#warning for mild references to rape in this chapter

[werewolfsmile]

With You - Ch 5

The English, Whipplocke (Eli x Cornelia)

Mature Rathing, graphic violence, period-typical racism, post-canon, canon divergent, found family, angst, references to rape

5,126 words

Read it on AO3

There was blood on White Moon's face. Difficult to see in the dim light from the campfire and long since dried but it was there nonetheless. Anger seethed inside of Cornelia and she stared at White Moon, hoping to convey some of her intent through that passionate gaze alone.

He stared back, recognition clear on his face accompanied by concern. Still pacing by the campfire, Mickey kicked a rock and White Moon flinched.

This simply would not do. Cornelia finally tore her gaze away from White Moon and set about examining every inch of the shabby campsite she could lay her eyes on. Staying here and waiting for those men to come back with her money and rape her was entirely out of the question. No, no, she would simply have to escape before then.

The ground was covered in hard rocks, many of them directly beneath her. Cornelia shifted, groping blindly with her hands that were tied behind her back, hoping for one that was sharp enough.

"Oi! What you doin', woman?" snapped Mickey in his voice that was far too youthful for a real outlaw. Just an overgrown child. What unfortunate set of circumstances had led him down this path of wickedness and cruelty?

Focusing back on the task at hand, Cornelia thought quickly.

"Dear Mother and Father," she began. Mickey's face scrunched in confusion. "I apologise for the delay in writing but things in the west have been a tad more complicated than I could foresee."

"Hey! There ain't no one else here! Jus' shut up, you hear?"

"Excuse me, young man, but your manners are simply deplorable," she shot back. Mickey's mouth dropped open. "Now, if you don't mind, I am long overdue in composing a letter to my parents and since I have nothing better to do with my time, I might as well focus on that! Barring any other untimely interruptions, of course."

She cast an imperious and haughty glare at him. Micky could only blink in return, clearly baffled as to what to make of her. Cornelia arched an eyebrow then nodded to herself. Behind her back, her hands kept searching until a sting of pain indicated possible victory.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. It seems that I have fallen in with a rather motley group of unemployed travellers. A desperate sort, they seek work wherever they can find it through whatever means at their disposal. Now, I know you must be thinking that they sound a rather dangerous lot. But let me reassure you, they have promised only to violate my person after they have looted all my money. A most generous offer, I am sure you would agree!"

"You are barkin' mad, woman! Now shut up! No one wants to hear you yammerin' on all the time."

"For heaven's sake, young man! Were you raised by dogs? No? If only! Surely even mongrels have better manners than you!"

Mickey stalked up to her, anger on his young face. Cornelia leant back as he approached and tried to ignore the anxious expression from White Moon. This close, she could see the acne that marked Mickey's skin and the softness of his face that had yet to harden into that of a man.

"I think you're forgettin' who's in charge around here, woman. It's me! And I don't wanna hear no more of your stuck up voice. So shut it! Or I'll shut it permanently!" He brandished the rifle, as though it could offer any real threat. Cornelia regarded him coolly, unaffected.

"Forgive my saying so but I was under the impression that the other angry man was in charge. You remember, middle aged, violent? He shot that man dead where he stood."

She gestured to the body lying not three metres from her feet. The body that Mickey had been studiously avoiding in all his manic pacing. Mickey swore now and paced again, but this time his eyes went to the body over and over again.

Cornelia redoubled her efforts. Rock clutched tightly in one hand, she sawed fiercely at the rope binding her wrists.

"Wasn't meant to be like this," Mickey muttered. One hand rose to his mouth and he chewed frenetically on a fingernail till he realised what he was doing and jerked it away. "Just a quick job, in and out. Weren't nobody meant to get hurt! Least of all Benny."

There was vulnerability in Mickey's voice when he spoke of his murdered comrade. Cornelia hesitated, glancing up to see the anguish visible on Mickey's face for barely a moment before it was gone.

"You know, in all the excitement, I never did get the name of the man that killed your friend. Not that I care to be introduced to someone so violent, but it seems right that when someone wishes you harm, you should at least know their name."

She kept sawing and Mickey kept pacing, the rifle lowered towards the ground now.

"Jensen, that's his name." Mickey swore and spat. "Been nothin' but trouble, ever since he took over the group."

"An outlaw gang, is that it?"

"Naw, not at first. We was just runnin' things off the track. Y'know, away from pryin' eyes. But then Jensen … It's been nothin' but killin' and thievin' since him. Not what I signed up for."

The ropes were weakening. Cornelia forced herself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Rushing this and screwing it up was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I understand," she said and Mickey scoffed. "No, really, I do! I first came to America several months ago and, oh, I was terribly naive. Had no idea what I was getting myself into. Walked straight into a trap that was going to cost me my life with no visible way out. I thought, that's it! I'm done for! But you know what happened next?" Mickey stared at her and Cornelia smiled. "Magic."

The rope snapped. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she shook her wrists free.

"White Moon, now!"

Mickey's head swung towards White Moon, alarm on his face. White Moon let out a ululating battle cry and Cornelia surged to her feet. She lunged for the rifle, wrestling with Mickey as he cried out and tried to fend her off. They struggled against each other, each fighting for the upper hand until –

Bang! Mickey screamed and fell to the ground.

Cornelia stepped back, aiming the rifle at the young man as she panted in the wake of adrenaline. He writhed, blood staining his lower leg.

"You shot me, you bitch!"

"It is no less than you and the rest of your gang had planned for me," she retorted coldly. "Stop your fussing, it's not mortal. You'll live."

Bending down by Benny's dead corpse, Cornelia pulled his knife free from its sheath. Keeping a sharp eye on Mickey, she crossed the camp to White Moon and crouched behind him. It was a risk to take her eyes off Mickey but she did it all the same, quickly cutting through the bonds on White Moon's wrists. He sighed in relief and took the knife when she offered it.

"What're you gonna do to me?" Mickey asked, his voice trembling as the two of them returned to him. White Moon was a little slower and Cornelia cast her gaze over him again. No visible injuries, other than a swollen, bruised eye and blood on his face. He must be simply stiff from being trapped in that awful position.

"Keep you alive, for now. White Moon, bind his leg."

Cornelia gestured and White Moon nodded back. He had known barely any English when she first met him months ago, and she had no idea if that had changed since then. Still, he seemed to understand her well enough. He tore a strip of cloth from Benny's body and tied it tightly around Mickey's wounded leg.

Next, they tied Mickey to a stake in the ground. Cornelia ensured there were no weapons hidden on his person, nor sharp rocks around. Then she bound his ankles, for good measure. He moaned and whimpered, playing the pathetic victim until she could stand it no longer and gagged him.

Only then did she turn to White Moon, concern swarming through her.

"Oh, White Moon!" Cornelia ran gentle fingers over his bruised face but he smiled up at her.

"Is okay," he said in a halting, uncertain voice. Cornelia could not help it; she hugged him tightly and felt a surge of relief when he hugged her back.

"We need to be smart about this. It would be simple to cut our losses and run, but I don't fancy the idea of having these men at our back. Besides, I want my horse – and my money. So, it's decided then. We'll stay and ambush them in return."

White Moon stared at her blankly, clearly not comprehending her ramblings. Cornelia smiled and laid a gentle hand on his cheek before getting to work.

It did not take long to find all the weapons left in the camp. Less time again for White Moon to understand her intent and set to work. In a little over an hour, they had the entire campsite booby trapped. Mickey was still tightly trussed up and his wound had stopped bleeding. Satisfied, Cornelia settled on a ridge overlooking the campsite, while White Moon hid behind a cluster of rocks.

The nerves began to set in as they sat and waited. What if Jensen and his men suspected the trap? What if they took all night to return? What if Mickey died of the wound? Or even worse, what if White Moon got killed? He was just a boy, she should be protecting him from this violence, not directly involving him!

Can't let it infect. Up here neither.

Cornelia forced all those doubts from her mind. The memory of Eli's words fortified her and she clutched at the osprey skull in its pouch. He was right; thinking like that wouldn't change anything. She had to stay focused, keep her eyes on the task at hand. The magic had brought her this far. It would not abandon her now.

The hours dragged on. Cornelia watched the stars slowly turning overhead, her eyes drifting to the scorpion and the wolf. Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would lie beneath the sky with Eli and share stories of the stars.

Finally, she sensed a change in the landscape. A faint tremor through the ground – hoofbeats. She shifted position, glancing down to see White Moon looking up to her. They nodded to each other and readied themselves.

Jensen was the first to come into view, closely flanked by two others. Three more rode behind them, with the central man leading Cornelia's horse. Heart racing in her chest and palms sweating in her gloves, Cornelia gave the nod.

White Moon pulled the rip cord. A cacophony of gunshots rang out. Men shouted and screamed and fell, horses neighing in panic. Adrenaline spiked in Cornelia's veins. It had worked! She hadn't been sure, it had taken so much time to set up so many rifles. But this! This was glorious!

"Over there!" Jensen shouted as he picked himself off the ground and pointed towards White Moon's hiding place. Remembering herself, Cornelia whipped up her own rifle, sighted, and fired.

The bullet tore through Jensen's gut and he collapsed to his knees, clutching the wound desperately. White Moon seized the opportunity to run, tipping over a lantern as he went.

Flames whooshed towards the sky as they ignited the oil that had been carefully spilt upon the ground. The last men – only three of them now – shouted and pointed but could only fire blindly through the smoke. Cornelia took her time, remembering to breathe as she ratcheted another bullet and squeezed the trigger.

Another man fell. Only two left. The flames had reached behind the horses now, cutting off their escape. White Moon howled a battle cry and threw an axe. It sank deep into one man's throat and he clutched at it, hands tugging uselessly as he crumpled in the dust.

The last one was sharp. His eyes turned up towards Cornelia's high vantage point and he fired. She ducked, breathless as the bullet skimmed just over her head.

White Moon howled again. Cornelia's heart leapt to her throat. Heedless of her own safety, she surged back up to stare down at it all below. Her rifle aimed at the last man but she hesitated, mouth dry. White Moon had jumped the line of fire and he tackled the man, stabbing wildly with a dagger.

"No, no. Get out of there!" Cornelia gasped.

The man fought back. A harsh blow to the side of the head knocked White Moon to the ground, dazing him. The man kicked him then snatched the blade from his hands. He seized a fistful of White Moon's hair, dragging him up as he brandished the dagger.

Cornelia fired again. The man cried out and let go – winged. She swore and hurried to reload but White Moon was already moving. Tearing his dagger from the man's hands, White Moon lunged up. The blade sank deep and the man went slack, falling lifelessly to the ground.

Cornelia scrambled out of her hiding place. The descent was steep but she paid it little heed, half-running, half-skidding down the slope. The flames were already beginning to die down and White Moon stepped out from them, battered but alive.

Jensen groaned. Cornelia lifted her gun, all her rage and vengeance coming back to her in an instant. His hands were soaked in blood as he tried to hold himself together, a faint crimson tinge flecking his lips. She lowered her gun; it would be over soon.

"You … you bitch," Jensen wheezed, his lungs whistling.

"I told you. Should have simply held me at gun point." Cornelia tilted her head to the side. "I knew I would kill you from the moment you mocked me." ??

It was gruesome work, watching a man die. But Cornelia had endured far more gruesome things in her life. In comparison, this was vindication. When Jensen finally lay still on the blood-soaked ground and the light had gone out in his eyes, she let out a deep breath and turned away.

"Cornelia." She looked up to see White Moon standing over Mickey. "What do with him?"

Slinging the rifle onto her back, she strode over. Mickey stared up at them, eyes wide in terror. To leave him alive was a liability and possibly a slow death. Killing him here would be much cleaner. And yet …

Cornelia thought back to the Pawnee man that Eli had failed to shoot. What might have become of that man if Cornelia had not stepped into that space? If she never lifted the bow?

Perhaps Eli was right and that man had already been dead. But Mickey was young and Cornelia was tired of watching young men's stories get cut short.

"Leave him. Put a knife near him when we go. If he wants to live, he'll have to fight for it."

~*~

They moved on as soon as Eli was strong enough to stand. It wasn't safe to linger near so many bodies for the sake of wild animals alone, never mind the risk of other people coming upon them. So they scavenged everything of worth from the bodies, loaded up their horses, and left.

Red Feather had done an excellent job of tending to his wounds. The graze on his neck was deep and would certainly scar, but was already healing without the need of stitches. The bullet hole through his left shoulder was another matter entirely. Red Feather's poultices had thoroughly cleaned it but it needed stitches.

That first night after they moved camps, Eli helped talk Red Feather through crafting a needle out of bone. They had few options for thread but they had the horses. It was simple enough for Red Feather to cut some strands of tail hair and boil them before threading through the bone needle.

Eli gave no complaint as she stabbed deeper than she needed, or pulled a little too hard. She was just a child and she had never stitched a wound before. He suppressed all his reactions and spoke only encouragement.

They found shelter in a rocky grove off the beaten track. Water was scarce but there were thick, stubborn scrubby plants growing in the grove. They provided suitable shade, so Eli and Red Feather settled in for a few days. Eli needed time to recover before they pushed on harder. The risk of infection aside, he could barely lift his left arm. If they encountered anyone else wanting to kill them, Eli would hardly be able to fight.

Red Feather flicked twigs at the campfire that evening, her eyes lost deep in thought. Eli tried not to think about how far they still had to travel. Would Cornelia even be there by the time they reached Nebraska? What if she had gone somewhere else in search of him?

"Tell me about Cornelia."

Eli's head jerked up. Red Feather's serious gaze met his across the campfire, unwavering in her intensity.

"Why?" he asked and Red Feather rolled her eyes.

"I know you're thinkin' about her. And there's nothin' else to do here."

Fair enough. Eli let his eyes drift to the flames as he marshalled his thoughts. How could he sum up the magic and power of that woman in a way Red Feather would understand?

"Cornelia's unlike any person you ever met. She got no clue how the west works and almost got herself killed more times than you would believe. But she never let that stop her. She just keeps goin'. Somehow it works. She believes in magic. Was convinced that we were meant to meet, that all these dark things in our lives had a purpose. I didn't agree with that."

He wanted to, despite the stubborn, pragmatic part of him that had seen so much death and horror and destruction. Eli wanted to throw his sensibilities into the wind and race on magic, just like Cornelia had done.

She had to be right. How could it be anything but magic? After all she had survived and the distances she had travelled, how could Eli ever doubt her magic?

"How did you meet?" Red Feather shifted to lie on her belly, chin propped on her hands and feet kicked up behind her. Such an innocent, carefree position. Eli's heart warmed to see her so relaxed.

"Tried to save my life. Almost lost her own in the process but … Somehow we survived. From there, well." He shrugged. "Ain't no real reason for why I said yes. Maybe it was magic. Either way, I agreed to take her north. So we went."

"Eli, you tell the worst stories," Red Feather declared dramatically and flopped her head into the dirt. He stared at her, taken aback.

"What else do you want from me?" he asked and she groaned.

"You told me what happens without proper tellin' anything! Try again!"

He could not help the smile that curved one corner of his mouth. Cornelia had been similar, coaxing the finer details out of him in that endlessly curious way of hers. Red Feather was far more direct but it was enough for his heart to pang in longing.

So Eli spoke again. He filled in the details, even though it felt strange to reveal so much of himself after so many years guarding everything. And Red Feather listened, entranced by the stories of the white woman who had travelled without fear to avenge her son.

Sleep came easier to Eli that night. To speak of Cornelia in such a way left him feeling lighter than he had expected. He had not realised just how badly he had needed to speak of her, to share that part of himself with someone.

He drifted off under the light of the stars, chest full of a comfortable hope that he had not felt in a long time. He dreamt of Cornelia – dreamt of seeing her in the village of his birth, surrounded by family members that had long since walked the Path of the Dead. She smiled at him and held out her hand – but he could not see it clearly. The image was blurred and when he tried to focus, it slipped away into a kaleidoscope of grassy plains, bloodied bodies and howling wolves.

Eli woke abruptly with sweat on his brow. His gut twisted and all sense of easy hope was gone. What did such dreams mean? If only he could go to a kúrahus! He dragged a hand across his face – then realised it was not his dreams that had woken him.

Red Feather whimpered on the other side of the smouldering campfire. She twitched and thrashed, limbs flailing drunkenly. Eli propped himself up a little, wondering if it was wise to wake her. But then she screamed. Her spine arched and her cries wailed loudly, so pitiful and heartbroken that he could not have stopped himself if he tried.

Throwing back his blanket, Eli hurried to her. He caught her flailing arms with his hands, hushing her quietly.

"It's alright, Red Feather. It's alright. Wake up."

She struggled harder, brow pinching tightly against her nightmares. Eli stroked her hair back from her face, not even noticing when he slipped into his native language.

"Awi'uusik, čuú'at. Awi'uusik."

Red Feather jolted awake suddenly. Eyes wide and breaths heaving her chest, she screamed and yanked away from him, kicking madly.

"Red Feather!" Eli said loudly and her eyes snapped to him. He watched cognizance filter back in before she sagged, shaking from the terror of it all. Eli reached out, hands hovering over her in a gentle request as he spoke. "You're safe. Just a nightmare. It's over."

Her face crumpled as emotions took over. A wail escaped her, following by a shuddering sob. Eli opened his mouth to speak again – but she moved too fast. Red Feather threw herself into his arms, howling between her wrenching sobs. Small fists dug into his back and pulled at his clothes. Her head bumped his as she cried, voice so loud his ears rang.

He did not care. She was all that mattered. Eli curled his arms around her, whispering softly in Pawnee. He rocked her and soothed her, trailing fingers through her tangled hair. His neck ached and his shoulder throbbed in agony but it barely registered.

Red Feather was so strong and independent, it was easy to forget just how young and fragile she was. Eli was reminded now, as she curled into an anguished ball in his lap. So small and so light. Her scent still carrying that edge of childhood. Grief filled him and he held her tighter.

No child should have to suffer like this.

"I-I saw him. I saw him!" she wailed in between sobs and hiccups. She shook so viscerally that Eli felt it in his bones. "I saw the, the blood, the …"

Eli hushed her as words failed her. Red Feather screamed and cried, inconsolable for what felt like hours. He held her through it all, letting her small body purge the emotions that had been building like a storm for weeks. He rocked her, whispering Pawnee lullabies in her ears.

Red Feather cried herself out at length. Her sounds of anguish dwindled, her grip loosening until she was slack and limp, an exhausted bundle in his lap. Eli carried her back to his bedroll and lay down with her head on his chest.

He used to do this with his own children when they could not sleep. Lying by the fire with an ear pressed over his heart, the sound of his heartbeat and breathing would eventually lull them back to sleep. It worked the same way now – Red Feather's breathing evened out and her body finally calmed that little bit further. Eli kept stroking her hair, humming under his breath as he stared into the embers of the fire.

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep himself. He was too unsettled, mind still troubled from his own dreams and body wide awake. So he carefully tossed another branch on the fire and watched the stars slowly turning above him.

If wishes were where we would be, then we would be where we are not.

The cold months would be upon them soon. Eli could see it in the tilt of the sky and smell it on the air. His thoughts drifted back to Cornelia – as they always did – and worry gnawed at his gut.

She had not experienced winter on the plains. She would have no idea of the danger, the multitude of risks. If Eli could not find her before the first snowfall, what hope would she have? The thought of her lost in a blizzard, calling for him and slowly freezing to death, lodged in his mind and chilled his heart.

No. He could not think like that! Cornelia was smart, for all her recklessness. She would understand the dangers, surely. She would take up residence in some town for the winter. Yes, surely that was it. He need not worry, Cornelia had survived too much to foolishly throw what was left of her life away.

Thoughts of the posters she had commissioned flashed through his mind but he pushed them aside. No point in thinking about something that would only make him angry. There would be time enough for that later.

Eli glanced down at Red Feather. He had endured many cold winters as a soldier. He knew how to survive under the harsh elements. But with a young daughter in tow?

Perhaps it would be wise for them to find somewhere to stay for the winter, as well. Travel would only get harder when the snow came, not to mention the risk of sickness.

Eli jerked his head away; no, he couldn't bear to think of it! After losing so many children to fevers, the thought of Red Feather suffering the same terrified him.

He never should have taken her with him, he should have found somewhere else for her to go! Bearing the responsibility of her life in his hands was a fool's game. Her blood would taint him sooner or later, he knew that. He never should have claimed her as his daughter.

Ah, but such thoughts only sought to protect himself, did they not? Eli let out a heavy breath and glanced down at Red Feather. No. He did not regret claiming her, no matter what his doubts and fears said. He cared for her, and would carry her in his heart from now till the beyond.

No matter what became of her.

The sun rose slowly that morning. Eli watched its light creep across the land, until it bathed him and Red Feather. She stirred soon after, movements sluggish and eyes still puffy from the night before. Eli said nothing as she pulled away from him and wandered to the edge of the camp.

She went to the horses. They nosed at her hands and she stroked their muzzles then pulled out the grooming brush. She tended to her own horse, a dark bay gelding with a crooked stripe down his face.

Letting her have her space, Eli turned to his own morning rituals. He cleaned himself up as best he could without wasting too much water, then changed his clothes. The ones Red Feather had cried on would need to be washed. Best that they aim to find a creek or a spring today.

Red Feather came back as Eli pulled out some dried meat for a light breakfast. She sat on the edge of his bedroll – close, but not touching – and accepted when he offered her some food. They ate in silence and Eli let the silence stretch, knowing she would speak when she was ready.

"I dreamt about that man," Red Feather finally said, her voice scratchy. Eli took a moment to swallow his mouthful and studied her face.

"The one you killed."

She flinched but nodded. Eli hummed and chewed on another strip.

"I keep … seein' him. Over and over. No face, just … blood and bone." She shuddered, the dried meat in her hand forgotten. Eli turned a little and waited until Red Feather met his gaze.

"You did what you had to do," he said, voice heavy with the weight of how serious he was. She sniffed, lower lip wobbling.

"But it's like you said. I almost killed you. Didn't wanna do that. Didn't wanna kill him, either, but he was there and I was so scared …" She broke off, eyes turning out to the horizon as she fought against tears.

Eli dared to reach out a hand in offering. A beat passed between them, then Red Feather clutched his hand, her small fingers curling tightly around his palm.

"I don't blame you for that. Can't change it, it's done. And when I said those things …" He sighed. "Maybe I was too hard on you. Ain't no time but a moment to make those choices. You killed him. We both lived – thanks to you."

"But now he's hauntin' me. I can't sleep without seein' him." Her hand trembled in his grasp.

"You will. One day. Till then, just remember. You did what you had to do. Ain't no way of changin' the past. Gotta find a way to move forward."

"How?"

"Keep livin'. Dunno. Some days I'm still tryin' to do the same, myself."

Red Feather shuffled closer to him until she was pressed against his side. She kept his hand held tightly in her own, tracing over the callouses on his skin.

"D'you think Cornelia will want me?" Her voice was so soft and fragile, tentative. Yet the words resonated loud within him and Eli felt himself reeling at the unexpected mention of her.

"Cornelia's a woman with a lot of love to give. I never saw a limit to it. Almost cost her life, time and again. So I say yes, she'll want you. And if she doesn't? She'll learn to. You belong with me, čuú'at. Not even Cornelia gonna change that."

Red Feather sniffled and turned to bury her face in his chest. Eli wrapped an arm around her, and almost missed the muffled words she spoke into his jacket.

"Biixoo3é3en, neisonoo."

Eli did not need to understand the words; he felt their meaning in his soul. He held her tighter.

"Tâtačiksta, čuú'at."

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - Masterlist

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Ao3

Commissioned by anonymous.

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

I ⛧ II ⛧ III ⛧ IV ⛧ V ⛧ VI ⛧ VII ⛧ VIII ⛧ IX ⛧ X

Commissions are closed.

Words: 67.7k.

Reading Time: 4 hours and 48 minutes.

Warnings: asshole!Copia,attempted execution, blood, blood drinking, blood extraction, blood syphoning/collecting,biting, body control, body horror,brief mentions of the past trauma the angel went through, including the harrassment and torture - but other than that chapter V is pretty chill, caging a living being,Catholic guilt, corruption kink,cum swap, cunnilingus, detailed aftermath of war, detailed deaths of children, detailed grief, detailed pain, divine voyeurism?, drunk!Copia,dry humping, face sitting, falling from heights, feelings of abandonment,fellatio, finger sucking, forced sexual activity,free use fantasy, frottage, gaslighting, graphic depictions of thanatophobia, graphic (yet brief) descent into madness, graphic injuries,irrelevant character death,masturbation, mentions of conversion therapy, mentions of death, mentions of death by sun exposure,mentions of experimentation on living things,mentions of fellatio, mentions of femicide, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sexual abuse within the church, mentions of stoning, mentions of rape, mild degradation, mild sexism, mild sexual harassment?? (there’s nothing inherently sexual about what he’s doing, but it is uncomfortable and I wanted to tag it just to be safe), near-death experiences, needles, nipple play, non-consensual rituals, non-consensual sexual activity, objectification, pillow humping, praise kink, protected sex, references to non-con, references to rape kink, references to somnophilia, religious disillusionment, religious trauma,restrained with ropes, rituals, self slut shaming, semi-public masturbation, sexual harassment,slut shaming, soul modification, spit as lube, suggestion of sexual assault (but nothing happens), taking advantage of innocence,this may be the horniest thing I’ve ever written, tied with ropes, torture, use of needles, use of the word “bitch” unkindly, vaginal sex, violence.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Copyright © 2024 by her-satanic-wiles

No bound copies, translations, or other derivative works of this publication may be created or distributed without express permission from the author, for monetary gain or public use.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

23 - Blazing Fire of Storming Ice

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

Length: 18.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mentions of child death disease and miscarriage, references to rape, warfare and strategy talk, exploration of past trauma, mild sexual descriptions

Notes: The story on Dragonstone is based on a book only plot from A Dance with Dragons for any who aren't familiar with the characters. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Come the end of morning, he was gone. By the tinting of nightfall as the sun set below the sea, was when you learned you were soon to be as well. It had been a long night, your mother had been spending all of her time in those hours with Maester Cressen, with a number of midwives running back and forth along with your father. It didn’t make sense to you at first, it was far too early for your brother to be born. She had only been showing for a few months and he was not to come into this world until the year turned over to the next. 

But then he was gone. It had happened a second time, and finally you understood that you were the problem. When your mother lost your first brother, she had stopped spending time with you and even now you both barley spoke. Father still did, but she couldn’t look at you and you knew she blamed you for it. There was none other to explain, and then father had brought you into the main hall of his living quarters. 

She still barley looked at you as they explained your new brother was lost, but that was not all. You were to be sent away. “I will be staying here to look after your mother while she recovers, the guard will accompany you on the journey there until you have reached Winterfell into Lord Stark’s care.” 

Silent and wide eyed, you looked to your mother who had but a dispondant and distant glint in her eye as she turned her gaze away when she caught yours. Your father stood tall before you and none bothered to tell you the truth of why, but you knew.

“How long will I be gone?” 

Your father was very matter of fact about it, “A number of months. At the least until the new year begins but likely longer. You will take any and every opportunity to learn at his side.” The room was painfully quiet from all three members of the family. Calling your name you hadn’t noticed your gaze wandered to the floor, snapping back up to meet your father’s eyes. “Do you understand?” 

Nodding, he seemed to accept it. Moving around to the table, taking a seat as he and your mother shared a look. At the time you thought it was dismissal, sending you off as if once walking out that room you would instantly step onto the ship away forever. Your mother didn’t like the North, neither did your father really. Speaking of it as if it were unruly and full of people that one should stay away from. 

