#jon drabble

[snow-blower]

https://www.tumblr.com/snow-blower/782731886235664384/might-not-be-able-to-get-the-cregan-smut-out?source=share

Period sex with the stark men

Modern AU Jon fingering his girlfriend to help with cramps? I'm not offering. That's what you're getting. Also. This is longer than I thought it would be.

❥ Softest Touch

JON SNOW X F!READER, MODERN AU

TW: Periods, vaginal fingering, soft Jon Snow, cramps and general period pain, does this count as blood play?? Don't think so but the warnings there.

Your cramps finally faded to a dull throb. They're still there, still plaguing your body, but they aren't unbearable. They're just persistent enough for you to further curl into the blankets on Jon's bed.

That's how he had found you when he came back in with fresh tea for you — curled up on your side, face pressed into his pillow, eyes firmly shut.

The room is blanketed in a dimness, the curtains drawn, and the only light coming from that of your phone as you scroll through your endless supply of eBooks.

"You alright, love?" He murmurs softly, settling the tea on the bedside table before sliding into bed behind you.

He nestles close, arms coming to wrap around your waist and chin settling gently on your shoulder.

You hum, pressing back into him. You can feel the soft fabric of his sweats as you tangle your legs with his, his bare chest pressed against your hoodie-clad back. It's his hoodie you wear. Soft and a little too big for you.

His fingers trace languid circles on your lower belly — slow and soothing. It has you melting in his arms.

"Cramps?" He asks after a moment of silence.

You nod and tuck your nose deeper into his pillow, breathing in the scent of him that lingers on the fabric.

His hand dips a little lower after a beat, settling just over the soft cotton that clings to your hips, with enough pressure to feel just right.

You let out the tiniest noise — half need, half relief. A whimper. Quiet and barely there, like it could be easily carried away in the breeze. Your eyes flutter open, and you peer at him over your shoulder.

He stills, but doesn't pull away yet. "Want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you even think.

Pressing his nose into your hair, he kisses your temple. His fingers start moving again, this time slipping beneath the waistband. He doesn't comment on the blood. Doesn't complain or flinch, nor does he act crossed out. He just touches you. Touches you like you're allowed to want this. To need this.

A thick finger strokes over your folds, slow and deliberate. You gasp, hips twitching into his hand.

"There she is," he gruffly chuckles into your hair, the soft strands tickling his chin. "Just wanted to feel good, didn't you, love?"

His voice is sweetly teasing, and when his fingers slip inside — two of them, slow and steady — you whimper into the pillow, breath catching in your throat.

Jon cradles your body against his own, one arm still wrapped around your chest, careful to not hold you too tight, whilst his other works you with nothing but tender care.

Each pump of his fingers is unhurried. So gentle and so loving.

When you finally shudder, thighs trembling and a soft sound falling from your lips, you melt against him.

He holds you a moment longer, his fingers stilling to a stop as he peppers kisses to your shoulder, jaw and anywhere his lips can reach.

A moment of silence passes as you catch your breath, and Jon murmurs softly in your ears, "still alright?"

You nod, a small smile curling at your lips as you breathe out a soft, 'yes'.

He hums — pleased — before removing his hand from your pants. Sitting up, he reaches for some tissues on the bedside table, wiping his fingers clean before climbing out of bed.

"Want me to run you a bath, love?" He asks, and as suspected, you nod. He smiles softly.

[jardanikos]

[slutforthepunisher]

Imagine riding franks hands…

Warnings: smut, f reader, hand riding, curse words

Frank’s being a massive tease, refusing to give you anymore than his hands, lazily rubbing your clit while he's preoccupied with something else.

You're practically salivating at the thought of his dick because you're just that horny. Eventually he slows, neglecting your clit, rubbing up and down your slit but not giving you enough to fully satisfy you.

You're a whiny mess, bucking your hips to gain more friction begging him to go faster, harder. He looks down at you, a cocky knowing smile on his face.

"Pathetic" he mumbles. He stops completely, fingers ghosting over your clit.

You pick up the pace, moving your hips up and down against his stilled fingers. Pushing your hips forwards to allow your clit to get the much needed attention it needs.

"You like using my hand like that, pretty girl?" You hear his word and whine in response. His fingers glides over and over against your clit.

You begin to tire, your hips starting to ache from doing all the work. He feels you slow and encourages you to sit up in the bed.

“Come here, yeah just like that,” he says while manoeuvring your body.

You sit up on your knees, lifting up your ass slightly, granting him access to your entrance. His fingers are slicked up from your arousal and he slowly presses two fingers to you. You sink down onto his fingers, hissing at the slight stretch, it's nothing compared to the stretch from his thick cock but feels good nonetheless. You lift your ass up and sink back down again letting yourself get fucked by his fingers. You move up and down against him over and over.

"Fuckkk, frank" you moan out. His long fingers find the perfect spot inside of you each time you sink down onto them and they pull the most delicious noises out of you. Eventually your movements begin to slow, halting before you start grinding down into flattened palm.

"Shit look at you. Getting off on my hands. You like doing all the work, huh?" His voice is low. "Mhmm" you bite your lip, humming out a response.

You look over at him to see his other hand palming at his bulge over his pants. You continue rocking against his palm, his fingers remaining inside of you and his palm pressing against your clit. You move your hips in lazy circles, grinding against him. The feeling of his fingers inside you, filling you up and pressing against your g spot as well as your clit rubbing against the rough skin of his palms helps work you up. You feel the pressure building up inside you.

The slick sounds of your wetness fills the room. "Fuck, baby, you wanna cum?" Frank asks.

"Mhm, yes please" you lift your hips and slam them down against his fingers a few times, sinking as low as you can to allow him to reach the sweet spot deep within you. and then go back to grinding against his palm as he curls his fingers inside you.

The pressure in your belly increases and eventually you feel the sweet release of your orgasm. He continues curling his fingers, rubbing that spongy spot, deep inside you.

“Keep going, be a good girl and cum for me.”

Your legs begin to shake at his words and you press your thighs together, squeezing his fingers inside you. Your head tilts back, eyes squeeze shut as you moan out. Frank’s thumb extends upwards to continue rubbing at your clit, making your orgasm more intense.

“Yeah just like that.” Frank tells you.

A small gush of fluid coats his large hands. You've never experienced an orgasm this intense before. You continue riding your orgasm out, eventually slowing your movements, working yourself down, panting, struggling to regain your breath.

“You all good?” He asks, rubbing his free hand on your back. You nod, silently.

