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jeonqkooks · 1 year

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isn't it romantic? | myg (01)

ENTRY ONE: Me Before You

⟶ SERIES MASTERPOST

Many things in life have a polar opposite: left and right, night and day, yin and yang, you and Min Yoongi... Hopeless romantic meets gloomy cynic. The only thing you seem to share is a magazine column but even then, you still can’t seem to understand how Yoongi can be called ‘The Love Doctor’ when he is the antithesis of everything love represents.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader; side/past taehyung x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: coworkers to lovers, magazine writers au, fluff, angst, eventual smut; central themes of cheating (not between yoongi and oc), swearing (a staple in this household 😗), one bit is a lilllll suggestive?, mentions of drinking, i think that's it hmmm, barely edited bc u know how we do

word count: 5.1k

note: this is the yoongi brainrot speaking !!! the banner for this entry is one of my all time favorite pics of him and i will find a way to use it in everything !!! but erhm yeah iir is officially starting and i'm very curious to see what y'all think about it 😗 please like it haha jk no i'm serious please like it it's my baby

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I waste my breath on a prayer, you don't care, I was never a part of your plan, You can't make a God of somebody, Who's not even half of a half-decent man.

I Burned LA Down - Noah Cyrus

Half your life, you hated blue.

You often associated it with so many bad things - loss, betrayal, loneliness. The great big storm. The end of life.

Most of the pigtails-wearing girls in your class disliked it because it was often a boy’s color. You hated it because of a stranger on a beach.

Then you discovered Blue Side (as ironic as the name was), the magazine that everybody and their mother was reading. There was this column - the Love Maze (as corny as it sounded) - that had your 15-year-old self hooked from the first article you read, “Flirty Pickup Lines to Text Your Crush”. It gave you a nice little distraction from the reality of your fucked up family.

You’d get home from school and dive right into it. You could count on the maze for a new article every day, covering all kinds of things - cute little quizzes, daily love horoscopes, relationship tidbits…

You started reading it religiously because it was stupid, and fun, but it was more than that too. They covered real-life stories of actual people, which you’d never really thought about. For the most part, it was tedious. Rekindling with an old flame whilst grocery shopping, accidentally spilling coffee on a stranger who then asked you out on the spot, etc. Things like that. You found them so… unremarkable.

But then it went beyond that, when they told their stories looking back on years and years after that first happenstance. How there was love in the mundane. How there was love every single day, even on the bad ones. How there was a spark that two people cared for and nurtured into a warm fire that never burnt out.

How there was love.

How there was always love.

To you, that was magical. It was something you’d only ever heard about in fairytales when you were a kid.

You still remember the exact moment when it all changed for you.

You met Kim Taehyung during your third week at Blue Side, where you were a wide-eyed assistant editor who somehow wiggled her way into a position there, and he was an effortlessly charming graphic designer.

Admittedly, the first time that you two had ever talked, wasn’t under ideal circumstances. You were tucked away behind the office building, nails digging into your palms at 3PM on a sunny but freezing afternoon, willing your tears to stay where they belonged. You’d felt severely underqualified, like you were only flailing about, trying to keep your head above water but something kept pulling at your feet, not stopping until you were at the very bottom. People always talked about how your early 20s were the most beautiful and freeing years, when you could truly live and feel your youth blossom all around you. But that just wasn’t true. Those were the loneliest years of your life.

Taehyung had found you then, while he was out for a quick smoke break. He could’ve made a lame excuse and left, or simply pretended to not notice you were even there, but he stayed. He approached you and asked what was wrong. He offered you words of reassurance and encouragement even though you were nothing but a stranger to him.

You were touched by his simple act of kindness and his endearing smile. Maybe it’s because you’d never been offered much kindness throughout your life that his small gesture seemed like everything. In a way, it was everything. He looked like the kind of fairytale love that you’d only seen in movies, only read about in Love Maze. To this day, a part of you still thinks that you fell in love with him the very second he asked, “Are you okay?”

The timing felt right.

Taehyung felt right.

He, too, was like the sun in the middle of a cold and isolating winter.

You remember the color of his sweater, and it was then that you realized blue didn’t have to be so bad after all.

[15:39] You: what r u doing tonight?