That’s how you knew it was a punishment, that it was all your fault for your brothers. Sending you alone to a scary, cold place where you knew none and would be under a new families care following their every order. You were not welcome in your own home. Born first, it seemed as if you were what held back your brothers from joining his life. Sons were supposed to come first, then daughters and yet you were her very first and that must be ruining everything. 

It was so exciting when you learned mother was pregnant again, pregnant with a boy again. You had been only six when your first brother had gone and now at eight you had been over the moon to be given this second chance. Your gift was even better the first. You were far better at crafting now and it had sat on the flat surface of your dresser for months to ensure when he was here you could grab it to gift it to him right away. Spending time reading to make sure everything you made the toy with was safe and that he wouldn’t break it easily. 

The halls felt so empty, dark and grim as night took the rest of the sun away as did the mood of the island. Feet dragging as did the weight in your head sink lower and lower to your heart and filled with a metal that might just break through the sturdy build of the many floors below. Light peeking through the ends of a door, you managed to reach your bedroom with a heavy sorrow. 

Slipping inside, you moved to push the heavy door closed entirely before turning around with a sigh. The room was partially set up for you with cases to pack your things in on the floor waiting. The window still open blowing the translucent curtains over the air and washing onto your bed making it nice and cool you suspected, but the gentle breeze did not feel refreshing. 

Hands reaching up to wipe at the tears you were annoyed had fallen the entire walk to your room, more felt in their place. Eventually having to give up, knowing they would keep doing so. Only when you turned to your dresser to begun pulling out clothes, you saw the toy. Sitting ready to be brought to him, and it dawned on you. 

He was lost today, and it was not yet over. Until the moon passed over the middle of the sky above Dragonstone you had time. Rushing to grab the toy, you stopped to grab a sheet of paper and ink, putting them onto the carpet. There was a set of long drawers across one wall, and at only eight you winced as you stood next to the edge and pushed it along the floor until there was enough space to easily fit behind it. Pulling back the edge of carpet draped was a jagged stone that didn’t quite sit at settled as the rest. Your fingers dug into the sides, wiggling it just the right amount until it gave. 

Only the framework was left, the stone hollow inside as it surrounded a small box. Wooden and dyed a rich blue with deep orange foxes outlined over it, you shifted backwards with it. Kneeling down on the floor on your knees, you pulled open the lid and just like you remembered, the first toy you ever made still sat as peacefully as when placed there. You pulled down the new one, as well as the paper and ink, giving yourself enough room on the flat part of the floor to sit it in front of you. The toy and box sitting just to their side. 

Biting your tongue, you tried to recall the words and luckily there was still enough in your head to conjure them up as you recalled reading. Writing neatly, you wanted to make sure it was as clear as could be read and no mistakes made, not even in spelling. Your penmanship had become more skilled in two years at least. You paused for a moment, glancing up around your room but there was nothing close to that of a seal, you’d have to draw it again.

Instead you continued to write. Words which a septon would speak as they would name a newborn child under the Light of the Seven. Written just as you could hear them being spoke aloud, not that you ever did with your own family. You now knew that it was impossible you ever would, you had cursed your mother. Without a seal, you leaned down over the paper to focus even more. The Stag needing to be drawn with much more precision as the gods might not recognize it were you to be lazy. 

A large space at the bottom of the page was waiting now, brows narrowing in consideration just as last time it was up to you. Mother and father had never gotten as far as a name so you once more had to run through what sounded like the name of a boy matching the appearance you were seeing in your mind. One finally coming to you, you scrawled it out before pulling back to look it over. The words of faith written neat and clear, the sigil of a stag drawn much better then two years ago and right at the bottom you felt your heart both sink and swim at the name you chose for your second brother. 

“Edric Baratheon” 

Grabbing the box, you held it in your lap raising up the new toy as your hands traced over it. At least Petyr would have a brother to keep him safe now. Gently you sat the toy down inside and covered it back up. Hiding it in the hole in the floor, stone back covering it’s place and carpet draped to hide it’s presence. Putting the paper up onto the drawers for now as you strained your small muscles to push it back into place. 

None were around nor were there voices to be heard from a muffle, you had a perfect time if you rushed. Moving to the brazier by the corner of your room you gently lit the paper’s edge until a flame overcame. Putting it down into the middle as fire overtook and begun to ashen it’s contents, you moved around your room to gather the rest. A thicker cloak wrapped around your shoulders and hiding your front from the night sea breeze and a small bag you hung across your torso to sit at your side. 

Moving to the brazier again, a small pouch in hand, you blew out the remains and the embers dulled with it. Still hot but there was not much to grab, you scooped the remains up and let them all sit in a small pouch. Pulling the drawstrings together it closed it off as you slipped that into the bag. For the final, you rummaged under your bed until it was found, the little blade you kept safe from last time. It had been stolen from the kitchens but you hid it under your mattresses and sheets deep to hide where none could see it. 

Putting that too in the bag, you made your way to open the door. Hallways were empty and the rest of the journey was what you seemed to think was a breeze. 

The sounds of the sea crashing against the rocky shores was booming. A thunderous crash of water that echoed around you like thunder, making the journey that much more treacherous on your own. There was a sept closer then this, but something about the statues against the torches of fire around made here feel more meaningful. It was closer to the earth, the ground, the sea ahead of you making way for an easy path to the heavens and you suspected he would be blessed faster this way. 

You were small against seven statues, all tall and spread apart across the sand to give each offering their own space. The Seven all asked for the same things, but demanded different givings of nature and each passed their own curses down for breaking such vows. By the brazier near the entrance to the site, you used a small holder and carefully tipped it’s end into the flames. Letting it gently ignite, the wind asking to blow it out but you kept your other hand cupped around the back of it to shield. 

Each Statue given a blessing of light as candles were sat in pockets carved into the stone that would be replaced as they gave out. Luckily, they were mostly new and no rain had come to ruin it. But there was one god you must see in special, you came to her last. Each statue before it having seven, but you needing only to light one single candle in the middle to the ones you did not mean to pray to, before making your way over. Wanting to save your prayers for her mercy. 

The Mother was the god which overlooked those such as you, seeing the blessings of children new and old and it was her grace which allowed women to bear child. She also, could take it away just as fast. A thing you were here to once more ask to forgive. 

At only eight you were short enough to not need to kneel to the candles, only leaning down slightly you lit all Seven etched into the base of the Mother. Your mind was silent as with each lighting you spoke your prayers in your heart asking for her to listen and grant you just once with begs of mercy to the other six watching over. 

Letting it drop after shaking the remaining fire out, you stood in front of her. Looking up at the beauty the statue captured and could only ask her to forgive him. He was not at fault, and the pain of your own mother was too great to grant him a true name and life before passing. “Let me repay such a debt for my sins, allow my hands and my blood to grant my brother a name and pass him onto the heavens. If I am why Petyr was not allowed to be of this world, let me give my new brother a name and join them together.” 

Your voice was so small, a high breathy tone that spoke more now then you would for weeks coming to you. “My sins should not damn them for eternity, you can curse me with whatever you see fit but allow me to help my brother, help Edric, pass onto the worlds beyond.”

Pulling out the small pouch, you held it to your heart as you looked up to the Mother, and with only splashes against the waters and no booming thunders or crashes she gave you permission to pass him on. Pulling the bag over you off, you took out the only other item inside, the small ornate blade which had only use once more just as this. Looking to her eyes, you knew that without a body, she would need blood to give way for Edric along with the ashes of his namesake. 

Paper with his name was all he was, and your blood would have been his. Wincing, you let the blade drag across your palm, holding back tears as the sting burned in the salty air. But it was done and as the red oozed out, you looked up to her one last time. Your free hand dropping the blade into your bag and opened the small pouch, and let the ashes gently drop into your bloody palm.

Stepping to the middle of the clearing, you carefully moved until only a foot into the tides of the water. There was no body, just as with Petyr, but you would let him spread out to be washed away to wherever the gods let what remained of his existence on land. Gripping it tight in your palm, finally you closed your eyes, kneeling down to the ground with your palms braced in the watery sands under the tides.

Much of the Faith of the Seven was said in words and prayers, rituals and rules that must be followed but this was the best you could do. Give your brothers a name, bleed for them and wash them into the waters with the Mother to guide them and eternal hell would finally end for their suffering. 

It was your fault, your mother did not want to be around you for cursing her with only a first girl and now your father has decided you must be sent to a place that gave you worries and nightmares. You knew nothing of the Northerners, but being sent away to them was to get you away from your mother. Give her a chance to heal, and maybe find refuge in a son without you there to bare down on her. 

You had been there far too long. Now sat on the sand, your feet free and bare in the cool tides, and your knees tucked up to your chest, arms wrapped around them you finally stopped feeling the sting of ash and salt water that seeped into your hand. You had put your gloves on, at least you could hide it for the time being. The waves were loud enough that it masked the clink of chains until they came beside you. 

Looking to your left, Maester Cressen found his slow way to the ground to sit next to you. A bashful look overtaking your features as you knew you were expected to be up in your room packing. Unlike what your father might have been, he was gentle in his tone. “I thought I had seen a tiny doe sneaking around the castle.” Your shoulders shrunk in on themselves, your eyes watching the dark sea once more. Essos was said to be far away in this direction, but you could see nothing just as you would see nothing trying to find King’s Landing on the other side of the island. “This is the second time you’ve snuck out at night to come here, and if I’m not mistaken it was under the same circumstances. Is this about your brother?” 

Your throat closed, a heavy weight sat hard in it which was filled to the brim with unshed tears. Giving a nod, he let a hand run across your hair, the comforting sensation causing you to sink further into yourself and push out the tears from it’s temptation entirely with a shaky breathe. “The Mother cannot help him if my father and mother won’t name him. It’s my fault, so I need to help him pass into the heavens.” 

Maester Cressen leaned forward, looking to your side profile with a heavy heart of his own. “Now, tell me, why would you think this is your fault? None of us can control what the gods choose for us.” The only reaction you gave him, was to shrug one shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to explain to him why you could feel your heart as cursed. Your father would have found such notions foolish, and so would he. 

Baratheons do not act like children he would teach you, and they must stand on their own two feet no matter how difficult it is. It was the only way to grow up and be stronger willed then that of the fools around you, your father had many times said. It was silly to tell anyone such childish thoughts of curses and blessings. “I was born before Petyr and Edric, which means I would be their older sister. So I have to be responsible for them.” 

Maester Cressen smiled, none but him knew of what you had done for your unborn brother, and now you had shared your second one with him too. He suspected one day that thought would find itself as a comfort to Selyse, but the pain was too raw. Yet, her only child, their only daughter sat outside in the shores of the sea begging the gods to grant mercy for children you had never met. This was a sad place for any child to grow up, he thought. 

“They are lucky to have you. The gods grant mercy to those who pray to them with honourable intentions.” 

You had been quiet for a moment, and when you did it was in an even quieter tone. “Will they hear me all the way up North? The gods?” Turning to look at him, eyes wide and full of a far away nervousness all over. “They say Northerners pray to the old gods, will the Seven be angry with me if I pray there and the old gods hear it?” 

He had to not laugh, such a small little question but you were as deadly serious as your father on his roughest of days. Wondering one day, if he will be able to hear you grinding your teeth from the other side of the castle as he swore he could Lord Stannis. “They do have a sept in Winterfell, but even if you speak to the old gods, I’m sure ours will understand. I know going there seems scary, and leaving your parents and friends behind here-” 

You were quick to interrupt, a shortness in your voice but one also lonely. “I don’t have any friends.” 

To no fault of your own, there were not many children your age to make friends with. You didn’t know that part of why your father chose Winterfell was so for a while at least, you could be around children your own age. Maester Cressen felt sorrow in his heart, you were a lonely, isolated child with a family that did not find it in their own hearts to give such love and affection, as you wanted to show brothers that never came to be. Selyse found the stories of the Northerners to be unruly and unfitting of you, but he knew that at their best they were a lively bunch that would do good for you. 

“Well, when you finally come back in the new year, perhaps you will be already dreaming of going back and see your new Northern friends, then to stay here with no one but me to keep you company.” 

While he chuckled, you didn’t. You did dream of the North, but only in nightmares. Looking out to the sea, you could only remember the same dream you kept having. A dream of you wandering a Northern forest, dark and snow all around you and the black in your vision closing in. Closing in on you until there was only one small strip of forest you could walk through.

On one end were the growling snarls of wolves and a pair of blood red eyes that seemed to shine in the darkness. And the other? Only the sounds of ice as if loudly cracking along a lake, and crystal blue eyes glowing even taller in the darkness opposite of the red. 

Your face winced as you took another sip, trying not to let the bemused look in Jon’s eyes get to you anymore then it already had. “Where did he say he got this from?”

There was a small smirk on his face, taking a sip of his own hiding his displeasure better then you. “He said it came from a merchant near Pentos.” 

Wyman Manderly had so graciously shared an ale he had acquired from Essos, that and a few other things as a claimed penance for having been sided with the Boltons. Jon insisted nothing was needed, but the Lord was not to be debated with. The food was more then welcome, as you had sniffed out he had been holding off resources beforehand. Lord Wyman of course, denied ever purposely withholding resources and it was merely a coincidence he came into so much to share only upon Jon’s crowning. 

You hadn’t quite been in the right spirits to laugh, but he, Jon and the Lords in the main hall gathering certainty shared a good smirk over it.

Food that would keep, and had been building up for a little while along with a good fresh haul of meats that would feed many as the greater numbers were here for a time. The ale however, was truly not your taste. Or anyone’s you imagined. Thick and bitter with an aftertaste that almost was worse then the initial flavour itself. “I could name a hundred disgusting thing’s I’d rather drink before choosing this all on my own.” 

Shrugging, he put his own down with a heavier thud. “Now you’re starting to sound like a fancy girl who grew up near the capitol.” Rolling your eyes with a held back smirk, the only sounds left in the room was the fire blazing on the wall closest to you both. Night had long fallen by that point, and awake in one of the smaller studies you both had found excuses not to sleep quite yet. 

In the corner on a softer blanket was a large ball of slumbering white fur however. Ghost had taken well to being back in Winterfell, having now also the pleasure of being allowed to wander the castle halls as he liked. Well behaved, quiet, mostly keeping to himself if not out in the woods or sticking around Jon’s side. He had no trouble sleeping, and you were willing to bet with not much in the way of nightmares either. 

Something both you and Jon were not unfamiliar with by now. Putting your own down, slightly further away from you then needed, you huffed a laugh. “Wait until you see where I was raised, then I’ll ask you who between us grew up in luxury.”  

Grey eyes trained heavily on yours, Jon still seemed to be trying to figure something out. He had gotten far better though at hiding his intentions and thoughts much to your dismay. He could read you better then you could him now. Looking away to the fire, leaning his forearms against his knees he gave out a quiet sigh. “He doesn’t hate you, he has no reason to say no if we tell him exactly what what I told you.” 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you felt the starts of a ruminating headache. “He didn’t help us when he knew we would need it most, why would he suddenly decide to help now? You weren’t even King yet and he still refused.” 

Jon was more confident then you however, his voice unwavering. “He knows as well as I what’s out there, he knows why this is important. He’s stubborn, not unreasonable.” 

Difficult to remember that these days it felt. Your nails tapped at your lip, almost unconsciously tracing along where the faintest of scars still sat if one looked close enough. Jon murmured your name but you only watched the fire more. Still now, you saw no visions or scenes running before you. Whatever god your father answered to now, left you alone in the dark with no guidance. 

Your voice was low and somewhat far away. “He isn't unreasonable with you perhaps. The last time I sided with the King in the North instead of him, he spent three years calling me a traitor. And I spent three years thinking one day he’d send his armies for us instead of the Lannisters.” 

“It’s different now.” You glanced over to him, eyes bright as they looked at you. A fight in them to not reach out to you in that very instance, he was adamant however at keeping his distance when you were like this. He was not given that kind of space when he desperately needed it, so he would make sure you had it instead. “You’re not fighting the Lannisters anymore. You’re here, fighting for more then that, fighting for something your father also believes in. We won’t even be asking for help, just his ships. Just enough for men and mining. His men will need something to fight back with one day too.” 

Your nod was more absent minded then you intended. Gaze drifting away from him to the fire without any focus behind it. “It’s hard to believe, I dreamt about it that whole time and never knew. No one knows. Everything that’s coming and not a single one of us would’ve been ready for it. Except you.” 

Trying to brush it off, the denial in his eyes was clear. “Not just me-” 

Cutting him off you leaned forward now trying to meet his gaze a bit more. “Everyone’s here because of you. They are all listening to this and trust that you’re telling the truth, because it’s you saying it. Do you think if I alone was going around pleading them to fight against the dead beyond the wall a single one of them would have listened?” 

He had said it to you before but felt no hesitancy in reiterating that now once more. “You were never going to do this alone.” Trying to say his name in protest, Jon shook his head. “Your father offered to make me Lord of Winterfell, name me a Stark if I gave him my allegiance, but I said no. I didn’t think I deserved it, and I felt my vows were more important then to just give them up like that. Then I found out you were alive, and it all suddenly hit me. Leaving you that day on the Kingsroad, something was trying to tell me it was a mistake leaving you.” 

You bit your lip before dropping your head down slightly to the floor. Sighing out, “I’m not quite sure I would’ve fit in at the Night’s Watch.” Raising back up you found his eyes, a seriousness in them which lightened at the gentle playfulness in yours before you simmered down. “The first time it ever happened was after they arrested myself and your father. Seeing you, I mean.” 

His eyes narrowed in question as you elaborated. “We had confronted Cersei and Joffery in front of the court, trying to plead our case and it all went wrong. We had trusted Peter Baelish to secure the City Watch on our side, and at the last minute they turned on us. Killed what was left of your father’s men and tossed us both into the black cells. I don’t remember much of it now. At the time I wasn’t even sure if it was real, a dream or if I was just delirious at that point. I remember it felt freezing, and then fire, a small bit of it as if it flew right past me and feeling whatever point I was seeing, like you were shoving me out of the room.” It connected then to Jon, knowing exactly what you had seen. 

“Ghost found two rangers beyond the wall, they’d been dead for a while but they didn’t look it. Maester Aemon was keeping them to look them over, and one of them got up. Middle of the night Ghost brought me to the Lord Commander’s quarters, and we saw one of those dead rangers with blue eyes up walking around, nothing could hurt him.” You leaned forward a bit, following the trailing distance in his eyes fading to a memory. “He was coming right at us, so I threw a lantern at him and as soon as he caught fire I shoved the Lord Commander out of the room.”

Both of you looked at the other. You had no way of knowing it, no way of connecting those in your mind but it was there all the same. The cold, the bodies, the blue, the creatures something wanted to beckon you back to the North and at the same time it showed Jon you. As if telling him letting you be so far away was a bad idea. 

Something wanted you two together, but it was hard to know what your place was in it now that you were back and Jon was alive. “My point is, even back then, something was trying to find ways to bring you back North. You were never going to have to do this, any of this on your own. Maybe we were always supposed to fight this one together.” 

The room was quiet for a while, neither of you finding any reason to break the comfortable, warm silence wrapping around both of you. Your eyes were on the fire, his on you but the silence was welcome. It always was between you both. Jon was quieter, and in ways, softer then Robb was. Less direct and confident, but his dedication was clear as day in the small subtle ways he was with you. Neither of you needed to share any kind of physical contact to feel close to the other, it was simply in the air at all times.

Your voice was quiet as it whispered out, but loud enough in the emptiness of the room. “It means a lot to him, that you trust him.” Glancing to catch his eyes already watching, you flickered them quickly back to the fire. Leaning your arms more against your legs, clarifying, “Theon. He knows he as a long way to go, but after everything..I think it helps knowing he has more then just me now.” 

Voice low, he still could only watch you. The tremendous weight looming through the two of you over the things that he would never truly know had happened. “I spent over eleven years growing up with him, and not once did he ever act anything like he does now. And I’ve never seen you two stick to each others side like this before, either.”

For a moment, it was almost as if you could feel yourself back down in the cold, damp cells of the Dreadfort. “I was almost delirious when Ramsay first brought him down to me. I don’t even know how long I had been in there by that point, couldn’t keep anything down and I was fairly certain my fever was so high I was starting to hallucinate. For a brief second, I almost thought I had made it up, I’d never seen him like that before it had to be fake. Ironically, he thought the same looking at me.” 

A weight behind Jon’s eyes felt like it bore into you, the grey bright but tinted with a sorrow that you couldn’t look away from. It was as if he knew what was not being said in your mind, patient enough in his heart to wait for it to come from you all on your own and it was impossible to keep it back the longer he kept your gaze. You finally looked away with a shaky inhale, turning to look back at the fire as if it made it any easier. “It seems childish..very childish..but it’s..frustrating that it doesn’t feel any better. Ramsay being gone..I thought maybe I would feel relieved, or vindicated but it’s all exactly the same was before.” 

Voice low, almost a whisper, but leaned so close to the other it boomed loud in your own ears. “Part of me wondered if I should've felt guilty for not caring when Ygritte was killed.” Whereas some would look at him with a sympathy, you didn’t even notice you only watched Jon with a narrowed, sharp look in your eyes. As if you were simply feeling everything others should have felt for him. Almost the same anger that he held for your pain. 

“She loved me..or..a version of me and she died. And I felt nothing.” His eyes much like yours had, trailed off, finding the fire as you did earlier. “I could’ve held her, cried, brought her North to burn her properly but I just left her there. Let her get dragged onto the pile of the rest of them, and the only time I ever thought about her was when someone else would bring her up first. Grenn and Pyp died that night and that still hurts more then she ever even meant to me.” 

A pained rage almost sat below the surface, a rough strain in his voice as if scratched raw. His hands you could tell, were clenched enough into fists as they sat across his knees the knuckles were turning white from the tensity. Only leaning a slight forward, you tilted your head to better see his face, the slow action causing him to swallow harshly as you spoke with the same volume but all of the softness he hadn’t been. “That’s because they saw someone who didn’t have to hide who he was, and they cared about him all the same. The version of you they died fighting beside was one who never had to lie to get them to trust him.”

He was quiet, and neither of you felt the need to break it before he was ready. He wanted you to talk about Ramsay, to not let it fester, but what was he doing if not holding it all in, himself? 

When he finally found his voice again, it almost sounded angrier then before. “She would’ve hated you.” Your own brows narrowed in confusion, but Jon didn’t find your eyes. His jaw clenched as he sighed heavily and none of that anger left him with it. “Ygritte. Always would say she was my woman, then turn around in the same sentence and threaten me about ever leaving her like she thought it was cute. Not realizing I’d dream about you, see you in my head, couldn’t get you out of my mind no matter how hard I could have tried. Thinking of you was the only reason I could..”

He swallowed harshly, the side of his vision seeing you lean forward, giving him space but not for a moment letting him feel as if he was sitting or speaking to no one. You simply knew as long as he could see you, he could find the strength in his chest to continue, and it made his heart heavy at how easy it was for you to know exactly what he needed.

His voice was a little less rough this time around. “I almost called out your name once. Would try and tune her out when I would have to.. But one time I was so far into a memory, seeing you so clearly in my mind that for a moment I almost forgot who she was. And I know if I had, if she wouldn’t kill me for it, she’d have killed you if she ever met you. Knew if she ever found out about you, it didn’t matter what I said she’d have hated you enough to put an arrow through you. Hated the one person I’ve been in love with my whole life, and I think that made me hate her.”

He’d never said it before. Had to come to terms with lying about loving or even caring about her, but never had admitted to himself that he might have finally come around to hate. But glancing back up at the silent, patient warmth in your eyes, Jon knew he did. Knew that he hated her for even having a place in his mind still, because she stood against everything you were. 

“She sounds like someone Robb wouldn't have been happy seeing you with.” 

It took you by surprise, but Jon gave a laugh. A genuine burst of laughter that had him drop his head for a moment as his shoulders shook slightly. “I think so too.” Coming back up, he found your eyes again and neither looked away this time. “Think he also would also been unhappy at the man with you now?” 

A small smile found it’s way onto you, not a hint of the playfulness he was hinting towards. Just a genuine radiating brightness that heated his heart faster then if he stepped right into the fireplace before you both as you spoke. “There’s nothing you could do that would’ve made Robb hate you. Nothing. Not now, not ever. He loved you, with everything he had, he loved you.” 

You could have choked in that moment, but there was an adoration in his eyes as he didn’t blink, waver, and held nothing but an honesty he wanted you to hear as you had him. His hand finding a place gently on your jaw and cheek, thumb running across the skin he could reach. “And I love you, with everything I have.” 

Whatever response he saw forming in you, he chose instead to lean forward. Closing the gap with a gentle kiss to your lips. Using his other hand to wind it’s way over to your hip before prompting you to stand with him. Not once disconnected the tender kiss, his lips soft and gentle as they almost coaxed you to relax in his touch. The hand on your cheek sliding back to run down your hair, smoothing it out before gently cupping the back of your neck, as his hand on your hip wrapped around your back, pulling you into his chest. 

Your own palms placed flat on his collarbones, before moving to cup his cheeks. Not once did he let your lips break from his, the hand at the back of your neck almost to secure you against him. Let his lips gently kiss you, without greed or deeper desire, but not giving you the space to catch your breathe or kick off the dizziness of it. 

Jon would never force you to marry him, or even come anywhere near push you for it. But as he gently lost himself in the taste and touch of your lips, there was not a single future he could imagine were you not in it. She spoke as if she had any rights to what his life would become, but there was never a future with Ygritte that didn’t end in his or her death because of her own destructive hatred of the things he now stood for beside you. 

There was no image of her anywhere near here that existed. What would it even be? She would have found reason like Tormund? Even before it all blew up, Tormund had been more reasonable then she had. Would she have come with him and survive Hardhome? What kind of anger would have existed the second Jon wanted to leave to protect you? What would she have done when you arrived and he wasn’t there to stand between you? Would Tormund even still be at your side, would he still find room in his own strange heart to protect you from her, or would he side against you? 

Ygritte being in Winterfell was impossible. She never would have come, not on this fight, this journey, never would have let herself anywhere near you or let Jon anywhere near you. It would’ve turned into a fight between her keeping Jon from you, and Ghost keeping you safe from her. You let Jon stand here, be soft and gentle, be vulnerable and hurt and let him promise to be the one to take care of you. It was sappy, and it was a kind of romantic notion he had long since come to terms many men would mock him for if he were ever honest about it. But Jon loved that you always so willingly fit perfectly into this gentle dream of romance in his mind. 

Jon had taken care of you since that first day. Stepped forward the second Luwin had mentioned someone would need to be with you at all times because your fever had been that bad. Only a boy of ten and he took one look at you and for reasons he still didn’t understand, was certain in his mind that he wanted to be the one to care for you. 

It was a joke to him, thinking that Ygritte assumed she was who he was supposed to be for. The first real time someone tried speaking of a future together with him, and it was with someone that forced him to fuck her against his will, someone who when he tried showing his true colours, always looked angry and violent he was having thoughts separate to her. Ygritte wanted his future to change to be one she would force herself to fit in, you were the one who tried to stand out of his way in case your feelings weren’t returned anymore.

But any future he saw, you were in it and you were his. He didn’t need you to marry him, but Jon knew that he certainly dreamed about it. And never before did the dream of marrying you feel closer then it did now. You were Robb’s wife and he didn’t want to take that away from you, but Jon couldn’t lie to himself and say that he didn’t wish he one day, might be able to call you his own wife.

It was a dream you both never thought was possible, and now there wasn’t a soul around you anymore who would find a problem with it. But you needed more time to heal then he did. He’d wait however long it took for you to find any comfort in the idea yourself. 

It was always odd between you both. Your start was forbidden and slow, but the reunion was sudden, fast, and aggressive. Almost tormented by how you felt around him, how beautiful you were and the way the horrors of the world around him meant not a thing as long as he was inside you. 