He removes his hand from between your legs and you hungrily grab at it, pulling his fingers into your mouth as you greedily lick at them. You work your tongue at his fingers and then begin to lick his palms, tasting your sweet release on them. Small mewls escaping your mouth as you do so.

“You taste good on my fingers, huh baby?” He asks, enjoying the view.

You continue licking his hand and his fingers, making sure to clean off every drop. “Mmm so good, Frank”.

Frank continues palming at his dick, the warm sensation of your tongue on his fingers turning him on. He watches you as you do so, imagining that it’s his dick wrapped around the warm embrace of your tongue.

"Did you enjoy that baby?" He asks, once you’re done.

[astrids-blog333]

To Have and To Hold

Jon Snow x Reader

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Summary: Jon returns from battle, bloodied and victorious. But all you care about is the fact that he came home to you.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ (at the end) ref to canon-typical violence, blood/injuries, mild gore, strong language, ref to war.

A/N: I will forever love Game of Thrones, and I just rewatched it for the millionth time to distract myself from exams 🤭 this doesn't follow the plot specifically, but I imagined season 6 Jon :)

dividers by @cafekitsune

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 2.6k

The wind cuts through the open expanse of the North, sharp and cold against your face as you stand above the large gates of Winterfell.

The men of the North have returned.

You can hear the rumble of horses' hooves long before they appear over the ridge, the sound growing louder and louder. The warriors ride in, exhausted but victorious, with cheers from the village ringing out behind them.

The familiar scent of the north fills your lungs, the fresh pine, the earth after rain, and a lingering trace of smoke from the fires burning in every hearth. You look at the soldiers, some of them grinning, others barely able to keep themselves upright.

But all eyes are on Jon. He’s at the front of the group, shoulders broad, head held high. His dark hair is matted with dirt and blood, and his clothes are stained with the gory aftermath of battle.

But to you, he’s perfect. He's your king.

Your husband.

You’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, the worry that’s been gnawing at you since he left now turning into relief that he's come home to you unscathed.

You can’t wait another second.

Without thinking, you break into a run, your feet pounding against the stone as you sprint toward him. The villagers part to let you through, some giving you nods of respect.

Jon’s eyes lock with yours in the crowd, his gaze intense, even from a distance. His lips curl into a half-smile as he urges his horse forward. You’re almost there, and in a moment that feels as though it’s been months in the making, he’s dismounting before the horse even comes to a full stop.

He’s there, in front of you, a storm of emotions swirling behind his dark, brooding eyes. You reach him in a heartbeat. Your arms are around his neck, and before he can protest, you feel the heat of his body engulf you. He tries to pull back from you.

“No, love, I’m covered in blood-”

But you don’t listen. You’re already in his arms, his chest hard and solid as he pulls you against him, lifting you off your feet in a tight embrace.

The cheers from the soldiers and villagers fade into nothing as his lips find yours. It’s hungry and desperate, as if the entire world has melted away, leaving only the two of you. His mouth tastes like salt, iron, and something raw. His arms tighten impossibly around you, pulling you closer, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away from his desperate grasp.

You feel his chest heaving beneath your fingers, his body trembling every so slightly, but there’s no hesitation in his touch. He holds you like he’s never going to let you go.

His lips break away from yours, just for a moment, but you’re still tangled in his embrace, your breath shaky. His forehead presses against yours, and you can hear the weight of his voice as he mutters, “I was worried, you know. I couldn’t stand the thought of you here all alone, and no one being here to protect-”

“I’m fine,” you say, cutting him off, your hands sliding up to cup his face. You smile up at him, feeling the rush of love flood your chest. “You’re back. That’s all that matters.”

Jon holds you even tighter, his hand cupping the back of your head as he buries his face in your hair. The world around you is still roaring with celebration, but in this moment, all you hear is his heartbeat and the sound of your own breath.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers, his voice low and hoarse. His words send a shiver through you, and you can feel the weight of everything that has happened settle.

All the brutal battles, all the bloodshed, the distance.

But now he’s home.

You hold him tighter, not caring about the blood or dirt staining your dress. You’ve missed him in ways words can’t express, and all that’s left is the overwhelming need to be close to him, to hold him, to remind each other that the war is over for now.

You don’t pull away from him, your arms still tightly wrapped around his neck, but you can feel the weight of his blood and dirt pressing against you, the remnants of the battle that still cling to him. You can’t wait to get him inside, where you can finally help him relax and tend to his wounds.

Jon pulls back just slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he looks down at you with a soft smile. His thumb brushes across your cheek, as if checking to see if you’re truly real, as if this moment is just as overwhelming for him as it is for you.

He seems to notice the way your eyes scan him, analysing the cuts littering his body.

“I’m fine,” whispers, his tone soft but still with that familiar stubborn edge. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

You give him a look, a silent challenge to let you help, and Jon simply chuckles, his shoulders sagging slightly as he lets out a long breath.

Inside the warmth of your chambers, the two of you are finally together, alone.

You move toward the bathing area, prepared to clean him, tend to him. Jon doesn’t protest. He stands, his broad frame slightly slumped, and begins to undress slowly. His movements are tired, but there’s a quiet strength in them. You can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the lingering pain from the battle.

This is the moment where you can care for him, take away the stress, even if just for a little while.

He steps into the water, sighing as the warmth envelops him. You kneel beside the tub, reaching for the cloth. The water swirls around him, dark with the blood and dirt he’s carried back from the battlefield.

You step closer, a cloth in your hand, your presence drawing his gaze. His eyes soften as you approach, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t think I’d get a personal healer today,” he murmurs, his voice low but teasing. “I’m used to the battlefields, not the bath.”

You smile back, dipping the cloth into the warm water. “Well, today’s your lucky day.” Your fingers brush against his shoulder as you gently begin cleaning the blood and grime from his skin, the warmth of the water combined with your touch allowing Jon to finally relax.

Jon’s gaze never leaves you as you tend to him. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, but also the trust. His hand reaches up to run through his wet hair, pushing it away from his forehead. The tension in his body slowly melting away.

“You always know how to make me feel better,” he says quietly, his voice soft, adoring.

You chuckle lightly, dipping the cloth into the water again and pressing it gently against his side, where a fresh wound is healing. “That’s what I’m here for.”

But there’s something in the way his eyes watch you that makes this moment feel different, more intimate than usual. His fingers brush over your arm, light, like he’s just feeling the softness of your skin, but it’s enough to send a small spark through you.