[15:45] Tae ♡: probably just head home after the gym. play a couple matches with Jungkook. hope i don’t die boiling water for ramen and hit the hay early

[15:46] Tae ♡: miss you :(

[15:49] You: thanks

[15:52] Tae ♡: mean

[15:53] You: lol 😇

[15:54] You: i miss you too <3

[15:56] Tae ♡: can’t you come back earlier?

[15:58] You: there’s only a week left. you’re a big boy, u can handle it :)

That was a lie. You were already on the train when you sent him that text, bouncing your leg all the way back to the city at the mere thought of surprising him with your early return. You’d taken a leave from work to visit your family, spent some time somewhere quieter, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.

You watch as the scenery passes by, fast-paced like you’re in a montage. The rest of forever is right around the corner. You wish you could skip to your happily ever after and not have to rewind the tape ever again.

When the diamond on your ring finger catches the sunlight coming from outside the window, you allow yourself a blissful sigh as you gaze at the jewelry adorning your hand. But if you’re being honest, it doesn’t fit anymore, at least that’s what you’ve noticed over the past month. It’s a little loose now, not quite noticeable but you can still make out the slight difference if you concentrate hard enough. You should get it resized soon, maybe later this week now that your schedule has cleared up earlier than expected.

Three weeks is a lot of time to spend around only your family, you realize. You thought you could do it - seeing that you hadn’t been back in a while - but the second you stepped foot into your childhood home, you remembered what a dysfunctional household you had.

It was nice while it lasted, which wasn’t very long. You did all you could, bit your tongue and tried to suppress that unresolved anger until it eventually became too much to handle. Your mom has always been a complainer. Nobody likes talking about it, but she’d bring up the same old shit almost every day even though you all know what happened. Your dad would just sit there and listen as she berates him in front of you and your sister, and you suppose he keeps quiet because there’s really nothing to be said in his defense. It was his crime, and this is his punishment.

Sometimes, you wonder why dad still stays. Sometimes, you wonder why mom still lets him.

You just wanted to go, even though this was supposed to be home. You want to leave every time you visit, and it’s a haunting feeling that keeps following you around your whole life. Why is home always a place you want to leave?

When you arrived back in the city, the first place you went to was Taehyung’s apartment. You lounged about, enjoying the much needed silence after two whole weeks with your family, killing time as you waited for your fiance to return from work.

You thought about you and Taehyung, and how your wedding was only months away but this was still his place. You wondered why you hadn’t moved in yet, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. Even though you spent most days of the week at Taehyung’s, you still had your own place.

Twenty minutes before he was usually supposed to come home, you ordered from his favorite restaurant, so he would have a proper meal once he was back, instead of half-assing his dinner with flavorless ramen like he’d planned.

But Taehyung didn’t come back, and the food has been cold for hours now.

You glance at your phone again.

11:02 PM.

No new notifications.

The last message you sent him was around 8:30 - just a simple Whatcha doing? - but he hasn’t replied.

There’s a small part of you that goes into a dark place, and you physically have to shake off the thoughts. Taehyung has never given you a reason not to trust him, but still, the wandering thoughts can’t help themselves. Is it insecurity, or paranoia? Or have you been programmed to be skeptical after everything that’s happened?

Maybe he’s just caught up with work. Maybe the guys at the office had last minute plans. Maybe Jungkook showed up unannounced and dragged Taehyung into one of his shenanigans again. There’s a lot of reasons to explain why he isn’t home when he said he would be.

You wait for him. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do.

You don’t get any indication of life until some time after midnight, when the door opens and you hear him stumble into the hallway. The first thing that escapes you is a sigh of relief - relieved that he’s home, safe and sound, and not out there somewhere doing things you would really not even let yourself imagine. You sit there on the couch, shrouded by darkness, now even more committed to making him squeal out of his skin after (unintentionally) making you wait for hours like that.

You carefully listen to the sounds coming from down the hall, trying to time when you’ll jump up and shock him.

There’s his shoes dropping to the floor carelessly. There’s some shuffling as he moves about, navigating his way through the dark. There’s a light thud, the sound of something hitting the wall softly.

A sharp intake of breath. His familiar groan, muffled. A whimper, feminine.

Your mind instantly blanks, and that nervous breath from before has suddenly found its way back into your lungs, growing in size until you stand up and say, “Tae?”