But now he wanted nothing more then to take it slow again. Just as the desire to call you his wife, Jon was also patient enough to take care of you as long as it took for you to be truly comfortable. In six years neither of you had gotten to the point you were ready to sleep together, now that you had? 

Jon would wait a lifetime for you to be ready for him. Because were it reversed, you would wait an eternity for him to be ready for you. The past few days had been rough, and the future was uncertain in terms of the winter storms ahead, but as you both stood in front of the fire, finding no pressure to do anything beyond enjoy the gentleness of his kiss, Jon at least would savour this peace. 

You wanted him to feel at peace, and he would do whatever it took to give that to you in return. 

As the sun shined bright against the strange land, the only thoughts he could focus on were that he still had time. From everything he could gather without tipping a soul off, he had enough time to ensure everything over twenty years worked towards would make it before it could no longer be hidden. The skin was already grotesque. It was but a small patch, barley noticeable unless one were to rake his sleeves up high and even then, he made sure he was covering any and every chance it could spread. 

No one knew after all. No one but him felt the disgust of the waters of Old Valyria seep into him like a thick poison, no one felt the growing crack along his skin until it burst into a grey. A grey that now sat in almost a small circle of scales that looked of dusting stones to mock him in.

He wasn’t the boys father he told himself. He wasn’t his father, he just needed to fulfill this duty and he could die or disappear to rot away. But as he stood on a walls edge in the castle of Dragonstone, looking down to the boy turned man amongst the sell swords trying to train him like a solider? 

Jon Connington could only feel a pull at his heart rather then his arm. 

They weren’t Griff and Young Griff anymore. He was once more the man he used to be, the one once Hand of the King, and the person his most beloved friend had trusted with his son. His son was soon to drop that facade, and it was hard to remember that lately. But he had to remember, Rhaegar didn’t trust the baby to him, to be his father. No, Rheagar had trusted him to raise his son until he was ready to avenge his death and take his rightful place on the Iron Throne. 

Jon Connington’s only solace was that they had arrived in Westeros to find it in a broken and disorganized state. It would take much time to rally anyone under the true heir now that he had returned to his people, would take time for anyone to heal their own Kingdoms enough to join back into one united Kingdom together. 

He had just a little longer at least, to fight against this strong and frightening feeling to call this boy his son for real. Standing in the morning shine repeating like a mantra, he was doing this for Rhaegar, he wasn’t doing this as a father. Say the words he had said for twenty five some years now. It was only for Rhaegar.

But just maybe, the grey under his shirt was telling him that the sooner they conquered Westeros, the sooner Young Griff would become the true heir forever. The sooner he would never have use of the Griff which was posed as his father, ever again. 

Aegon would have the blood of Rheagar Targaryean, and Jon Connington would have no one.

It was the fire and roar of a creature you did not recognize that you were pulled from. A knock coming to the door far too early in the morning that was harsh enough it startled you right out of whatever that dream was. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was surrounding you in the crypt of Winterfell set ablaze, and above shadows drifted across the skies like dark clouds that roared as they passed over. In the far distance was growls of a wolf and the cries of an infant, but the door was knocked at, and quickly the trails of the dream faded away. 

You in particular were the one the guard at the door was looking for. Saying there were people here claiming to need to see you directly. Eyes still heavy with sleep, and barley having much time to make yourself presentable you brushed passed Jon’s insistence on making them wait five more minutes so you’re not walking through the castle freezing at least. That habit however, had not gone away since your time in Winterfell together last. 

The side doors to the main hall opened, most of the corridors empty and cold in the morning chill as most whom were up and about had been on night duties. Standing together a the end of the hall however, woke you up right away. 

Ser Davos Seaworth stood tall as he always did, no matter the task he was ready at action, but while carrying a hesitant and morose expression grimed onto his face. It however, was his companion that had you stop mid step, wide eyed and lips parting in a confused surprise. 

Beside him, standing in the halls of Winterfell was Selyse Baratheon. 

A look on her, was as similar as it was on your face. Eyes wide taking in the sight of her daughter almost so naturally in what was home to you now. Instead of parting in surprise though, her lips were tight and thin as she almost was holding herself back from speaking a word. Your mother had never before wanted to step foot in Winterfell and yet here she was. 

Nodding silently to the guards, they took their leave and the door closing behind them sealed the three of you alone in the large hall. Your footsteps echoed as you came down the small steps and forward towards them, Davos being the one to meet you halfway as your mother held back. Your voice was a bit cracked still from sleep, but any louder and your voice would have caught in the air and bounced loudly off the walls for any to hear. 

“If it weren’t so early, Ser Davos I might have said how glad I am to see you.” 

Chuckling himself, he begun to glance over you. Looking no doubt for any signs of injury and coming up with none. Standing close he was equally as quiet but far more awake. “Well, I’ll just have to be the one then to congratulate on your defeat of the Boltons,” lowering to a bit more with a fondness, “And I’m relieved you’re alright.” 

Neither of you felt the care to hold back, his hug warm and comforting as there was more in it then the words said. You had left knowing it was a bloodbath and potential slaughter your people were walking into, and to see you come out alive on the other end struck a cord in his heart. Pulling back, his hand comfortingly on your upper arm, Davos turned to stand more to your side as he moved out of view of your mother. 

Your name quiet on her lips, and a few paces forward she walked. Unlike with him, neither you nor her had any rush to go to the other, and neither of you hugged or even moved in for one. You were thankful no one else was in the room, to many it looked heartless but there was an awkward pain as you both looked at the other. It always was with her, especially now. Glancing around the room, “So this is where we were sending you all those years.” 

“More or less.” Not quite the warm home full of life it once had been, hard to imagine it being that way again anymore. Your arms crossed over your stomach as you inhaled, turning to somewhat keep both parties in your vision. “I don’t imagine you both travelled all this way to simply stop by and say hello.” 

Ser Davos took charge, coming back over to you with a more hardened stern expression. “No, and as much as we’d like it to be, we’re here because your father sent us.” Your face must have shifted into something bordering from hesitant to filling with a panic, but only the three of you stood in the hall and you knew to not let it overtake yet. 

“What? He change his mind on not calling me a traitor again?” Your mother had tried to plead your name in a mixture of stern yet on the side of a beg. But you kept your eyes on Davos, and the blunt truth in his found an answer a bit easier. 

Shaking his head, “No, I can assure you, it’s far from that.” Glancing to Selyse for only a flickering of his eyes before finding yours, narrowing in your brows as you were finding pieces already to put together on your own. “You remember Pylos?” 

Nodding, you could easily recall him. The young man sent to Dragonstone, only a few years older then yourself, to work for the time being under Maester Cressen. All knew why he was there, Cressen was getting old and Pylos was to be the Maester after him. Trying to pile it away under much more things you couldn’t focus on, you ignored that likely it meant the man had finally passed since last you saw him. 

Your head tilted in a question, eyes narrowing at whatever was to come, but instead the echoing creak of a door filled the room. Both of them merely looked up behind you to see, whereas you took your time not quite looking away yet. If it was about Pylos, it was about Dragonstone and perhaps once upon a time you would have not thought much of it. But now, you couldn’t figure out what would have happened to bring the two of them all the way here themselves. 

Davos stepped forward, closer to your side as you turned the same time to find Jon having joined. 

Curls as loose and wild as they were when you had departed, and dressed down like anyone else, immediately catching your eye in a way that had you feel a bit more awake. It was as he approached giving you a silent glance, eyebrow raised as if to make a point as he wrapped his white fur cloak around your admittedly freezing frame. The cloak quickly becoming more like yours at this rate. 

A sneaking glance to your mother and you felt the childish shame in you, a sharp tint in her eyes that no doubt had caught something in the small interaction and it only served to make you feel even stranger. As if she could sense something from there, and was waiting to shame you for it.

Jon seemed to take no notice of the uncomfortable air between mother and daughter as he greeted Davos. The two shaking hands as Davos held his own amusement. “I was about to call you Lord Commander, but I suppose it’s King Snow now isn’t it? No, that doesn’t sound right, does it? King Jon?” 

Both held a smirk to the other as Jon shook his head with a light air about him, “It doesn’t matter.”  Looking up to your mother, nothing but a soft politeness towards her with a nod and respectfully keeping a distance he by now, understood she would prefer. “Surprise to see you here, my lady but a pleasant one.” 

Selyse nodded, not saying much as she turned her attention back to you. This time your attention cut between all three and finding an unease in your heart over something you didn’t quite grasp, but Davos took charge for both of you. “At least it makes this easier, having both of you here.” Jon’s eyes only narrowed slightly in question, whereas your heart begun to race the slightest bit, tensing your muscles in their entirety as they did so. “I know yourself and Stannis did not part on the best of terms, your grace,” Davos now coming more back to you, an ask tinted in his eyes to simply hear him out first. “But he sent me here, himself. He’s received news that he insisted the both of you need to know.” 

Your tone perhaps, was a bit on the unnecessarily biting side when it was not really deserved. “And it was something he couldn’t sent a raven for? Sending you both seems like a drastic action.” This time the uncertain look was between the two of them. Davos looking to Selyse as she only tilted her head in a small nod, speaking something you couldn’t detect to him. 

“It might be easier if you read it for yourself.” Slowly, he pulled out an already opened raven scroll his hand slow as he raised it up to you specifically with a warning edge across his features as if to brace yourself. “Maester Pylos sent this to the King, arrived urgently in the middle of the night.” 

Your eyes were wide, chest not moving much as air refused to flow through all of the piling nerves. A slow grasp of the paper before it sat heavy in your hands. Unfurling it to reveal the contents, you had turned slightly away from all three of them. Pacing towards the steps by the high table as your eyes took in the writing. 

Jon had given Davos a questioning look, but he only looked towards where your back had turned against them in patience. He knew too well what it said, and you knew why he had chosen to let you read first. 

Read and reread over and over, all of the air in your lungs had sought to leave your body. A tightening inside, your heart shrinking along with the force as something you couldn’t decide between a wide eyed astonishment came over your features, but the almost shaking panic in your muscles had you feeling the need to lash out. 

There was no way this was true, it was impossible. But your father wasn’t a man to believe in petty rumours and whispers. No, Stannis knew what you would’ve needed from Dragonstone as well as he did and if he wanted you to know this, then this was real and it was serious. You couldn’t figure out the degree to which that scared you.

Turning back to face them, that fearful astonishment was painted heavily over your features as you looked to Davos. “Has anyone else-” 

Knowing just what you were to ask, “We received reports from both the ports and villages as well. I don’t know if it’s gotten to the mainlands yet, but it will soon.” 

Stepping slowly back, you let go of the raven scroll from the tightness in both your hands from the dumbfounded feeling inside you. Coming beside Jon, you didn’t hide or even find will to vary that same expression as you silently handed it to him. 

As he read the words, you paced more, leaving to the opposite side far from any as you ran a hand over your mouth. Trying so badly to keep a calm, but then Jon tensed as well. A darker paint flowing over his eyes and a bewildered expression moving between you and Davos. He reread it as many times as you had, his voice rough, rasping and almost incredulous. “How would no one have known about this?” 

You utterly hated the answer that Davos also had for it. An answer Jon wouldn’t have the experiencing to feel the chilling breeze from such a truth, but one that made you wanted to throw something, maybe scream. “We can’t say for sure, but it doesn’t seem impossible. One of his trusted advisors, is Lord Varys.” 

The huffing breath of a laugh that left your lips was utterly meaningless. Your anger saw a chance to grow right before their eyes as you leaned against the table. Your eyes burning in a blaze staring at the floor as your hands tensed enough you risked the digging in your palms. “For the good of the realm..” Only a whisper, and now you truly wished to go down to the crypts and atone to Eddard Stark for having been forced to play and die in part of this game. Your voice was louder, trying to keep a barley held back anger sat just on the inside. “Who does he already have?” 

“They have the Golden Company at their backs,” Your eyes narrowed, those kinds of numbers would be unsustainable on Dragonstone for long periods of time you knew too well. Davos continued however, “None have come to his side yet, but we knew of some who will likely declare for him once he makes his presence known.” 

Your own voice finding some of those answers on your own, “Fair to assume the Martell's will, given they believe his story. So will the Tarly’s, and the Hightower’s.” Missing entirely a passing twist in Jon’s expression as you and Davos looked at the other. 

This was why you knew he had to be sent here himself, this was too much to send in a raven. Davos stepped forward with a nod, “The numbers they have now aren’t great, they know they can’t keep many there for good, eventually they’ll have to make a run for the mainlands.” 

One arm moved to cross around your stomach while the other rested up on it, your nails tapping at your lips trying to see enough of your time around the Royal Fleet to grasp what the best options for them would be. “They can’t go right for King’s Landing, they don’t have enough enough support for it, so we just need to get there before anyone with a sizable fleet can declare for him. At this point I don’t particularly care where they go after that, but we need Dragonstone more then they do.” 

His voice rung out, louder then the quiet mumbling between you and Davos catching both of your attention as Jon put things together in his own mind. “I’m assuming you weren’t sent here hoping I’d make my people fight in someone else's war.” A darker, sharper flash was through his eyes as Jon stepped closer. “Stannis knows the only reason I need Dragonstone is to gain access to it’s mines, I’m not here to join any fight for the Iron Throne.” 

Something more of an understanding came over Davos, and you were once more thankful it was him who was sent here and not your father himself. “I think he’s starting to finally learn that lesson.” You didn’t look at either of them. Only the floor as they spoke. 

“Otherwise, I shall destroy you.” 

The confidence in such a declaration that you and Robb were to be his enemies, and perhaps you knew this anger and spite in your heart towards your father just may have not forgiven him for that day. 

Jon and Davos now, finding a plan as your mind had faded in and out of the present. “So I reach out first, I’m not here to question his legitimacy, I need one thing and if he cooperates then we don’t need to fight. But, I’m taking my men there all the same.” 

Your mind had clearly drifted off longer then you thought you had, looking back up Jon and Davos were standing close having gone back and forth between things for some time it seemed like. Selyse, had been switching between watching them, and keeping an eye on your fading distance. You did not return the glance to her back. 

Your name getting called by Jon, with the same kind of watchful gaze deep in his eyes as well, as he spoke quieter to you. “Are you with me?” To the others, sounding much like asking if you were agreeing to the plans, but you knew better. He was trying to gauge where your mind was sitting at without drawing attention to the concern behind it. 

Nodding firmly, you pushed up and off the table coming closer to them. “I’ll have the men start gathering the Lords here right away.” He didn’t dispute it, but it clearly was an excuse to get yourself to leave the room without them quicker. But it was Davos, who stopped you. 

Only letting you get a few feet towards the main doors, calling your name gently before pulling slowly something from a pocket. He was the one to meet you where you stood, handing a chain to you, a sturdy metal with a solid casing shaped in an almost diamond shape. Your brows rose in question, but his voice was soft as he placed it gently into your palm. “I told you I’d take her to visit you myself.” 

You said not a single word as all of the air in you left. Neither other party there knowing what exactly it was which just occurred but Davos could see the red behind your eyes wanting to turn to tears and fall in that exact second. You just nodded, closing your hand tightly around it before making your leave quickly. 

Giving instructions to some of the men nearby before you walked to an empty hall, all but throwing yourself against the wall out of sight. The necklace wasn’t anything one would call special, but it also wasn’t the simplicity of what you gave Davos first. He didn’t just keep her safe, he took what was left and had it made into something you could keep around your neck for any time or reason. 

Your head hanging low as you clutched it tightly, holding it to your heart as your lungs burned wanting to find that strange mixture of pain to cry at, but instead you let your head thud back into the stone wall. Trying to breathe deeply, letting your eyes slip shut before any tears fell. You couldn’t do this now, you couldn’t think on her right now. There were more important things to prepare for, and yet it was only the sight and sounds of her calling your name. That last visit you saw of her, and how she had jumped into your arms with such excitement to see you. 

Her head burying in your neck as you held her back tightly. Now you could stay there, Shireen. Safe right with me no matter what now. Your heart screamed in a burning pain, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it’s agony now. Or how such a simple act from Davos, was more then a single thing shared that day between you and your father over her. 

You told Shireen you would one day bring her here, but she’d have to hold off a little bit longer before you could spend the right time making her at home. Right now, duty demanded things of you and pain in your heart was not part of that. No matter how much you wished it were. 

If one was to ask both the free folk and the Northern Lords all in attendance, they would have said it was something that filled with pride. Those who knew them both well, those who knew the father before him and all those who once thought up there would be Robb Stark. But it wasn’t Robb sitting in his home as King in the North, nor was it Lord Eddard Stark sitting there was Warden of the North. 

Instead, many found the sight of their new King in the North to be one that inspired. Jon Snow stood tall in his place, now covering the light layers of fabric and leathers was the same fur which had adorned him the previous day. Dark browns mixed with tints of black that sat as broad across his shoulders as ones like it did his father and brother. To the Northerners, it didn’t stand out to them that the other which sat next to the left of him. You had been Queen before, and none saw you less then now, as did the King. 

Jon wasn’t a foreigner from the south, he was one that the people knew. Despite if he thought they would not see him or remember, they did. And you by his side instead of once Robb’s was not out of place either. The King in the North didn’t hide the deep care in his heart for you, nor did any think he should. But if they were to ask you both of your emotions? 

It was a different story. To Jon, he was as sure in his words as he was unsure of his new title. King sounded wrong attached to him. Ser Davos had joked with him about both Snow and Jon sounding odd against the word King and yet deep down he felt it. He wasn’t Robb, but this was his Kingdom and all he could think was how much were his people judging him against his brother? What of his weaknesses would they sniff out in a second and wish it was different. 

Was he worthy of his father’s seat? Did sitting feel so strange because he somehow felt that he hadn’t earned the things his father did? It all sat in his heart, but he couldn’t focus on that. He had to look at what was right in front of him, because no one else would. No other King or Kingdom would look at the truth and fight for it but he had to. Regardless of the insecurity in his heart. He could only press on, hoping he was not a disappointment to his father. 

You however, felt your heart racing as you kept such a cold and still expression some may have thought you were a statue, had most here not been used to you. For the entire war, you and Robb had struggled to discuss a future in Winterfell knowing the state of war made what if’s difficult to see passed. But now, you did sit here, at the King in the North’s side in Winterfell but you couldn’t stop that wonder if you were looked down on for it. 

It was an uncomfortable thought, and whether or not you truly realized it, the amount of taunting and mocking of Ramsay was doing it. The slimy words of accusing you of sleeping with the wolves, degrading you by acting as if you where some whore for the Stark men and now you couldn’t stop the fear that your people saw it that way too. Fucking your way back into being a Queen, going from one King in the North’s bed to the next. 

Jon’s voice was loud in the hall, projecting to all present, many crowded around the tables and some finding a place against the walls around to watch. “We know of three ways to fight back against them. I cut through one of them using a Valyrian Steel sword and they shattered right in front of my eyes. We also know that fire kills them. The free folk have been burning their dead for hundreds of years because anytime they might rise back up.” 

There weren’t whispers, but the Lords did look to each other with glances of varying worry. The free folk in attendance all looked with a pride of their own, as it grew better by the day of how many of the Northerns had begun to accept their presence. 

“Burning the dead keeps them from the Others finding a way to raise them up for their army, and fire also will kill any that’s returned to life. Lord Commander Mormont was attacked by a wight, and no normal weapon could hurt it until we lit it on fire.”

It was not a promising outlook thus far. A steel which had little in existence, as well as the instability of fire as a defence. One final option though, came both with promise, but a caveat. “They also can be killed with dragonglass. One of my brothers in the Night’s Watch had found a stash of daggers carved from Dragonglass at the Fist of the First men, and when he shoved one of them into their backs, they shattered just as they did with Valyrian Steel. Dragonglass can kill Wights, it can kill the Others, meaning it’s more valuable now to us then gold. We need to find it, we need to mine it, we need to make weapons out of it.” 

The question arose from the crowd, just as it had from Theon when the three of you discussed it alone. “Where would we even get Dragonglass? Unless that stash you lot found is enough for share in the thousands.”

You had been sat beside him, and as Jon turned to look at you, you gave a slight nod. He knew exactly as you knew now, and you didn’t prefer taking over the meeting from his voice. Turning back to the people, he was a bit more hesitant knowing the cost to come. 

Gesturing to you for a brief moment, “The island of Dragonstone is build on top of a massive deposit of Dragonglass, there are tunnels all over the underground that are filled with more then enough to arm every man, woman, and child in the North. We’ll need men with skills mining, carve out tunnels to access it properly and we bring it back North.” 

Lord Wyman Manderly spoke up from his place, “So we need ships, and men to mine. And it just so happens, your grace, we have both.” 

A warmth in Jon’s tone with a nod, “Your enthusiasm is much appreciated my lord, but this isn’t going to be that simple.” His tone was rougher, lower, and a warning encased in it’s edge that all understood something was coming more then they thought. “We just recently have received word that Dragonstone is being occupied by a Southern Army. One led by a man using his place there to make his claim as heir to the Iron Throne, who won’t be too happy with what we’re about to ask.” 

He was quiet, and you knew you had to be the one to say it. Palms braced against the wooden surface, you almost found no ability to even take a deep breathe as you look to them all. Glancing to Jon, and only for a split second did you find a soothing ease in the assurance in his grey eyes. Taking a deeper breathe you stood properly beside him. 

Jon himself, tried very hard to ignore how it felt watching you speak with such confident but calming authority to his people, all with his own white furs gently draped over your own shoulders. 

“Whether who he is saying he is, is true or not, Dragonstone is being occupied by a man claiming to be Aegon Targaryean.” Whispers this time flew through the Northern Lords like a breeze blowing in the air but with words in disbelief. “The army at his side is made up of the Golden Company, meaning if they deny a truce, we will be fighting our way onto the island. Lord Wyman, how many ships do you have currently?” 

“Publically? Twenty three.” 

You found a bit of a smirk his way, raising one eyebrow in jest, “And not publically?” 

“Sixty. Most of which I can have fitted to sail for war by the new moon.” 

You nodded, knowing Jon was letting you do some of this knowing your understanding of Dragonstone outweighed almost all in the hall. “Our biggest problem will be getting onto the island itself. The castle faces out to the Narrow Sea but most of the island is surrounded by rocks and mountain sides. There’s a small gap that leads to the beaches and from there we have two ways to the castle. One going the long away, following a long path up to the cliff side, and the other up scaling along the curtain itself and coming up behind them. As long as we get through that gap, we can surround them. But we will need enough manpower to get our feet on the ground in the first place.” 

The lands were complicated, more complicated then many would think. All of you would have to be in on a very detailed plan if it were to work. It was an unforgiving terrain for those not familiar with it. 

Hard to gauge everyone’s reactions at once, but it seemed that most in the hall truly understood what was to come. Understood that as Jon spoke, it didn’t matter what personal matters were felt on the matter, it was about doing what needed to be done. “Stannis Baratheon has a fleet of at least sixty of his own garrisoned at Eastwatch by the sea. He knows the kind of fight we are up against, and he knows why we need Dragonstone. If we add his ships to yours Lord Wyman, then we have a fighting chance.” 

Lord Dustin seemed to stand with protest, one that was not quite welcome in the air. “We denied him as our King-” 

Jon though, was strict. His voice commanding against the man and were it to be seen, would have almost pushed him back in his spot. “I’m not joining to make him our King.” Looking to Tormund in the distance, the man finding a smirk as he looked up to Jon’s words. “I’m not King of the free folk, but if we’re going to survive this winter together then we need to learn to fight side by side without arguing about joining one side or another. The North is our home, and you chose me as your King. That isn’t changing just because we ally with another King for the only cause that matters.”

Tormund’s own voice was full of an amusement that radiated through the other Lords. “If my people can follow him,” gesturing to where Jon stood, “without kneeling down to him then all of us together can teach the same lesson to this Southerner, whether he likes it or not.” 

Agreement’s rumbled, and Lord Dustin sat with nothing more on the subject in his mouth. Lord Wyman took that mantle up, “I can send a raven to Eastwatch by the sea, see if the man’s willing to see reason. That way we have our ships all in once place if he agrees to meet with ours in White Harbour.” 

One proper benefit of Jon being King, was that you could slip away amongst the crowds around him once the meeting had dispensed. Lord Wyman already leaving for White Harbour, giving at least some hope this would not be a fruitless endeavour. 

The snow surrounding it was indescribable. A blanket of white that laid undisturbed against the ground, and a barley there reflection against water asking to freeze over soon. The Weirwood stood somehow taller then you remembered, the red was so bright and outstanding against the winter around it. Red leaves that bled in colour moving down to a white bark that blended so well. As if the face and the leaves were the only thing in the land that wasn’t snow. 

Once upon a time, you had been scared to come here. The old gods had little rules and your small mind didn’t understand what you were supposed to follow. Fearing the Seven would punish you for praying in a sept so close to where the Northerns sat under a bleeding face carved into a Weirwood. But the last time you were here was nothing of the sort. 

It looked nothing like that day. The warmth, the green all around and the water shining against what sun peeked through the other trees in the godswood. Right up there, he stood. The panic swirling in your veins as Ned Stark comforted you with every care of a father, bringing you out to his son as you found a life with him. The face you had once as a child been scared to look at, had been something you lifted your eyes too, finishing a prayer in silence asking to find a love that was genuine and true with Robb. 

The old gods answered. They gave you that. But now, as you stood feet away from it, the winter finally making it’s way around the lands and threats coming you never could have conceived in those days impending on you. What would you even say to them this time, was there even a word you could pray which would matter? You had not the bravery to go any closer. 

Not the strength alone to disturb the untouched beauty around the Weirwood as if this was a place you had a right to pray in. A sept still stood, but you also were fairly certain the Seven might just open a hole in the ground and damn you to a vision of hell for how little you held to just one. The Seven, the Old Gods, and the whispers under a fire god that your own family had taken up with in eithers place. 

What did give you bravery, or force it on you, was being knocked in the back by something large. You stumbled forward just a tad as you turned around with a narrowed glare until you came upon the sight of something just as white and red as the tree itself. Ghost stood tall behind you, his fur blending with the snow around him with eyes red as if they matched the Weirwood’s leaves shining in the colourless surrounding. 

A little huff in the direwolf came out as he looked at you before bumping you almost childishly once more. Truly the fact that this was a great beast almost was a joke. Running his head along your side as he did so, and his eyes shutting with a slight pant as you ran your nails along his head and around his ears. Looking back up eventually, he stared at you in silence but the same affection in his face. “Alright, alright. If you insist.” 

Ghost followed by your side as you approached. The water just reflecting enough that you could see the red wavering in the slightest of breezes around. Pulling the fur tighter around your front as a shiver left your mouth, cold enough you breathe fogged the space it touched. Each step you took as you finally came under the branches, you felt out of place in your mind even though something settled in your heart. 

Prayers, words, steps, rituals, rules to be followed came every part of the way under the Seven and sometimes you felt lost here. Not knowing what you should say or do, when every part of faith in childhood had told you to be detailed and specific in every word and prayer uttered. But that wasn’t what was asked of you here. 

A gloved hand carefully tracing your fingertips down the trunk beside the carved face as your eyes looked up wide and bright as a peek of sunlight shined down just enough to send slivers of light across the snowy ground. Ghost stood beside you, watching you and around as he looked like a wolf which came right from the roots of the tree. Carved into the bark and came to life, only it’s red leaves only found a spot in his eyes. Open wide at all times, seeing any and everything unlike the carved faces with eyes always closed. 

Something was warmer in your chest, recognizing an aura of this place that found peace while your logic told you this wasn’t enough for the gods. You needed to repent, offer gifts and sacrifice, plead of punishment to rectify your sins. You had no idea what you were supposed to believe. 