“Do you need to be so gentle?” he asks, his voice teasing but with a hint of something else in it, like he’s testing the boundaries. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

You glance up at him, catching the glint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m not worried about you,” you reply, rising to his bait. “I just like taking care of you.”

His lips curl into a smile, and he leans back, clearly at ease, letting you work. “I’m starting to think you like it a little too much.”

You raise an eyebrow, not missing the playful tone in his voice. “Maybe I do,” you smirk, the smile on your lips matching his. “But you deserve it.”

You move down his body slowly, checking over his wounds, making sure each one is clean and free of dirt. As your fingers graze over his skin, you notice his attention shifting. He’s watching you more closely now, the mood subtly shifting as his gaze moves from your hands to your face.

There’s a quiet pause before he speaks again. “You’re always so focused when you care for me. It’s... comforting.” His voice drops.

You meet his gaze, not backing down, but instead letting your hand trail along his arm as you finish cleaning the last of the blood from his side. "Like I said, I want to make sure you're alright."

Jon leans in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m more than alright with you here.”

The room falls into silence, the only sound being the gentle splash of water as you shift and move around him. You finish cleaning his wounds, your hands lingering just a little longer than necessary on his skin. He’s close now, his body warm against yours.

With a final look over his chest, you step back, letting him relax into the water.

“All done.”

Jon leans back again against the stone side of the tub, his eyes still focused on you. There’s a moment where neither of you speaks, just enjoying the quiet. Jon’s hand reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary.

Finally, Jon stands from the bath, his muscles glistening with water. He reaches for a towel, but before he wraps it around himself, he turns toward you.

“You’re right, you know,” he says quietly, his voice laced with both affection and something deeper. “I’ve fought battles, but this... this is different. You make everything easier.”

You don’t say anything at first; you just watch him, and your heart is swelling for the man standing in front of you. You move to help him dry off, your hands slow.

But Jon isn’t finished yet. He steps closer to you, his body warm and solid against yours as he cups your face gently in his hands, bringing you in for a soft kiss.

His lips are so soft, and you feel his hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you toward him until your bodies are flush against each other.

For a moment, you both simply stand there, caught in the kiss. His lips are a little desperate now, pressing against yours harder, deeper, he can’t get enough. His hands slip lower, sliding around your waist, and before you can even react, he lifts you off your feet. You gasp into the kiss, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you across the room.

You cling to him, your heart racing, as he walks toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. His hands feel like fire on your skin, his body solid and strong against you.

You’re completely at his mercy, and you can feel the desire pumping through you. When he reaches the edge of the bed, he gently sets you down, taking a moment to look at you.

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve waited for this,” he mutters, voice thick and rough.

You reach for him, pulling him closer, unable to wait any longer. "Show me," you whisper back, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling every inch of him.

And without another word, Jon closes the space between you.

As you lie back on the bed, Jon hovers over you, his dark eyes heavy with desire, his fingertips grazing your skin. His breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling with the anticipation.

“You’ve no idea what you do to me,” he growls, his lips trailing down your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers across your skin. He finds the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you can't help but let out a soft moan, the sound barely escaping you.

Jon pauses, lifting his head to look at you, his gaze heated, focused entirely on you. His hand moves slowly, possessively, from your waist up to your breast, brushing against the fabric of your dress before pushing it aside. He groans softly at the sight of your skin, his mouth trailing down to your chest, kissing the exposed area before his hands start to move lower.

“Jon,” you whisper. You reach for him, but he stops you with a gentle hand, pressing your palm against the bed.

“Patience, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I’ve waited far too long to rush this.”

Your heart races as his lips return to yours, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling your body even closer to his. The heat between you both is unbearable, every inch of your skin aching for him.

Jon’s lips trail lower, his hands finding the lower hem of your dress. He pauses, looking up at you one more time, his gaze soft but filled with hunger.

“Are you sure?”

You nod, pulling him closer, not able to wait any longer. “Of course I’m sure.”

Without another word, Jon pulls the rest of your dress off, his eyes drinking you in as he undresses you. The moment he’s fully exposed you, his lips find yours again, hungry and wild. He presses his body against yours, his warmth enveloping you as he pushes you further up the bed.

As he first thrusts into you, you feel your body shudder in response. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he stretches you, filling you completely.

The initial ache melts into something deeper, something that sends heat curling low in your stomach. Each of his movements is deliberate, slow, drawing out the sensation, the heat building between you both until it feels like there’s no distance left between you.

Jon’s face is pressed against the crook of your neck, his breathing laboured as he continues to move against you. His hands grip the sheets beside you, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he holds back, controlling the pace.

But as your moans get louder, his control slowly slips away.

He picks up the pace, his thrusts growing faster, harder, until everything blurs into a haze of sensation. You meet him with equal fervor, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him deeper, wanting more, needing more.

When the climax hits, it’s like a wave crashing over you both.

It's sudden, powerful, and all-consuming. Your body trembles beneath him, your nails digging into his back as he moves against you, his name escaping your lips in a breathless gasp. Jon follows soon after, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck.

For a moment, there’s only silence, the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms, recovering from the intensity of what just happened. Jon presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath still shaky as he pulls you closer.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You smile, kissing him softly. “I love you too, Jon.”

[strawberriesandhotmen]

Lovers and Sunlight

a/n: I hope y’all enjoy that little drabble I threw together for y’all. It was just something that popped into my brain so I decided to get it out there lol.

pairing: boyfriend!Frank Castle x fem!reader

CW: Honestly no warnings here, this is just a cute little fluff piece I wanted to put out. I guess I could say “sexy morning voice Frank being an absolute sap and worshipper of you, the girlfriend”; period, as he should

word count: 929

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, stretching across the bed rather artfully. Frank stirred just slightly, tugging you closer to his bare chest with a soft grunt. Your eyes fluttered open at the sunbeam shining across your eyes, a hand going to Frank's bicep as you rolled to face him.

He looked beautiful in the morning, you had always thought so. Short hair as mussed as it was able to be, lips in a soft pout, eyebrows permanently furrowed. Adorable.

You raised your hand to drag your knuckles down his cheek, feeling his slight stubble against your skin. The contrast between you was so clear: his hardened, coarse exterior against your freshly manicured hand (Frank never let you go more than a month without getting your nails done). You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, smiling when he scrunched his nose and grunted a second time.

"Good morning, Frankie." You hummed softly, returning your hand to his bicep. He let out a sigh before squinting his eyes open, rubbing the sleep from them before returning his hand to your waist.

