, and she clearly adored it. For the most part. 

Picking it up you placed it back on the bed, only to watch her toss it again with a smile. This time your eyebrows shot up as your mouth opened in a playful audacity. “Are we playing a game or are you just being a pest, Shireen?” Like you were a dog you fetched the doll once more, holding it in your hand up above her with a grin as you waved it from her reaching arms. “Only if you don’t throw it again.” 

This time she sat it down back on the soft bed as you took most of her attention instead as you sighed out, “Was I this much of a brat when I was your age? If so I see why father has so many grey’s already, you’ve been in this world but three months and I already feel as ancient as Maester Cressen.” You looked at her now more close up, and something made you narrow your eyes. 

It was hard to see in the low light, and Shireen only wanted to reach for you when you tried to reach in and check. Laughing you pulled back from her grabbing hands, “Hold on, silly girl, hold on.” Getting up you walked to the other side of the room to grab a lantern sat on a small table, walking over and hanging it properly up on the wall to the side of her bed. 

In the direct firelight now you sat back down facing her, reaching to gently tilt her face to the side as you tried to see what had gotten on her. “Does our Septa pay no attention, what did you get into in your nap that looks...” 

It was something unpleasant filling your veins as your voice faded out, eyes narrowing with a sharpness as you leaned in, keeping her close. It wasn’t something you grasped right away, until your hand let go of her cheek. Glancing down to the brand new doll now sitting abandoned at the side of her, you flickered your eyes back up to the mark. 

It was small almost like a tiny cut, but when you leaned in more reaching to turn her head even more so you could see, you realized that it wasn’t a cut that was on her cheek. It was a crack. A crack that sat with dry and almost flaking skin just slightly around it. In the uncomfortable pit forming in your stomach, you realized that it looked partially by the crack to be a mottled black, but the dry skin around it didn’t match the rest of her either. It almost looked-

The second you realized what colour the small patch of skin looked like, you had filled with such a sudden dreading fear that you were swooped with a painful dizziness, your hand dropping from her face in an instant. Not two seconds passed as you realized it, did your eyes and mouth widened in a horrored gasp, and you had turned and ran out of her room and down the corridor faster then you’d ever had run in your life.

Voice so loud that every man in the room around the painted table could hear you screaming in a desperate panic for your father, before you even could ascend the steps of the Stone Drum Tower. 

It had been a long time since you had a single solitary use for knowing it. The worst you could think of was that you had translated it entirely wrong and were worried for nothing, but few on this island knew how to read it. As far as you were aware, it would only be three and you certainly weren't going to bring it to the third it was for until you already knew without a doubt what it said.

The morning rained harsh over Dragonstone, and as you leaned your palms against the painted table you had to tune it all out in order to focus. You read and reread it so many times you couldn't be sure it even spoke words anymore. Maester Pylos had brought it to you, but you had looked at him with something held back as you told him to have someone fetch your father up to meet you, alone. 

Without any other word you simply had handed it to Stannis, “I need to make sure this says what I'm seeing before we do anything else.” A twist in his face your father had taken the raven scroll from you, and the translation was exactly as you feared. “You are certain?” 

Stannis looked it over again as sharp eyed as yourself. “You surpassed my skill a long time ago, if what you translated is correct then that would be more assured then my own.” 

One hand was draped across your stomach while the other let your elbow rest on your forearm and dig your nails into your bottom lip. You did not like the unease in his own gaze, turning to your father as an unsettled feeling rippled from your veins out and flowed equally through his as he continued. This if true, was something else entirely. “The last I had known of where they were, a spy of Lord Varys had reported her and her brother in Pentos.”

Shaking your head, you inhaled deeply as you stood straighter. “Apparently, she had been there to marry some Dothraki Horse Lord, last I knew of her Robert had ordered her and Viserys killed and his spy turned on him the last moment. Haven't known where she was or doing after that, I don't even know where she would have gotten..I thought all the eggs were gone.”

You could see the enormity of the skull in the underground halls of King’s Landing, and how much stories of Aegon’s Conquest were written in the worst severity known of fire and blood. Was this why he demanded Jon do the same as once done by Torrhen Stark? Bend the knee or be destroyed? 

“Evidently not. After Summerhall proved failure, it would take a lot of power to bring three to life as she clearly has. Who did this arrive for?” Gesturing to the raven scroll, but as your head tilted somewhat to the side with a narrowing look in your eye, the answer was already spoken as much. “It seems Aegon is keeping a few secrets of his own.”

The rain poured so loudly behind you, as if trying to wash out the fire already burning in your memory that flashed so green it felt as it it blinded you. You did that with nothing but wildfire, what would three flying beasts of their full potential do this time? Your voice was quiet, “You said he claimed he was the last of his family, obviously he knew about her so why lie? Why lie to us?”

His guess was as good as yours, “Garner sympathy, perhaps. Much of our family and the Starks are gone, meaning he may have presumed a plea of similar circumstances would soften our choices.” You turned around, knowing your father could see the tensity in your shoulders as you walked to the edge of the room, hands braced on the stone looking out to the rain splashing against the sea. Moments later, sensing your father approaching all the same matching the position. “We need to know what the boy knows. If he intends on bringing them to Westeros, we will need to be as prepared for it as we are for the far North.”

A squire sent out to bring Aegon up to both of you, keeping for now things all tucked away between the only ones who could even read the language sent of the writing. Speaking low, your eyes never peeled from the sea. “Why Ser Axell?” There was a small noise in his throat, the only indication of a question to elaborate. “Maester Pylos told me about the ceremony on the beach, you burned Ser Axell and two others that day.” 

Neither looked at the other, but your postures matched just as the held back coldness in your faces, his voice as controlled and tight as yours. “He was an infidel. I ordered him to tear down his idols and he disobeyed.” Your throat swallowing as you tried and failed to sense any emotion in the tone, and you couldn't help but notice that it wasn't calm dedication you sensed. 

Turning not enough to face him, but so that your voice carried just well enough to hear your muttering towards him. “He was my uncle. He was your brother by law, if you needed reminding.”

There was the tone, only, it emerged from Stannis just on the air of light enough, it made your mouth part as you twisted in something close to frustratedly amused. “If we are speaking in those terms, I could remind you that by way of your late husband, Jon Snow is your brother by law.” 

You could sense his eyes flicker to you just the slightest. Your eyes narrowing as your jaw clenched with almost a shake of your head. Whispering as your nails tapped against the stone, “Look at you, still having a sense of humour.” 

Leaning more of his forearms against the stone, you did as well. His voice low and in what only you could pick up was a slight mocking. “An ironic thing to say when it's coming from you.” That time you did turn to properly look at him with a furrowed brow. “You have many strengths, but humour is not one of them.” 

Matching his stance, you smirked half heartedly now both Baratheons watching the water. You chuckled just a bit, and so did he.

Your voice however, dropped back once more. “Everything got worse once I was dead, didn't it? This, my mother, the red woman. I don't know if I can say it only is coincidence all of this fanaticism got much worse after you all thought I was gone.” Stannis nodded, as your head dropped. Lungs tightening you tried to push out the thought that no one was responsible for your own families continued demise but each other. Maybe you were all destined to become this way. 

“I've never asked you to believe as me and your mother do. She took to it more, a true believer your mother is. Even now, she takes is to her heart and no matter what you dislike about it, it is something I see in too.” Your hand reached up, fiddling with what you had begun to think of as Shireen's necklace, for just a moment to keep your eyes dry. “But losing you, and realizing I could have done something to help prevent it and didn't? Your mother and I hadn't known we were to have a grandson until you were already dead. So yes, in our grief, in my guilt we let ourselves believe in it stronger then we should have allowed. That I should have allowed.” 

Unlike her necklace, you didn't reach down to run over where your scar was under your dress. You didn't want to once more feel it sink into you and twist as it had too many days since.

He continued quiet, your eyes both now on the sea of your home, and nothing but a heavy weight sat between you that hadn't been allowed to sit for a long time. If ever. “I almost lost you once, and then I actually did. All the same with Shireen. I can't change that, all I can do is work to be better then I am. Better then I was. I couldn't protect my daughters when it mattered most, and I will never have a bigger failure as my duty of a father then that.” 

It was quiet between you, looking out to the rain as it slightly blew now to mist gently over your hair when you thought of it. That you desperately hoped that in his final moments, Eddard Stark did not feel as if he failed his daughters. No matter where they were now, alive or dead, at least your father was alive to see it get better. 

But hearing the strain in your fathers voice even as he leaned just like you against the stone edge with a calm disposition, you dared not think of how it would have felt for Ned to die with that kind of guilt. 

By the time he arrived in the room, both you and your father had moved onto opposite sides of the table. The rain still pouring as Aegon closed the heavy door behind him, looking between you both with  a distrusting glare. Stannis gesturing towards the raven now sat by the edge of the table where the blue haired dragon had come in with a much more lack of patience in his tone then he had with you. “You speak High Valyrian, I presume. What do you make of that?” 