Somebody shrieks, and it’s neither you nor Taehyung.

When he switches on the lights, you don’t know what to focus on first - your fiance with his shirt unbuttoned, red lipstick smudged around the corners of his mouth; or the woman next to him with her back against the wall, hair disheveled, one strap of her pretty blue dress pulled down.

Huh.

If this was what you wanted, then you suppose you succeeded.

Taehyung stares at you, eyes blown wide, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he searches for words. “Y/N, I-” he stutters, “w-what are you doing here?”

You’ve seen this exact moment in movies, read it in books and online posts on the Blue Side forum from people seeking advice. You witnessed your own mother go through it when you had just learned how to read.

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you steady yourself. You’re not sure what your face is showing, if it’s even showing anything at all. You’re being pulled apart in every direction. Things that you felt as a child are things you never wanted to feel as an adult. It’s not until now that you finally understand why mom hasn’t gotten over it, even though it’s been decades. This is the kind of hurt that chases you wherever you go, never relenting until it makes sure it has a home deep within your bones.

You inhale a shaky breath, and take a step back when Taehyung starts approaching you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking on the apology.

You don’t want to hear any of it. You don’t want to be here anymore. For the second time today, you’re leaving home. For the second time in your life, home is being taken away again.

Somewhere in the back of your head, a tiny voice echoes, There it is.

You run out of there, feeling like the ceiling is going to collapse on you. You hear him call out your name, but his voice drifts further and further away as you move. Taehyung isn’t even following you. The faint scent of whiskey on his breath follows you out, but not him.

You keep moving until you’re out on the street, until you can’t even see the building anymore. You shiver from the chilly air, and the influx of emotions that threatens to make you burst. Lightning cuts across the night sky, flashing bright for a split second before everything dulls into darkness again. The forecast said it was going to rain tonight, you recall. Your phone in your bag vibrates the whole time, but still, no one follows you.

Your feet slow to a halt when the first drop of rain hits the ground. You’re not even sure how long you were walking, but now that you’ve stopped, you notice the shiver is gone. You’re standing completely still, and that those seismic waves in the center of your chest from earlier are nowhere to be found.

Oh. You’re doing it again.

Heavier drops start to dampen the earth.

You don’t know where else to go.

Not your own apartment. Not now. No, it’s too empty there.

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe, that you’re just undeserving of a place to belong.

You open your phone to find his name on your screen, next to the words (7) missed calls. You ring up the only person you can, and when she finally picks up, you say, “Can I come over?”

Even when your voice cracks, you don’t cry. The earthquake never comes.

Sohee takes you in like the good friend she is. You’re grateful that she was someone you could count on to always have your back at work, who then turned into one of your best friends outside of the office too.

She gives you some clothes to change into, and doesn’t question anything when you ask if you could spend the night. Though, you have a feeling that she knows who this is about. She leaves you alone to get some rest, but it’s probably because she has work in the morning too, and it was already 1:30AM when you interrupted her peace and quiet with the call.

You don’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead, you think about your mom, and how she must have felt when she found out about your dad’s infidelity, time and time again. It’s true what they say, children really don’t know a lot about their parents.

How did she feel when she first found out? You can’t imagine what it must have been like, going through all of that while having two kids to think about too.

You feel bad that just yesterday, you’d been so annoyed with her that you cut your trip short.

Outside Sohee’s windows, the sky cries, like it’s grieving in place of you, its tears drowning the earth in waves of sorrow. For a moment, you consider stepping out there, to feel the rain on your face and in your hair. But in the end, you stay inside, where you’re sheltered and dry.

You don’t realize that the sun has risen until Sohee knocks on your - well, her - door.

She cracks it open gently. “Babe?” she asks, tentative like you’re a cornered animal, ready to bolt at any given moment. “Are you up?”

You lie in her bed, feeling so foreign in your own skin. You reckon your eyes must be bloodshot from the lack of sleep. You haven’t even cried once.

“I’m alive,” you tell her, as you stare up at the ceiling. There are no stars here, just plain cream-colored paint.

“Okay,” you hear her say, then she pauses for a moment, clearly not knowing how to proceed.

Sohee approaches you, sits on the bed, and gives you a smile. She pats your hair, and it reminds you of your sister. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I have some time before I meet Namjoon for breakfast.”