"Mornin', doll." God, his morning voice would be the death of you. Low, gravelly, and it always sent a shiver straight through you. His thumb began to rub tiny circles into your hip over the fabric of his shirt you had put on the night before, and you nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck.

Why did he still smell so good in the morning?

"Smell somethin' you like, sweetheart?" You giggled as he caught you inhale, pulling back to get a good look at his now smiling face. It was a rare sight, a smile from Frank, one he saved only for you. You had been the first to see it after Maria, and he thought to himself that you would also be the last.

"Not my fault you're like a walking bottle of cologne, Frank. You can't blame a girl for indulging." He let out the rumble of a chuckle at that, his hand sliding down to your thigh before hiking your leg over his hip. You always loved that in the mornings he felt the need to be so close to you, as close as possible.

"I guess I'll just have to allow it." He teased, feigning exasperation and tapping the tip of your nose. His face split into a wide grin as you giggled again, squeezing his bicep (well, as much as you could get your hand around, that is).

A comfortable silence stretched between you, each admiring the other's eyes as you traced random circles into his skin. You reveled in the feeling of his big hand encompassing your thigh, smiling when he let out a little yawn.

Like you said before, adorable.

"Why r'you lookin' at me like that for, doll?" He questioned teasingly, his lips cocked in a crooked grin. You merely hummed, snuggled further into the pillow.

"You're cute in the mornings." He snorted at that, a reaction you expected.

"Cute, I'm not-"

"Adorable, even." His eyebrows raised and his thumb stopped its ministrations, and your stomach fluttered as his lips spread into a mischievous smile.

"I'm gonna get you for that one, doll." Before you could get out one word in protest, you were thrown into a fit of giggles as his fingers danced up and down your sides, tickling you mercilessly. Frank knew how much of a weakness that was for you, and it moments like these he enjoyed using it to his full advantage.

You squealed, squirming in his grasp and desperately trying to escape. He laughed at your dramatics, not stopping his torture until you quite literally couldn't catch your breath. Letting you calm down, he pulled you to lay on top of him, tucking a hanging piece of hair behind you ear tenderly.

"I ever tell you how beautiful you are, sweetheart?" The softness with which he said those words tugged at your heart, and you smiled with a head tilt.

"Everyday, my love." He grunted at that, pleased that you were aware of the high regard in which he held you. Frank practically worshipped you, and you couldn't feel more lucky.

"C'mere, baby." He muttered, tilting your face just slightly closer to his. With an intimacy that, on the right day, could've brought tears to your eyes, he pressed his lips to yours and held you close.

It wasn't rushed, not heated, but meant. With the slow movement of his lips, you could almost hear the I love you's pouring out.

And when he pulled back to press your foreheads together, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world, staring into those pretty brown eyes like they were the only things on this earth.

And to you, they were.

He was your everything, and you were his.

[fbfh]

I've literally only seen the pilot of game of thrones and I already wanna fuck Jon Snow so fuckin bad. "oooh but his oath, but his vows" I DON'T CARE. COCK IN MOUTH RN. fucking look at this

WHY DOES GOD KEEP SENDING ME THESE MISERABLE WET LITTLE BRUNET MEN WITH BIG OLD COW EYES AND EMPATHIC DOGMATICALLY LOYAL SENSABILITIES. STOP RIGHT NOW send more. bc I'll be so astronomically for real with you. this man pulls up on a horse with a fuckin direwolf puppy following him along fully believing he's its mama???? fold. instantly fold. no one can not fold at that. he's channeling all his yearning and desires into being loyal and noble and it fucking HURTS to look at him and know he's never had the sloppiest most earth shattering fucking top of all time. I'm thinking about a lot of things right now, mostly how good the tension of "I shouldn't do this I shouldn't do this I shouldn't do this" running through his mind while his heart betrays him and he moves closer to you is. the kicker is, he hasn't even done anything yet. he's maybe knelt and kissed your hand at most, but good GOD did it get you wet. because you can tell how much he's holding back. you can tell how badly he's aching for more, and the self control he's exercising makes you want to see him fucking snap. but you know he won't somehow it just makes it better and better. like you breathe in his direction and he's trying to get rid of impure thoughts unbecoming of a brother of the night's watch. and it's all self inflicted.

thinking also about Jon being assigned as your bodyguard for some reason. maybe you're of nobility, maybe you were requested to be delivered to some king or other, but now it's Jon's job to take you through the snowy wastelands of the north and deliver you safely to your destination. he quickly realizes that there is no way he'll be able to maintain his professionalism (he does, he just feels like he's throwing caution to the wind cause you make him blush). sitting you in front of him on his horse? you keep resting your head against his chest and speaking so sweetly to him to pass the time!!! sitting you behind him? your arms are around his waist!!!!!!!! he's losing it girlfriend!!!!! don't even get me started on making camp in some cave for the night to wait out a particularly bad snowstorm. you stay close to him at his insistance, knowing it's the only way for you both to stay warm. You're snuggled up in his arms under his cloak looking so sweet in the firelight. something howls in the distance, and you jump, moving closer to him. he realizes you feel protected by him. not in a professional guide-through-the-north way, in a way that you choose. you feel so deeply in your subconsious that if anything were to happen, you'd be safe in Jon's arms. you look up to him, feel protected and safe with him. you feel safe with him. and motherfucker if that doesn't stir something uncontrollable and irreversable in his chest. he knows he shouldn't, but his heart betrays him, and his arms wrap firmly around you, holding you close.

"It's alright," he murmurs so gently, "it's only the wind."

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Little Wolf || Jon Snow ||

A/n: AU where all the Stark are still alive cause I can't handle Robb, Ned or Rickon being dead. Idc it's my fic and I do what I want.

The snowstorm outside his home howled against the stone, but within Jon Snow’s chambers, the world had gone impossibly still.

He sat frozen at your side, his sword calloused hands trembling as they hovered awkwardly, uselessly, not knowing whether to touch you or the impossibly small bundle nestled against your chest.

You, exhausted but glowing, lifted your eyes to him and smiled.

That soft smile he loved oh so much.

“Jon,” you whispered, your voice a soft breath against the chaos of his heart. “Would you like to hold him?”

Him.

He had a son.

Jon stared, as if the word was foreign, unreal. A son. His son.

His throat tightened, his chest aching with a pressure he couldn’t put words to. For so long he believed he would never have this , never allowed himself to dream it. He was a Snow, a bastard, a mistake by birth. He was a sword in the dark, a man meant for duty, not softness. Not love.