Both of you watched with close eyes as he read it over, but there were few which could hide their surprise, or shock, as well as they thought they could from both Baratheons. Glancing up slowly as his grip tightened on it, you wondered just how much of this information he might not have known in so much detail. If the unnerved silence matching his clenched jaw, spoke of. 

His voice was as controlled as any. “I presume neither of you brought me up here hoping I could translate this for you.” Your eyes were cold and without a single blink as they found his blues. “You already know what this translates as, what do you want me to say?”

Your voice came out as sharp and hissing as was the look in your eyes, hands perched on a chair in front of you. “We want you to tell us what exactly you know. About her, about them,” Your head gesturing to the raven he still held. “You do not get to stand there and pretend as if we do not all know what kind of a threat this could be. Your blood ties to that family does not excuse you from hiding something as important as this from people.” 

Glaring at you, he ran a hand over his face. Pacing to the side as you and Stannis both watched before he put the raven scroll back on the painted table. If whatever lie he was about to conjure up was confident, your fathers stern tone to almost shout over the rain took every chance of that away. “You came to us pleading for peace only days ago, that you are the last of your family and yet now we know for a fact that across the Narrow Seas, Daenerys Targaryean has living dragons. How about you start with why you lied, considering the King in the North and myself did nothing but lay out nothing but our true intentions to you.” 

Three monarchs were alone in the darkness of the room of the painted table, but for once it was the Targaryean heir which held not a single ally to look to. It took him a good while to find such words, and it had him on edge as neither you nor Stannis moved an inch waiting for him to speak. Glancing up between you both he sighed, then paced as he spoke instead. “I'm supposed to marry her, Daenerys.” 

If Aegon had noticed the brief glance as you and Stannis shared a twisting grimace he didn't mention it. At least you knew your father well enough that his comment about Jon was a joke. 

“They all thought it would strengthen my claim if I did, but if you had not noticed, I came here alone without her. I still have never even met her. I told you I was the last of my family, because as far as I've ever met, I am. I didn't even know her whereabouts until..” Hand gesturing to the raven scroll. 

It had said that she was finally reported by Vaes Dothrak atop a dragon, but that there were still some to be suspected under the temple of Mereen which was under her control. Your father's tone was before, was indistinguishably short and unimpressed as yours coming out. 

Stepping around the chair you came much more into his view, snatching a ship from the painted table's layout which was used to represent the Golden Companys own fleet, leaning against the side of it with your back against the table, staring unblinkingly harsh at the Targaryean. “Tell us what you know about them. Her dragons.” 

The fact that Aegon had to look down to meet you in the eyes took nothing away from the cold intensity that gave away nothing in such a firm stature. “The one spotted by Vaes Dothrak, is the largest, Drogon.” 

Your hands easily tearing off a sail from the wooden figure as you repeated but in a quiet mutter, almost mocking his more meek tone. “Drogon,” 

“She has two others, reportedly locked in the dungeons of the temple in Mereen. Viserion,” Ripping off another sail, you chucked it along the painted table once more as your eyebrows raised, repeating the name. Aegon glanced with what almost was to be a sigh to Stannis before finding again, no ally as he returned to you. “And Rhaegal.” 

Nodding, you tore the last sail off. “Rhaegal.” Nothing left of it, you under tossed it roughly to slam against the painted table, knocking down what other wooden ships sat by to represent that of Dragonstone. “We could have three dragons flying to our shores any day, and we would be powerless to resist. What does that say about your intentions that you chose to share this with none of the two Kings seeking peace on this island, until I had to translate your raven before it got to you.” Your head tilting to gesture to Stannis. 

The man himself, looked none impressed as he too moved closer. “I spent four years at war trying to press my claim for the Seven Kingdoms, and yet I've put that on hold beacuse I can't rule Kingdoms that do not exist once winter arrives.” Your eyes forced to stay in place, not to ask him about it, it wasn't the time nor your business about his involvement with the Nights Watch. “You and this woman mean to bring dragons back to our lands, scorch our earth and massacre our people when already a war is coming for us from the North.” 

For all spoken of being the last dragon, and the fire and blood of the family known for their undeserving pride, there was something not quite comfortable as he swallowed. He hadn’t spoken a word of this since you all had been here, and you were dizzy trying to connect it all to a why. “I never wanted..I didn't ask to be involved in her affairs. They tried to convince me to ask her for help but I said no. I came here without them, I got the Golden Company on my own to follow, I didn't need her help, and-”

Something in him stopped, as he looked between you both. Walking to the head of the painted table his hands braced against the top of the chair there. You and Stannis both shared a glance, something unsure of trust in both your eyes but allowed him to gather his thoughts.

“I know what they say about my grandfather, the things he had done. Hearing is one thing, but, knowing one of your own is out there doing all of that and worse is another.” Looking up to you both, finding something it seemed, a bit less difficult to look in the eye as something freezing washed over yours. “They say she performed some kind of blood magic to hatch her dragons, sacrificing her own slave, and ever since she’s let them turn her into a conqueror.” A drop to more of a strained whisper, “And despite my namesake, I do not use that title mindlessly, I assure you both.” 

You saw green and screaming, what you had done to even be rid of the wildfire brought to your shores was more monstrous then you ever imagined doing and yet it was nothing compared to what three dragons would accomplish. 

Aegon continued looking between you both now finding confidence in what likely he had rarely spoken of and finally getting out as terrifying as it kept becoming, “In Essos, her brutality is already legendary. She has taken the Unsullied for herself, and burned their previous masters alive. She crucified hundreds of noblemen in Slaver's Bay without a second thought, even boys as young as twelve for simply who they were born as without ever due trial for who as guilty and who wasn't. And when she grew bored of that, she fed the rest of her enemies to her dragons.” 

You tried to find the right words more then once, but Stannis settling on a calmer disbelief for his thoughts attached. “Why keep such a close eye on her movements if you didn't intend to warn of it?”

It now was even move clear, Lord Varys had kept a certain degree of strange information from these people. “My – Lord Connington wishes for me to take her as a wife. Secure a powerful rule on the Iron Throne and if so then have use of her dragons as well. I chose to sail here without her instead. I shouldn’t have to go running to my aunt for help like some beggar.” 

A low hiss in your own whisper finally clawed back at what he was focusing on. “This isn’t about who you wish to marry. We are not here to help you with a family dispute, we are fighting a war coming from beyond the wall-” Stopping the raise in your voice, you stepped back for a moment as your hand pressed to your forehead with a harsh pressure. Turning away until it eased up, you looked back to your father, only nodding once at you, letting you speak your peace, albeit calmer.

Facing Aegon once more, you gestured to Stannis before pacing closer and closer to the dragon. “He and Jon are the only Kings who care to protect the realm, before something we know nothing about comes for us all. What use is everything we have sacrificed if armies of Unsullied and Dothraki come to destroy the people’s homes, rape and enslave our women and children? Watch it be burned down by dragons and the daughter of the man Jons father and mine fought to overthrow?”

It didn’t matter if Aegon or anyone didn’t believe in what winter storms would blew through the realm without a second thought. The world seemed to be closing in on you, ice on one side and fire from the other and both were just as terrifying. 

You felt as if he were looming over you increasing in his own frustration as his face twisted to anger, stepping closer to you. Stannis on the other side circling around quietly as the Targaryean stood tall and large in your face with anger. “I don’t want any of that, I didn’t conquer lands or burn down innocent people just to call myself a King. I was raised to be better then that, better then her. I told Jon Connington I was the only dragon he needed, and I meant that. I don’t need to ride on a dragon the size of Balerion the Dread. I want people to want me as their King not be scared of me.” 

Narrowed eyes stabbed within the gaze of the other as Stannis stood now enough by him that Aegons shoulders tensed, your fathers voice was low and calmer. “Yet you are still demanding Jon Snow and myself, bend the knee and swear fealty to you.” The blue haired dragon only glared at you as you did him. “Knowing he and I, would be giving up everything we've fought for.” 

Biting your tongue as you inhaled, trying to keep your heart calmer before you muttered through more gritted teeth. “I stood against my father for three years thinking we would one day go to war with one another, and now he and Jon are working side by side to protect their people from the Others.” 

Looking between you both, the rain pouring down just outside the castle walls filling the air, Aegon swallowed. “If I don't fight for my right-”

Your father finished for him however, his voice low, and a sympathy within that had Aegon turn from you entirely to look. Not a comforting man Stannis Baratheon, but an understanding one. “I once thought that if I did not press my claim, that my claim would be forgotten. That I would be just a page in someone else's history books, but I'm not fighting for it now. Not here. I saw the truth, and it is coming no matter if you believe us. But we have been honest, you kept this from us.” His head nodding to the raven. “You mean to cut off our legs and leave us crippled to Daenerys Targaryean and her dragons, all so you can pursue the Iron Throne without competition. I would suggest reconsidering Jon Snow's offer to discuss terms with him, he convinced me this war the most important one, maybe if you have enough intellect left in you, he will do the same again.”