It took a while to convince yourself it was alright to sit down. Gently brushing snow from your way to sit, facing the water as Ghost stepped beside you. Looking at him with a tilt in your head you smiled, “This time I actually do know what you want, but I assure you there is no chance of you curling up on my lap.” 

As if he knew exactly what you said, which he probably did, Ghost gave a whine before huffing. Settling beside you as his head sat down against your thighs, your hand naturally giving itself a home to run across his fur. Watching him in silence, the time passed as the day grew colder and colder. Not having gone back after such an early morning to dress any warmer then this, you just let the cold sit around you. 

Just like last time, you didn’t see or hear him coming until he already spoke. “It would be easier to scold you for not dressing properly, if you didn’t look so beautiful.” 

You and Ghost both turning your heads to see Jon approaching. Him naturally, finding it no kind of difficult to come right up. This was his home, and they were his gods. What of it would there be to keep him away. On the other hand, there was a simplicity of your own the way in which you spent no notice admiring him. 

Clearly dressed warmer, more layers and leathers then what you had in merely a dress and fur around your shoulders. The fur sitting around him doing a better job even more, at keeping him that warm against the breeze. His hair was down more it seemed in his own home, sitting loose and wild almost making you smile. Jon could tell the way you didn’t realize you were staring, but only settled down right beside you. 

Unlike the last though, Jon spared no time and took the liberty to pull you more into his side, arm wrapped around you to trace up your waist. Ghost settled once more against you, the moving position allowing him to better lay down with his head in your thighs against the uneven land. Your tone was soft as it murmured out looking over him so close, “I think it’s just your clothes you enjoy on me.” 

It could’ve broken your heart if it didn’t feel so normal. How Jon’s gloved hand danced up to run along your neck before pulling you over to kiss the top of your head, stretching his thumb to run along your cheek as you leaned the other more against him. His chuckle was deep, vibrating somewhat against you. “I promise you, it’s both.” 

Nodding against him, you weren’t tired in your mind, just in muscles as you barley got out in a clear tone, “When did our lives become so complicated?” 

Once more, Jon’s hand slid down to your waist, as the other picked up your free one and lifted it up to rest over the leathers covering his heart. Your fingers dig slightly into the material as if trying to feel it beat under. Then tilting your chin up to look at him, grey eyes wide and full of a sparkling love that you could barley look into.  “Our lives were always complicated, now it’s just going to take a little more to get out of it.” 

You nodded once more. Keeping your attention occupied with the white direwolf on one side of you, and the white wolf with his arms keeping you against his side. Turning your head up, you met part of his neck and furs around him, slightly nuzzling into him before resting once more as he cupped the side of your head keeping you there. “You never let me say it back yesterday, that I love you.” 

“I don’t need you to say it for me to know. I know you love me, we’ve always loved each other and we both always felt it.” He had resisted the urge to bury his face in your hair right away, but he wanted you to hear him properly. Sighing out gently, your eyes sliding closed as if to rest against him this way, Jon never let you go. A hand around to your waist, while the other reached over you both to cup your head against his neck, turning his face into your hair finally. 

The cold gave you another shiver, catching Jon’s attention who pulled you back closer to his side, turned in place enough to watch your face closely. “When my father reaches White Harbour, I’m going to go meet with him. If we are to do this together, no one knows Dragonstone better then us. We can put a plan in place for when the rest of you show up. Figure out how we are going to get our feet onto the ground and the rest in your hands will be easy.” 

His hold on you was tighter, a clench slightly in his jaw as he considered it. Quiet for a good moment before you gently murmured his name, finally he rasped out, “I’m trying to find a reason to make you stay that’s better then I don’t want you to go.” 

You smiled a small bit at that, facing him better as well and the truth in his eyes wasn’t controlling or demanding. More like you were still those young children, you sick and unconscious in bed, and Jon was still afraid to keep his eyes off of you for too long. Tracing your hand along his jaw, you smiled much more as his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. Your own voice was low in a whisper. “I’m only going to to White Harbour, I’m not leaving for war without you this time. Only ensuring everything is ready for you when you catch up. You could still order to me stay if you really want to however, you are King.” 

Jon rolled his eyes that time. “I thought you Baratheon’s didn’t like being told what to do.” 

The response on your lips only made Jon roll his eyes even harder that time with a much easier smirk on his face. Your shoulder shrugging with a flat, hardly concealed sass on your face. “I’m also a Stark now, and besides I think we both know that’s not quite true with me.”

Always a strange time when thoughts like it came up, but he couldn’t help once more but feel ashamed at how much he had once tried replacing you in his mind with Ygritte. You always trusted him, listened to him, and deep down would never go against something he said or did. Especially as a Queen by his side now, he knew you well enough to be certain you’d follow every command which would come out of his rule. He didn’t need that level of dedication to his word, but you didn’t do it out of obligation. You trusted him and his choices, just as he knew without having to ask, that you gave such dedication equally to Robb.

Whereas Ygritte almost hated the idea of not being so aggressively in charge at all times. Jon could look at you now, and he could almost hear the insults and degrading at how you were letting someone like Jon order you around. Would think you were weak to let him be the one in charge, to be the one you trusted to take care of you instead of demanding you do it yourself. 

When in truth he knew you stood so firmly on your own effortlessly, and you listened to Jon when it mattered. This time however, his order wasn’t much of an order. But advice that no matter how difficult it would be for you in your heart, was for your own good. For your good and for Stannis as well. They had their disagreement’s, but Stannis was a man Jon respected in a lot of ways. He didn’t expect you to see it the same way, much like how you never expected Jon to have the same dynamic with his father that you had developed. 

More reassured this time, finding only trust as you looked at him. “Go easy on him, your father. He knows as well as I do what we’re really up against out here, and he’s trying to do the right thing. You don’t have to forgive him, but hating him won’t make you feel any better.” 

Nodding, you shifted once more, leaning your head against his shoulder as you both sat in the silence of the cold before the Weirwood. Only speaking up once more in a small, but amusingly confused tone in your ear. “Now I have to ask, is there a reason your mother keeps giving me that look?” 

He didn’t expect you to laugh right away, but you certainty did. A waver in your voice failing to keep back how amusing you found it. “She’s not particularly a fan of you Northerners. Thinks you’re all unkempt, unruly, and unfitting for her daughter. That and I suspect she might know we sleep in the same bed, which she will entirely have judged you for allowing.” 

The flat expression on his face was even funnier then the question he had just asked. “Probably shouldn’t tell her about what I did when I first woke up in Castle Black, then.” You flushed, looking away as if you both hadn’t come close to finding that harmony together again since. “If she’s that worried, strictly speaking, Northerners don’t actually many people  there for us to get married. Could do it right now, put her poor mind at ease.” 

“Somehow, I think it’s too late to save your honour in her eyes, Snow.” 

Tones both in joking, but a small part of you and a large part of him knew that it wasn’t untrue. It wasn’t something neither had thought of outside that moment, but there was too much in your mind to make sense of that idea just yet. Too much in your life you couldn’t push back yet. 

Jon to his own credit, at least could obsess over the idea quietly in his mind with no issue. He did though, lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. Your own moulding to his in an instant, turning to gently move your hands to run up his collarbones and around the back of his neck. Hands finding the easy desire to run through his curls, nails scratching at his scalp as you did so. His free hand now cupping your cheek and jaw, tilting you up to stay against him as the one around your waist slid now to hold you tenderly at your hip. 

Never picked up, never grew heated. Just a gentle kiss with more passion in his touch then innocent, but he only kissed and held you just as he was in that moment. Never pushed you for more, just the beg to not part from him just yet. He wasn’t ready to see you go yet, not here and not later. Not even ever, if he were being truthful. 

“You should eat more.” 

Finding the strength within you not to either roll your eyes or sigh out in annoyance. Her tone came off in a lecturing condescension when you knew she meant well. You had good intentions joining her for supper, she was going to be here for an unknown amount of time, she came all this way when she didn’t have too but it didn’t make being alone any easier. 

You had barley made much of a dent in your food, and she had paid close attention to it. “You’re wasting away enough as it is. As long as it’s in front of you, you should at least eat.”

Taking a bite, likely in a more dramatic fashion then was mature but you did not come here to be scolded like a child. Giving a look to her as it to ask if that were satisfactory, she only raised an eyebrow before leaving the topic behind. 

The fingertips of your free hand tapped at the table in her quarters, looking to the small amount she brought with her which could fit on her horse. “How long were you planning on staying?” Her features barley moved, but you caught a slight twitch in her jaw as she realized what you were looking at. “You didn’t bring much, am I assuming you’re returning to father when I leave for White Harbour?” 

For all your doubts, she looked down. Tearing from watching your own gaze as she sighed. Your brows narrowed in confusion at her, but her voice was quiet as she explained. “Your father had only sent Ser Davos here, I was not thought to be sent at all. I came on my own.” You really gave a more confused look but you stayed silent. “You told me to stay with him because you thought I would find purpose with him, I would do better there.”

Your jaw clenched as did the words pushing out of your mouth. “You supported him over four years as your King. He’s your husband, I don’t see why you wouldn’t choose to stay at his side.”

Selyse wished you would look at her, but she understood why you didn’t. Your name coming softly from her mouth, “I have hardly been a mother to you. I pushed you away, and then never tried to reconcile that even after seeing the woman you had become without me. And I have no one to blame but myself for not being there.” 

Your eyes flickered up to her somewhat, a doubt in them and your mind but there was a skip in your heart at finding no lies in her face. “It’s not your fault. I was young when you lost your first two, and by the time you were ready to be a mother again, you had Shireen. I never resented you for that, I understood by then I wasn’t putting the effort in either.” 

The necklace sat heavy in your pocket, not yet having the bravery to put in on. 

The quiet was tense, palpable enough it seeped into the food still sat on your plates. “You do, for what I did to her.” The weight in your throat plummeted down to your stomach and sent you feeling as if the floor beneath you would open up and trap you within it forever. “I was upset, I felt desperate and I thought I had none left and..I let her talk me into it. I can’t change that, I can’t ask you or anyone else to forgive me for it. That will always be my fault, and you should hate me for it.” 

Voice but a whisper, you leaned your arms more crossed against the table. A somewhat ill mannered position at supper for you, but the weight of the her memory pushed you from sitting any kind of straight and proper. “Hating you won’t bring her back. Hating Roose Bolton never brought Robb back, so why would doing so feel better now.” There was a rare shine behind your mother’s eyes, one that seeped with sadness from a heart you rarely saw towards you. “I don’t quite know if I am ready in my heart to forgive you, but I don’t hate you. If you wouldn’t let me blame myself for her, I won’t blame you for letting that woman manipulate you into it.” 

Your eyes met and for once neither looked away as there was a genuine honesty in her. “I will join you when you sail for Dragonstone, but when you leave, I will too.” Your brows narrowed as she cleared her throat slightly almost in an awkwardness. “I haven’t been a mother to you since you were a girl, so let me do it now. If you want me to leave I will, but if not, I came here for you. Not for war. For you.” 

It was a heavy feeling that continued to get worse. The weight of a truth she hardly gave to you, and yet her eyes were sad warm as they were full of sorrow. You suspected, you looked at her with the very same. You never had a life where Selyse was properly in it, and having her there now was foreign. But, turning her away wasn’t the solution which felt right in your heart. It felt more cruel. 

Jon had said you can’t get better if you never talk about her, and perhaps you needed to give your mother that chance. No matter how strange and uncomfortable it would be. She was still your mother, and she was trying. You only nodded though, throat too closed to work even after swallowing down the water in front of you. 

There was a quiet as you pulled yourself together, sitting up properly and promptly wiping away the small water gathered by your eyes you didn’t notice before. As if humouring her, you took another bite before speaking. “I can have you moved to better quarters, something more suitable for you long term. I’ll also send for someone to get you some warmer things to wear. If I’m going to get lectured for not dressing properly for the winter, then you have to as well.” 

Shaking her head slightly, “The room is fine, it will only be me. I don’t need much.”

You two were back to quiet for a good while, the silence not unobtrusive or awkward. You and Selyse tended to be the most quiet of all your family. Stannis was not much of a chatty man, but you certainly got your tendency to enjoy the silence from your mother. But there was one more thing she found the bravery to speak. 

“She would have been proud. Your sister. Shireen would have been proud to see how far you’ve come.”

Not much thought came into it, as you pulled out the necklace, placing it gently between you both. A slight tear in your tone trying not to let any tears fall. “I kept a small part of her, what was left that night I mean. When we came here, I didn’t know if we would be able to win and I didn’t want any part of her near the Boltons so I gave what remained to her to Davos to keep safe. Told me he would bring her to visit himself if we won.” 

You tilted your head as she hesitated to pick it up. There was nothing to see, and even if there was it was just greys and tints of white of bone which were scattered left. But she held it with all the same kind of care as you did those final moments with her in that room. Something close to tears in her own voice. “She did always speak of going on adventures with you.” Nodding you over, she stood from her seat holding the necklace. “Come here, he went through the trouble to have this made at least wear it like you’re supposed too.” 

Her tone was stern, but not the glint in her eyes that matched. 

You took your time, coming to stand by her, turning around as you pulled your hair out of her way so she could drape the necklace around your neck. Sitting just underneath the high seam of your dress she linked it together in the back. In a surprise, she moved your hair back into place, smoothing it out neatly all on her own before giving you space once more. 

Looking down at it, before hiding it under the fabric. It wasn’t there to be shown off, it was there to keep her with you. Facing your mother once more both of you found little ability to speak. “Thank you.” 

What you wished would stay quiet though, didn’t as some time later did she say the one thing that set your nerves off. Food long finished and taken away, now you both had been finding small things to speak on when she finally asked what you had dreaded. “Are you and that boy sleeping in the same bed?” 

You pushed your chair back to try and stand, and Selyse called you back louder with more of a motherly scold in her tone that made you feel much like a child again for not listening too. “I’m not listening to this right now.” 

“You two are not married, he shouldn’t be acting as if you are some tavern slut to keep his bed warm at night.” You tried protesting, your voice higher pitched and almost embarrassed as you looked back at her lecturing glare. “Being a King does not mean he can ignore protecting your honour-” 

If it was possible to force yourself to melt into the floor and die on impact you would’ve done it right then and there just to avoid this conversation. “Mother, if you recall, I was married. I was pregnant even, I think I’ve long since passed the point of having any honour left to protect.” 

She was silent and you absolutely felt like a child the way she was watching you. “Don’t tell me he’s-” 

Turning towards the door, you walked away as your blood boiled in a horrific shame. “That will be all, mother. I wish you goodnight.” Selyse once more said your name in a lecturing tone but you took your quick leave as nothing but a red, warm embarrassment came over your cheeks and drenched itself into your mind. 

It was lovely, being a grown woman through as much horror as you had experienced and yet the second she started speaking you could almost see yourself as the young teenage girl she used to have to give such lectures over before. 

At least Maege had a very good laugh over it when you told her later that evening. 

Preparing his entire life to take on this responsibility was one thing, but a completely different feeling now that he was being told more and more to act on it. He was to be King, so he had to make choices a King would make. 

“You will be making decisions far harder then this everyday when you claim the Throne.” 

He could grumble and sigh all he liked, but it was true. He wasn’t allowed to be Young Griff anymore, he was supposed to be Aegon. Supposed to be the rightful heir, the true leader of the Seven Kingdoms, son of the Crown Prince Rhaegar, and yet as soon as the raven came he looked to Griff like the boy he used to be. 

Young Griff looking to his father to help guide him onto what’s the right path. Only, if he wasn’t Young Griff anymore, that meant Griff was no longer his father. He was once more Jon Connington, and they were no longer father and son training for a destiny far in their future. It was now, and he couldn’t be that boy anymore. 

Being Aegon meant he had to find it in himself to take after Rhaegar. But no stories told of his blood father had felt connected to who he was in his soul. He had to be his father’s heir, but he wasn’t the one who spent his entire life raising him as his son. Rhaegar was his father, Jon Connington had been trusted to keep him safe, but it was Griff that raised him. This wasn’t going to be as easy as it once felt back when he was far from Westeros. 

But now, as he read the raven over and over he was trying to ask himself what would Rhaegar expect of him, but came back up blank. He had no idea what he would do or say, and so he could only look at Connington and hope he understood his silent plea. Which he did. 

Glancing subtly to the men around the room before moving to come close to Aegon’s side at the end of the painted table he lowered his voice, something more guileful in tone. “What does your first instinct tell you?” 

His first instinct was to just let these people have what they wanted. What did he care about rocks and scary bed time tales? It didn’t change his ambition for the Throne. But he had the distinct impression that it wouldn’t be something Rhaegar would have chosen to do. Not from what he was told of him. So he had to find a new answer. 

“If he’s calling himself a King, that means he assumes he has no duty to kneel to my rule.” A silence in the room waited for him to figure it out, Connington at his side waiting and watching with all the patience he suspected his blood father wouldn’t have given him. Turning to look at him with a more determined look in his eye, “I think if he wants what we have, he can ask for permission. After kneeling before me, and beg for forgiveness for keeping part of my own Kingdom from me.” 

The men in the room looked approvingly at his fierce tone, stance broad as he braced his palms against the painted table. But when he glanced back to Connington, he wasn’t sure he was finding the same in his eyes, but whatever it was instead got covered up quickly. 

“You are the King, the true heir to the Iron Throne. If this is your decision, then he can either bend the knee or pay the price. I can have Maester Pylos send a raven back right away if this is what you want.” He was calm and patient, the tone of Griff towards a younger, unsure, learning Young Griff.

But he had to be Aegon now. And Aegon’s father was not Jon Connington, his father was Rheagar Targaryean. Nodding once he looked him sure in the eyes. “There is only one true King, and it isn’t some pretender telling tall tales.” Young Griff didn’t like the choice he was about to make, but Aegon Targaryean would have too. 

“This Jon Snow can either bend the knee like everyone else, or die fighting against it.” 

[ruiniel]

Remember

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no yaiba

Pairing: Kokushibō x fem!Reader

Rating: 🔞

Count: 1.7k

On AO3

Part I - Part II - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX

Tags & Warnings: Multichapter, Darkfic, Angst, Ambiguity, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Reincarnation, Toxic relationship, Codependency, Blood kink, Flashbacks, Kokushibō's wife, her name is Hisami, References to childbirth but nothing graphic, POV Second Person, Tsugikuni Michikatsu POV, Emotional Sex, Mild Smut, is it gratuitous yes and no, Human!Kokushibō, Kokushibō | Tsugikuni Michikatsu-centric, Sengoku Period (1467-1590), if there's anything Upper Moon One fears it's his memories, Making promises he can't keep

Author note

My hands, they slipped this chapter... rating changed, see the tags.

Naginata: a versatile, conventional polearm, mainly favored for its length, which can compensate for the strength and body size advantage of male opponents. It was a weapon-of-choice of the onna-musha or female warriors in pre-modern Japan.

Ashigaru: in a samurai household their primary role was that of protectors and warriors but were also responsible for various tasks around the estate.

Koshimoto: the personal attendants to the samurai. Among others, their tasks included dressing the samurai in their elaborate armor.

III.

Worry is a deeply human trait. You know this, and you know the world will never give without taking just enough to keep one fighting on. You’ve tried mastering your breaths as you’d been taught, but your grasp is clammy on the naginata which never tasted spilled blood. 

When he left, you wished to go, too, but buried your desires at the feet of duty for the good of your clans, your futures and the precious, rare spark that flourished from nothing in such short a time between you. 

Michikatsu has always been talented in the way of the sword, dedicated and perseverent. All traits required of him, ingrained in you too. You’d watch him train when you were too small to join, you toiled to reach a skill level enabling you to protect your own if things took a turn for the worst in the land.

He promised he’d be careful. He promised. You cross the engawa countless times, watching the night for a sign.

“Hisami-sama, the tea is ready.”

You thank the girl, who lingers, hesitates to speak further, but you can feel her unrest. She retreats, and you are unable to tear your eyes away from the outside.

The neighing of horses bursts upon the beaten path like omens from a distance, louder and louder. Sweat beads on your forehead. You ought to remove yourself and go inside, but invisible weights latch around your ankles. Your shoulders stiffen, and the remaining ashigaru become alert until you see a recognizable standard, known faces, and finally him, dismounting fluidly as the household are swift to approach their lord and returning retainers.

Your weapon set aside, you exhale a deep breath then draw another.

His gaze locks on you as you rush to reach him but before you can throw yourself at him, custom and all be damned, his hands are on your shoulders, holding you firmly at arm’s length. 

In the torchlight, you see the blood on his face is dry, and the same stains match those on his chest, his armored sleeves, and his shin guards. His violet stare is distant, its dark depths empty. This was his second military incursion as a kogashira leading his squad in battle. 

You greet him as befits custom; Michikatsu is silent. His eyes never leave your face, and now something new lurks behind them, something you’d not seen there before. Slowly, he releases you, turning and—curious—dismissing the koshimoto. 

What is this? You don’t understand. 

Michikatsu then looks your way with the kind of expression that bears meaning: a beckoning. Worried, compelled, you let the steward handle the rest and follow his heavy tread inside. 

Once there, he removes one gauntlet, then the other; silent, so silent. You near, aiding with the removal of the armor piece after piece. So many questions, that you nearly bite your tongue to force them down. His gaze follows your movements, again always returning to your face. 

“Will there be anything else, Michikatsu-dono?” 

With just the two of you together, here, you wonder at your choice of address: the only way you allow yourself to express the hurt, the rejection of that one gesture outside after so many weeks of uncertainty. He must see it, and still, nothing. 

His eyes meet yours, as though surprised you’re there at all. “No, Hisami. Thank you.”

He says nothing else. He rises, turns away, and leaves the room.

The space by your side is cold and empty, all the emptier the more you stare, the more your mind drowns in rumination. A demon of silence, has forced its way into a corner of your chamber, lurking and layering doubts like nightshade over your spirit. 

The slow slide of the fusuma panel interrupts this torturous reverie.

Michikatsu nears, kneels by the futon even as you rise to sit, facing him. The glow of the lamp plays over his features and his unbound hair, still wet from a bath, shining like ink. He wears nothing but a carelessly fastened yukata, and droplets of water shine golden as they drip down his pale chest. You see a bruise, large and dark, beneath his collarbone. There must be others. 

You stare, unsure what to say. Michikatsu has always had a gentle, withdrawn nature, but he’s never acted quite like this before. If someone didn’t know him better, one would think he is his usual self, albeit spent mentally and physically after weeks of immense strain that only warfare can cause. His breaths are labored, though, as if he’d crossed a great distance on foot and not merely the path to your bedroom. The fact that he even is here should gladden you, after his earlier manner, but… be that as it may, you will try again. 

“I missed y—”

Your words are severed. He knows how to be gentle; but like deep waters with roiling currents that drag one to the depths, he also harbors an unpredictable side: and now his hand is heavy on your thigh, the other gripping the nape of your neck, bringing your face closer none too gently. His lips are hot, crushing against yours; it’s close to pain, and the weakness from the time spent apart only allows you to feebly press your palms against his chest.

His breathing is still harsh against your mouth, and with this his earlier peculiarities seem so insignificant. If this time has been difficult for you, a thread of understanding dawns as to what it must have been like for him. You slowly sway together back and forth as you kiss, your fingers gliding through his sable hair and him releasing you seems out of the question, the hand on your thigh snaking up and around your waist, forcing your body flush against his. He ends the kiss, sucking on your lower lip with an abandon that will surely leave a mark, and goes still; panting, silent, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“Michikatsu, please, say something…” 

He bares your shoulder, the wet warmth of his mouth gliding over your skin, along your neck and there he lingers, kissing and licking a spot he learned has you shivering—and it does, sparks of pleasure rushing waywardly through you, dispersing all and any fears or troubles; a soft sigh leaves him when your fingers tighten in his hair. 

If he chooses to speak this way rather than using words, you mind it less and less, lending yourself to the careful way he cups your head, the tickle of his wet strands on your skin as he descends with you in his arms. His weight presses you into the futon and hungrily he still nips at your neck, your chin, licking a warm stripe between your breasts before staring at the hardened tips peaked through your yukata. He looks… adorable, you think, like one might when coveting a ripe fruit. He meets your eyes as his roughened hand carefully undoes your garment, palming one breast; the softness of his mouth closing around one hardened tip leaves you dizzy with need.

With urgency you slide his garment down his shoulders. He moves as to make it easier, his naked hips shifting against yours, left, right, left, right… languid and slow.

A hand runs through your hair; your eyes open, finding his. “Forgive me for earlier,” he whispers, watching you in that manner again, the way he did earlier at his arrival, the way no one ever did. His hand reaches between your bodies, slow and with intent, exploring; his lashes lower when he finds you. His finger traces slow, soft circles, covered in your slick. You know he loves this, takes pleasure in seeing all the ways he affects you. “I was… for one, I did not want to soil your clothes,” he jests.

Your back arches off the futon as he plays, your sight lost in the black centers of his eyes, rimmed with faint ribbons of amethyst; he is hard already, and your sense is reduced to the memory of how he feels when he pins you down, takes you and takes you and takes you. You relish in the thrum of his voice, low and sincere, your hands running up and down his tense back—the work of art that is his body honed by training, by all the ways he’s always pushed himself until his hands bled on his sword. 

“It is difficult, out there, and I was relieved…” Michikatsu smiles drunkenly at the slow sway of your own hips against his, retrieving his hand and rising enough to cage you beneath him. “... to… to finally be home.” Without warning he rises, flips you over on your abdomen and lines his body against yours, his knee nudging your legs apart even as he keeps speaking in your ear. “... with you.”

You’re long past reason, lashes fluttering and core tightening as he finds you, and a coil of primal delight unfurls in your body from the warmth of his arousal slicking inside—so easily, such a perfect fit. He pauses halfway, met with your desperate little mewl of protest. 

“I know… I know…” He kisses your cheek, licks your ear. “Hisami, listen to me,” he murmurs, sucking on your earlobe; your assent comes in the form of a sigh, which seems to be enough for him. “I am a flawed man but I will…” he rises, propping his fists against the futon on either side of your shoulders. “I will do my utmost to leave as seldom as I can…” His hips press against you, pushing deep; you turn your face into the quilt, stifling your moan. “I will protect what we have for as long as I live…” His voice is hoarser,  words hitched with the effort to control the tremble of pleasure in his own body.

He moves not at all, but you’re already unraveling and undone at the mere thought of him doing so. He places shallow kisses to the nape of your neck, the crown of your head as his back arches, and the first thrust relieves you of all thought, all but him.

“I promise,” he repeats on the second thrust, and the third, building a rhythm that has you tilting your head up, hands blindly groping at his forearms until he eases down against you. He moves deeper, slower, reaching to lace your fingers with his, his scent and lips and voice weaving with that ethereal thread now drawn impossibly tight between you. 