And yet, there you were — his light, his impossible dream — smiling through your exhaustion, holding out everything he never thought he deserved.

With a slow, reverent motion, Jon slid his arms under the tiny, squirming form. The moment the babe settled against him, so impossibly small and warm, Jon let out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He forced himself to not cry but a few tears slipped down his cheeks as he let out a shaky breath.

The baby’s tiny fist flailed weakly, brushing against Jon’s chestplate, and instinctively, Jon shifted, cradling him closer. Protectively.

The weight of him — the reality — shattered something inside Jon. All the walls he had built around his heart crumbled.

He lowered his head, resting his forehead gently atop his son’s, closing his eyes.

“I never thought…” he whispered, voice breaking. “I never thought I’d have this.”

You reached out, your fingers curling over Jon’s wrist, grounding him in that moment.

“You deserve it,” you murmured. “You deserve all of it, Jon.”

He shook his head once, as if denying it, but he couldn’t deny the fierce, bone-deep love thundering through him — terrifying in its strength, and yet the surest thing he’d ever known.

He kissed the downy hair atop the baby’s head, closing his eyes.

“My son,” he breathed. “My boy.”

When he looked at you again, there were tears in his grey eyes — but he was smiling. Not the small, reserved smiles you were used to. No, this one was wide, boyish, free.

It was the smile of a man who had been given a future he never dared hope for.

A future that had a name, a face, and now… a son.

Jon sat beside you on the narrow bed, his large form curled protectively around you both, as if daring the world to try and take either of you from him.

And as the storm raged outside the little home, Jon Snow —former Lord Commander, warrior, once a lonely boy at Winterfell — knew with absolute certainty

The raven had been sent days ago, carrying the simple but extraordinary message: He is here. He is healthy. He is ours.

When the doors finally opened to the blinding storm, it was not enemies that poured through — it was family.

Jon stood in the courtyard, the tiny bundle wrapped snug against his chest, protected by his cloak. The snow whipped through the air, but Jon hardly felt it. His heart was hammering for an entirely different reason.

He watched them ride in — his family — strong and real and alive.

Ned dismounted first, his movements still as sure and steady as Jon remembered from childhood. The sword at his hip, the solemn set of his jaw — but when Ned’s eyes landed on Jon, on the small figure cradled against him, something broke in the man’s expression. The sternness melted into something raw, something tender.

Behind him, Arya leapt off her horse with reckless energy, nearly tripping over her boots as she ran through the snow. Sansa followed more gracefully but no less eagerly, her cheeks pink with excitement. Rickon bounded after them, gangly and wild, and Robb — Robb, who had once tussled Jon’s hair and called him brother without hesitation — grinned wide enough to split his face. Bran, bundled up tightly, leaned heavily on Hodor, but his eyes were bright with wonder.

Jon swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as they closed around him.

“Is that—?” Arya gasped, her eyes wide and shining. She reached out a gloved hand but stopped herself, hovering uncertainly.

Jon shifted his cloak carefully aside, revealing his son’s sleepy face.

A collective, awed gasp filled the courtyard.

“Seven hells, Jon,” Robb said, breathless with a smile. “He’s perfect.”

Sansa’s hands pressed to her mouth, tears welling in her blue eyes. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Rickon edged closer, craning his neck. “He’s so small,” he marveled. “Is he supposed to be that small?”

“Babies start small, Rickon,” Bran said with a soft laugh.

Ned stepped forward last, slow, measured — as if approaching a sacred thing. His grey eyes, so like Jon’s, were locked on the baby with something deeper than pride, something almost reverent.

Jon adjusted his hold and, with careful hands, passed his son to Ned.

Ned took the bundle with a gentleness that belied his battle-worn hands. He stared down at the tiny boy for a long moment, his lips pressing tightly together as he fought whatever storm raged in his chest.

“You have given this boy something priceless,” Ned said quietly. “A name. A home. A family.”

He looked up, meeting Jon’s eyes — and Jon felt himself stand a little taller under the weight of his father’s gaze.

“You will be a better father than you ever knew,” Ned said.

Jon’s throat tightened painfully. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck. Instead, he nodded once, fiercely.

The baby let out a soft, sleepy sigh, one tiny fist clenching in the folds of Ned’s cloak.

Ned smiled — truly smiled — and Jon felt the warmth of it like the breaking of dawn through the endless snow.

“You’ll have to teach him to use a sword,” Robb said, clapping Jon on the shoulder. “And ride. And hunt.”

“I’ll teach him to fight better than you, Robb,” Arya cut in with a cheeky grin, her dark hair whipping around her face.

“Perhaps I’ll teach him to read first,” Sansa said primly, though her eyes were shining with laughter.

Rickon puffed up proudly. “I’ll teach him to climb trees.”

Bran laughed. “Only if Jon teaches him how to get down again, too.”

Jon stood there, in the midst of it all — the laughter, the teasing, the love. His son, so small and new, was already cradled by more warmth than Jon had ever dared hope for in his loneliest nights.

You came to Jon’s side then, slipping your hand into his, your eyes full of pride and quiet happiness.

Jon squeezed your fingers gently and with a kiss to your loves cheek you followed the others had gone inside, voices echoing with laughter and warmth through the stone halls of his home.

Only she remained, standing at the edge of the courtyard.

Catelyn Stark.

Jon stiffened the moment he saw her.

The memories were too old and too deep. He remembered the way her eyes, so kind for her trueborn children, had always cooled when they landed on him. A boy she had never asked for. A boy who wore her husband’s blood like a scar.

He had braced himself all his life for her coldness.

Now, as he shifted his son protectively against his chest, that old instinct flared — the need to shield, to defend.

But Catelyn didn’t speak at first.

She simply stood there, the wind teasing her auburn hair free from its careful braids, her hands clenched at her sides as if uncertain what to do with them.

Slowly, Jon turned to face her fully.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did she.

“You named him,” Catelyn said at last, her voice low and unreadable.

Jon nodded. His mouth felt dry. “Yes.”

Her eyes flickered — not to him, but to the child in his arms. Jon saw it then — the tiniest crack in her composure. Not hatred. Not anger.

Hesitation.

Grief.

A longing so raw it startled him.

“May I…?” she began, but the words faltered, as if she herself couldn’t believe she was speaking them.

Jon hesitated — just a heartbeat — before carefully, slowly, lowering the edge of the blanket so she could see.