You had told Aegon you would go fetch for Jon yourself, sending him off closer to the main grounds of the castle as the rain only barley begun to ease up. Before turning the corridor, you looked back to the dragon before he could turn away. An unpleasant glare in his own eyes that faded into conflict as they drifted into anger. “If you wish to follow your ancestors, be that Rhaegar or your own namesake, we cannot stop you. But he won't kneel for you. Jon is not Torrhen Stark, and he never will be. But winter is coming, and we're running out of time, Aegon. Which means you're running out of time.”

Many woodland creatures looked at the approaching figure as a beast, large and terrifying as sharp eyes saw all. No noise was made other then small ones scattered about as if they knew they weren’t to be food for this one. 

It was never not strange, especially now so far away to do so. So many times at the wall it would happen in his sleep and he tried to tell himself otherwise. They were only dreams he’d think to himself as he woke in the morning. At night Jon’s mind was filled with too much thought, too much work, and too much impending doom looming over the horizon of the far North and every night he found no solace. He dreamt of direwolves. 

Control is what a warg was said to be able to do. Find their consciousness inside that of an animal and control them of your own, and yet sometimes Jon doubted it was as simple as such. Each time he had found himself seeing through Ghost’s eyes he found himself knowing what he knew and needing no explanation to follow what path he was already on. 

Was Jon really the one in control of Ghost, or did they share that consciousness together? Because as he walked through the snowy lands of the wolfswood, Jon knew he was following tracks that of other wolves. He knew what he was searching for and there was no reason he should, but he would walk at night through the trees and search as Ghost would alone. 

Sometimes he would sit in on the meetings of the Lords in charge for him. At first questioning the appearance of the giant creature but settling once they saw he would only sit silent right where he could see the whole room. But now, as he walked the morning through the woods, he realized what Ghost had realized before him, or together he surmised. 

Whoever the wolves were which he seemed to be stalking, one left tracks that too large for normal ones. Ones Jon would step right into with a front paw and fit perfectly. Out in the wolfswood around Winterfell, Ghost was searching for the trace of another direwolf. 

He could hear something else in the distance. A mist somewhere on his person, that was followed by pouring of rain overhead and waves crashing against the rocks. It was that which kept Jon from losing where and who he was.

It was harder some days then other to remember he was a man. He would be back in the snowy North, his paws sunk deep into a drift of snow as he stood on the edge of a great cliff. Or dreams suddenly finding his mind inside of Ghost during a hunt, and he suddenly needed to kill and fill his stomach with fresh meat and dark blood. 

The feeling would startle him awake sometimes, the night before he had awoken just as his blood red eyes found, ironically, prey in that of a deer. For a few seconds, he couldn’t quite come back from how much Ghost’s hunger woke Jon, making his own mouth water. His hands tensed as if still paws and his nails acting as claws, Jon realized he was digging his nails deep into your hip almost drawing blood, and the force already bruising the skin. 

You hadn’t at least, woken up at the pain, Jon had well worn you out only hours before. 

But as he stood there now, his mind only was pulled back by the sudden sensation over his fur of delicate nails, scratching gently along his spine as he let a low growl out. But was the airy, quiet whisper making his ears twitch did Jon pull his mind back, reminding himself once more he was a man. “Jon,” A soft voice far from the North and Jon had to focus to come back. He was not a wolf. His hands had been braced against a high railing and his gloved hands strained at the pressure as the rainy skies of Dragonstone returned. 

You knew before you had even gotten to his side, his stiff posture unmoving but also with a tensity that was not indicative of the isolated spot around him. It would take not much more but a gentle coaxing to pull Jon back, not wanting to startle whatever path Ghost was taking him on so far away. You had almost felt bad, it was clear he missed the direwolf and there was little doubt Ghost missed him just as much. 

Letting him wander the North in the eyes of Ghost was also simply a way to bond with his companion so far from one another. 

Much work had been done under the grounds of the island. Tunnels and strange pathways that with enough men stretched deep and far with caches of Dragonglass amongst the strange sparkle of a cave that stood around you like a dreaming sky. 

Dragonglass was not for much use elsewhere, but it was certainly a very hard material to cut through, all tools needing to be as sharp as each others and as long as what broke off of the walls came down without shattering into tiny pieces that was all that was needed. It wasn’t the solution to save his people, it was a resort needed to protect those who otherwise won’t be able to protect themselves from what was coming. It killed the Others, it killed wights and if something came for you it was enough to survive. 

The rest of it all however, was trickier. But one step at a time, too much and winter would overtake everything and blind Jon and yourself to what needed to be done.  

It was almost adorable, the way you gently approached him softly whispering his name, and seeing even as his eyes paled over with an eeiry white, his brows furrowed in a brief confusion. For a moment it was almost as if a growl formed deep in his chest as you ran your hand flat and lightly up his spine before returned to you, blinked away the white and once more his grey eyes came back.

Not pressing him on what he was doing, instead he seemed to have gotten the message that you were trying to address him in a manner that wouldn’t tip off he was elsewhere as his back was turned. A flicker of his eyes to you, and you spoke low with a stoic look in your eye but a splash of amusement tinged behind your breath. “Aegon has decided he would like to discuss terms with the King in the North, peacefully that is.”

Jon’s eyes glanced more to your slightly clenched jaw and rigid posture, a small rasp as his hands tightened against the stone he was braced against as the wolfish sensation crept out slowly. “Are you and Stannis not invited?” 

Shrugging a shoulder, you didn't want to weigh him down just now with what was discussed just yet, hoping the dragon would be reasonable otherwise with Jon as many were. “We already spoke, however I wouldn't say it went very well. It could be he is a difficult one to work with, or..” 

Jons voice was low as it was amused, “Or it could just be beacuse it's you and Stannis.”

That pulled a chuckle from you, pulling your hand from his spine as you nudged his arm as a playful smirk was shared between your glances at the other. Not mentioning it to you, but he tried not to focus that the spot felt cold to Jon as you pulled away. Wrapping your shall around in the coolness just short of the rain Jon stood by, you leaned more against his side easy. “I'd wish you good luck, but it seems you are far better at having that with negotiations then I ever am.”

“You could be good at it, if you weren't so stubborn.” 

Jon smirked to himself as your own face twisted in a playful offence. “Is this your first time meeting any one from my family?” He chuckled more freely next to you, only your voice lowered a bit as you leaned more to look at him. “Is everything alright, home I mean?” 

Nodding, he looked out to the rainy island around and couldn't stop the feeling of how much he missed the cold and snow instead. If he knew how much longer he had to be here, Jon would have been counting down the days already. “It is, everyone's keeping the peace.” 

He needed to go, but as you both stood there for a moment the pair of you let the comforting, warm quiet between you sit. Never time to yourselves, never allowed any time to yourselves it felt. 

Small moments were all you had, Jon and Robb both it was starting to feel. 

Too many had been gathered in the hall, for what was suspected a crowd was the worst thing to be in the corridor. Your own shorter figure was braced against the door frame, hands perched on it’s edge as you watched the careful movements of Maester Cressen. Beside him was your father and the silent, solemn look between them made you feel even worse. 

None had ever seen you quite so openly distressed as when you burst through the door in terror saying something was wrong with Shireen. Your mother now stood on the other side of the door frame in a stilled silence contrasting how your muscles almost shook as you watched. 

Cressen was quiet, only for family but it was your mother’s shaking gasp wavering into a need to cry that told the rest everything they needed to know. “It is as she feared, my lord.” The second you had looked at him and said her skin looked cracked and grey he and your father had moved swiftly. Your father ordering his squire to fetch Selyse and bring her to Shireen’s room as he pulled you with them to see for themselves what you had seen. 

Whispers rippled around behind you and your mother in horror and concern. “We have to deal with this now,” one said. Another whispering, “Who knows which one of us already has it next.” A third in the back almost angrily, “She needs to be dealt with before we’re all shipped off with the stone men.” 

Maester Cressen at least, held a bit more peace in his tone as he spoke to only the family. “There are methods to keep it at bay to varying degree of usefulness. Most accounts differ to what helps, but to take the safest course I would recommend none but me have contact with Shireen for the time being.” 

Your father looked at you, “It was the doll you mentioned was suspect, correct?” 

Nodding, you looked at it now laying on a small table on a cloth to be wrapped up and burned away outside. “It’s the only new thing she has, and Septa Moelle wasn’t paying attention, Shireen was napping with the doll pressed to her face.” You could hear her protest behind you, but your head whipped around as the red in your eyes stung enough to raise your voice. “I always pay attention to her when I'm with her, you weren’t even on the same side of the room when I came in.”

You knew the older woman was not happy with your more insolent attitude in the past few years, her eyes narrowing in a lecture already. “Well I could hardly stop the disease from being on the doll could I have? What else would you have me do, child?” 

“Watch her-” 

You had started to yell, only to have your father call your own name sternly. Your body flipping around to face him again, but there was no lecture in his eyes. A rigid posture that begged to fall apart and a strain in his voice and eyes as he glanced to the others. “Leave us.” 