Part IV

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Biology 101

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZdwOxcg by Questiel (Quefish) It's Dean's first day of college. He's taking the basics and doesn't want to draw attention to himself, just wants to get his education and degree and open his own shop. His Biology professor is gorgeous and a Freudian Slip at the end of class utterly mortifies him. Words: 2322, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Benny Lafitte, Jo Harvelle, Gabriel (Supernatural), Rowena MacLeod, Bobby Singer (Supernatural), John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Meg Masters 2.0, Multiple Canon Character Cameos Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, BDSM, Dom/sub, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Domestic Relationship, Inspired By Memes, Slow Burn, Slice of Life, John Winchester's Mediocre - but not really abusive - Parenting, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Kneeling, Blowjobs, Rutting, Cockwarming, BDSM Scenes, Spanking, handjobs, Pining, broken leg, Mystery Dinner Theater, Reference to Timeless Episode w/Misha Collins as Eliot Ness, Minor Sexual Harassment Investigation and Resolution, Safe Sane and Consensual, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Reference to David Carradine's Death, Coming In Pants, Mild Dissociation, Sub Case including Bathing and Toothbrushing, Bondage/Suspension, Blindfolds, Aftercare, Cuddling, Texting, Sex Doll Roleplay, Objectification/De-humanization, Anal Sex, Rimming, Erotic Photography/Videos, Somnophilia, Watching/Commenting on the Writer's Favorite Movies, LARPing, Safeword Use, Broken D/s Scene, Rape Fantasy, Discussion of Rape Fantasy vs Reality, Edging, Cards Against Humanity, Public Play, Exhibitionism, Body Worship, Ideal BSDM Club, Flogging, Mild subdrop, Additional Warnings Will Be in Author's Notes, Piddywickles and Chonkers - Writer’s Insistence on Including Her Favorite Food/Recipe read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ZdwOxcg

[ao3feed-kiribaku]

Nobody Listens

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/gLwAhES by Snow_flakes11037 The Bakusquad goes to a party and shit goes down (shit being Bakugo has a VERY BAD TIME)   (Aka a fic based on one of my worst fears and four hours of researching Vyvance and Bipolar 2) Words: 3297, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Series: Part 1 of Pause Reality Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Kaminari Denki, Ashido Mina, Jirou Kyouka, Sero Hanta, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia) Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Jirou Kyouka/Kaminari Denki, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Additional Tags: Bakusquad (My Hero Academia), House Party, Underage Drinking, Peer Pressure, Drug Addiction, Drug Abuse, Abuse of Prescription Drugs, Bipolar Disorder, Bakugo Katsuki has bipolar disorder, Kaminari Denki Has ADHD, Bakugou Katsuki-centric, Bisexual Kaminari Denki, Cupioromantic Ashido Mina, Drug Withdrawal, Accidental Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Drink Spiking, Hallucinations, Manic Episode, Seizures, we do not have fun in this fic, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki Has an Eating Disorder, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Maybe ARFID???, but like not diagnosed as it, Kaminari Denki Has Tics, Kaminari Denki Has Seizures, author did lots of research, LIKE TOO MUCH, about one drug, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly hurt, Angst, Title from a Destiny K song, Long Clothing Descriptions whoops, Attempted Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, NO rape, Drunk Texting, Hospitals, Kaminari Denki-centric, One chapter for each of them, Abusive Bakugou Mitsuki, in reference - Freeform, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bakugou katsuki has body dysmorphic disorder, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Bisexual Bakugou Katsuki, Demisexual Bakugou Katsuki, Self-Harm, This is truly going off the rails, it started normal 😭 read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/gLwAhES

[annas-hair-donut]

The Refugees

Fandom: Frozen (Disney Movies), Tangled (2010) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Anna/Hans (Disney), Kristoff & Sven, Anna & Rapunzel, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel Characters: Anna, Kristoff, Agnarr, Hans, Rapunzel, Sven, Oaken, Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider, Olaf, Gothel, Stabbington Brothers, Bulda Additional Tags: Angst, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, True Love, Northuldra (Disney), Genocide, Bigotry & Prejudice, Discrimination, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shame, Survivor Guilt, Friendship, Cousins, Trust Issues, Love Triangles, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Sexual Abuse, Bullying, references to murder, Gunshot Wounds, dissociative disorder, Mild Gore Series: Part 1 of The Refugees Summary:

Kristoff, a newly arrived refugee of the Northuldran genocide, and Anna, an Arendellian immigrant with a hole in her heart and a controlling boyfriend, are drawn together by fate amidst high school drama, an increasingly fraught political climate, and painful memories of their lives before arriving in Corona.

Chapter 14: "Shooting Star" now posted.

Kristoff faces the consequences of his actions and Anna embraces fate.

[dhr-ao3]

A Simple Fate

A Simple Fate https://ift.tt/x1sqBTA by lizz505 "She was smiling like an insane person. He liked it. "What do you feel about me?" "I'm obsessed, I'm infatuated, I desire you." "That's a lie." She retorted. "What do you feel about me?" It was his turn to ask. "I'm interested in you, I desire you, and if you think you're obsessed with me, you have no idea what obsession truly is." The smile never left her lips. "Do you think you're capable of murder?" "Maybe, you?" She asked "Yes." He answered and went back to his book." ____ A story where Hermione and Draco join forces to overthrow Voldemort and become the New Dark Lord and Dark Lady, the dawn of a new era is approaching. Will they execute their plan successfully? Will their new reign survive and thrive? Will they become everything they dreamed of? A story of thirst for power, violence and love. Words: 1516, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Dark Narcissa Black Malfoy, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Muggle Technology, Dark Lord Draco Malfoy, Dark Lady Hermione Malfoy, Dark Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Secret Relationship, Overthrowing Voldemort, Wordless Magic, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Legilimency (Harry Potter), Inappropriate Use of Legilimency (Harry Potter), Torture, Murder, Spell Creation (Harry Potter), Explicit Sexual Content, Consensual Non-Consent, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Spanking, Impact Play, mild degradation kink, Praise Kink, Breeding Kink, Table Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Simp Draco Malfoy, touch her and you die, Revenge, Mental Health Issues, Toxic Draco Malfoy, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Ron Weasley Bashing, Order of the Phoenix Bashing, Everyone is going through some shit, very very descriptive torture, Draco and Hermione are extremely toxic and unhinged, touch him and you die, Extremely OOC Hermione, Extremely OOC Draco, Muggle technology mixed with Magic, Draco collects mugs and odd things, Domestic Fluff, Draco spoils Hermione, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, Reference to art and literature, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco likes Tesco, reference to movies, Underling elements of WWII, Underling elements of fascism, Developing Relationship, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Possessive Hermione Granger, Obsessive Draco Malfoy, Obsessive Hermione Granger, Magically Powerful Draco Malfoy, Powerful Hermione Granger, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Happy Ending, Cannibalism via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/AJOrSUN March 28, 2024 at 12:36AM

[ao3feed-nanago]

Two Sides of The Same Coin

by DelusionallyIvy Jujutsu Kaisen Words: 7, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Characters: Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Kenjaku | Fake Getou Suguru, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji, Zenin Clan (Jujutsu Kaisen), Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge, Mahito (Jujutsu Kaisen), Chousou (Jujutsu Kaisen), Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Sukuna | Ryoumen Sukuna, Panda (Jujutsu Kaisen), Mei Mei (Jujutsu Kaisen), Ui Ui (Jujutsu Kaisen), Gojo Clan (Jujutsu Kaisen), Getou Suguru's Parents, Haibara Yu (Jujutsu Kaisen), Ieiri Shoko, Iori Utahime, Jogo (Jujutsu Kaisen), Hanami (Jujutsu Kaisen), Toudou Aoi (Jujutsu Kaisen), Kamo Clan (Jujutsu Kaisen), Fumi (Jujutsu Kaisen), Remi (Jujutsu Kaisen) Relationships: Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru, Kugisaki Nobara/Zenin Maki, Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Ieiri Shoko/Iori Utahime, Gojo Satoru/Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu & Nanami Kento Additional Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt No Comfort, Heavy Angst, Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Smut, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, Boys In Love, Lesbian Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Threats of Violence, Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, References to Depression, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Jujutsu Kaisen Manga Spoilers, Shibuya Incident Arc Spoilers (Jujutsu Kaisen), Post-Shibuya Incident Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), Post-Star Plasma Vessel | Hidden Inventory Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), The Shibuya Incident Never Happened (Jujutsu Kaisen), Shibuya Incident Arc (Jujutsu Kaisen), Edgar Allan Poe References, Rape/Non-con Elements, Everyone is Dead via https://ift.tt/twGq281

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

And you're always lookin' for some company

by Citrus_x_Sinensis

After the Spyral debacle and his "fake" death, Dick ends up alienated from his family, and what is better than a harem of morally ambiguous older men to cure his touch starve problem. Dick sleeps around with so much morally ambiguous older men to cope with his loneliness after being separated from his family for a long time and how they received him after finding out he was alive.

Words: 3347, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Constantine (Comic)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dick Grayson, Midnighter (DCU), Tiger (DCU), Apollo (DCU), Slade Wilson, John Constantine, Raptor (DCU), Lincoln March, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Original Characters

Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, John Constantine/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Raptor, Dick Grayson/Tiger, Dick Grayson/Lincoln March, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Past Dick Grayson/Wally West, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Mentioned Miriam Delgado, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Hurt Dick Grayson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Porn with Feelings, References to Forever Evil (Comics), Post-Forever Evil (Comics), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dick Grayson's Harem of Older Men, Dick Grayson's Harem of Morally Ambiguous Older Men

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327

[ao3feed-jaydick]

And you're always lookin' for some company

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327 by Citrus_x_Sinensis After the Spyral debacle and his "fake" death, Dick ends up alienated from his family, and what is better than a harem of morally ambiguous older men to cure his touch starve problem. Dick sleeps around with so much morally ambiguous older men to cope with his loneliness after being separated from his family for a long time and how they received him after finding out he was alive. Words: 3347, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Constantine (Comic) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dick Grayson, Midnighter (DCU), Tiger (DCU), Apollo (DCU), Slade Wilson, John Constantine, Raptor (DCU), Lincoln March, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Barbara Gordon, Original Characters Relationships: Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson/Midnighter, Apollo/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, John Constantine/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson/Raptor, Dick Grayson/Tiger, Dick Grayson/Lincoln March, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Past Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Past Dick Grayson/Roy Harper, Past Dick Grayson/Wally West, Past Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Mentioned Catalina Flores, Mentioned Miriam Delgado, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Hurt Dick Grayson, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Porn with Feelings, References to Forever Evil (Comics), Post-Forever Evil (Comics), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dick Grayson's Harem of Older Men, Dick Grayson's Harem of Morally Ambiguous Older Men read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/46039327

[ao3feed-peterstiles]

Ashes to Embers

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55056274 by diei_elf Когда Стайлз тащит Скотта в лес, чтобы напиться виски, Скотт слышит вой и уходит до того, как те два парня, источающих преступную ауру, решать докопаться до пьяного Стайлза. Последствия роковой встречи катастрофичны. Но даже в аду можно отыскать уголек поприятнее... Для Стайлза таким угольком неожиданно становится Питер Хейл, отлично знающий, что такое восставать из пепла.   AU по мотивам первых сезонов. Words: 3734, Chapters: 1/?, Language: Русский Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall, Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Jackson, Isaac Lahey Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale's Pack Members & Stiles Stilinski, The Bad Guys 1x08/Stiles Stilinski, Past Peter/OMC Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Season/Series 01 AU, Bromance, Good Peter Hale, Co-Alpha Peter Hale, Pack Alpha Derek Hale, Good Friend Scott McCall, Stilinski Family Feels, Rape, Raped Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Dark elements, Self-Harm, Protectiveness, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Traumatic, Sheriff's a young father, Hugs, Pack Feels, Slow Build Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Mild thoughts of death, Blood & Triggers, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Stiles is keeping what happened a secret, Peter didn't kill Laura, Peter Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, References to Canon Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55056274

[sskk-ao3feed]

a moth to your flame

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/NZJYy8W by sucrosette No, this was dangerous. The realization that he might actually enjoy something like this was too much. Akutagawa snapped his fingers away in a moment of cold clarity and took a step back, the sound of it too loud when the only other noise in the suite was the weretiger’s own shuddering breaths. “What the fuck is this, Jinko?” Or, the one in which Akutagawa gets a little too drunk on the pheromones of one tiger’s unexpected heat. Words: 7300, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs) Relationships: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, your mileage may vary, Bottom Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Top Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Sadistic Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Masochist Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), They/Them and He/Him Pronouns for Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nonbinary Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Possessive Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Occasional Use of ‘it’ to Refer to Rashoumon Specifically, afab language, Mating Cycles/In Heat, kabedon, Cigarettes, Drinking, Hints of Akutagawa’s Extensive Self-Worth Issues, Egregious Descriptions of Cocksucking, Choking, Author Might be Slightly Obsessed with that Pretty Gagging Sound Bottoms Make, Casually Choke Your Bottoms it’s Free Fucking Therapy, Degradation, Degradation Kink Unlocked, Praise Kink, Biting, Begging, Dacryphilia, Very Mildly Sacrilegious Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Cockwarming, overstim, A truly improbable amount of orgasms, smut with feelings, Smut and (mild) Angst, Blood, This Kitten has Literal Claws, Fucking Your Enemy/Rival/Partner/IDK it’s Complicated as Copium, Bondage via Inky Black Clothing Demon, Bungo Dead Dove Week 2024 read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/NZJYy8W

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

45 - Dark Blood of Blinding Light

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

Length: 21.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, mild disturbing imagery, references to past rape, insecurity, possessive behavior and language, breeding kink, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v

Notes: I know, I know, okay? I know about the length already, I was the moron who wrote it. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

You were too much alike, both of you were being pragmatic and yet it around in circles you both continued to do. He had a point but so did you, and thus as you both stood there the debate once more spin around and around coming to the same conclusions once, twice, too many times. It was almost far too much how it used to be, instead this time you both were walking the cold grounds within the Nightfort instead of along the sunny and warm docks at the edge of Kings Landing. And this time it wasn't numbers which were the discussion of debate, it was what such numbers meant in actuality.

Gold and trade the usual debates between you two back when the highest place you had any influence on was the small council. A Kingdom rapidly finding itself in dire straights as the treasury was empty and the Lannisters were as well. The only gold remaining to them was for their own spends and livelihoods but no longer could they pay for anything of other uses. The Iron Bank was new in dealings with Robert's reign and it meant that you were too aware that payments were going to be needed far more prompt then before. Your allocated budget grew smaller every quarter year and thus you and Stannis spent many days debating on what trade deals to prioritize.

Those however, were low stakes in comparison to now. You understood his position, truly you did. He was the one true King and no one had ever respected him for it. By every law in Westeros, the Iron Throne was his. You had almost died beside Eddard Stark to defend that stance, but once more like the days on the docks, those were more simple times. More simple stakes. These were not, and it would be all too easy to be blinded by presuming those stakes were just as important. But they weren't.

Jon had only been able to send a raven to Aegon, because it was now known that he had taken Storm's End, and the battle to claim the rest of the Stormlands had begun. But it also meant, asking your father to give up the castle where he grew up, and the lands of his family to the one House which meant the most insulting to claim what was yours.

The urge to keep what men he had here, stay in his place and leave to his vastly more superior numbers, and chase the Dragon from the Stag's home was too tempting, and you knew it.

“It's asking me to hand over the lands this House has ruled for centuries, to give up the home I grew up in, the home my father grew up in and his father before him.” Once more you knew that argument was fair, and in many other occasions you'd have agreed.

On the other hand, your eyes narrowed ever the slightest not from the sting of the cold winds. “You are aware father, that you cannot appeal to emotions in me which don't exist.” You both knew what that was referring to, but the man as stubborn as the daughter he passed such a trait down to, waited for you to elaborate. “Asking me to care about the things my grandfather did is a far stretch of what I am willing to do. Which for him, is none.”

Collected as ever it did not yet show in your father's face that your point had effected him as such in a harmful manner. Neither his tone was well. “Some days it's difficult to tell if your insolence would only make him like you more.” If any could see you trying to not roll your eyes, it was Stannis. Who even from just a side view, saw the slight twitch in your face trying to hold it back. “You are not alone in that manner, my father tried very hard to have me see the world his way. Moreso then he ever did with Robert or Renly. The last I ever heard from him was a raven telling me they didn't find what they were looking for in their journey but they found something hopefully which would teach me how to laugh.”

Your eyebrow raised only for your entire expression to grimace, a tilt to the side asking, “Please do not tell me it was-” Glancing to him, your father only gave you a single knowing look that had you shake your head in further exasperation. “Are you certain your father didn't hate you, because that fool never made a single soul laugh in the twenty two years I knew him.”

“Save for Shireen.”

Quick in amusement as you were dismissal, “Shireen was a child, she didn't know what was funny.” In a moment passing others by, you had waited until it was once more only the two of you in any earshot. “I'm not sure you've ever told me what they were doing. My grandfather and grandmother, you told me they had sailed to Essos but never why.”

Blunt as he was honest, your father was. “You already had a strong contempt for the Targaryeans at a young age, I did not think it productive to give you more reasons to hate them as strongly as Robert did.” Playing the same game, you turned to him in a questioning gaze but asked none. Tone quiet, there was a shred of sympathy towards you as he spoke. “They were travelling to Volantis under the order of King Aerys to find a suitable Valyrian bride for Prince Rhaegar.”

He was right, telling you that would've made you lean much more towards Roberts side, even now, it still did. More then ever it did. Nothing was spoken as you both looked at one anther, waiting for the building flooding of anger to simmer back down before getting out of hand. A long exhale left your lips before your arms crossed over your front, turning to the grounds below where you had been walking.

It was far away on you as it was spoken, but not with anger or vitriol, just an honesty. “The last thing I've wanted to do was to downplay what happened that day, they were your parents and I heard enough from Robert to know it must have been horrifying to watch. But maybe that was the price he paid.”

Stannis matched your stance, neither of you giving away in posture or even faces as you spoke in low tones. You both appeared as neutral as the other, when in truth the weight here was growing to be insurmountable. “Robert and I discussed it. Not often, but we discussed what we would have done differently had our father been alive once war was declared. We both knew our father would have remained loyal to the Targaryeans, and we both agreed that we still wouldn't have done anything different. He made his choice long ago, we only wished that he had not taken our mother's life with him when he passed.”

For everything said about Steffon Baratheon, there was not even a match of tone towards the grandmother you never knew. Cassana Estermont. Even when the remainder of her House had done nothing but insult your father. Declared for Renly, then went running to Stannis when he had passed, then to Joffery at the defeat at Blackwater Bay, and now have come crawling back to Stannis once more as the Lannisters lost nearly all true hold on the realm. Yet through all of it, your grandmother was never spoken in any ill.

Glancing to him you asked with something genuine. “Those lands have been ours for centuries, and perhaps once long ago they would be worth dying to defend, but it won't matter. None of it matters, and we're running out of time too quickly to keep pretending as if it does. Everything you have seen here, do you truly think you're needed more there then you are here?”

Looking up to your father, something heavy flowed in the air. Something unspoken that was not tense, nor agitated. Something rather, which pleaded what little vulnerability you two ever shared. He was not judging either in his response after a good while of thought. “Robert held the peace for nearly twenty four years, not because he was a good ruler, but because he relied on better men to do the ruling for him behind the curtain. Everytime he ignored his council, we had to clean up the mess it left behind before it got out of hand. He never listened, not when it mattered. Not to Jon Arryn, not to me, not even to Ned Stark. And after he died his Kingdom has done nothing but bleed for it.”

There was a point somewhere in there, but you were quiet to let it breathe before crowding it with any clarifying questions.

“But now by every law there is, now it is my Kingdom. And I will not forget how much these people have made my Kingdom bleed, and I will not forgive it either. If I pull every of my men out of the Stormlands and bring them North, my enemies will think I am weak.”

It weighed heavy in your heart, you two did not often speak in any praise, not to each other about each other. But it came out as honest as any could be, “If you were weak, father, I wouldn't stand here asking you to not leave. Westeros will survive without you fighting in it, but it will not survive if we do not fight for it. Jon cannot do this alone. The North doesn't have the numbers, and even if we did it would take months, years to train everyone to even resemble an army large enough. If you were weak, then we wouldn't need you. But we do.”

Finding his gaze, neither of you said anything. Much in your eyes held back as did his, not to let it creep too close to the surface. When he did, you admittedly could have let out a chuckle were your heart not still fast and too heavy. “You're starting to sound like Jon.”

Biting your tongue, you turned back to the cold sight of the forts activities bustling about. Arms moving to rest along the wooden railing, Stannis too matched you. Only he had the retort on his tongue, knowing that furrow in your brows far too well. “It wasn't an insult.”

Eyes trained forward, it came off as dry as your stare was tense. “I'd hope so. He's your son in law now, I can't imagine insulting him is a good starting off point.” Curious it was, that your father had asked the very question you asked her what felt like a fortnight passed, asking how your mother was fairing with such a detail. You resisted the urge to shrug. “They're..” Pausing to find the more diplomatic of approaches, “Taking it at their own pace shall we say.”

It surprised you, but your father almost chuckled. Almost. “Selyse was never fond of the boy even before we had arrived at Castle Black.” Your brows narrowed turning to look at him, before the realization formed lightly on your face as it did his. A fondness amplified by the feeling of her necklace under everything. “Used to say you were too distracted, and shouldn't spend that much time around boys when you weren't even a woman yet.”

“It wasn't like that.”

Quick as you were, so was Stannis. “I know. Despite everything I raised you better then that.” The sights of the Nightfort passed by still, neither party noticing that should any glance up, an amusingly identical image was sat between the two of you as you both stood there, leaned against the railing. “If Aegon cooperates, I'll order my troops to sail on Eastwatch by the Sea as soon as possible. Organize with Jon and this Lord Commander-”

“Edd.”

You could see your father turn slightly to give you a glance, but continued without noting your interruption. “Edd. Decide what forts need to be prioritized and how many. I'll remain in the long term for now. I presume you will return to Winterfell shortly, I will keep my command here. The North needs an army to man the wall, so we'll man it.”

Nodding, you said nothing for a moment. This was neither the time nor place, but you still struggled to even find the words for what could be said. You discussed strategy, plans, and numbers with your father, no details of your life. He never knew your last until it was too late, but telling him of this one felt foreign and strange. Of course he would care, but part of you was still a girl with a father you didn't like to step out of line towards.

You weren't quite yet ready to have that conversation. And yet, what came out of your mouth was not at all the same as the thoughts at the front of your mind. Instead without permission, your mouth reached deep within and pulled up something you hadn't even considered saying previously. “I didn't go to Robb to spite you. At the beginning of the war, I didn't side against you with ill intent.”

Stannis barley turned to look at you. Something distant in his tone with a question long forgotten until now. “I never asked how it was you came to leave. You were said to have been in King's Landing at the same time Ned Stark was arrested, how did you leave before they could get to you?”

“I was there that day too. In the throne room, Lord Stark and I both went to confront Cersei, we had Roberts will, we thought we had the gold cloaks. But we didn't. They arrested us both that day. Separated us and tossed us both into the black cells.” Shaking your head, gloved hands wrung slightly together as your face twisted in long passed conflict. “I didn't go into this war wanting to stand on the opposite side as you. But I had a choice, and I made it, and I will never apologize for choosing Robb over you. But it was never meant to betray you.”

“Who aided in your escape?”

Right to the point, you considered not wanting to know if he had even considered your words thus far beyond that. Honesty however, was all he wanted on some. “Ser Barristan Selmy. We went though the tunnels under the city and I got on a small fishing ship headed to White Harbour.”

Neither of you spoke for the moment, until once more he shifted the tone. “The man did always have a soft spot for you.” Only a nod, something in your head tried to ask a question but there was too much fog from the days since. Too much had occurred in such a short period of time to allow such a wondering thought to bloom.

For once however, the quiet between father and daughter which followed, wasn't awkward nor tense as the day continued to pass by around you.

“So what are we looking for exactly?”

Somehow it seemed there were still rooms which had not yet been explored nor even walked in. Only now had you found what appeared to look much like what the Lord Commanders quarters in Castle Black looked like. Dust sat around and it felt as barren as any, like it had been gutted long ago. Eyes squinting as you looked up to the shelves near the ceiling you muttered, “Anything that appears to have writing on it, especially anything not written in Common.”

Theon and Olly both looked at one another, the question once more coming from the younger ones mouth. “Has she always been vague about things?”

You answered at the exact same time as Theon in a dry word. “Yes.”

Fifteen years knowing one another, Theon knew your most annoying of quirks likely better then anyone else. Some still needed time to get used to it, but if the two of them were going to be in your proximity in the first place, then you were going to make them useful to your purpose in here.

It felt a shame this fort had been abandoned so long. It was large and vast and too much to upkeep for the dwindling numbers of the Nights Watch, but it was well constructed and rather impressive. You could almost stand in the training yard and imagine the vast amount of black furs and leathers all bustling within these walls. You meant no offence to Castle Black but it was minuscule in comparison to the luxuries which could be afforded here.

Now it was no longer as such, a dreary place which needed as much work as it likely ever had since it's first build. No fancy noble woman would come here and find it suitable to live in or even be in. The first they ever build though, you wondered how long the men had attempted to hold onto this place before finally being ordered to leave.

Jon had said the other abandoned forts tunnels had been flooded, but the did not this one, and you wondered just how many men understood the strangeness below. The gate, the face, the symbols all there but did they know somewhere in there was a mystery tied to bodies and symbols of blood in the snow? Did they have any idea when they left this place what was to come in hundreds of years?

The Wall was said to be built to protect the realm, but why now did all of those secrets lay in the dark little hope to ever find answers to their depths?

Books scattered about, looking in one and nothing but numbers and inventory. Another schedules and routines, discipline and what not. All standard and left behind with no care anymore for what would not remain. But still, no hint of other forts containing answers to a thing seemed likely when the black gate below was something not like any other.

Something, someone, somewhere and sometime in this very place there had to be something written in one form or another as to what was going on. What happened here and why was the remainder of the Nights Watch left in such disarray and unprepared?

Near a desk, you could see the remains of a large book, more of a tomb then anything. As you picked it up however, it became very obvious that it would likely not be hiding any secret, a book this absurdly heavy. A wince on your face, you walked it to the nearest surface and let it drop with a thud. Only as it did, more then just the wood of the natural desk shifted.

Brows narrowing, you looked to see nothing. So you repeated the process, and something surely seemed to be moving separate of the rest of the wood. Theon and Olly both glanced over, the former with a question in the air. “What is it?”

Frowning, you knelt down to look more at the wood, but saw nothing. “I thought I saw something, must be imagining things.”

Walking to your side as Olly stood on the opposite of the desk, Theon looked at the book. Opening it, there was more of nothing useful, and yet you bit your tongue trying to look at what didn't move. But startling you back, Theon with far more strength did the same and that time, you were at the right angle to see just the slightest of jolts underneath. Right where the legs of a man would sit.

Mouth parting slightly, Theon explained. “Some wood can get stuck against any metal keeping it together in the cold. Just needs a good shift to do so.”

Both coming to your side, Olly pulled the chair from the way and all knelt on each side of you, looking to where your gloved hand traced along what might be an opening. Only for a second did you reach for a blade, only to find your hand empty and turning with a frown to see nothing. Right.

A certain someone didn't seem to want you casually carrying weapons so frivolously anymore.

Almost rolling your eyes with a sigh, Theon caught enough of the context with a smirk. “Allow me.” Pulling a dagger out of his own, you and Olly both leaned back to let him pry at it. A wince on his own face until a thud of his arm slamming against the side of the desk and did a piece of wood fall.

Wood, and what appeared to be scraps of paper all wrapped together with a string to keep them from separating. Slowly picking up up, you turned some of it in place but wrapped up as such not a lot could be determined. “If you were to abandon this castle for good, why go to such lengths to hide papers instead of taking it with you?”

Theon presented one answer, “Maybe to hide it and come back to it when no one was around.”

But it was Olly with the one you suspected might ring more true. “Or they didn't know this was there in the first place. Hide it where no one would ever find it.”

Until now you thought. Standing up, you carefully undid the strings and let them fall in place. One by one you gently looked through the ink, and found something far more interesting then inventory and routines. You found something written in a language long not used, something which looked much like carvings on a rune stone.

The Nightfort was the oldest along the Wall, and such papers truly reminded you as such. That it was not just ancestors and Northerners manning this place. Once thousands of years ago, the First Men occupied this place all on their own.