The babe stirred, his little nose wrinkling at the cold, but he didn’t cry. His tiny hand flailed briefly in the air, seeking warmth.

Catelyn stepped closer, one tentative step at a time.

Her blue eyes softened, and Jon realized with a quiet, gut-wrenching shock that she wasn’t looking at him anymore — she was looking at the baby. Just the baby.

Something shifted in her face. Her lips parted, trembling slightly.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Jon swallowed hard. “He’s… he’s my son.”

She nodded, still staring at the tiny boy as if seeing something precious and fragile and entirely separate from the bitterness that had once lived between them.

“I have hated you for so long,” Catelyn said quietly, and Jon stiffened again — but she shook her head. “It was never your fault. You were just a boy.”

The admission hit harder than a blade.

Jon said nothing. He couldn’t. The words clanged against the iron shield he’d built inside himself, loosening things he had never dared name.

And for the first time in a lifetime of hardship and heartbreak, Jon Snow let himself believe — truly believe — that he was home.

[doefuldiaries]

♯┆Shane Walsh x F! Reader .ᐟ

꒰ info ꒱﹒

・pairing: shane walsh x f!reader

・notes: brat!reader, dom-ish shane, established relationship

・length: short drabble

You’d gotten into it with Shane over somethin’ stupid. But you were stubborn — so you ignored him all day. Shooting him dirty looks, stomping past him like he wasn’t even there, pretending not to hear when he called after you.

He let you. For a while. He was tired, sweat clinging to him from a long day of work, and all he wanted now was to unwind.

So when he finally got you alone, He came up behind you, slow and sultry, arms wrapping around your waist as he dipped down, murmuring against your ear.

“Didn’t mean t’hurt your feelin’s, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips brushing warm along the side of your neck.

You didn’t answer. Just kept your arms crossed. But you felt an ache thrumming between your legs at his lazy drawl

His hips started rocking against you— slowly, needy. His cock pressed against your ass, all heavy and deliberate. Now dazed, barely holding back.

“I jus’ need to feel up on you a lil, okay, baby?” His voice low, “been workin’ real hard.”

Still, you kept up your little act. Pouty, fussy, whispering some breathy protest. But he wasn’t hearing it. Wasn’t interested in your dramatics.

“I know, baby. I know,” he just kept repeating, voice getting rougher.

By the time he spun you around, it was over. You diverted your gaze, lips pouting as he pulled you in.

“You gon’ make me feel good, sweet girl?”

One hand gripped the back of your neck, the other already tugging at the buttons of your cute little shorts — eager, greedy. His eyes dark, jaw tight. Every inch of him aching to teach you a lesson for makin’ him wait.

[castieltrash1]

Can I request Jon Snow x Lady!Reader. Arranged marriage that becomes real love?

this is so sweet ty for the req :')

jon snow x afab!reader; arranged marriage, slow burn, vague mentions of sex, mutual pining-ish i think

when you’re finally brought to the godswood, gaze averted and flecks of snow glinting between strands of hair, jon finds himself relieved. he’d known his duties from a young age so when the time to wed arrived -- a wife already chosen on his behalf -- he didn’t fight it. he tried not to imagine your appearance, but it proved difficult, and many late nights at winterfell were spent concocting an image of you in his head. not nearly as beautiful or rich as robb’s future wife, surely, but you’d be worthy of a stark bastard at least… right?

it’s odd. you’re different, but somehow more beautiful. jon can’t really explain it and he doesn’t try, not wanting to offend you. the first night is painfully awkward regardless, and he’s relieved when you both agree to take it slow for now. everything happens eventually, of course, but your patience pays off. jon considers himself lucky -- he could’ve been stuck with anyone for the rest of his life, but he had you; you, with your kind words and pretty face, practically handed to him on a silver platter. he kept waiting for you to act monstrous, assuming your beauty had to be compounded by something, anything, but it’s not. your marriage isn’t perfect, but jon enjoys figuring things out with you by his side. he likes being a united front with someone. he likes the warmth you leave on the other half of the bed, sheets smelling like the oil from your baths. he enjoys keeping you happy, noticeably fulfilled when he’s seen as a good husband and dutiful partner.

the more you go through together, the deeper jon’s feelings grow. he knows it’s happening, despite his initial attempts to ignore it. you have a lifetime together ahead of you - there’s no need for him to rush things. but the affection gnaws at him, and he can’t deny himself any longer. he loves you. by the old gods and the new, he really, truly, loves you. he hadn’t expected it, thinking any romantic dedication to you would take years to build -- if it ever even came to fruition -- but now it’s here and he almost isn’t sure what to do.

it’s been on the tip of his tongue all day. he’d nearly said it in bed the night before, limbs tangled in sheets as he stared down at you, but the words were caught in his throat. now, every time he speaks to you, the declaration begs for release, desperate for you to know the depth of his feelings. three more opportunities arise before midday, but he lasts until after dinner, when he finds you overlooking the courtyard below and feels his heart skip a beat. you turn to face him and, somehow, his gentle expression tells you everything.

“i love you.”

+ after he says it for the first time, it takes him a while to work up the courage again, even if you happily return the sentiment. it felt like a reward and he doesn’t want to spoil it. the words aren’t careless to him and he wants them to mean something, not be taken for granted. soon enough, you’ll hear it five times a day, gruffly murmured in every free moment alone. and, despite its newfound frequency, it only seems to be more genuine each time.

game of thrones weekend (reqs open!)

[kaoribriefs]

it was strange for her, it was something new even though she hadn't been a child for a long time. Dany found this way of making love from her new husband strange, he was hungry of her but it wasn't the same hunger of her sun and stars or the forgotten Daario, no, Jon Snow cared about giving her pleasure, he was strangely altruistic , when he put his head between her legs, he caressed her or looked into her eyes gently as he moved inside her. For the first time Dany felt a new warmth inside like she no longer felt from the red door, she didn't worry about being enough for Jon...but only about hearing his heartbeat...in the night.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

FMSOYS Frank Castle/ The Punisher Masterlist

my main masterlist

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. (that includes not allowing my manips to be used on TikTok, Instagram, Pinterest, etc.)

I have created an AO3 and am slowly beginning the process of sharing my old fics there as well. Tumblr and AO3 are currently the only places I'm posting my works.

PLEASE ONLY INTERACT WITH FICS MARKED 18+/SMUT IF YOUR AGE IS IN YOUR BIO/PINNED OR I WILL BLOCK YOU. Thanks!*

★ Series

Judex, Judicum, Infantem (Frank x Reader x Matt) [In Progress]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 (Coming Soon)

The Thunder That Follows [In Progress]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 (coming soon!)