All but the family and Maester Cressen remained, as Stannis beckoned Selyse to step inside more before closing the door. Your arms had crossed over your chest, trying to contain the growing ache inside of it as you kept looking over at little Shireen oblivious to the world threatening to take her away from you all. Your father’s voice was quiet, and less angry then you presumed. “I understand how upset you feel, but I cannot have blame thrown around like that. This isn’t anyone’s fault. Including yours.” 

Your eyes flew down, looking anywhere but his and you despised how easily he had seen past your anger. Your mother was quiet toned off to the side, “She is young and it has only just appeared there must be something we can do.” 

Maester Cressen however, gave little hope. “Some believe cutting off the effected area upon formation will stop the spread, but that is out of the question in our case. I have a number of mixtures I can apply, and vinegar is also spoken heavily of something that prevents it’s spread to others. But other then that, there is little we can do.” 

You shook your head fervently, “No there has to be an answer somewhere.” He tried to explain otherwise but your voice raise only shook as tears begun to form behind your eyes. “We could write to the citadel, some book there must have an answer we don’t.”

Perhaps if this was a more affectionate family, Selyse would have been more willing to pull you back into an embrace with her at your desperation, but you all stood there feet apart as alone feeling as one another. “There is no harm in requesting aid, or even inquiring if they would be willing to look on our behalf.” 

Your father was braced with a hand on the high frame of the bed, eyes trained down on Shireen who blissfully was looking up at him with a smile hoping to pull one from her father back. His voice quiet as he never looked away or moved an inch from her. “Do everything available to you to treat her, and when you run out of options? Find more.” 

You slowly stepped around everyone, coming to the other side of Shireen’s bed. You only just got her, you had finally seen The Mother grant your years of prayers and let a sibling be born. You couldn’t let her just take that away so soon. You finally had a sister, you couldn’t let her slip away right before your own eyes. “Did you hear that sweet girl? Father will make sure we get you better, yeah?” 

Shireen was none the wiser, only reaching out with a tiny hand wanting you to return to her with a cuddle, and it only made the tears fall freely down your face. Would you ever be able to hold her again before the greyscale took too much of her? Would she think you hate her now? 

If the adults had spoken around you, you didn’t notice. Only silently crying as you looked at the confusion of your new baby sister not understanding why you wouldn’t come to her. Your father’s voice was full of a pain as it was a rough determination. “Maester, none but you and I will be allowed access near Shireen for now. Selyse,” Your father motioned towards you with a nod. “Have her septa prepare a room temporarily in another corridor.” You turned to look at him, and for once, he did not scold you for so freely protesting him over something. “This is not a debate. I almost lost you to a fever a thousand miles away, only four years ago. I will not chance this disease taking both of you now.” 

What you hadn’t realized at that time, was just how little you were about to be allowed to see Shireen in any way for well over a month. And even less so after only a fortnight from now when maesters, healers, and any other kind of potential for a cure came pouting into Dragonstone and left you feeling lost as to what to do all alone.

Other then who had been called upon to help cure her, the island was closed off from any and all people. And no ravens were to be sent or received during that time, not wanting to risk any chance of one of such birds or letters carry a hint of greyscale off the island. 

You had a painful feeling you knew where your mother currently was. The halls more empty in the middle of the day as windows all opened around let the breeze flow around fresh. Your room once more, had not been touched it seemed. 

Looking to the box still sat alone on a cabinet top, you ran your hands delicately over the surface. Deep blue with orange foxed adorning the sides while the inside you knew was a mixture of browns, and black and gold all forming that of antlers. You had done it yourself the first time, painted it to represent both your birth houses. 

You could see what was sitting inside without opening again to check, and you knew that it was the last thing you had to do. You had one last part of Shireen, but you knew another needed these. A loss she couldn’t blame her own fanatical intents for. Being back on Dragonstone was nothing but miserable and yet you felt something compelling you to give one last kindness of yourself away. 

By the time you had made your way down the corridor, you could see her door was open partially. The wind blowing her curtains against her bed with rushing water splashed behind and birds calling to the songs Shireen loved to sing when she was spending time in her room. Selyse was sat against one side of her bed, a paper in her hands, one of Shireens unsent letters to you no doubt, that her eyes refused to tear away from even as you stepped inside. 

Neither spoke a word while you gently sat beside her. The box closed and sat gently in your lap, fingers running along the sides as you looked around the room. Not much had changed since your last visit with her. Books more advanced sat scattered about, ones dragonglass and volcanoes choking your insides to the memory of her saying she would be a scholar on it by the time you came back. A want to impress her big sister by showing she researched the mines that you were carving into now. 

You never got to spend time with her as you both wished. Once she had been cured for coming to a month was when you and your father left for Kings Landing. King Robert had come to the island, beckoning his brother to serve as Master of Ships properly from the capitol instead of here, and your father had agreed and taken you with him. From then, only in letters and visits short and rare did Shireen still have a sister. 

Voice so quiet as she spoke, it was low with a distant sorrow sat heavy in it’s sound. “I was beside myself when we had gotten the raven about your illness. Realizing that we could have lost you so far away from where we could help you was terrifying.” The letter in her hands drifted down, folding back into the position she unfurled it from initially. Neither of you looked at the other. “I’m not sure I ever felt more scared however, then learning Shireen had caught greyscale in her own home, in her own bed. I was horrified.” Her voice even in such low quiet, still cracked in pain. “I almost lost both of my girls and there was nothing I could do to change it.” 

Far away on your own, you could see you and her here. You sitting where Shireen had been, and your mother where you sat, and the crestfallen expression as a reality hit her she did not understand. “I always promised to take her North one day, bring her with me to meet the Starks and she was always upset knowing you would never let her.” Swallowing heavy before pushing strongly forth. “She didn’t understand how terrifying it was. Almost losing her, having to stand and listen to father’s men all tell him to send her away before it was too late. Or how much you and father smiled when she got better.” 

Before however she had a chance to respond, you spoke a bit more firmly. “I used to think you blamed me for my brothers.” Her neck whipped over to you, but you only swallowed more with a clearing throat but the waver did not go away. “You stopped spending time with me after your first, and father sent me away after the second. I thought boys were supposed to come before girls and I had cursed you to lose the rest beacuse I was somehow killing them just by way of being around you.” 

You didn’t realize quite yet, that her brows narrowed as her eyes shined with a mist as you looked down to the box. “Everytime I would write their names on paper, spell out the prayers I had always heard Septon Barre bless the other children with under the Seven, and burn it into ash. I’d hold them with my own blood and let them wash into the sea. Everytime I prayed to The Mother begging her to forgive you, to forgive them and let them pass into the heavens and be together. They were my blood and my fault so I needed to pass them on.” 

Selyse stayed silent. “I made a toy for each. Wanting to give them something hand crafted and so everytime I put the new one in here when they were gone.” Your fingers now trailing over the top. “Hid it away so that no one could take them from us, even after the Mother took them from you. But they weren’t my sons, they were yours.” 

Turning to look at her, neither of you hid the pain. You gently handed her the box, her gaze looking it over before carefully pulling the top off. Your heart weighed far too much in your chest as you looked down at them all. Taking her time to gaze over each one did she realize you had gone back to carve a name into all four of them. Her voice a disbelieving whisper. “Petyr, Edric..” 

“I did the same the first night back here with Ned.” Her eyes once more looking to you, but you looked at no one but the memory of deep blue eyes and an astounded laugh of joy. “I will always have part of him with me, every time I look in a mirror I will see him against me for good, but you don’t have anything of them. And as far into the future as I can imagine the second I leave this place I have no plans on coming back. They deserve to be in the hands of a mother they never knew. A child doesn’t deserve to have never truly met their mother.” 

This time, you weren’t sure who you were even referring to anymore. Your life or your dreams.

The quiet was palpable as she looked at them, for a good while enough that you tempted standing to make your leave when she spoke. “I didn’t know my grandson had a name. Or that you had named all of my own sons..” Strangely, a small laugh left her lips. “You already were a better mother with your own brothers then I was to my own daughter. I can’t take back the years we didn’t speak, or the war we were on opposite sides of but I can start atoning for it now.” 

Placing the lid back on, she put it to the side before turning to look at you more directly. The memory of waking up in Winterfell with Catelyn Stark so gently running a hand through your hair trying to ease you into things without being scared or confused hit you. But as so many years later the act was done by your true mother, you had muttered a quiet “Aren't we a a fucking pair?” 

Eyes widening, your name in a scold came flying out of her lips in disbelief before taking a beat to pass and then laughing. Something you don’t know the last time you saw Selyse do. Her hand now mindlessly smoothing out messy strands at the side of your hair, “I suppose one Queen to another I can’t quite scold you for language any longer.” 