By the time the afternoon fell over the sky, you were still there. Only enough light filtering in from the windows alone, but sat at the desk still flipping through it all. A small journal of your own to the side where your left hand was preoccupied writing, and your right sifting through each page.

Not anywhere near what you likely could know if the vast extend of work Sam had conducted, but you felt strange looking at these. Something hidden away for so long not even the hundreds of Lord Commanders after these were made, had found them. They would be at least four thousand years old, as the traditional phonetics of written word as it was used now, was only brought over by the Andals.

It likely, sat somewhere closer to six thousand, the fade some of the ink had become and the darkening on the paper naturally from accumulated age. What you could recognize seemed strange this far, speakings of curtains of light, heart and winter, and something you could only translate as a woman of white. Over and over such symbols came back and back and back again but never more did you grasp the meanings of it all.

Whatever this man had seen, something unusual had happened to him, he had seen something almost as if it drove him mad. The writings not even neat, uniform or clear. It was as if they were scrambled down in a haste, manic ramblings which were all they had time for or the sanity to put forth. Every symbol was cracked and faded and had you running your gloved hand over again and again as if to scrub away the grime from years.

But it wasn't that itself which caught your attention, it wasn't strange writings alone which had you sitting here on your own. It was the final page. Nothing as if a name, nothing which spoke of a person, but a symbol which was one not out of the ordinary to your knowledge. At the bottom, sat the symbol you knew all too well now. Faded and nearly wiped gone, but it was there. No name of who left such a story, but that of a direwolf. A sigil no mistakening from that of House Stark.

Old Nan had told many stories of the Nights Watch, the Wall and the Nightfort but none ever contained mystique of such far north whispers. Monsters and strange creatures and corpses and death, but nothing close to matching what this spoke of. Whatever this was, it was old. So old it seemed not have to been passed down.

You needed more information somewhere else.

Why he kept glancing at you in a knowing manner you weren't sure, but you at that point in your life had found expert talent in pretending as if you did not notice a bit of it. Focusing instead on the words in front of you and not either the eyes or the weight of papers you had not brought out from where you hid it on your person. As if a bird pecking at the inside of your mind, something had told you to keep it to yourself. To not throw it down to others so quickly, and it just might have been that Stark sigil doing so. But you spoke none of it, only walking into the room and stating you wanted to simply look over things yourself, to make yourself useful.

Sam had accepted that explanation, but you felt that rising paranoia that it was what you had hidden from his knowledge he was looking at you for. Regardless, you ignored it and spoke as collected as you could. “And this is every record available?”

Almost as if shaking his head out of it's thoughts, Sam jolted to look over at you with more calm. “Names, dates, greatest accomplishments, everything they recorded as they went. Though, not so much where you're still at.” A narrowing of eyes as you asked the question in quiet. “Well, once the Andals came in, they had to transcribe the records all before them into our writing and so the further back the records go, the less information they have.”

The book was one Sam said should exist somewhere in every fort along the Wall. The Maesters records of every Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, from the start until the last day of each forts use. This one sat still in the somewhat empty library of the Nightfort and thus had no information passed a few short centuries ago. But you didn't look to there, not yet.

Right now, you had begun from the start. Each entry as Sam said was barren at first. But there were names and dates of voting in until their death. You could look one to the next and the math added up entirely correct. Only, no, you couldn't. From the first through to the twelfth Lord Commander it was Stark after Stark recorded. It made sense in your mind, one Stark ruled the North as King, the other commanded the Wall following the end of the Long Night.

But there was no entry for the thirteenth, and after as such it was never a Stark so consistently until it devolved into rarity and then it ended far before your lifetime. The thirteenth, you thought. Brows narrowed as your nails tapped along the edge of the page. Something was in your mind, but you weren't anywhere near a Northerner to have it so readily in your memory.

No, your lifetime was filled with tedious knowledge of every dragon named Targaryean there ever had been in their dynasty. You only knew the North in stories, you had not the lifetime of learning in such an age. But Sam was not a Northerner either, and you were far too aware, that was only an excuse as to why you did not ask.

There was only one other entry which intrigued your mind, but it was not here. They were voted in far later then the last of the Nightfort's days. Two Lord Commanders of the Nights Watch, and something once more like a bird pecked at your mind with increasing frustration. You were too tired, you had been awake too long and far too much of the last night when sleep should have been had, was spent on something else entirely.

Maybe you didn't have the capacity to understand any of this right now. And the longer the day went on the less you found yourself wanting any to intrude on it with a single word. You required a very specific air of quiet and it would not be found as the day was busy. And if by the weary expression on Jons face, he felt all too the same.

Walking in with a frown and unfocused eyes, you could sense the irritation all the same as it sat in your blood, but judging by the unphased reaction of Sam, you'd suspect he was used to it as you were. A lightness in his tone as he jested with ease, “You know sometimes I forget I should be referring you to by your title, but then you walk in like that and you make it difficult to remember there's a King under that look.”

Jon's eyes narrowed in a half baked glare towards Sam, which was taken as good as Jon sending him but a smirk. Passing him by to circle more around to where you were, he mumbled under his breath enough for him to still hear. “You're the last person I'd ask to call me that, Sam.”

To your surprise, as your eyes had been casted downward, you hadn't noticed until warmth enveloped your side. Jon resting a hand gentle along the back of your head as the other braced against the desk, leaning down he spared no hesitation pressing a tender kiss to the hair at the top of your head. Out of everything, it was such a simple act in front of another that had you feel a flush building in your chest, not daring to look at Sam, no doubt having seen the display of affection.

Murmuring a he pulled a seat close to where you were at the edge of one side of the desk, Jon sat at the other. Eyes narrowing at the book in front of you, “What is that?”

“Oh, that's called a book, your grace.”

Jon's face fell flat instantly, peeling his eyes up to glare at Sam who was no doubt rather amused with how much a grouchy Jon would let him get away with saying. Knowing the man was too tired to say a word back with the same quickness. You were also rather certain he knew you were smothering your own smirk, but passing by it as you cleared the strain in your throat. “It's every Lord Commander since the Wall was constructed. I had wondered if any name ends up standing out, or something they've done could match anything Sam's already uncovered.”

Nodding, Jon's eyes had not seen as you did, and none would yet. “Have you found anything?”

Yes. “No.”

The hand at the back of your head had slid to the top edge of your chair, not noticeable enough for you, but on every non consistent occasion, Jon would reach what of his fingers he could to toy with the loose strands of hair free down your back. Eyes hardly leaving you to the page then back. Whatever he normally held back in respect in front of others, Sam was not one Jon felt the need to hide in front of.

The papers hiding under your clothes weighed a crushing amount.

Voices moved between the two men, the rasp from one side so gentle in your ear you for once had not felt the burn in your scar. But something only a little girl would describe as a fluttering in your stomach in it's place. For so long you couldn't ever think of it in terms of something which couldn't haunt, but it wasn't life alone now. It was life gifted by Jon himself.

You came here to focus and search for answers, but your heart skipped light in your heart being so close to him. All the talk of children, and it was only real now. It was only real not even in the past twenty four hours. And instead of having time to consider it together, you both were once more jumping within the depths of duty.

A sigh holding back inside you, you were a mess. Tugged in many directions in the storms of winter coming but the one which came back again and again you could feel Jon's eyes flickering down to your stomach. You were avoiding the grey and he knew it, as if begging you to ignore your focus and look back up at him.

Did he want to make you feel out of your mind? You thought to yourself, Jon was just sadistic enough enjoy dangling your silence in front of those closest to him. “Either we used symbols of their language in our writing afterwards, or they are using ours thinking we could read it.”

You could hear Sam somewhat near you still, the sounds of the endless amount of paper trailing along his workspace as he spoke. “What if it's both?” Jon's brows narrowed in question just as you much firmer felt his hands trail along strands of your hair along your back, Sam continuing. “I tried to combine the symbols you both had seen, and found it seemed to form a new phrase entirely. Something along the lines of winters heart.”

Head turned just to the slightest, your tone breathless as you tried to make it nonchalant. “What does that mean?”

Sam earnest as he responded without hesitating. “I don't know. Nothing I've seen even in the old manuscripts mention anything like that.” Jaw clenching, you turned back to re reading the same words over and over. The papers would crush you had you hid them against your lungs. Begging to be looked at but you weren't sure why you continued to withhold it.

It was a bizarre sensation, something you cannot control telling you against the logic in your mind and you knew too well it wasn't something you have never felt before. But never with something so close to the storms of the North coming. It was never so close to something you understood as such.

Per chance you spared a glance to Jon, already leaned down somewhat to catch your eyes in tandem as you sought his out. A brightness of asking in them, but you bit your tongue. Doubt only you could look to him back with, and the smallest of single head shakes you were graced to know he understood as later. If it was his family on these papers, he should know about them first.

Looking away, the thought sat deep on his face trying to put more together. Low and strained as Jon spoke through the clues already in front of him. “They know our vows, they think we can understand their symbols..” Trailing off the right question was left to him. “I only see two options. Either they're trying to communicate with us, or it's meant to be a threat.” Sam asking a threat to what, and it seemed Jon had thought that through as well. “That they know us more then we know them.”

Such a fact was true, but it did not sit comfortably anywhere between the three of you.

“Edd said his rangers report it would take months to reach where the green in the sky is. As far as the Frost Fangs.” Jon stood abruptly, his hand pressing more firm along your back and down to your hip as if when moving by towards Sam, he was beckoning you to follow. For now it seemed, you had seen enough from the book in front of you. There was little else a missing entry could say without anything further to go of off.

Smoothing the skirt of your dress down as you stood, Jon and Sam had begun looking over a map of sorts. Coming closer to Jons side, one arm without looking away, spared no expense in wrapping around your waist to pull you into your side. Sliding the same hand to press along the small of your back. Eyes of yours trained downward in a fluster to smother the urge see the continuous gaze of Sam watching Jons physical ease with you.

Hand trailing along a path from Castle Black out to lands you knew none of. North of the Wall was large and vast, and no doubt however you thought the North you live in now was, likely was minuscule in comparison to the cold endless snowy lands the further you went. Up past the eeiry named Haunted Forest, Jon landed on what looked like a set of mountains before a very empty space along the rest of the map above it.

Rasping deep as Jon looked over it to give him the answers here and now. “If the light's we saw aren't passing by the Frost Fangs, we shouldn't be able to see them at all.” You asking why, Jons face twisted once more in thought. “It would take months to reach there. It's the furthest North the Nights Watch has ever made it, but that's too far to see anything in the horizon from there.”

“Unless they want us to see it.” Both your and Jons head rose to find the more hopeful knowing in Sam. “Think about it, they leave things for us to read, they want us to see these green waves in the sky, but not bring it any closer.”

Your eyes found the map once more, looking to where Jons hand sat at the Frost Fangs you leaned down closer to the table. “What's beyond it?” Both men turned to look at you in question. “The Frost Fangs, it's the furthest the Nights Watch has ever made it, but what's beyond that?”

It was small print in the middle of a space of nothing at the top of the map. Stretching to sights unseen as if unable to confirm it. The location nothing which spoke of actual civilization, unlike the rest of the northern map which detailed where many people had once lived all over. Sam filled you in on such details, all three of you now looking to the same place. “The Maesters at the citadel have about as much knowledge as we do, but according to them, it's where giants and the children of the forest lived during the dawn age. A land frozen forever, inhospitable to man.”

Jon turning to meet your gaze with a more gentle of tones, “Some of the brothers used to say it's where the Others came from thousands of years ago.”

Shaking your head a tad, your eyes trailed off to nothing in particular. “We already know they're coming, why tell us now? Why warn us they're coming now when they've spent years hunting us all down?”

But Jon had a possible answer to that, one that he came to conclusion of at Hardhome as he and one of them found the others eyes across the waters. Meeting one another before letting the free folk all rise dead and blue eyed beside for the remaining living to see. It wasn't a threat to warn, it was a message to scare. “First kill our people, and only then make sure we know they're coming.” Face twisting in thought, you could see the strain as always existed in him now as he looked with sudden sharp eyes to Sam. “You've killed one of them, and now they know I have too. They might be trying to scare us into thinking we can't fight back the way they can. They want people like Sam and me to believe we aren't enough. We know they're still out there and now we have to watch it every night until they decide to come for us.”

The room was warm as it could be with the fires around, and yet a chill shivered between all three of you. It was too dangerous, this path finding itself uncovering. If they wanted you all to believe you were without hope, then the lack of it couldn't leave this room. The Long Night ended once, it would end again but perhaps preventing it in the first place was the losing battle. Perhaps it was finding the answer of how to end it before a generation was born and died all in that darkness.

An order coming firmly from Jon in the creeping silence that shocked both Sam and yourself back into your heads without crushing dread taking over again. “Every translation you have, I need a copy of it. If the only way we can understand them is in a dead language,”

Only you would dare with such a finish for his words, the only one in the room who understood. “No one better to learn how to understand it then a dead King.” Greys met Green, and you knew too well that it was not one dead man who should understand it. But three.

It seemed fitting, the first of you to die and return now one of the first to learn a language of symbols and people long dead. Jon when conveying his plans before coming here had been firm. If Thoros and Beric wished to fight this fight, they wouldn't do so anywhere near Jons true home. Trusting them to commit to such a battle, but not enough to let them have eyes on you more then they already were.

Telling the group of you who had all accompanied Jon here, that should Stannis agree, the two outlaws would remain at the Nightfort under his watch and command. “The Night's Watch is beyond reach of the law. Edd knows what we're up against as well as I do, and he and I are working together, but sending men there can't be a punishment anymore.”

You could recall standing beside him, the flare of pride in you watching Jon speak with such conviction and confidence without a shred of ego to back his voice up. Smalljon Umber had spoken up in a respectful manner, “I'm not sure I follow, your grace.”

Jon, as he was better at then he'd give credit for, was convincing to the point you'd almost mistaken it for another act of strange magic natural in his blood. “I had brothers in the Nights Watch sent there instead of being physically punished for their crimes. But the Wall needs more then men forced to find purpose there because that's the only life they have left. Thoros and Lord Beric will serve at the Nightfort, no chains, no sentencing. We have to fight this fight beacuse we want to. Not because we have no other choice. I'm bringing them with us when we leave, and hate them or not, they won't be my prisoners anymore. I'm trusting them with the same chances I trusted my brothers with at Castle Black. You are free to voice your complains my lords, but I can't have us arguing about it. Now now. We have to all trust each other regardless of what we may have once done.”

The thought that he once thought he wasn't worth anything and yet in that moment all you could do, was hope Robb and Ned could hear you. Hear you tell them that they should be proud of who they helped Jon become.

Robb would always be Jons brother, the closest companion he had from before he could even form memories, Robb was there right beside him. Nothing could take that away from then, nothing and no one could remove that Jon and Robb both were brothers who missed each other in those wars with everything they had. Robb tried not to talk about Jon in front of you as much as you did him, his presence a missing void especially once Theon had turned traitor.

Once it was only Robb and yourself left, Jon was such a missing space in your hearts beyond even the love you felt for him. He was in different ways, best friends to both of you. All Robb wanted to do once the war was over, was take you home and find a way to bring his brother home where he belonged.

You both knew something was coming one day, the moment the raven arrived in Riverrun with news of Sansa being wed to Tyrion Lannister, you both could sense Lord Tywin was plotting something to replace you both with. Not the idea of how inhumane it would be or how sudden, but you both had the growing sense that there was a chance you both wouldn't make it.

Robb had said it himself. “Tywin finally knows your pregnant.”

You had no doubt that even had Robb known the truth of Jons birth, that would not have changed his mind in naming Jon as his true heir. Unspoken, but so enraged by his mothers insulation that Jon would have any intentions of harming what remained of Robbs family, it had Grey Wind step forward and growl deeply at her. It gave away how far she overstepped, and Robb did not hide that he had let his direwolf express such rage for him.

Everyday you always wished Robb could see his trust in Jon was right. That he could rest with his family in the crypts beneath Winterfell and watch over his brother not rule like him, but be a great leader all of his own.

You knew too well, Ned Stark was proud of Jon. Never more had you been confident he'd be proud of him. He knew the truth Jons entire life, and never raised him as anything but his own true son he loved with all his heart. Father by blood or not, there was no influence on the man Jon stood as now which was greater then Neds.

Without failure, every time the night settled into drawing you into sleep did you feel the nerves inside you flare up. Everytime you wondered not what you might see, but if he would be there. What he would say, what he would do. He wanted you to fall for his tricks, but did not hide his willingness to act as the attacker if you wouldn't give in.

The scariest thought of it all however, was that this was someone in the world you lived in. Somewhere out there, this stranger was real, and he knew far more about you then you knew about him.

If there was only one factor to redeem it thus far, is that for reasons you still did not know, both dreams he has come to you, was where you were protected by that of a great wolf. A white direwolf larger on four legs then he'd ever been seen, and feirce as any could possibly dream of when in need of aid. But, there was a difference between that one, and the very large ball of white fur laying about by the fire in the room and the one only now just taking a seat at the edge of the bed with a rough, low groan and a wince in his face.

The image of Ghost was what stood with you in those dreams, but it was the white wolf currently rubbing harshly at the back of his neck to no avail of easing his tension. You already perched on the bed, knees somewhat bent as they lay outward, you had been to write something. Paper flat out on the cover of a book, it was taking you far longer then what you suspect Jon would think.

That was always a complaint directed towards your father and yourself. Your ravens were always very deliberately worded, but it meant it took longer to write out then what many scribbled out in haste. A pause between half sentences trying to consider the wording once more. Had you been the one writing to Aegon, Jon had jested you'd needed to have started two hours before he did just to get it done at the same time.

You hadn't looked up from your writing to that, but likely he had caught the smirk trying to smother itself forming on your lips. Now though, he sat down as it stretched far too late into the night and not much sleep had been found for a while.

The night before you and he had stayed up on the Wall with one another until the watch duty moved onto the morning switch. Little was said, little needed to be then. You had to accept it, Jon had to actually deal with the ramifications of what was once his biggest fear being with you. Neither of you rushed each other. It was different this time.

You had not the burden of failure weighing you down, and Robb had spent his entire life knowing one day he would so easily start a family. Once it was out there, it was only joy. Even out at war, even when everyone was finding ways to stab him in the back, when you both were losing everything, the happiness of sharing that news was the easiest part.

But you no longer were that person, and Jon spent most of his life as far from Robb's dream of a family as what he thought possible. It wasn't upsetting, it wasn't angering, but it wasn't easy. You finally knew though only time could ease that for you both. Though, one thing was the same it seemed, no matter how much more frustrating it felt this time.

As if knowing, begun a path in your mind that could be set off at any moment. It had been this way once Robb and you knew, but now with Jon that might be a bit more dangerous. Jon would never admit it, but in a shocking turn of events, somehow he was the brother with the insatiable appetite. You feeling needy for Robb was easy, you both knew when was not the right time for it. Jon though, would push anything aside should the need become too much.

You were daring not think about what he might say, should he realize the more this carried on, the more of such a need you were going to feel swirling on the inside.

Very carefully as to not quite let him know, you gently moved the paper and ink off to the side completely before slowly making your way down the rest of the beds length. Moving up onto your knees, you let your front drape lightly against Jons back as your hands took place of his. Digging down more into the base of his neck and spine and putting just the right pressure into the muscles you felt him tense before relaxing. Moving along further down until you reached the far worse strain he carried in his shoulders.

Something akin to a grunt left Jon as his head dropped, hands braced against the sheets below him only to relax moreso as you pressed a kiss to just below his ear. Murmuring lowly, “You should've asked me to do this far sooner. It's not good for you, walking around this tense.”

You think maybe Jon nodded, and you could only smile at how easily he crumbled under such a touch in all the same ways you knew finding the right place for your nails to scratch at Ghost would make the direwolf as weak. Truly one in the same your two wolves were. His words slurred out a bit more as he leaned a bit back int your touch, clearly lost in the feeling as he sounded as if his accent had thickened in no time. “I didn't ask you the first time.”

A chuckle left lightly in his ear from you, yourself missing the smile it drew from Jon at the sound so close to him. “No, but I like making you feel good.” Were Jon not still hidden somewhat by you having only a view of his back, you would've noticed his jaw clenching. Too often you would phrase things that pricked at a wild part of his mind, and he would sit there telling himself not to ruin the peace of the moment by turning around and forcing your back against the bed laying under him. You were just being sweet and Jon wanted to ravage you for it.

Now more then ever he wanted to ravage you for it.

By the time your hands eased up, you let them dance slightly back to his neck and up before working on what as to be Jons next weakness. Letting loose his curls, you begun running your fingers through them and scratching against his scalp to have it sit comfortably and neatly. “You need to stop doing that.”

A light questioning on your lips asking, “Doing what?” Whatever mumble Jon gave you was not an answer you could decipher. Leaning more over his shoulder, you tried to seek his face out more, “Jon? Stop doing what?”

Inhaling, he sat up, grabbing a hand of your which had slid down to his shoulder, forcing it in front of his chest to leave a kiss against the back. Holding it in place it forced you to lean more against his back as he turned to somewhat find your gaze back. “Doing things for me like this, trying to take care of me.” Not changing your expression you only looked at him curiously asking why. Letting the hand go, you didn't take it back, but kept it draped over to press somewhat against his chest as he used his now free hand to run along what of your jaw he could reach. “I'm supposed to take care of you.”

A lightness sat in your eyes, but yet even as the tone matched it's softness, your words knew better then to challenge him as such. “If you need proof you take care of me perfectly fine, it's currently growing between us.” Truly, you meant it innocently, and you really should have known far better then that.

His eyes narrowed for a moment before Jons far superior strength managed to turn on you. Before the understanding of the moment hit, in an instance your back was flat against the bed as Jon how hovered over you. Both of his hands pressed somewhere on the sheets beside your frame. A laugh left you with ease, “Jon-”

Smiling brightly in return he said your name in the same mocking tone. But as soon as the laugh on you faded into a quiet, tender smile, it quickly thus melted along with your heart as you felt that growing in your heart of adoration. Jon made it too easy, and part of you in the back of your head despised that he once thought he would never have or deserve anything close to this.

Running a hand over the facial hair on his jaw, you let your thumb trace against the scratching feeling as your other sat just above where your scar was, even covered up. Hardly but a whisper on you, as if now the room became only what was here and now on the bed. “I hate to be the bearer of difficult news, my King. But if only a mention of it garners such a reaction, I'm not sure how I'm going to ever get anything accomplished once it starts showing.”

The tease was on the tip of his tongue you could tell, but he held it back. Swallowing the jest right back down as he inhaled deeply. Bright eyes shining down at you even despite the darkness falling upon the room in the night. Low and still thick as if such rawness in him brought out the most Northern of an accent deep in his capability. “When do you?” Your head tilting best it could against the sheets in question, he repeated himself just a softly. “When do you start showing?”

He had been there to see Lady Catelyn go through four pregnancies but it wasn't quite as if she was eager to have her husbands bastard around her in her more sensitive states. Jon usually avoided her in the early months to not accidentally instigate things. Almost eleven years after her last one, it wasn't as if Jon was spending hoards of time around pregnant women at the Wall. Part of him almost felt disappointed in himself for how much he realized he didn't yet know about this process.

Yet not for a moment did it even occur in your mind the same thought. Your eyes distant in trying to search back to a life long passed. “Two moons passed when I started to notice, but it wasn't until around three when I couldn't hide it anymore.”

Grey eyes trailing downward, Jon pulled back, now more kneeling between your legs upright, a hand running down your waist and hip until his thumb could reach where he knew your scar was. Perhaps it was the familiarity that calmed you, and yet Jon felt a skip in his heart. Something rough caught in his throat that refused to come out, were he with anyone else he'd worry they'd mistaken the frowning in his expression as a negative. But you knew him.

Wanting to sit up to go to him, you knew though it would take away what he needed right now. And even in the quiet of the room, you could hear Jons head spinning. Robb had it easy, he had always wanted it, and knew one day it was coming his way. Jon didn't. He had thought of it, obsessed over it, rambled about it when deep inside of you but it wasn't until he could sit there and know the life in your womb was his did it feel real.

His eyes flickering up to meet yours, slowly when he didn't break gaze you sat up. A breathless chuckle almost leaving you, it had started already. Jon moving in an instant to gently help you sit up, moving so you both sat more side by side on the bed facing the other. Your hand finding his cheek once more, Jons both at your waist. Dragging back from your stomach up to you again.

Shaking his head you knew he was struggling to even comprehend whatever words were forming in his mind. Instead, you leaned forward. A light capture of his lips to yours, Jon moved to cup both of your cheeks in return. Deepening it in a manner of seconds, your hands drifted to rest along the back of his neck and shoulders. His kiss wasn't greedy or demanding, but there was a pouring of nerves he was trying to get rid of in your lips. Refusing to let you go until the anxieties filtered out, but it wasn't that easy you knew.

Still, you let Jon guide your kiss, soft lips begging yours not to leave his for too long or he'd pull you right back before you could catch one proper inhale of air. Moving to wrap an arm around your waist, Jon suddenly shifted both of you. Pulling just barley from your lips, his eyes heavy as they looked dark at you and back down to your lips as he pulled you up. His legs swinging over the edge of the bed before he hauled you to perch straddling his lap. Your hands clutched at his shoulders and both of his tight at your hip.

Jon kept you a decent amount from his chest though, despite the begging in his lips to kiss yours again he trailed his eyes down your neck, to your chest and resting finally at your stomach. Rasping out, he almost seemed like he could not choose between the dark need brewing in him, and something far more wide eyed and boyish in honesty. “The first day you arrived in Winterfell,” A huff of a laugh left him as his voice dreamed of past. “I thought you were the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. Standing all alone in the training yard, but the moment Robb and I went up to you, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to you.”

Hands running up and down your hips, material bunching and smoothing out with each instance. Your hands wrapped gently around the back of his neck to toy with the curls loose around his head.

Barley finding your eyes he just looked to where you suspected he wished he could see without the dress in his way. “I knew I'd have to tell you I was a Snow, and I knew after that you wouldn't want to talk to me.” Your brows narrowed, something jolting at your heart as you looked at him in a despair but he continued onward. “Girls never wanted to talk to me after they learned my name. And I knew the pretty daughter of the Kings brother wouldn't ever want to talk to a bastard. But then I told you, and you didn't do anything. You asked if I was Ned Starks other son, and you never said anything about it after.”

You both knew you wouldn't remember that, you recalled very little about the day you arrived given how fever ridden you were pretending not to feel. But you did remember meeting him properly the second time, but you didn't care then either. Fingers running through his hair, stopping at the pause of any tangle and gently running through them carefully to not disturb it. Your voice soft and as quiet as his. “Being a bastard didn't mean much to me, even then. I grew up around different members of House Seaworth, and they all came from Gin Alley. If I wasn't supposed to judge them, I didn't think I should judge you.”

Jon had only ever known Ser Davos as he was now, but he knew Karl Tanner, another from just there. A man as dangerous as he was morally reprehensible and he boasted all he could about how he was the top paid cutthroat in Flea Bottom, and if he could judge by shaking and disturbed look in the girls bruised eye in Crasters Keep, he died as sickening as he lived.

And yet on the other side was Ser Davos, a man that many, including Jon had come to greatly respect and value the opinion of. Or Sam, a highborn disowned by an abusive father because he didn't fit the rigid standards of what he saw as manhood. Grenn and Pyp, just two lowborns not given a chance in the world to succeed. Tormund, a large, outspoken wild man from beyond the wall who in another life would have every reason to consider Jon an enemy.

Outside of his family, almost everyone it felt like he was close to was something of an outcast. The ones who didn't have a place like the rest of the highborns they were surrounded by and found people in one another. Carving a place for themselves when most of them should've been cast out and forgotten.