★ One Shots

Not A Date (Fluff)

April 15th (Angst)

Fight Club [Frank's Version](Smut/18+, Frank x Reader x Matt)

Stray (Fluff)

How to Say I Love You(Fluff, Angst)

Amore Mio (Fluff)

Five Years(Frank Castle x Matt Murdock)

Cure(Smut/18+, Frank x Reader x Bucky)

Where We Begin and End(Angst/Comfort)

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow (Smut/18+, Angst/Comfort)

Always A Rangers Fan(Fluff)

Worship You(Smut/18+)

Capybara (Fluff)

★ Drabbles and Blurbs

Frank x Avengers Reader

Frank Spanking Reader (SMUT/18+)

General Frank HCs

Frank during Fleet Week

Frank x Southern Reader

Frank at the Beach

Frank Overstimulating Reader (SMUT/18+)

Frank x Tattoo Reader

More Frank HCs (Smut/18+)

★ Manips

Frank and his Guitar

Frank and Elektra's Run Club

Frank and Matt on a Roof

★ Moodboards

Kastle Moodboard

★ Frank GIFs can be found at my other blog FMSOYS

Frank Castle Tag List: @xxdrixx, @sexyvixen7

[tortureddarkstar]

✩ WASTELAND, BABY!

HAPPENS GREAT, HAPPENS SWEET / / HAPPILY, I’M UNFAZED HERE, TOO

jon snow x gn!reader

jon snow kisses like it’s oxygen and he’s a man suffocated. it’s not sloppy or rushed, it’s calculated, careful, laced with intention. it’s like he lives to serve you and you him. every so often, he’ll bite and his teeth will turn the flesh on the inside of your lip a deeper pink, almost blossoming red. all the while, he’s huffing between each kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, moulding you like clay. jon snow would never ask for it, but he’d revel in the way you’d scratch his scalp. biting down a little harder when you’d pull the black strands before jumping back into his attack on your mouth, swallowing every sound that escapes it. jon snow was a man of few words, but each kiss never failed to tell you more than his voice ever would. his hands would be on their own journey, mapping your body and committing it to memory. every dip and curve of your spine- he wanted every inch of you to know his touch. some parts, the parts of you the bastard favoured, would be held tighter, almost bruising. he wanted you to look at them and remember him, he wanted to always be in your mind, as you were in his.

[littlejoels]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐬 - jon snow x f!reader x robb stark

♰ the loud winds howls outside the great walls of winterfell, rattling the dark shutters, but inside your borrowed room, it’s all warm from the fire popping in the fireplace. your palms were clammy and sweaty, your sheer nightgown clinging to you like a second skin—thin white lace slipping over your breasts, falling down your legs, so delicate it truly hides nothing at all.

♰ you were perched at the edge of the bed—ned stark’s daughter-not-daughter, lady-by necessity tucked into his household like an afterthought. you’d meant to keep your feelings hidden, swallow them down. but since jon was leaving at dawn. it was the end of something you’ve only just realized you couldn’t live without.

♰ or—both of them. robb and jon. and you, stuck between them; what a dream. the door creaks open before you can back out

♰ robb was first—toned from the years of training, curls still trying to dry from the snowmelt resting on his hair. even after dinner, he was still in his cloak; the scent of coat smelled of pine and bark. “you are sure you wanted to talk tonight? you looked half-ready to cry at supper.” he says it softly, but there’s concern behind it. always is, always from your robb.

♰ jon slips in behind him, quieter; his eyes unreadable under thick lashes. just like robb, he is wrapped in black wool and handmade leather, his coat drawn tight, edged in darker, black fur; there was a difference in scents, since he smelled like smoke and metal. gods, that look he gives you—like he’s bracing himself for battle. “robb said you needed to say something.”

♰ you stand too fast. the lace nightgown sways around your legs, brushing your calves. “i do. i just—” you take a breath. “ i can't hold it back anymore, i’m in love with both of you. i thought it’d go away. it didn’t.” it comes out in a rush, your voice a tangled knot. “i didn’t know which one of you would break my heart more, so i tried to pretend. but now you’re going, jon. and i can not pretend anymore.”

♰ the silnce was deafening, robb’s lips parted, brows raised like you’ve just stabbed him in the gut; not in such a morbid way but in a shocked way. and jon doesn’t move or blink.

♰ you swallow hard. “i am sorry. i am not trying to make things strange between us. i just could not let you leave without saying it.”

♰ more silence, before robb speaks up, “what if you did not have to choose?”

♰ you blink,“pardon?”

♰ jon speaks this time, hoarsely remarking, “we have both been trying not to look at you too long...not—not to touch you like we want to.”

♰ robb laughs under his breath, stepping forward, his hand cupping the back of your neck. the fur of his cloak brushes your arm, “you walk around winterfell like some godsdamned dream, and we have both just been suffering in silence.”

“i thought you only saw me as a sister,” you whisper, heat flooding your cheeks and your chest. the lace cups your breasts too loosely, one strap already slipping off your shoulder.

♰ jon’s thumb brushes your lower lip; glove’s gone, and you can feel his calloused hand and it finally feels real. “you, my dear, are not our sister.”

“and if you were,” robb murmurs, tipping your chin up so your mouth is caught between both of theirs, “i would still want to kiss you just like this.”

♰ his mouth claims yours urgently while his hand slips down your back, fingers curling into sheer fabric. you barely have time to gasp before jon’s lips are on your neck, just beneath your ear, where your skin is most sensitive.

“gods,” you breathe, tugging robb closer by the collar, while jon bites down gently, tongue soothing the spot right after.

♰ you feel yourself being walked backward toward your queen-sized bed, their coats brushing your bare thighs, the weight of wool and fur making your skin tingle in contrast. robb’s in your hair, jon’s at your back, unfastening the little satin ties of your nightgown with a lack of patience.

♰ you tug at robb’s belt, teeth grazing his jaw just to hear the way his breath hitches. jon kisses down your spine as your gown slips from your shoulders. “you do not know what you do to us,” he says, voice like soft crushed velvet. “i dreamt of you moaning, back arched, begging one of us to go slower while the other makes you scream.”

♰ your knees hit the bed behind you. you fall with a soft gasp, the lace spilling; the firelight flickers over you—bare and spread like a painting.