You thought of your Uncle Axell, her own brother and what Maester Pylos had said but in truth you wondered what the point of bringing it up to her was. Her belief was stronger then your fathers even now, and had already witnessed how tight the red woman’s tendrils had been wrapped around her mind to think nothing of monstrosities. It didn’t make any of it right, but Selyse wasn’t a monster. 

Just a woman who spent much of her life ill, and too many years as a mother losing her children over and over again. You only had lost one, and you knew the things you in that year with the Boltons had twisted you into believing, things that to this day Jon was still finding spots it was tangled deeply in your darker psyche. 

Selyse and you were different for those things, but Stannis also told you of how he and your mother seemed to only let those beliefs get worse after they thought you were dead, and you knew that was no coincidence. Having no grasp of letting the red witch burn her brother alive after losing her eldest daughter and grandson in one slaughter. You still if you thought hard enough, could feel how much your hand stung in the pressure as you sunk a knife so deep into Myranda’s tongue and mouth that you hadn’t noticed until the next morning you had her blood splattered across your face and even then you almost cared not to wipe it from you. 

Or how if Theon let you walk into that room, you would have wasted no time carving a number of sickeningly horrific things into Roose Bolton for every wound you and Robb had been killed with. A chilling memory of how if you were lucky you would have done worse to Ramsay that night. Horror in grief made the mind desperate to find answers in the blood that traumatized you in the first place, and you found it harder and harder to look at your mother and hate her for any of it. 

Stannis was another story, it always was with your father. You and him too alike to find harmony in the ways you always saw in Lord Stark with Robb, with Jon. Those three of them cut so close of the same cloth but not for a moment did they clash. 

In many ways Stannis was similar to Ned Stark, and it was why you suspected he and Jon seemed to find ease in working beside the other. Jon was raised with the best of values his father could pass to him, and it was those which Stannis respected more then anything. But the aspects of you and your father which were similar blended as well as drinking wildfire with a dash of honey to soothe it down. 

The honey works for the bitter taste on your tongue, but the wildfire will still twist your insides and expose that it never really would go well in the first place. You were finding it easier to stand in the same room as your father, but there were things you couldn’t quite get passed but now perhaps it would be easier if you both understood that.

On the opposite end, Catelyn would hate you for finding love in Jon after losing Robb and, and Robb’s unborn son. But you knew it was none of those things which ever caused the divide between you and Selyse. A difference in core beliefs and what was right and wrong were the stops and the sights of fire as a terrifying horror versus the inevitable godly truth. 

She was trying, and she didn’t hate you for having such different choices and beliefs then her. The woman who raised you half of your life would hate you for simply loving the bastard son of her husband. Look down on you for finding a life after being ripped from Robb in the brother he loved more then anyone, and solely would do so beacuse she couldn’t see him as anything but a memory of infidelity. 

The voice next to him was easier to talk to then it was days before, much easier he found. Jon stood over the outside lands, the rain having cleared up enough that they could stand outside and stay dry. From here, Jon could watch the sights of his men, as next to him Aegon watched Jon with an uncertainty flickering between things. Both men had put forth that the two of them talk things out more civilly, and at the least so far he found once no other eyes and men were there to watch, the dragon found a bit more personality in his words. 

“You make brooding over my failure here quite difficult, do you know that? You look far better brooding then I do.” As if unintentionally proving his point, Jon barley could muster half a smirk before it dropped once more. Brows narrowed watching his people, his only thoughts were how little chance any stood once the storms finally came and how so far he convinced all but none of the dangers. Aegon beside him filling the silence, “I’m the prisoner, I should be the miserable one.” 

Jon’s tone was flat but not unsympathetic to the thought. “You’re not my prisoner. We're both keeping our men out here in peace, and you can take them and leave whenever you want. I didn’t come here for you or your army, I needed one thing before the dead come.”

Aegon was having difficulty with the ideas. He wanted to sigh clearly, but Jon could see his gaze finding the side of his once more with a question. “You’ve been King longer then myself, how about you figure out what to do for my plans of taking Kings Landing, and I figure out what to do about your walking ice monsters.” 

There was something close to partially amused in Jon’s chest but it didn’t make it to the surface at all to see. Partially distracted by the thought of how he was beginning to miss the cold. It was windy on Dragonstone but humid and heavy in air the moment you left the close cliff sides to the waters. A once memory of looking to a summer in Highgarden and now that felt foolish, Jon wasn’t sure anymore he would be comfortable in any place that didn’t leave him a little bit on the edge of freezing. 

“It’s hard for me to fathom, you understand.” 

Not hesitating, Jon was confident as he spoke. “I do. But I also know that I sent two hundred men to the wall from an enemy I defeated, and that still won’t be nearly enough. We made pleads to the crown multiple times for help, but it was only King Stannis who came. He was the only one who believed us, and I’m starting to think I was lucky to get even him on our side.” 

Aegon stood silently for a good minute. Arms crossed over his chest as he considered the difference between them. He had been trained for this his entire life, he knew how to look like a King, hold himself like a King, and how to rally men and speak as a King. But it was in the quiet, rasping, deep tones of Jon Snow, that had Aegon realizing none his own training meant anything compared to a leader who had one cause he truly believed in. “He seems like an unpleasant man, but not one easily swayed by those around him. Says something he came to your aid, even if it was just beacuse of his daughter.” 

The silence between them was strange to Aegon as it was choking to Jon. What horrors had the Boltons forced onto you by the time Jon had finally met your father? How much had you thought everyone in the realm had given up on you when in truth both men were closer to you then ever without knowing? 

Then he thought of Mance. He rarely did anymore, his time with the King Beyond the Wall not long nor was it anywhere near pleasant. He respected him in many ways, but when trying to find the truth of what he really gained from knowing him boiled down to one thing. 

“You're a good lad. Truly you are. But if you can't understand why l won't enlist my people in a foreigner's war, there's no point explaining.”

If Jon could, he’d apologize to Mance for learning that lesson only after the man himself was dead. 

“She had nothing to do with it.” Glancing to Aegon with a clenched jaw, “Stannis coming to our aid, he did it on his own choice. She had nothing to do with that. She- we both thought she was dead.” He didn’t know what others heard about you or him, but it sounded less and less appealing to him by day having people know about both of your deaths, and both of you coming back from it. 

Beside him he could feel a tension. There wasn’t much he could do about that either, Jon had no interest in placating rivalries of almost thirty years passed. If Aegon was going to join him, then your presence would simply be something he would have to learn to deal with. His voice was controlled too, as if not to show Jon how agitated he felt. “It’s a tall tale you are asking men to believe. I don’t even know if I do yet.” 

Jons voice was nearing a quite irritated edge. “How do I convince people who don't know me, that an enemy they don't believe in, is coming to kill them all?” 

Aegon chuckled, and Jon didn’t appreciate it. He was included in that frustrations as far as Jon was concerned. Nodding amusingly, “Good question.” 

Jon’s response was short, and with a stilted anger that he had to reign in. “I know it’s a good question. I’m looking for an answer.” That feeling only compounded with the wonder, was it him that was the problem convincing people or their blindness to the truth? Would this be easier were it Robb standing here instead of him, Jon wondered. Robb was the better talker, after all. 

“What do I get out of helping you? I came here for the Iron Throne, not to fight ice monsters in the North beside a King who won’t even bend the knee. I help you and what would I get in return?” 

This time, Jon’s eyes did meet his. The grey painted dark enough it flashed with an angry frustration as he lost more of his patience with him. “That’s the problem. I’m not fighting this war to get anything out of it but to help keep my people alive. But the more of you who fight against me, or demand you only will help if you get something out of me? I don’t have time to stand here and teach you why you’re the one missing the point.” Jon stood a bit closer to him with not an ounce of patience left for this. “You’re fighting for some chair, I’m fighting to save my people. If you can’t understand why that’s more important then the Iron Throne, then there’s nothing left for us to talk about.” 

Aegon wasn’t nearly as confident, but he at the least, wasn’t hostile. “I suppose there isn’t.” 

The sight out in the training yard by the cliff side was an interesting one. Approaching the holdings for swords, lances, arrows and a variety of other weaponry you came to stand beside Ser Davos who was watching in amusement. Leaning your palms against the wooden holding you found a small smirk. “Is this how we hold meetings these days? Beating each other with swords?” 

The man chuckled, glancing to you with a playful twist on his own face. “I don’t know if I would call what they’re doing beating each other, your grace.” Looking over, you had to bite your tongue at just how correct he was. It seemed a few of the men had found use in challenging and failing to best Jon in a duel. 

“How long have they been at this exactly?” There were laughs shared amongst the Northerners watching around with the men of the Golden Company as if none were at odds just days ago, the ones on the main area were a few you did not recognize, at the side of an increasingly exhausted and frustrated looking Aegon against a confident but focused Jon. 

One lunged and was almost instantly overpowered with a few quick movements from him that they seemed not to even see coming, to which the Northerners around had a chuckle at as well as a smirk trying not to form on Jon’s own face. Ser Davos beside you letting it sit on his. “I think he’s been knocking most of them into the ground for about an hour now. I will give it to Aegon, he hasn’t given up yet.” There was certainly enough grime on the man to prove it had been a while. “Even if it would be in his best interest.” 