Except you. You never made sense when Jon considered his life. A beautiful highborn Baratheon girl, the Kings niece with a fancy education and lived in the Red Keep, sitting on the small council. You had no place in Jons life, he thought. Most girls with less prestige then you looked down on Jon as it was, but you were as highborn as a girl could get without being a princess and you found yourself a life where nothing but a Northern Bastard was such a big part of it.

Even now, learning the truth of his mother didn't make Jon any less a bastard. It didn't change that he spent his entire life being raised as one. Jon used to know he was lucky to even live in Winterfell. Most highborn bastards of the North didn't get to live with whoever fathered them. But he lived with his father and grew up with five siblings alongside him as if be belonged but you shouldn't have cared about that.

No one in the Kings company gave him a second glance until Tyrion Lannister came creeping around the corner with advice Jon was then too angry to listen too. It was only you.

Sitting there, his grey eyes trained so heavily on your stomach, he knew there was nothing to see but a scar, but it still felt so odd to know it was real. Him being a father? And not just that, but a father to a legitimate child? Snow or Stark in name his child still wouldn't be a bastard and Jon struggled with it. He didn't want to get you pregnant knowing putting a child in you, a bastard child, would be ruining that child's life before they even had a chance.

The only children he dreamed of were yours, but he wasn't stupid. He knew it was a dream. It was part of why he knew he was taking the black. What was left? He couldn't have a life with you so why stay and mourn what was still right in front of him? But yet? Now?

Jon wasn't sure how quiet he had been for how long. He had told you he wanted to keep this to yourselves for right now, until he could get you safe and sound back in Winterfell and that was true, but there was one more thing Jon wanted to do before his people knew.

If this was real, if this was happening, Jon wanted to go see her. To tell her that Jon would do everything to make sure what happened to her, wouldn't happen to you. Jon wanted to get you home, so before he could even see the burial place of the only father he cared about to tell, he first wanted to visit the resting place of Lyanna Stark.

Jon wanted to promise his mother he'd protect you the way someone should've protected her.

Only a rasping whisper came out, hands still running up and down your sides. “Let me see.” A hum of question came from you, but Jon ignored it. Suddenly moving you around himself to undress you, tossing each offending article in his way mindlessly to the ground.

“Jon, there's nothing to see yet.”

But he didn't listen, not until there was only one thing left on you, but otherwise bare in the cold air of the room, yet warm in Jons touch. He skipped past everything else to seek out the scar. Nothing else mattered, but he stared intently at it until the greys turned black in colour in his eyes. You prompted his name once more, a hand running along the hair at the side of his head when Jon more hissed out with his jaw clenching.

“It started with you, didn't it?” When his eyes soared up to meet yours, there was anger in them. Which grew in the second of silence as you contemplated his question. “The night you died, it started with you. With this.” Keeping one hand at the small of your back to support you, his other moved to trace more purposely over the scar. All you could do was nod, you weren't sure you knew what to say if anything at all. “He killed your son before he even killed you. How far along were you?”

A skip in your heart felt heavy and dizzying, you weren't sure why his demeanour changed so suddenly, but you stammered trying to seek the right answer. “Around five months.”

Something in Jon was blazing with rage, you couldn't identify where it came from but you knew this wasn't going to be the last this was brought up. A distinct feeling in your veins that the longer you were with child this time, the longer you survived the worse this feeling in him would continue to grow. Almost growling, “Five months. You wouldn't have been able to hide it.”

You didn't want to think of it, the disgust in words as you had to stand there in the Twins and let Walder Frey leer over your pregnant form with an utter perversion for doing so in front of Robb. Knowing Robb needed his support more then he wanted to put a stop to his comments, knowing that in hours time, he'd have his men close the doors and end it all.

Shaking your head, you weren't angry as him, but not quite as present as you hoped. “No. Lord Tywin had learned I was pregnant by then. That's why it all happened so fast. Word had reached him and I couldn't hide it anymore, so he moved quickly. Organized everything the moment we left Roose Bolton at Harrenhal.” A rough rasp in his voice almost to himself that he wouldn't let it happen again. Your attempt to lighten his mood didn't work. “Tywin Lannister and Roose Bolton are both dead, it would be far harder for it to happen again now.”

Finding yours, Jons hands on you were fighting not to hold you tight enough to bruise but you knew he wanted to do more. Something inside him had switched, and something far closer to an animal was raging inside of him now. “This isn't a joke.” Your gaze softened at his, trying to implore him to ease up but at the same time, you suspected he was too worked up.

The tighter his hands on you were, the more Jon seemed to without notice, drag your covered hips down onto his. Even under all his own clothes, you could feel his cock twitching with how hard something protective was working up inside of him. “You understand why I need you to listen to me from now on?” You nodded almost a bit shyly, unsure how to approach his agitation yet. Inhaling deep enough his chest rose and fell quite visibly, Jon leaned in. The hand on your scar moving to your hip as the one around your back rose to pull your forehead to press against his. Breath hot as it trailed along your skin. “I have to protect you, both of you from now on. So please, darling. I need you to trust me when I want you to listen to what I say. I couldn't protect you then, so let me do it now.”

Part of you wished you had an argument against it, you really did. Your hands braced against his shoulders, you nodded. Jon encouraging you with the hand keeping your head to his, ran down the length of your hair. Prompting you to vocalize it to him. “I promise, Jon.”

Sighing deeply, he pulled back to look at you, only to let his eyes that time trail downward in a much greedier manner. Hard underneath you, he knew you could feel it and both his hands this time ran up from your hips to your sides so close to your breasts but just an inch or two away from touching them.

Only as his eyes found themselves trapped once they trailed back up and reached your breasts did a bit of a light in your heart force a far too adoring smirk out for how little you had on. For everything this conversation had been, and everything which led up to how worked up Jon got himself both in something protectively angry and in a raw lust, still deep down, all men had something that turned them back into teenage boys. Now his dark eyes were more of the man who already knows what he has, but there was still almost a bit of wonder like a boy seeing them for the first time. A tease leaving your lips far before you could think better of it, “Is this your first time seeing a girls chest, your grace?”

Peeling his eyes up, a shimmer of playfulness sparked in his eyes but he was not quite that teenage boy anymore. A sturdy confidence in how he hadn't blinked the same time he reached up, both hands grabbing your breasts with a greedy hold. Thumbs both moving to run across the small buds already quick to react under his touch and the cold air around you. Raising an eyebrow, Jon spoke calm and collected despite the twitch of his cock you could feel under you once more. “You remember which one of us was the nervous one that day?”

You knew the answer and just as the wrong one was to intentionally come out of your mouth, his fingers twisted both. A gasp leaving you as your head dropped, fingertips digging harsher into his shoulders. He could play them as a minstrel plays their instrument, Jon had long since fine tuned your sound and mastered his craft.

Breathless a bit, you didn't quite raise your head back up as the sparking of something twisting and beautiful was found right in his touch. Fogging your mind and point until you had nothing left but the meek truth to spit out. “Me it- it was always..” Eyes slipping shut you tried not to gasp the more roughly he twisted, begging to yank them but not quite committing. “Gods, you always made me nervous..”

The husk in his voice gave away that he wasn't as unaffected as he wanted to pretend. “Do I still?” But when you nodded, Jon breathed out such a lovely laugh that his hands switched back to almost a caressing sort of grope, but it didn't really bring you back down any. “Everything you are, and I make you nervous. Why?”

He was being cruel, you thought. Jon was asking for a true answer while refusing to let his hands sit innocently on you instead of this. But you kept that feeling growing in your core, radiating down between your legs and begging something terribly and needy in you that wanted Jons clothes off compared to almost all of yours already gone.

“Darling?” Your face almost winced trying to push passed the building inside you, telling yourself not to move against his cock as if you were too impatient to wait. He asked you a question, and your breathing was heavy as you calmed down your heart long enough to form an answer. Forcing your head up, meeting his eyes once more, they were soft and yet so sadistically knowing.

Swallowing, ironically, in a nervous fashion you tried to ignore the greed of his rough hands large against your breasts. “You're overwhelming, being with you is a lot.” Asking why, one hand found the small bud on your chest to twist and the other continued far gentler. “You're intimidating..the way you can stand over me, knowing exactly what you want, it- gods, it makes me want to do anything you ask..anything you want..”

A shiver ran through you, and just as your head dropped again, one left your chest to tilt your chin back to meet his eye. “Anything?” Nodding eagerly, Jon exhaled as shakily as the shiver had moved down your own spine. Eyes a bit more soft as he eased up on their intensity. “There is one thing I want.”

There was the intimidation, no matter how much time had passed you were never the one holding the cards with a man. You were weak in his touch, and you nodded once more, far too eager then Jon was expecting. “I'll do it, I promise.”

His eyes closed for a moment, a small whisper for you to stop almost too quiet to be heard. “It'll be easier to show you then explain. But first, take these off for me, alright?” Nodding down to his clothes you felt so relieved. Feeling his bare skin against yours wasn't even sensual, it was an intimacy that you craved in every needy to innocent form.

Jon moved you back, getting you to brace on his shoulders to stand you up on two feet, he paused any further movement. Both hands dragging down the edges of the last material hiding you from him, at an eye level sight Jon shut his eyes as he groaned deep in his chest. Head resting on your lower stomach by your scar, he pushed himself up and standing before you as well.

Nothing on you and almost everything still adorning his person, you felt small against him, and you felt that need begging once more between your legs, but you had a task to do. A hand of his trailing along your hip, but Jon otherwise stayed silent as you worked. The cold of the room around you had your fingers working slower, but you had a growing sense Jon wanted it that way. Grey eyes watching you intently the entire time, and you knew Jon hadn't the clue this was exactly what you were talking about.

He said not a word, but stood there with a silent, stoic confidence as his eyes took in your bare form over and over as you dutifully took the layers off of him. There was an authority to the way Jon could stand there in silence, one he must think you were exaggerating but it only caused you to work to keep your breathing even in front of him.

Maybe it was what you had learned keeping your mind tethered to both men, but the comparison was striking in your mind as let the last layer covering his torso sit neatly to the side before kneeling in front of him to continue.

Robb would talk, he always did. It never bothered him that you didn't say a lot sometimes, he was happy to fill the air for you and he would do so in a manner he knew would work you up. He'd stand there as you knelt in front of him and say all the right things to make you want him to fill your mouth the second you got everything off of him.

Jon though? He was silent, stoic, and didn't say things to work you up. He said them in a husking voice because he was rambling them out as he was the one already worked up. But he would stand there as you undressed him, knowing you would do the work and he didn't have to say a word. It wasn't as teasing and seducing as Robb, but it was far more intimidating.

You'd take everything off of Jon, and stay knelt there waiting for him to decide what to do next and sometimes he'd stare at you with his dark, greedy eyes for a while before directing you to what he wanted. You always knew what Robb wanted, but you never knew what Jon wanted.

And as you were undoing the laces to take his boots off, you started to suspect he liked it that way. That Jon liked keeping you on edge, relying on him for direction, for what to do next, to be guided by him into the next thing. Something inside him didn't want you to just rely on him for support, he wanted you to rely on him completely.

He knew you were capable all on your own, but something inside him almost didn't want you to be. As if he had spent his whole life at the bottom being pushed around, and now as a man he wanted to take advantage that he was at the top, and keep you right under him safe and protected the way he and many others weren't. Jon relied on himself for most of his life, and now that he didn't have to, instead wished for you to let him prove you could rely on him for all the same.

But in truth, you had relied on yourself much of your life in separate ways. It was why you were the way you were, but Jon had known that for twenty years, hadn't he? He knew you always wanted to prove yourself, do everything yourself without help. You were silent and careful as you undressed him, but in your mind just perhaps it had started to click. That maybe, he was happier taking care of you, then you were trying to still take care of yourself.

He always had. It was the first thing he ever did for you, three days you were sick and unconscious and it was Jon who spent three days taking care of you. He had just never quite let go of that, and never had an opportunity to show you he could do more then just that until now.

Finally, getting Jon as bare as you were. You looked up to him, something shining bright in your eyes that spoke far more then you had said out loud. Almost biting your lip trying to keep it and your heart steady as you waited for him to do or say something first.

Jon wanted you to behave for him.

Helping you stand, Jon grabbed your hips to pull you a bit closer before letting one tilt your gaze up to his by your chin. “You can say no, but I want you to trust me. Because you're going to say no right away to this, but I promise if you trust me, you're going to like it.” The nerves hit you again, and your lack of creativity left you in the dark.

You truly knew so little what a man and woman could do with one another, and both Starks who had your heart got to have their turns guiding you into how depraved it could truly be.

“I trust you.” The manner in which Jon could ignore how achingly hard he was seemed to be a skill few men had you suspected. Guiding you to the bed, at first, you thought you understood what he thought you would be apprehensive about.

Jon laid out on the bed, gently guiding to straddle him. It made sense, you didn't feel confident in this position. You already didn't look flattering but this did not help, and you knew it showed off how utterly untalented you were in pleasing a man. It was embarrassing, you should have full control this way but all it did was expose how unappealing of a bed warmer you were.

Hands gently resting on his chest, you inhale a bit with a nervous look in your eye. “Jon,”

But his hands at your hips prompted you to move away from his cock, and your brows furrowed in an instant. Voice turning a bit stern, Jon beckoned you. “Come here.” You did not get what he was doing, or how this could possibly end up being a position he could make love to you in. Gentle promptings he moved you higher against his torso, “There we go. Come on, darling.”

But only the last minute did you realize, and you tried moving away from him in an instant. He called your name, but you moved away enough he could sit up better as you shook your head. Curling a bit in on yourself, now you felt such an immense embarrassment it grew up your chest and into your cheeks. “No, Jon- why would you-”

He thought of simply moving you back, but knew using his strength against you and forcing your hips up was a bad idea. Instead, his voice was a bit rough as if a lecture. “Because this will feel good for you, and me.”

Shaking your head, you frowned a bit. “Jon, no, that will not be good for you. That's horrible.”

But he only smiled, that bright charming smile that could melt you in an instant. “And who told you that? Your Septa?” Your eyes rolled to the side, grumbling at him to not make fun of you, but he let his back flop back onto the sheets. His hands still on your hips but now running up and down them in a bit more of a soothing manner. “I promise you, it'll be more then good for me.”

Turning away from his gaze, you felt utterly humiliated.

Jons tone was comforting, not with judgment. “What is it you think you won't like about it?”

The silence was deafening, he wouldn't budge or say another word until you answered this one you knew. Your finger tips twitching against his chest, but Jon lay back comfortably looking up at you with ease. The discomfort sat heavy in your stomach. “I already don't understand what you like about..”

Rambling off, Jon filled in the blanks for you without hesitating. “What I like about tasting you?” Still not looking at him you gave a small nod, and thus you missed the smile. “That's easy, I love doing it because I love the way you taste.” Oh the wide eyed fluster you had before going back to not at all looking near his way. Hands smoothing up and down your hips, he was patient. “So, you can take away worrying I don't enjoy your taste, what else is there? Is it the way you think you look on top of me?”

If you could get even more flustered you would pass out. “If I looked-”

Cutting you off, Jon was far too nonchalant in such a raw honesty. “You look beautiful, especially like this. What else?” Once more you said nothing, this time the insecurity sunk a lot deeper. It sunk right down to an innocent day in his chambers in Winterfell as you told him you were worried he might not enjoy being with you because you didn't know what to do. “Oh darling,”

You'd pull away if you wouldn't instantly miss the comforting feeling of his bare skin against yours. He reached up, leaning on one elbow to allow his hand to tilt your gaze back to him by your cheek. A small shrug on your shoulders, trying to play yourself off as uncaring and failing. “It's fine, I'm upset over nothing. Let's just do it, I can get over it-”

“I'm not doing this unless you tell me you want to.” Looking back at him, you hesitated to say it now that you felt the fluster drain a little. His calmness easing your heart down, and now you felt foolish to say it as if he had ever expressed dissatisfaction before.

Saying it felt childish, but you said it. “I don't know what to do.”

The charming smile on Jons face and the way he let his thumb trail over your cheek and bottom lip, he was as blunt as you had spoken it. “Good thing about this, all you need to do is enjoy yourself. But it's up to you, we won't do this if you really don't like the idea.”

Watching him in quiet for a moment before a much more genuine ask, “It won't be uncomfortable for you?” Telling you not at all, you sighed. Palms flat against his chest before inhaling. Nodding, you found the bravery passed the hesitation in your heart. “If It does-”

“If it becomes uncomfortable for either of us, we'll stop. And I'll lay you down and taste you the way I always do. Alright?” Nodding again, you sighed out a deep breathe.

Not confident enough to watch, your eyes slipped closed, as you let him guide your hips up. Both knees moving to beside his head, hands firm on your hips as he leaned up. Your hands initially tense and useless by your sides, a spark hit you, causing one to reach up to steady your almost jump, gripping the headboard.

The quick feeling of Jon nudging at your clit with his nose took you off guard until he then pressed a lingering kiss to the small bundle of nerves. A gasp high pitched leaving you, as his hands tightened to prevent you from moving away. Small, gentle brushes of his tongue stole your breath and had you seizing up from the desire it so easily drew out.

Licks one after another just to work you up and your chest tightened at how easy it was for you to want to cry out already, but Jon was only beginning. In his mind, you had offered yourself up as a feast and he now could keep you glued to his mouth as long as he wanted. You were so much easier to hold down against his mouth from this position.

He was desperately hoping you would like this, because Jon was fairly certain outside of gently hovering over you with your back against the sheets as Jon would slip inside of you, this was by far, the best way he's ever had anything of you and it wasn't even close.

Soaking your core, Jons tongue ran more flat against your clit, kiss turning almost into gently sucking at the sparking nerves and he only increased the intensity the more you writhed in his hold. You wanted to say something, anything, but there was something so unsure and unknown in you about how he went about this that kept you on an edge. How casual he was able to coax you into it and how tightly he was holding your hips. Bruises shaped just like his hands would no doubt be contrasting notably in colour against your skin tomorrow.

In another life you were the experienced one, but despite all what could have been seen as proof, it was in the contrast between you both which made you feel so new at this everytime. You and Robb both knew he was the experienced one, and neither of you shied away from that fact, he would use his greater experience to guide you with confidence. Now it was so much more complicated, for you and Jon both and yet he took the reigns as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was as if no time had passed between that day he tried to guide you in his chambers. You still the unsure girl with far too many preconceived notions about sex.

But what was once guidance from older women who implored you to view such enjoyment as the sort of behaviour men only find in a brothel, it was the creeping words of a man many months dead still spitting vitriol in your ear about how little choice you had and how the only reason you should enjoy it, was that maybe it would be less painful.

Jon though, he almost got angry when you would try and deny yourself the enjoyment. He hated when you tried to make it all about him, even though in your mess of a mind it would be so much easier to please him and move on. But instead, Jon's hands kept tight on you, but as if you were not engaging in your own pleasure enough, he seemed to get impatient.

Leaning up as much as he could from where he lay, you could feel his facial hair, thick and coarse as it was rubbing up against the sensitive, raw skin between your thighs. His mouth was warm and only adding to the growing wetness between your legs, but the dry and rough scratching of his facial hair made such a contrast that you swallowed heavily. Attempting to contain what felt like a growing whimper.

Not letting up, Jon licked more small, tight patterns against your clit. Keeping on one as it burned through you, and only when the coil begun to tighten some what inside, did he ease up and find a new manner to run his tongue over. Not even letting you go close to the edge before he drew you away from it, your hand trying to hold the wooden railing of the headboard tightening meekly, your other gripping the sheet beside his head unsure what to do.

Teeth giving the slightest of grazes along your clit, a cry jumped from your mouth just as your hips tried to jump from the sudden sharpness. Jon though, ran his tongue almost gently along you, soaking the offence with a soft brushing lick before going back to the more rough treatment. Back and forth his mouth dragged you from a soaking caress to a bladed edge and your tingling clit the wet stone keeping his sword sharp. Just like one too, Jon controlled exactly how he ran it along, and how sharp he wanted to keep.

Your insides were twisting like the moulting of lava, burning as hot and yet it stuttered your breathe to something high pitched, hand in the sheets beside him twisting to where the strain in your knuckles could be seen. Small begs of his name were all you afforded yet, only adding to the noise of ravenous desire in Jon knowing he could do more. He knew he could drag much more sounds from you, but he was playing a game of patience.

Pressing a kiss to the bundle of nerves, you closed your eyes with a shaking inhale. Trying and failing to move from his touch, the pit in your core growing and growing and your eyes slipped closed again as the desire twisted through your blood stream. Trying to infect your nerves and flowing all over like an illness, only the cause and concern was the same, how close you were. Muscles tensing and straining in his touch, your thighs shook trying to keep mostly upright as off of him as possible.

Smaller presses of his lips were given with a soothing softness, but it had you cry out unable to choose between leaning away or giving in. Teetering on an edge that had you mutter softly without giving thought to the soft nothings you were saying so gently. Muttering pleases and his name so gently that Jon couldn't tell if it was making him want to show you mercy, or drag you down further into the depraved depths which his darker mind fantasized about.

You could be so innocent the closer you were to an orgasm, relying on him to either let you or obeying without a fight if he took it away. And some days he couldn't tell what he liked more. Giving you too much and exhausting your senses from pleasure, or taking everything from you at the last minute and making you that much more needy for him but trusting to only let him give it to you when he thought you deserved it.

The things Jons already convinced you to do? Deplorable, your better more restrained instincts looked at you in dismay over what you'd wind up begging for Jon to do. You knew there was so much you didn't know about, but the more his warm tongue dragged up and down your clit with a needing hunger, the more you knew the list of what you wouldn't let him do to you, was provocatively short.

Pulling you closer and closer to that orgasm, your head dropped as you felt that strain burning between your legs from its origins in your core. “Please, Jon. Please, gods, I'll do anything. Anything you want, I'll do it please don't..”

Humming against you, Jon once more moved his mouth to you more, and once more teetered you at that precipice of pain only he could make you beg for. Teeth against your clit before sucking at it as he would the sensitive buds of your breasts. Gasping with no air, you seized a bit in his touch, but just as you felt that twisting coil begging to snap, did Jon change up again.

Though, this time, whatever desire of a meal you thought he was giving such warm soaking attention to your clit of, was nothing. In a grunt, Jon removed his mouth and turned to the side. Just somewhat, sinking his teeth into your upper thigh, but instead of the jolt of fear in memory, only a buzzing in your head making your muscles weak.

Moving his teeth upward along your thighs, Jon pulled away just enough you felt his breath exhaling against your soaked core, and yet, just as you felt your muscles loosen from how stinging being taken from your finish felt, did Jon once more find new paths.

Jon while running his tongue flat along your clit, grabbed both hips tighter and in one go? Jon humiliated you, dragging your core down to fuse his mouth. Forcing you to practically find seat on his mouth and tongue, one hand only leaving you long enough to take the hand beside him, and drag it into the loose curls around him.

Grasping your hip again, he wrapped the other around your back and perked your back up running his hand up and down your spine. Begging his name, you knew you were soaking his mouth but Jons tongue, hot and flat ran thick along your folds. Clit down to your cunt and a growl left his chest at the slightest hint of a taste.

So much of you was already coating his tongue the moment he dragged you down onto it with no room to hover away from it. Your hand in his hair trying to hold without keeping too tight, but Jons growling need himself vibrated against what already was a dizzying pleasure inside you. Head dropping down, but only lasting but a single peek.

Barley anything of his enjoyment was visible from such an angle, but it was too much. It was far too intimate having to look down and see his black curls between your legs knowing he was giving you no room to let him breathe. Running his tongue flat from your clit and back along your folds, Jon finally had enough.

He wanted to be selfish.

The hand on your spine slunk down, grasping one cheek of your ass tightly as you gasped. The other holding your hip down against his mouth, Jon sunk his tongue deep inside your cunt and once more the rawness against your thighs, how hot his mouth was and how much you soaked him still. Dragging what he could of his tongue along a wall to make you beg his name with a shaking cry.

“Please- oh fuck,” Your head all but falling back with begs high into the cold night sky, your voice was breathless as your muscles all tensed around a burning feeling hot like a white star twisting to oblivion inside of you. “Your so good, feels so good, Jon please.” Jons hands tightened as he kept you now much more by force against his mouth with a growl if you even tried to move away from his mouth desperately drinking from you. “Please let me cum, just once, please, I'll be good..I'll be so good for you, Jon...please- I'll never ask you again, I promise.”

Even through the raging noise in Jons head at how on a bordering feeling of feral he felt, he knew you likely weren't really even aware how much you began to ramble. But you did, you rambled and begged and promised in such a breathless high pitched whine, that Jon was going to hold you to it.

You promised to be good, and he was going to expect it, but his greed was as strong as your needy cries.

Vibrating deep in your core did something inaudible growl from Jons mouth, but his tongue gathered every soaking taste of what your cunt gave to him that you couldn't stop to think of anything you were saying. His name only what you recognized, but you could've asked him or promised anything and as long as he didn't take this one away from you, you'd do whatever you promised him.

Burning bright, your thighs strained in a shake, Jons fingertips digging roughly into your ass that had you almost weak enough to ask for one thing. But you didn't, and his hot mouth dragged you right up to that edge and kept you forced against his mouth to drink as soon as that coil snapped.

A loud beg of his name cried into the air like a melody, your vision dark and head falling back so lightheaded that you couldn't even stop begging of such pleasure to realize Jons own growling and grunts had turned to greedy moans as he drank every bit of what your wetness gave to him.

His other hand at your waist slid back. Jon sitting up only enough so that as both hands grasped your ass, he brought you further into his mouth as groans escaped shamelessly at your taste. Just as you felt nothing but his soaked, fat tongue lick along your cunt and inside you to taste every chance you gifted him, just as you did begs of his name so sweetly.

Were Jon a tad more cruel, he may have kept you there for so much longer but there was something he was struggling to ignore. Behind you, Jons cock was leaking seed of his own as it turned red with need and twitched and throbbed free in the air. The cold not enough to be able to grant you mercy of his size but noticeable enough for Jon that he had only one place to fix such a feeling. Dragging your orgasm with his tongue ensuring none of you went anywhere but his taste, Jon did not stop until your muscles around him relaxed as did the begging of his name.

Your breathing was so heavy, and your cunt was such a mess of your own wetness and Jons saliva drinking with a purposeful sloppiness. He pulled away only enough he could raise you off him to inhale any for air. Once more holding you in place over him as you seemed to let out a surprised noise as if he wanted you to move, but Jon shook his head.

His hot breath dancing along the soaked wetness you both let him drink of from such a feast.

Murmuring against you, the sensation making you writhe as the aftershocks glistened against you, head so heavy you almost couldn't hear Jon. But the gentle tone did not match the depravity of what he had just done. “Switch places with me. Lay down, alright?”

Grey eyes watching with a flicker up to you, you nodded with a bite to your lip but followed his lead to guide you. Your legs shaking as he ran a hand up and down your thigh, “Easy now, slowly,”

Spreading your legs almost indecently wide the moment Jon had you on your back, he followed the action you gave him by moving in between them. Hands now shoving your legs a little more apart against the bed as he hovered over you. Lips shining with what you embarrassingly knew was you, but Jon took a moment to gently watch you still shake in the aftershocks. “Thank you..”

His eyes fluttered closed, brow furrowing under it as he exhaled shakily. His hands pressed beside your head on either side, tight as he fisted the sheets under you, muttering your name in a dark warning you did not quite fully grasp the need of. Grasping your jaw, Jon leaned down to capture your lips without any further thought.