♰ robb groans, kneeling between your legs like he’s seen salvation and it looks like your thighs parted. his cloak’s still around his shoulders, thrown back enough for his hands to be free, his breath steaming in the fire-warmed air. “how did we go this long without touching you?”

♰ you giggle, breathless. “maybe i was waiting for you both to admit you two are hopeless idiots.”

“we are,” jon says simply, climbing onto the bed behind you, still in his coat, heat radiating from his body, his breath brushing your neck. “but we are your idiots, my love.”

♰ you tip your head back against his shoulder and he kisses you again, slower this time his tongue deep in your mouth while robb trails kisses down your stomach, spreading your thighs apart with rough yet soft hands.

“she is soaked,” robb murmurs, proudly kissing the inside of your knee. “fuck, dove, did you think about this? about both of us ruining you?”

♰ you nod, gasping as his tongue slides between your folds, deliberately. he sucks slow circles over your clit while jon holds your jaw and making you look him in the eye. he’s still fully dressed, and it makes you tremble harder.

“tell me how it feels,” jon says, voice shaking.

“so good,” you pant. “he is so good with his mouth—fuck—robb—”

♰ his blue eyes flash up at you, “just wait ’til you feel both of us inside you. stretching you open.”

♰ you cry out when he presses more fingers inside, curling it up. jon kisses you again, hand cupping your breast, thumb flicking your nipple until your hips are grinding shamelessly against robb’s mouth. “go on, sweetling,” jon whispers against your cheek. “come for us.”

♰ you shudder apart with robb’s tongue fucking you right through it, and jon holding you steady—and they’re just getting started.

special tags: @inbred-eater , @carmysdoll

[axstoria]

Damian Wayne having a school crush on Jon, yet not understanding why he is feeling this way.

His face gets hot, and he finds himself staring at the boy for much longer than needed. He's distracted from his classes, yet, for some reason, he feels perfectly fine when not in the vicinity of his self-proclaimed best friend.

The Kryptonian had cursed him with some magic he had not known about, he swears, pouring over his father's near-infinite research notes for an explanation.

He finds none. Perhaps, it was time for another course of action.

Grayson laughs at him when he explains his ailment, giving him a firm pat on the back and a knowing grin, telling him he'd "figure it out." Whatever that meant...

Todd is—for obvious reasons—skipped, and Drake (sadly) is his next confidant. Nobody knows random illnesses like Drake, especially after that long, arduous period where the boy spent hours in front of the computer researching different viruses in case anyone on any one of his teams fell ill.

Drake looks at him like he is an idiot.

Drake is no longer an option.

He is dumbfounded when his father claps a hand over his shoulder after Damian finished his long rant. The older man only sighs and steers his son to sit on the nearest surface.

"It's that charm, Damian... that damned Midwestern charm."

It suddenly clicked in his head why Father had been so... odd with Superman as of late.

Damian does not want to fall to the same fate, so he starts avoiding Jon at all costs. He switches class periods and stops all patrols where they would be partnered. When the both of them are dragged along by their fathers to meetings, he stays tucked to Bruce's side and refuses to make conversation with anyone.

Jon can't figure out what is going on, and he's starting to think Damian is sick.

[chainnoli]

JonDami au but Damian is a devout catholic priest who goes around exorcising demons and ends up on a farm to stay the night on his journey but discovers that the son named Jon was dying until he got better seemingly overnight. It is revealed that Jon has been dead a while but a demon took over the body and enjoyed being a human and didn’t want to be a demon anymore and ‘Jon’ told him he could have his body since there wasn’t a need for it anymore and he just wanted to move on peacefully.

And Damian is like “you cannot stay with this family. You are a demon.”

But Jon doesn’t want to go back to hell, and he seems kind of desperate and adamant. Especially in the way where Damian can see it’s not for malicious reasons. Jon has a genuine fascination with the human world.

So the priest sighs and forms a contract with Jon (kissy kissyyy), making Jon his familiar and he had to help him with exorcisms and sending demons to hell.

It’s incredibly blasphemous, but the dynamic works, and Damian didn’t lose any holy power either. Still keeping his divinity as he has a new demonic partner.

[crescentrivers]

Realistically I can’t think of a place to add Pokotho himself to TGWDLM that wouldn’t feel forced (maybe there is one though I’m not an expert on this or anything), so I hope they just hint towards his existence a little more and don’t try to actually have him show up outside of being the hive, but if he did show up… what if they got meta with it

Cause TGWDLM is the meta hatchetfield show, it’s the one where the musical numbers are diegetic and characters acknowledge they’re happening, they even acknowledge the audience at the end. And the actor who played Pokey in NPMD is the same guy who plays Bill, you know, Paul’s best friend. And what happens then if Paul has an interaction with the singular voice and he realizes they have the same face…

Actually if blue guy did show up I bet they’d make him a puppet cause I’m sure the kickstarter will get them enough money for one puppet. But please think about the implications if he was a human played by Corey

There are various implications this could have depending on why they look similar. The easy one is that Pokey did it on purpose either to make Paul less freaked out or freak him out more (which it would freak him out more either way, the question is if that was intentional or not). Alternatively if Pokey isn’t actually taking human form it could be explained as Paul’s human brain trying to process whatever he actually looks like, and landing on that, for some reason. But there’s a third option I think could be cool

If Pokotho and Paul interacted in this show I’d assume by this point Paul would be beginning to get infected himself? So he can sort of understand the perspective of this higher being, whether he wants to or not. Maybe it’s not that him and Bill actually look that similar to Paul’s eyes, maybe in his reality they have different face or nose shapes, and they certainly don’t have the same look in their eyes. But from the a perspective of a god so much bigger than humanity, human faces blend together. He can tell them apart, but mentally they’re all the same to him, noisy, annoying, forgettable, erasable. Even someone like Paul, the supposedly special star of this show, doesn’t stand out. Paul realizes that now, to someone like him Paul really doesn’t look that different physically from the camp counselor boy, or the only lawyer in town, or that highschooler with the anime shirts, all people who are in the hive now. Now actually as identical in mentality as they seemed to him.

Would it really matter, if they actually looked the same or not? Him and Bill, Paul and all those people he never really knew. Everyone’s the same now afterall, whatever’s left in Bill’s body is him. Paul is a few seconds from being him too, he’s not special, not anything more than what any of the hive’s victims had been. But he was allowed to get this far, partially because he was that ordinary and unremarkable, partially because he didn’t like musicals.

He shouldn’t be anything more than another indistinguishable face, but if that thing wants a show, he can give it to him by trying (maybe pointlessly) to destroy it.