Leaning forward more, you let your forearms brace over with hands clasping gently together as you watched freely. The two kings now opposite, Aegon’s blue hair tied up and back as strands continued to fall in his face, whereas Jon’s curls sat loose and far less damp then his counterparts in sweat. His voice lighter then it had been in just as long, not a trace of burden and frustration pushing him down more then he deserved. “You’re paying too much attention guessing what I’m going to do next. By the time you figure it out, I’ll already have hit you when you weren’t looking.” 

Sighing out, Aegon squared his shoulders and readjusted his grip on the practice sword. “Focusing too much now, of course.” Both men looked at the other, as a second pair of men also stood by each side of the dragon. 

It didn’t last long. Biting your tongue hard you found yourself finding an appreciation you never truly had before. Jon fought with ease, as if his sword was simply part of his arm moving around them and the second one got too close, there was a teeth gritting strength behind his hits to move them off or incapacitate them. A harsh slam to Aegon’s face knocked him right back and easily had Jon all but slam down the sword from his grasp in the result. 

Thankfully, Jon didn’t look your way just yet. A tightening in your chest that heated your blood rushing along to every corner of your veins had you biting your tongue harder to keep such a stoic expression, you knew what he was like too much now. In a fight and more and such skill and strength swooped into your heart and made it race. Inhaling deep through your nose you felt it slow back to normal just enough to simmer the look from finding your eyes.

The gathering parting ways a bit more, Jon gathered what was scattered about as Aegon spat out what bit of blood Jon had hit up into him. Your eyebrows lifted a tinge without changing much else, voice flatter then he appreciated as you looked his way. “Well fought.” 

Glaring at you with a hissed, “Piss off.” You looked to Davos as a smirk did indeed fail to get covered up on you, your eyes much softer now glancing back to Jon. You truly hadn’t seem him at any ease in what felt like such a long time. Even for just now, it warmed you to see just a hint of it. 

Jon found a voice which sounded much like the days in the Winterfell training yards as he and Robb would still be much more inclined to knock you into the dirt yourself to teach you. “Fighting comes easier to some then others. You train everyday you’ll get better, but you can’t assume it’ll be enough to make you the best man in the field. Eventually even the best get bested.” 

Turning back with a twist on his face, Aegon argued “So you’re saying if you weren’t the best out there the other night, it wouldn’t have been humiliating for you?” Jon’s easy answer only of no almost made you laugh. If there was one thing he had none of, it was an ego. “Well it is for me. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms hear I lost my first proper fight to a girl and they’ll all laugh me back out of the country for being a coward.” 

It slipped out honestly, your eyebrow raised at him with a quick comment of “You’re too stupid to be a coward.” Jon and Davos both grinned at the ease of how you said it. Connington having watched silently from afar moved forward to grab Aegon’s sword with a yank, a silent comment on his lips likely telling him to cool off. 

Was he purposely circling around you like you were a prey being stalked? 

The evening sun setting in the sky still begging to rain again, but Jon had not let left the training yard, now only the two of you remained. One practice sword in each of your respective holds and yet he had not the courtesy to let you change from the dress you were in. A hard to hold back smirk of amusement on your face as you twisted and turned to keep your eyes on him. 

“What happened to not wanting me near a sword any longer?” 

A dark mischief sat in Jon’s eyes as he stood tall before you, a lightness still on his voice kept from earlier. “We both know you’re not going to stick to that.” A smirk on his lips was less cheeky and more of a soft fondness that bled into affection of the grey. “I know we haven't done this in years together, I’ll go easy on you.” 

Once upon a time you wouldn’t have believed him on that, but now there was not the confident aggression in his stance he was holding himself with hours before. “As if that ever lasts long.” 

Flashing almost black in his eyes for a moment did Jon almost stop in his tracks, you were purposely trying to rile him up. Throw him off track and he seemed to have caught onto it faster then he would have years ago. He was quick though, enough that you barley had a chance to turn around, but just as the two practice swords were to clash he had the strength to hold it merely an inch from colliding. “Besides, I miss just being able to spend time alone with my best friend.” 

The brightness in his eyes soaked through your skin and absorbed into your very heart, your hold on the sword in your left hand almost shook enough he could knock it out. Instead he did something unexpected, using a free hand of his own and running it gently along the loose hair at the back of your head as he leaned in, hovering over your lips. But your gentleness spoke before he could close that gap.

“I could name a fair few people who might object to me having that title anymore.” But just as his free hand raked down your hair you realized what he was trying to do. Almost with a ducking spin you nearly avoided being yanked back into him with his sword at your neck, taking a few steps back with a grinning audacity at his own smirk. 

Jon had gotten much better since you both last did this. In Winterfell during your last visit when Lord Arryn was still alive, Jon and Robb had teamed up on you alone taking easy turns all but tossing you around. Robb was overwhelming and fierce in direct attacks that had you only able to defend and never gain the upper hand, only to have you turned around and disoriented by Jon’s swift grace and using his unfair strength to shove you back into Robb. 

Even now you could hear Bran, Arya, and Rickon all watching and yelling as it onlookers of a tournament and arguing who was going to win. Ned Stark had approached the scene behind all of your views and watched his sons who were clearly toying with you. Not that he had said it, nor did you know, but he had commented to Ser Rodrick that it was impressive you had kept up as long as you had. 

Knowing his boys had done this since they were old enough to hold a sword. Robb and Jon would wake up early, and in the warm days of summer they wouldn’t even come to break their fast, just running out into the training yard and fighting until Ser Rodrick could finally come out and properly teach them. A many of those mornings they would choose heroes of old to be, yelling at the top of their lungs what great warriors they admired which they pretended to fight as. Some mornings as he walked the halls of Winterfell he would sigh deeply, shaking his head at how of all times his son chose to be the loud one it was the sounds of Jon yelling at the top of his lungs far too early in the morning, that he was The Young Dragon. 

But you hadn’t ever held something sharper then a dinner knife before coming to Winterfell. You on the second visit had begun learning to shoot a bow, and picked that up with ease. You were quiet and focused most of the time anyways. But never anything more. 

You hadn’t sparred with any that wasn’t a life or death slashing of genuine battle since he and Robb as they toyed with you, the small doe at the mercy of two true wolves looking at you like a meal. 

In truth, you supposed that turned out to be far more true then you ever imagined. 

Smiling and huffing a laugh was so freely falling from your lips, Jon was trying to challenge you but every upper hand he gained it was never aggressive. Just enough to push you back onto the right track as you both moved around the other, an ease almost with a laugh in his tone. “I know you’re quicker then that.” 

Inhaling deeply, you tried to focus more. Watch his actual movements and not what everything else was saying he was about to strike with. So far, you hadn’t had once instance to put him at the disadvantage. Knowing he could see you were trying to focus, almost coming to get close to a hit on him twice, both times he seemed to get you turned around. Certainly he was indeed the one who taught you how to fight with smoothness and not strength. Only he had both which was the problem. 

Glancing up at his curious gaze, you tilted your head down to your attire. “You wear the dress next time and tell me it’s easy to be quick.” 

Only, he too had a quick trick up his sleeve that wasn’t part of the rules. Finding your stride for only a few moments before Jon came close, and instead of making a hit, chose rather to grab at the flowing skirt of your dress. Yanking you right up into his chest as the chilling cold of the metal on the sword begun to drift flat along the insides of your calf and thighs, taking the edges right up along with it just enough to have you fluster in an instant. 

Jon’s voice only a husking deepness as his eyes drifted down for a second to your lips and further along what he could see. “I’d rather rip yours right off you.”

The dullness of a practice sword posing nothing to feel shaking nerves about, instead finding it in how strongly you felt a flush in your veins grow hot and begging as you failed to find the right way to turn the situation on it’s head. Instead one hand had pressed up against the leathers on his chest as the other tried to keep a firm grip of your own sword. “Here, where anyone could see? A bold move, my King.” 

Oh did his eyes grow a full tint darker. Much more freely looking down at what he could see of your figure with a raw lust before leaning close again, his breath hot across your skin a he spoke deep in your ear. The hand which had your dress bunched in his fist let loose, sliding around now to your back and pulling you closer. Knowing you had not the right grip of your own weapon to over power him before he could you. “What about you? You going to let everyone see? No protest to someone walking by, watching me take you right here?”

The cool touch of the practice sword almost tracing along your inner thighs as if it were a teasing touch, his mouth drifting shamelessly to bite your neck. The hand flat on his chest begging to drift up to run through his hair but he had you pressed too close to his front to move. Your other hand very slowly shifting how you held your weapon as you spoke through strained, biting back moan. “Maybe I just know better then to fight back.” A hum in his throat as he soothed over the sting from his teeth with a gentle press of his lips. “Men are vile, dangerous things. A girl such as myself knows better then to fight back when she’s at the mercy of a man like you.” 