Angling you to lean up to his mercy, your hands ran along his chest reaching his shoulders and back of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls as you felt him deepen the kiss with more of an urgent greed. Only for a moment did he barley pull back, saliva trailing between your lips as the grey was barley visible in his eyes as he looked down what he could of you pressed to close. Rasping low, words almost slurred together in a heavy need. “Don't ever be nervous about letting me taste you, you're perfect.”

Before you could protest, Jon clearly read your mind, pushing you back into the bed with another kiss, rough and biting down to your bottom lip. Bare hips rutting into yours, his cock was so hard against you, begging to be paid attention to. One leg moved to rise up his hip, Jon shifting with you to wrap an arm around your thigh and hitched it up more.

Your other loose but lost, slunk a bit up to somewhat try and wrap your ankle around what you could reach of his calf as if to steady your overwhelmed mind. Letting your lips part, Jon slipped his tongue into your mouth, brushing along your tongue just as eager. The hand on your jaw sliding to cup the back of your head, keeping your mouths together without parting.

Jon forced your taste heavy on his tongue, to make you capture a bit of it. Your hands in his hair tightened as did a needy sound leave deep in your chest. Heart racing each time you felt Jons cock brush against your core but never caring enough to commit. He yanked your thigh up higher, almost trying to move it with him. Pulling back from your lips suddenly, a dark glaze over his eyes at the swiftness you tried chasing his kiss to no avail. His arm moving to all but shove the leg in his hold as much against your chest as he could, letting the other stay wide in contrast around his calf.

Looking down between your bodies with a rough sigh, Jon trailed them to your scar, up to your breasts and hardly managed to get to your lips before something inside him snapped. The hand behind your head flying down, you barley had a moment to register as he stared down at you with dark eyes. The feeling of Jon moving so the leaking tip of his cock just barley prodded your entrance. Looking down to what your bodies were too close to see, he flew back up to watch you with dark eyes, and a complete silence.

Jon tilted his head with the slightest of frowns and only in the last second did a command register in your mind. Not daring to disobey, you kept your eyes on his, hands in his hair falling to hold more firmly at his shoulders, his eyes barley narrowed and darkened as he pushed inside you.

A single, beautifully smooth thrust, he was as deep as you could take him and pushed inside as slow as it could torment you. Eyes dark and his face almost unchanged the whole time, staring you down as your own tried to keep calm but eyes fluttered in a gasp at the stretch. Cock so thick that taking all of it burned in a way that had your back arching up into him.

Jon only managed to slide out perhaps half way, before he slammed back inside you. The jostle having your head fly back to cry out, only for him to mutter angrily under his breath. Head dropping to your chest, that time Jon didn't look back. Cock so smooth and soaked, sliding back out of you before sliding back in. Shoulders and arms almost shaking as was the breathing coming from him heavy.

Slowly his cock slid in and out of you so perfectly, you felt all air leave your lungs, but it seemed to take much effort for him to go so slow. No other thrusts as rough as his first, but he dragged his cock along your walls as your nails dug into his shoulder and upper back. Trying to wrap them around, your eyes were closed with whispers of his name in nothing but desire.

Jon didn't look that way. Every slide of his cock inside of you, his muscles tensed, his eyes closed as his head was dropped. Curls dancing along your breasts, nothing guided Jon but the harmony you moved together with as he was inside of you. As if he was trying to hold back with more intensity then it was taking to make love to you.

Burning inside you, it flooded your veins and swam along every inch of your body, you tried coaxing him back to you. “Jon, please, come here,” You were fighting the pain he gave you just being inside of you, but you soaked him every single time he cock slid deep inside. Something in your heart fought against the racing desire making your mind a fogging mess wanting him to come back to you but he wouldn't.

In and out, you tried gently moving with him hoping to lull him into the same floating feeling twisting inside of you, but he instead shoved your leg as far up as he could stretch it. Sitting up better, Jon now more kneeling between your legs but having refused to leave your warmth for a single second. His other hand grabbed your free leg. Yanking it away from him and where it fell, both hands shoved you as wide as he could. Staring down at you with something angry brewing behind each thrust. Accent so thick, words so unintelligible, you knew he had hardly registered he said anything as his eyes closes shut after. Thrusts pulling such an obscene wet sound each time it was followed by a rough pound of his hips against yours. “I should've fucked you until it took that first night. I hate that I didn't.”

No words came as your heart jumped along with the screaming if pleasure begging with the pain and sting to stop, knowing stopping was the last thing you actually wanted. Your hands barley able to even touch him, he was so pulled away from you, and each pound grew rougher and rougher. His eyes slinking down to watch himself sink in and out of your cunt, Jon looked almost angry.

Before you could say a word in your hazy mind, Jon kept rambling, kept sounding like he spoke without registering he had said anything substantial. “I wanted it to take so badly, fuck- more badly then I wanted to be alive, I wanted to put a child in you that night. I wanted to force you to let me.”

Raising his eyes up, he found yours wide and innocent. Shaking his head, Jon's teeth grit as he thrusted harder, not giving you more chances to speak, he kept letting his deep husk fight over top of the slapping of his skin against yours. Fighting to not look down and watch with a dark, obsessive feeling as your cunt took his cock so perfectly. Still his voice didn't stop. “This is all I've ever wanted, wanted you to be the mother of my children, make you my wife..” A growl mixing with a groan left as his body shivered through the need. “I can't do this without you, I won't..” Another shuddering groan left him, his head dropping as he fucked into you harder. “Promise me you'll stay, promise me I won't lose you again.”

Crying his name, he barley looked up at you from his eyes trained on where his cock was pounding in and out of you. Eyes barley keeping open, your heart full and senses all overloaded you hardly could recall anything around you but him. “I'll stay, I promise, Jon. I'll stay, I'm yours. For good.”

Something in him swallowed heavily. An emotion so close to the surface on him, Jon shook his head before grabbing your hands. Pushing them back against the bed, Jons hips still pounding so roughly into yours. Fingers interlocking tightly, he held you as tight as his cock was rough inside of you, eyes wide as he looked down at you, something so strangely innocent contrasted to how he fucked you. “None of this belonged to her, it never should've been hers, I'd have rather died without having this then letting her ever have a piece of it.”

Voice stammering, your hearty was heavy as it was racing with each pound of his cock. Shaking your head but he barley met your eyes. “You have me now, as I have you, that's all that matters.” Dropping down, Jon pressed his lips to yours, hands still intertwined with his, hips still fucking into you smooth as he was roughly but he kissed you like a man still about to fall apart.

But he was, wasn't he? Hardly able to think over the twisting inside you as it was painful, but enough sense came to you as every desperation poured into you from his kiss. He was falling apart.

He was a bastard, nothing was his, no future was ever supposed to be this. He walked away from the only life he's ever known to one where the first time any told him any of this could be his, was a pretty hair of red forcing it all on a man against his will. Only to come back and find out everything he never had, all died without him anyways.

Being here, a King with a home and a kingdom and a wife and a family, and now growing between you two was life of his very own making. None of it was supposed to be his, and Jon spent his whole life knowing it was out of any reach. But it was real, it was between you both and only months would prove him it continues to be real.

Yet, as he kissed you, as his hips rutted rough and desperate into yours with a pounding slap, it was as if the moment this was over he'd go back to none of it being real. Kissing him back with as much gentle love as you could against his roughness, you moved against him. Together, locked in embrace you gave Jon the loving gentle he was struggling to see as allowed.

Pulling from your lips, Jon tried to go slow enough to press his forehead against yours, but your scratching voice beat his to the chase. “You deserve this Jon, all of this.” He tried shaking his head, but you tried to lean up as much as you could, judging his nose with yours lovingly. “You do, I promise. You've always deserved this, and now we can have it, together.”

Hands tightening holding yours, his jaw clenched as he tried to slow his cocks thrusts down to something suddenly incredible in it's slow speed. Pulling back to look at you, but instead of the angry desperation, was just Jon. The Jon you've always loved as bright and genuine as he always had been, and nudged your nose with his back. “And I promise, we'll be here to love our son. We'll both be here. I'll protect you, him, all three of us.”

Barley managing out against the floating in your chest of rough to gentle and slow, “Son?”

Were any to see, none would have guessed such a bright smile came from a man with his cock deep inside of a woman. “It's a boy, I know it is.” Shaking your head best you could, you wanted to hold back the sting but right away it boiled over and tears fell down with your own shaking head smiling.

Pressing a kiss to his lips, you pressed another, then one more trying to seek out his cheek finally for a fourth. “Been thinking about this a lot?”

“My whole life.”

Jon didn't give you any more thought, just leaned down, no longer angry and pounding as he fucked you. But slow and gentle, making sure you felt every inch of him and he felt every tight soak around his cock without missing a thing. Kissing you once more, only a gentle loving one shared as if innocent lovers but yet you were soaking his cock as he was burning your walls on the inside.

The second he felt you clench, you whined something meek into his lips, but he didn't pick up, or even let go of your hands or kiss. Just a gentle thrust as deep as he could before almost pulling out entirely as you finally seized up. A flood of water bursting through and splashing across your body with a fire that screamed only of Jons existence and nothing more. Begging his name in meaningless cries, Jon barley thrusted into you so slowly and gently twice more before he shook above you.

Sinking his cock deep, Jon felt you clench tightly around him so warm and soaking around him and he groaned your name into your kiss the moment he felt it become too much. His seed spilling deep inside of you, thrusting slowly as if he could still find a way to give you a daughter too.

Yet nothing perverse or debauched sat between you both as his seed, close to hot, spilled so thick as deep as he could inside of you. Jons lips didn't leave yours and didn't push you any further. Your hips moving together as long as he filled and filled you.

Maybe it took a lot longer for your peaks to settle, maybe your orgasms only lasted seconds and something within you wrapped that time to feel like hours. But that time, Jon didn't pull out of you, but before anything else was said, or before you could think he'd leave you, Jon turned both of you onto your side. Pulling you thigh up and open more to fit his hips, and his hand then wrapping around your front to cover your stomach and scar best he could.

Jon knew the scar would never go away, but he'd watch it move along with your growing stomach, and such an image was one he knew now, would kill more then ever, to ensure he could see and protect.

Neither of you really even came down from your ends by the time Jon gently laid you on your side, but you both fell asleep at the same time for once. Connected in body, connected in the minds of bringing him back, and in the son Jon knew was growing inside of you.

He knew, now begun the true test. More then ever, he needed to keep you safe. As terrified of anything happening to you he was, Jon knew the closer you would draw to five months with child, Jon knew he was going to have to be the strong one. You brought him down to earth tonight, but it wouldn't be many moons from now, that Jon would know, you'd feel the terror unlike any understood.

But Jon was yours as you were his, he was going to have to understand. This was not the ease of your love and life with Robb. This time, you were carrying Jons child, and more fear of losing that child then any mother could possibly comprehend.

Falling asleep along with you, Jon's heart begun to settle for the first time in weeks.

Creeping down the corridor, once more the illuminated light at the end of the tunnel was not one spoken of from death but rather a strangeness calling to the human eyes behind the wolves. The power had called to many, its source ran roots deep within the world and no one spot was its origin. It tied together in unison but was never stronger then in the snow and ice.

It had not been cut down, but fashioned into something else which did not operate as the rest of the castles holding similar fortresses. This held a face, and writing. Something which had no answer of why, just as some asked whether or not the Children of the Forest had carved faces into the great Weirwoods, or if they had always had faces, so they would always have eyes.

It was when a young boy, hair growing long and shaggy, was brought towards a tree just like it, when it started truly this time. Crippled and crawling towards it as he was gently placed down into the snow. As soon as his bare hand reached out and touched the bark, did his eyes go white and connect with a power calling to him. Few had such a reach, not the children, not man, only a select few were so intertwined with such paths of eyes that they could connect to another so directly.

Most were gifted it by those three eyes. Eyes which all could connect, seek each other out if need be, and yet it was still not known by the boy when he was called, what he was going to find when he got to where he was destined to go.

None ever knew, but all who had been shown something with such power had always come. To the crow with three eyes watching over all with the sight tied through the world, but also to the powers which came before it. Afterall, the world existed long before an old man with red eyes and a mark along his face in the shape of a raven.

For thousands of years did they sleep. Until it grew and grew, and suddenly that power drew forth such strength from the frozen lands that it rattled powers opposite of it across the world. Eternally at war, the darkness could exist without the light, but light could not exist without first coming from the darkness. The dark was where it came from, and yet the dark had fought the light all the same.

The world had changed as they slept beneath the ice. The light grew brighter and hotter until it threatened to overtake every inch of the lands with fire and blood. But a war was not battles and swords alone, war here was not the way in which man considered it. Warnings were given, and those who chose the unnatural path the light promised, paid the price of not heading that warning.

Yet it was not enough. The darkness had shown man what would happen should they force the balance into fire and blood, and now they begged more. So they watched. Their eyes were tied into the Weirwoods, and they could see without asking. The crow with three eyes did not take sides but this creature and his kind, did.

As the human eyes behind a direwolf walked one path, it had been a very long time since another path was taken by the creature. Its own destination not dissimilar.

It stood tall and old but strong and bright against the darkness and shimmering green illuminating behind it. But they had seen enough of the light refusing to give up its stronghold within the world. They had known what would happen as war once more would ravage the realms of men. The price to pay for what they did. The rest saw no other path, they saw what they needed to do for the darkness, but they were not with eyes tied to the world, as the one walking towards the sacred sight had. This one had knowledge they did not, could not.

The old man, the young crippled boy, the crow with three eyes would not be enough anymore. The dark and light would tear the world apart before the crow became ready. But, the darkness within the blood of the boy, was the same in this man that the creature was watching all on their own.

They had come and they had fought and taken. There was no match for such a brutal fight. But it was necessary. Man had many warnings before, and this would be their final one before they begun their true work. The place men had called Hardhome was where this creature met him for the first time. And from the instance they saw him, they knew this one was different.

He took the battle as a threat, and he should have. It was a display that one of him was no match against them. The sword in his hand during the midst of fighting, collided with one in the hands of the creatures own kind. Which should not have been possible. The weapons of men were nothing to then, but this man had swung and his sword did not break or shatter. Before the creature had a chance to comprehend what was about to happen, the man had knocked the blade away and cut through their body, shattering them to the wind.

But there was no glory nor triumph in his aftermath, falling to his knees in the same spot he stood realizing the weight of what he had done.

The light in the man’s blood was dim, hardly overtaking the darkness, but the creature had descended from the cliffs above and walked onto the docks which the man and all the rest had sailed away from. But the creature? The darkness was their existence, and it connected them, binded them. As if using their own person as a conduit for all their power, all had drawn the darkness out and up beside the creature rose the thousands of dead only they just cut down.

He did nothing and said nothing. He watched, and the creature knew then, they would continue to watch him in return. But the realms of men were chaos, and they watched death befall him.

Yet? A woman whose blood radiating so brightly it blinded them, she brought him back. The light in her, reignited the dim light within his blood and yet the darkness in his blood dimmed down her blinding brightness. As if fire encased their persons, and the ice thus covered over it. Protecting them both, his power now shared with her.

But, the crow with three eyes was not yet finished his own work. The crippled boy granting her power just as the old man had others before. But her and the mans powers were already connected through the blood needed to bring him back. And so the power granted in her, too strengthened his. The world was putting those into place whom would be needed most in the war to come.

But the creature was not one without any reason. They knew that the darkness and the light both needed those to serve them, and those who served, could not be ignorant any longer.

So they walked and finally did the sacred sight come into view. The Weirwood was strong and tall, and as blueish skin of milk white touched the bark, so did their eyes turn white just like it.

But it was when not a hand, but the gentle scrape of a wolfs paw against the tall gate with its carved face met the surface so did the minds attached.

Visions shown which both could see. The blood of war, the mans own death through his now beating heart, a dense land of men and castles as a large shadow flew over top of it, an iron seat drenched in white as the snows around them covered every surface in the great sized room.

Bloods, birds, crypts, her, and yet finally came the ice. The snow and the darkness which they were born from. Nothing spoken, only a destination shown. It was a calling further then any had asked of men before.

They needed to know if the light shared between he and his mate had overtook the natural darkness in his blood. In this vision between the two, did the Great Wolf stand before them. Kneeling down their crystal blue eyes met ones of red, and it was sealed.

They would come, they knew it.

As Ghosts paw fell back again to the ground, did the direwolf return to his own mind alone and, run from the carved face of the gate under the Nightfort into the room Jon was in.

Now gasping for air as silently as he could without startling you awake, he and Ghosts eyes met. Jons breathing evened out, beckoning the direwolf silently to more by his side. There was no use Jon trying to dissuade him from climbing up onto the bed, regardless how much space he took up.

Turning more to his side, Jon let a hand tenderly come down to run along your arm and down your side as the grey in his eyes were wide and bright with something he had no words for to explain. What they promised waiting for him at the end, Jon did not know, but something heavy ate away at his heart as he watched you sleep in peace.

Tormund was right. The answers lay out there, but one more person beyond Jon and Ghost alone, were being told to go out there and find them.

And it was that realization that had Jon lay awake, consumed by it for days.

[love-bokumono-fics]

Fresh Crops! October 2 - October 8, 2023

This week's newest fics and chapter updates for Harvest Moon and Story of Seasons on AO3!

LUST - by kopipuna; WIP, 10/?, 50k; Language: Bahasa Indonesia

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: F/M Fandom: Friends of Mineral Town Relationship: Claire the Farmer/Gray; Characters: Claire, Gray, Duke, Doug | Dudley, Ann the Innkeeper | Ran, Mary the Librarian | Marie, Zack, Brandon, Cliff, Anna, Rick, Karen Additional Tags: Romance, Sex, Drama & Romance, Friends With Benefits, Psychological Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Social Issues, Social drama Summary: Ada pendatang baru yang membeli kebun bobrok di sana. Sebuah keputusan paling bodoh dan ekstra tolol, menurut Gray, lelaki 24 tahun yang sudah mengidap kebosanan akut. Gray sendiri sudah mengidam ingin hengkang dari tempat ini, kota sialan ini, juga segala hidup monoton di dalamnya. Apa yang dipikirkan pendatang itu? Terserah apa yang dimaui si pendatang, Gray akan berusaha tidak peduli dan jauh-jauh saja darinya. Takut ketularan tolol. Namun Duke muncul dengan rencana paling sialan di dunia. Gara-gara rencana konyolnya, Gray jadi terjebak dalam situasi bersetubuh dengan perempuan yang dikata-katainya tolol. Bukan hanya sekali, tapi berkali-kali, mungkin sampai ratusan kali. Sialannya, tubuh pendatang ini enak sekali. Namun meski seenak apa pun mereka merasakan persetubuhan, hubungan mereka hanya boleh sebatas ini.

The Egg Thief - by dicelady20; WIP, 12/19, 45k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: F/M Fandoms: Dragon Ball GT/Z, Friends of Mineral Town Characters: Trunks Briefs (DB), Claire the Farmer Additional Tags: Harvest Moon, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, Romance, Slow Burn, Martial Arts, Cussing, Crossover, Healing, city vibes, dark scenes, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Mild Gore, References to Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons Games, Supernatural Elements, First Meetings, story of seasons, Superheroes Summary: Claire decides to give the city life another chance, but as she does, she is haunted by her nightmares & her past. Mr. CEO of Capsule Corp., Trunks, is haunted by something else in his life; juggling between his CEO work & saving Earth from vindictive dragons. As their two worlds collide, what could possibly go wrong?

–but only if you ask me to - by atbash; Complete, 1/1, 3.3k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Gen Fandom: Harvest Moon DS Relationship: Pete | Jack & Witch Princess | Majo-sama; Characters: Pete | Jack, Witch Princess Additional Tags: Injury, Vomiting, Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Old Friends, Complicated Relationships, canon-typical gratuitous use of greek characters to denote magical incantation, Full Moon Summary: Pete took a deep, full breath through his nose. No response, and she'd get bored, right? That was how the Harvest Goddess handled it, usually. Right, of course, because ignoring the Witch turned out all peachy-keen for the Harvest Goddess.

"Go do whatever you want and see if I'll care about it." - by Anonymous; Complete, 1/1, 2.5k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; Category: Other Fandom: Animal Parade Characters: Gill, Hamilton, Perry, Bo, Owen Additional Tags: Domestic Violence, Homophobia, Threats of Violence, Death Threats, Daddy Issues, Perry is Bri'ish, Gill is half British (Hamilton's side) and half French (His mom's side), Bo is German Summary: In which Hamilton confronts his son about his homosexuality.

Don't Eat Flowers - by Maymist; Complete, 5/5, 11k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/F Fandoms: A Wonderful Life Relationship: Nami/Pony | Aya | Jill; Characters: Nami, Pony | Aya | Jill, Rock, Reader Additional Tags: Lesbian Character, Inspired by Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons, Mentions of Other Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons Games, Blue Feather, Romance, LGBTQ Character, POV Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship Summary: The new farmer girl in Forgotten Valley attempts to give Nami some flowers to, er… totally give the hint that she's romantically interested in the very much reserved tomboyish red-head. Nami completely jumps to conclusions and misunderstands though, and that's where this silly romance begins. What kind of other madness will ensue?

Degausser - by JillOfAllTrades__x; WIP, 11/?, 60k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Categories: F/M, Multi Fandoms: Friends of Mineral Town Characters: Pete | Jack, Claire the Farmer, Ann the Innkeeper | Ran, Gray, Cliff, Jennifer, Popuri, Karen, Kai, Mineral Town Residents Additional Tags: Redemption, Fresh Start, Loneliness, Angst, Self-Loathing, Self-Acceptance, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Self-Harm, Multiple Pairings Summary: Those that live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones – but that’s all Jack and Claire ever knew up until a series of half-lit cruel intentions landed them on the ferry to the desolate island of Mineral Town. After all, it was certainly easier to cast judgment unto others than it was to face the skeletons in your own closet. And surely no one would have an ill word to say about a brooding playboy and an immature party girl taking over the once-great farm that founded and funded their small town, right?

The Moon and Sun Dynamic - by SinMints; WIP, 16/21, 40k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: M/M Fandom: Animal Parade Relationships: Luke/Wizard, chase/maya(background), Candace/Julius (background); Characters: Luke, Wizard, Kathy, Jin, Dal, Bo, Maya | Mai, Chase | Chihaya, Julius, Candace Additional Tags: the story of this ship is hella long, wizard has some social anxiety issues, lukes an idiot ofc, Rating changed for Language, Slow Burn, the slowest burn, Minor Character Death Mention, Alcohol, ykw im gonna say it- its the autism/adhd dynamic Summary: The moon and sun, two beings destined to never meet. However, a turn of fate brings them together one day and... the sun's kind of annoying... and the moon's kinda spooky.

From Dusk to Dawn - by SinMints; WIP, 2/5, 5.6k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: M/M Fandoms: Animal Parade Relationship: Wizard Gale | Mahoutsukai/Luke; Characters: Luke the Carpenter, Wizard Gale Additional Tags: *NOTE: Some tags have been removed to keep Safe For Tumblr. Please see full tag list on AO3* Porn With Plot, tags will be added as chapters are added, Body Worship, First Time, Luke is very serious about consent, magic shenanigans Summary: This work is part of a series. The Moon and Sun Dynamic is the main fic, and these are just snippets of NSFW scenes that happen during or between chapters. Not much of what happens here will make sense without reading the parent fic, sorry! As with TMaSD- this will be EXTREMELY slow and sporadic in updates- writing is not my passion but we gotta cook. This work will be updated when the corresponding chapter from the parent fic is updated.

The Hearts of Leaf Valley - by SymphonicFantasia; Complete, 25/25, 3.8k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Gen Fandoms: Hero of Leaf Valley Characters: Toy, Gwen, Dia, Lyla the Florist, Gina, Katie Additional Tags: Character Study, Fluff, Angst, Emotions Summary: Everyone in Leaf Valley had their own feelings. For each one of them, different feelings related to different things or even different people. And this is their tale for each one of them.

The Strong Willed Gwen - by SymphonicFantasia; WIP, 9/100, <1k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Gen Fandoms: Save the Homeland, Magical Melody, Hero of Leaf Valley Relationship: Bob | Kazan/Gwen | Sara; Character: Gwen Additional Tags: Animal Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Angst, Romance, Character Study, Character Development Summary: She was aware that she was a violent girl from time to time; it was no surprise to any of the townsfolk. That was just who she was. The strong-willed, horse loving, Inn cooking Gwen—and nothing more.

A Succession of Stones - by Dinomilkshakes; Complete, 11/11, 46k

Rating: Explicit; Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Categories: Other, Gen Fandoms: A Wonderful Life Relationships: Rock/Reader-Insert, Lumina/Gustafa; Characters: Rock, Takakura, Vesta, Matthew, Cecilia, Ramona, Sebastian, Ruby | Lou, Tei, Nami, Dr. Baddoch, Gustafa, Lumina, Molly, Cody Additional Tags: *NOTE: Some tags have been removed to keep Safe for Tumblr. Please see full tag list on AO3* unemployment, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Sweethearts, Childhood Friends, they/them pronouns, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Drunk Sex, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Dream Sex, Drowning, Thunderstorms, Natural Disasters, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Blood and Injury, Alcohol, Transgender Reader, nonbinary reader, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, family trauma, Nami is Nonbinary, Magic, Contracts, music appreciation, Found Family, Pegging, Car Sex, Sex in a Car, Unplanned Pregnancy, Marriage, twist ending Summary: In which the farmer marries Rock. “My hands are calloused so that his won’t need to be.” - Shakespeare, probably. Living in the big city takes a turn for the worse as you lose your job! SO you make the move to the Forgotten Valley where you used to spend your youthful summers. Awesome. One of your childhood sweethearts still lives there- but this fucking guy won’t leave you alone! You can’t seem to get away. Bygone are the days of sitting alone in your apartment, whiling away the time. Unfortunately, you become fond of him- on days where he’s gone it feels like somethings missing. But who is this bum who won’t leave you alone, and why do you never see him working!? And could you possibly put up with him for the rest of your life..? In which we examine a situation in which the farmer has no other choice but to marry Rock.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Biology 101

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/LucOFCd by Questiel (Quefish) It's Dean's first day of college. He's taking the basics and doesn't want to draw attention to himself, just wants to get his education and degree and open his own shop. His Biology professor is gorgeous and a Freudian Slip at the end of class utterly mortifies him. Words: 2322, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Benny Lafitte, Jo Harvelle, Gabriel (Supernatural), Rowena MacLeod, Bobby Singer (Supernatural), John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Meg Masters 2.0, Multiple Canon Character Cameos Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, BDSM, Dom/sub, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Domestic Relationship, Inspired By Memes, Slow Burn, Slice of Life, John Winchester's Mediocre - but not really abusive - Parenting, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Kneeling, Blowjobs, Rutting, Cockwarming, BDSM Scenes, Spanking, handjobs, Pining, broken leg, Mystery Dinner Theater, Reference to Timeless Episode w/Misha Collins as Eliot Ness, Minor Sexual Harassment Investigation and Resolution, Safe Sane and Consensual, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Reference to David Carradine's Death, Coming In Pants, Mild Dissociation, Sub Case including Bathing and Toothbrushing, Bondage/Suspension, Blindfolds, Aftercare, Cuddling, Texting, Sex Doll Roleplay, Objectification/De-humanization, Anal Sex, Rimming, Erotic Photography/Videos, Somnophilia, Watching/Commenting on the Writer's Favorite Movies, LARPing, Safeword Use, Broken D/s Scene, Rape Fantasy, Discussion of Rape Fantasy vs Reality, Edging, Cards Against Humanity, Public Play, Exhibitionism, Body Worship, Ideal BSDM Club, Flogging, Mild subdrop, Additional Warnings Will Be in Author's Notes, Piddywickles and Chonkers - Writer’s Insistence on Including Her Favorite Food/Recipe read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/LucOFCd