His arm around your back pulled you closer, his other hand losing any purpose in it’s trace along your skin. Giving another growling bite to a lower spot on your neck, pulling a high gasp that almost was too loud in need. His rasp muffled against you, “And what kind of man am I?” 

A few answers rung out, but just as you spoke gently leaning more into his curls to mutter it, his grip tightened. “A brute who lets his guard down.” Twisting right out of his grasp Jon pushed back against your counter with a bit more aggression before he overwhelmed you enough he could snatch your sword right from your hand. 

Tossing it to the side with a clang, he then snatched you and flipped to pull your back into his chest. An arm wrapped around your front keeping your own under his, and the other gently letting his practice sword rest at your neck. This time his rasp was deep and rumbling in your ear, his arm pulling you back more as you almost let out a tiny gasp, feeling him press his hardening, covered cock into your ass. A shiver flew down your spine. “Maybe this brute should drag you back to his cabin. All alone in the woods. Strip you bare, mount you on top of my bed and claim you over and over until you’re crying anytime I try to stop.” Your breathing picked up drastically as he rumbled in your ear. “Is that the kind of man you think I am?”

His free hand sat flat across your stomach, pushing your hips back into his covered cock more as he stepped forward into the plushness of your ass. You partially tried to turn to look back at him, “Sounds more wolf then man if you ask me.” 

His head dropped again, moving the sword down to drop before tightly holding your hip, his teeth and lips finding more home in your neck. His strength alone was powerful enough to keep you in place. “That would make you my mate, you know.” His grip tightening as you shivered against him. “And a wolf has a duty to fill his mate with a nice, litter of pups.” 

Jon once more felt that sensation as if the two of you were being watched, but you shook more in his touch and a whine sat so close to leaving your throat he tossed the feeling away for now. You close to forgetting that you were out where any could see, leaned back heavily into his touch grasping at what you could of his forearm. Jon suspected you didn’t even quite realize how desperate you sounded or what you were even asking for. “Jon, please...” 

Unable to stop the thoughts, all Jon could do was growl in his head, oh he will. He’ll fill you deep with his seed as many times as you could take it, and Jon was slowly uncovering just how much of his seed, how much of that intensity you could take.

You discovering how much you felt like your life held true purpose when Jon would kiss you, touch you, and take you again and again. Making it to the room you both were staying in was going to be a true test of will power at this rate. 

Forgetting the rumours haunting you, for as long as Jon was as bare as you were? Hips grinding roughly against yours, his thick cock thrusting deep inside you, as his hands gently interlocked his fingers with yours, pressing them with a need into the sheets at the side of your head? Well, it seemed like nothing else existed in problems or mind but you and him.

Some nights, it felt as if truly all you and Jon had in this world anymore, was each other. 

[connan-l]

unafraid

Fandom: Ciconia: When They Cry

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sujatha/Rukhshana

Summary: Suparna’s training session is cancelled for the day because of a sudden storm, which Sujatha is absolutely not scared of, and that might or might not creates tensions with her girlfriend.

[Femslash February 2023 Day 3: Storm]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: Hi here’s your annual Ciconia FemFeb fic from me! Yes you’ll get one until Ryukishi finally decide to release Phase 2. Anyway this is very late but it’s meant to be for Day 3: Storm, from those prompts.

I don’t know why, but at first I didn’t want to write any Sujatha/Rukhshana piece for FemFeb; not because I don’t like them but for some reason I really wanted to write a proper one-shot for them and not something based on a random prompt. But technically speaking they’re still one of the most obvious F/F ships of the VN so far, so I thought they were just the next obvious choice, especially given I’d already done Lingji/Aysha and Valentina/Maricarmen before. So yeah it’s just a small cute fluffy thing without a lot of substance.

Given it’s going to mark the third year since I’ve last read the VN I admit I forgot a lot of stuff about the characters, so I really don’t feel confident in how I characterized them here. Especially Rukhshana. (And I know it *seems* like Phase 1 implied she was a CPP as well like Miyao, but we don’t know much about that yet so I didn’t want to touch on the topic). So I hope they don’t feel too off.

Also, it’s a small detail in the fic but — if you’re like me and haven’t played the game in a while, I feel the need to mention that COU is the one country that has ‘traditional’ families; so I’m assuming Sujatha, Rukhshana and Andry probably have ‘normal’ parents like Lingji & co.

Now on a small caveat I have that made me hesitate while writing this fic: I realized that, obviously we don’t know anything about whether or not Sujatha is religious, but as she is from India and that we’re told the COU is very traditional, IF she is religious then she would probably follow one of the many Hinduism faiths; however, on the other hand, given Rukhshana is from Saudi Arabia and is clearly wearing a hijab, she has to be Muslim. Queerness aside, I know interfaith relationships can be a bit of touchy topic in Islam; some might tolerate it and others do not (one of my non-Muslim cousin dated a Muslim woman for three years, but he had to convert when they got married), and it would be especially so for a Saudi girl given ‘dating’ in the Western sense in general is frowned upon over there. Not sure how things would be in Ciconia’s futuristic, post-World War III universe, but it did seem to imply Saudi Arabia is still very traditional similarly to how it is in our world because of how they mention there were issues with Rukhshana, as a girl, joining the team while there was a boy in it. The VN is very scarce when it comes to giving details about the religious/cultural practices of the characters (hell even the hijabi girls are never actually called ‘Muslims’ in-universe), so I can’t say how pious Rukhshana must be or how important it would be for her to only get together with someone who’s Muslim. So the way I see it in this fic, is that she must probably be respectful of the faith and wouldn’t marry a non-Muslim person usually, but she can give herself some leeway if this is with someone she really loves (and that the other person can potentially convert)? (And well, Muslim communities exists in India too so I suppose you can headcanon Sujatha as such as well). I dunno, maybe I’m just overthinking about it; and of course like I said this is just a short fluff piece and not some exploration of any of these topics anyway lol, but I am not Muslim myself, so I’d understand if any actual Muslim people don’t like it or take issue with this.

All this aside, there’s no spoilers (except for like, the start of Phase 1 I guess) or content warnings except for the inevitable vague mentions of war/child soldiers.

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Sujatha was absolutely not scared.

She had sworn to herself, from a very young age, to never become a person who got scared.

Fear was only meant for the common people. Fear was for normal girls; ones who didn’t have any responsibility, who weren’t soldiers, who weren’t part of the elite of the COU India Aerial Augmented Infantry, leader of Suparna.

Sujatha was anything but a normal girl — had worked very, very hard to not be one; so it was only natural she wouldn’t be scared.

And, most of the time, she did a good job at suppressing the feeling, even when it threatened to bubble up at the surface in the pit of her stomach.

Right now, however, as she heard the news that their training for the day was going to be exceptionally canceled because of some weather turmoils, the wave of anxiety started to overwhelm her in a way she didn’t think she could easily appease.

“What a pain,” Andry declared, letting himself fall all over a nearby couch. “What are we supposed to do now? They warned us at the last minute, so it’s not like we can quickly make other plans.”

Rukhshana made a weak noise of agreement buried under her black hijab. “Maybe… maybe we could play a game together? Until noon, at least…”

“Guess so,” the boy replied, but he didn’t seem very enthusiastic at the prospect. Then again, Andry never seemed very enthusiastic about most things. Everything seemed to pass through him like water; which could be both a relief and frustrating, depending on the situation.

“What do you think, Sujatha?”

“Huh? U-Um…” Sujatha’s eyes darted towards the dark sky, full of threatening gray clouds, trying not to fidget. “S-Sure. Probably.”

At this, both Rukhshana and Andry stared at her as if she was a ghost. They exchanged a brief, skeptical look with each other, before the boy straightened up and arched an eyebrow in Suparna’s leader’s direction.

“You sure?”

Sujatha frowned, feeling as if she was missing something obvious or was left out of an inside joke between her two teammates. Which, unfortunately, happened often.

“Of course I’m sure,” she responded sharply. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“W-Well…” Rukhi bit her lip, looking up at her hesitantly and wriggling her hands like she did whenever she felt unsure of herself. “It’s… not really like you to say something like this…”

“What?”

“Rukhi’s right,” Andry added. “Usually, you would’ve gone all ‘Who have time for games, you lazy scoundrels! If you only think about playing, we’ll end up the weakest of all Gauntlets Knights!’ and then Rukhi would have freaked out mentally over it, or something.”

Sujatha puffed out her chest in an irritated manner and glared at her teammate. “I do not sound like that.”

“But… you are acting weird, aren’t you?”

Rukhshana took a step towards her, and while Sujatha was about to snap back at her that she was imagining things, her mouth shut up instantly the moment she saw her eyes.

The other girl was looking at her with a concerned gaze, the one she took when she was genuinely worried about her; and instantly Sujatha felt herself softening against her will and guilt clogged up her throat. Had she really done that bad of a job to hide her anxiety?

“You’ve… been odd for a while now,” Rukhi continued. “And… it’s been worse since our training was officially canceled… I know you always think training is important, but… Is there… something else?”

Rukhshana stopped right in front of Sujatha, catching her off-guard, and her eyes staring straight into hers instantly pinned her into place. She gently reached out to her, her fingertips cupping her cheek in a tender, intimate gesture; and Sujatha flushed bright red, froze, then panicked.

“Th-There’s nothing else!” She exclaimed, snapping Rukhshana’s hand away and glaring at the other two teenagers. “But you’re right! You’d better find another way to exercise or study if you have nothing else better to do!”

She turned around before almost running away from the room; which still didn’t prevent her from hearing Andry snorting from behind and Rukhshana squeak and grumbling to herself ‘What’s this, she’s the one who said it was okay for us to play!’

Sujatha paid it no mind. She headed to her bedchambers, her face still feeling hot and her chest about to explode because of embarrassment.

She couldn’t believe how… open Rukhshana was with her in public, sometimes. Well, in private as well.

The two of them had been dating for about three months now, but everything still felt very new and surreal to her. No one knew, of course, with the exception of Andry — who had somehow grilled them only a week afterwards — and it did bring in some new challenges to navigate, but so far Sujatha didn’t regret it. She didn’t, but… she had to admit sometimes it felt a bit too… overwhelming, and she wasn’t always sure how to act towards Rukhi as a result (not that she knew how to handle her before, though).

She sighed, closing the door behind her, and let herself fell on her bed.

Rukhshana was going to be so angry for snapping at her like that, she knew. And maybe she deserved it, too. That… hadn’t been really fair from her, after all. She probably should go apologize before things get worse.

She might not look like it, but Rukhi was a pretty grudgeful person; and if she felt wronged, she was absolutely not going to let it slide. She could stop talking to Sujatha for months because of something like this — and the simple idea made Sujatha’s stomach turns into knots, even more so than it already was.

She knew she was the one who had to apologize, and that she had to do it now, but she couldn’t bring herself to get out of her bed.

The gray sky and future storm that loomed over outside seemed to have drained her entire energy. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, but the moment she heard the ripple of the rain on her window’s glass she tensed, then hurriedly buried herself under the blanket, as if this could protect her from the foreseeing tempest.

Sujatha wasn’t scared — she just… didn’t like the rain. And gray skies and clouds. And the dark. And thunders.

And it was absolutely not because she was scared that when she was a child she would stay hidden that way under the blanket back in her hometown in Hanumangarh, and that she would spends hours praying to Indra that the sky could finally light up.

She definitely never came to her parents for comfort, because Sujatha wasn’t destined to be a normal girl and not-normal girls were never scared.

So she also definitely didn’t jump when she heard a timid little knock at her door.

“Uh… S-Sujatha…?”

The voice on the other side was barely audible, especially with her ears camouflaged by the blanket and the heavy sound of the rain that seemed to get more and more violent as the minutes passed by — but of course Sujatha still recognized her.

She’d recognized her girlfriend’s voice everywhere.

“R-Rukhi?”

She distinguished some grumbling from the door, which confirmed her visitor’s identity and at the same time furthered her confusion.

She’d never thought Rukhshana would ever come to see her first. After what had happened earlier, she would’ve been way too mad for that.

“Um… I… I wanted to… uh, check on you…” Rukhi’s voice let out hesitantly. “Can I… come in?”

Sujatha bit her lip. Her heart screamed Yes please, her mind yelled back God no. Sujatha wasn’t scared, but she still refused to let anyone see her… like that.

Even Rukhshana. Maybe especially Rukhshana.

“No,” she finally declared, with a voice a little too shaky.

There was a sigh. And then the door opened anyway.

Sujatha almost jumped off the bed.

“I just said no!”

“I know,” Rukhshana said, glaring at her. “But it was one of your ‘no’ that actually meant ‘yes, please, I need you horribly.’”

Her frame was hallowed of light from the corridor’s luminosity, and Sujatha could see she was still wearing her hijab, albeit another, more casual one along with a long, dark dress.

She clenched her jaw, glared at her girlfriend, flushed, and then threw the blanket over her head yet again. Damn her.

She couldn’t see her, but Sujatha was pretty sure Rukhi rolled her eyes at this. There was a few footsteps sounds, then the mattress moved, tilted under an additional new weight.

“So. Can I stay?”

“A bit too late for that now,” Sujatha mumbled, and the more this situation kept on the more she felt ridiculous. She acted just like a child — completely unbefitting of her.

“Yes.”

And then they fell into an awkward, deep-seated silence for what felt like an eternity.

“Why…” Sujatha started, succumbing to the discomforting tension, before hesitating. “Why are you here, anyway? I thought you wouldn’t…”

“Talk to you for a while? Yes. I didn’t want to. But…” She sighed. “Andry convinced me it was better to not be stubborn, for once.”

That made sense. Andry seemed to be the only other person Rukhshana actually genuinely listened to.

“But he agreed you owe me an apology.”

Well, she supposed that was true. All three of them were on the same page, for once.

“…I’m sorry… for snapping at you… It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s fine. I forgive you. But… you’ll have to tell me why you did it.” Of course, only silence met her and Rukhi grumbled. “Come on. Why are you acting like this since this morning? What’s going on? You know you can talk to me.”

And Sujatha knew she could. She knew. She just wasn’t…

Well. She wasn’t used to it. Talk, and be open, and be… be scared. That wasn’t a thing she’d been taught. Not even to someone she, apparently, loved.

Sujatha buried her face into her knees, debating what to do with this overflow of contradictory feelings, when it seemed the sky decided to answer for her.

A booming, deafening thunder ripped the room apart, bathing the place in a wide splash of white light. Sujatha then lost all self-control and dignity and actually screamed, her heart stopping and her breath getting caught in her throat. A couple of smaller, other thunders outside left her a trembling, weeping mess under the blanket, rolled into a ball as if she was hoping to disappear.

For a while, the room stayed quiet except for the sound of the rain, but then finally Rukhi raised a small, doubtful voice:

“W-Wait… Could it be… that you’re scared of the thunder?”

Sujatha made no attempt to try to answer this. She didn’t think Rukhi needed and answer, anyway, as even a three years old could have come up with one.

And then the next second she was greeted with loud, unadulterated laughters.

“Oh no! That’s what this was all about! You’re scared of the thunder!”

“D-Don’t laugh! I’m not—”

Sujatha flushed red as she tried to disentangle herself from the blanket to glare at the other girl; but then another thunder resonated behind her, and she shrieked. Rukhshana gave her a smug look, raising an eyebrow.

And stared.

“…F-Fine,” Sujatha admitted, before hiding her head into her knees. “Maybe… Maybe I’m…”

She felt like someone was tearing out her teeth one by one, having to make such a statement. It would have probably hurt less if it had actually been the case.

Vulnerability was the worst, most humiliating thing in the world. She would rather die than appear weak to anyone, least of all Rukhshana.

Least of all Rukhshana, but…

But, maybe, at the same time, if she had to choose just one person who could see this side of her… then Rukhshana would be the one.

“Maybe… I am… a little scared…”

She wasn’t sure what to expect from her teammate, friend, lover. Maybe some teasing mockery and more laughters; that sounded like something Rukhshana would do, because she sure loved to tease her.

Instead, she felt something warm and soft on her back; a hand, she quickly realized, and when she raised her head, she was meet by a pair of soft, kind violet eyes that shined in the dim room.

“You are so ridiculous,” Rukhi said, but there was only fondness in her voice for once. “You know you got me and Andry actually worried here, right? If it was just about something so silly then you could’ve just told us. We’re your comrades.”

Of course she couldn’t have just told them, and of course it wasn’t just something silly; no matter how ‘ridiculous’ it seemed, it was still a weakness to Sujatha, and she could never let any weakness be seen to anyone. Well, except for now, it seemed.

“We’re all afraid of something. What’s the point of being friends if we can’t rely on each other to parry our weaknesses?”

Sujatha didn’t feel like fighting on the topic, so she just looked away, escaping Rukhi’s dark, deep eyes. Maybe the other girl knew it was a pointless argument to have at the moment, because she just shook her head before sitting right next to her girlfriend, their shoulders brushing. She pulled the blanket and covered up both of their heads with it.

When Sujatha looked at Rukhshana again, her face was only inches away from her own, her breath on her lips.

“Don’t be scared,” Rukhi said, smiling. “I’ll stay with you for the entirety of the storm. Okay?”

Rukhi extended her hand toward Sujatha, and while the former muttered a small ‘Idiot,’ she grasped it without a second thought. Rukhshana then leaned in and pressed her lips to hers, giving a gentle, comforting kiss as she was oft to do.

Sujatha let herself melt into her lover’s embrace, hiding her head into the corner of her shoulder, retracting into her arms every time a thunder shattered their peace.

And here, hidden under the blanket, away from the storm and from the whole world with only Rukhshana’s heartbeat and warmth for company, she didn’t feel so scared anymore.