You sit up, reaching for your phone on the bedside table. It’s been switched off since you got here, and when you turn it back on, a flurry of texts light up the device until the screen lags. Messages from Taehyung, asking where you were, begging you to tell him if you were safe.

You open the texts to show him that you’ve read them. That should be enough of an answer.

You test the words in your mouth for a moment. “Taehyung cheated on me,” you say, thinking that if you verbalize it, it would be real and you would finally feel bad. That it was just a delayed reaction, that you were just too in shock to process anything. You want to feel bad, but it doesn’t work.

Sohee’s eyes widen almost comically. “Are you fucking serious?” she asks in disbelief, half because of the nature of the news itself, and half because of how calm you are.

“He cheated on me,” you repeat and still, nothing surfaces. If anything, it backfires. You can physically feel yourself doing it again - shutting down. “I caught him last night.”

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. This isn’t a normal person’s reaction after they found out their fiance was cheating on them.

But.

It is a you reaction.

You keep doing this, even when you don’t mean to. You ran away last night, and you’re running away now. Your body shuts out every negative emotion until you feel nothing at all. It’s stupid that you do this, and it’s stupid that you don’t know how to stop doing it.

Fight or flight, and you choose flight every time. Every single fucking time.

You wish you could give Sohee something, anything would do. Scream, cry, go back to your apartment to set fire to all of Taehyung’s belongings. Anything would be better than this complete lack of emotions you’re showing.

You watch her face as it happens, things that you should be feeling but aren’t. She’s mostly shocked, angry, but not hurt. How could she? She wasn’t the one being played for a fool. You wish you could ask her to give you some of that anger, even if it’s only a fraction.

You don’t see Taehyung again until two days later, when he shows up at your door. Even when he’s standing in front of you, words spilling from his lips like prayers instead of apologies, you just feel… empty.

You let him inside, and the second that the door closes behind him, you fill up with unease. All your walls are up again, your system on high alert. Everything in your body is telling you that there’s an intruder in your space. Your feet are ready to bolt, just itching to get out of there Go, your head says, you’re not safe here.

Taehyung approaches you, tries to hold your hand, but you just shrug him off. The man in front of you visibly deflates, and despite the way his face falls, you don’t soften.

The first thing he asks you is, “Why didn’t you cry?”

“What?”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying,” he points out. “Did you cry?”

Reluctantly, you admit, “No.”

Then he just stares at you. When his judgmental gaze holds yours, you feel guilty. Guilty that you’re not mourning the death of this relationship. Guilty that you’re just letting it go, but the truth is you don’t have any fight in you. You don’t see the point in trying to salvage what’s no longer alive.

“Do you even love me?” His voice is hard when he asks this, like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay.

“Of course I love you,” you say, but it lacks conviction. You both know it. The words sound so flaccid coming out of your mouth.

But you love him.

You do.

Did?

“Then why didn’t you cry?”

How do you tell him that you can’t? That you don’t know how?

How do you tell him that if you could, you would reach inside and claw out your feelings like digging for water in a desert.

What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t a high school crush, or a casual summer fling.

You two were supposed to get married, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to spend the rest of your life with him. If there’s anything that could make you break through those godforsaken defense mechanisms to let the hurt in, it should be this.

“Did you kiss someone else just to see if I would cry?” you ask. Your voice is even, and you can see that it makes Taehyung more frustrated than he already is.

He grits his teeth, exhaling. You notice his blue sweater, and you stop him before he can say anything else. Obviously, it looks a lot more worn than it did back then, but over the years you’ve always found it endearing. It’s the first memory that you have of him. It was always something you could cherish.

Now, you can’t even bear to look at it.

It’s then that you realize it doesn’t matter what answer he gives you. Yes? No? It genuinely doesn’t matter. There is nothing that can make you see him the same way ever again.

You run your thumb over the ring on your finger, twisting it for a moment to memorize the feel of it. It’s the last thing that ties you to him. “You can have this back,” you say, handing the piece of jewelry back to him.

When a relationship ends, especially for a reason like this, people tend to think it’ll go down in a kdrama-esque fashion - crying, slapping, throwing water in the other person’s face. But that’s not what this is. It’s not cathartic; sometimes the end of a relationship is just a fizzle, doesn’t even make it to a fullburn. It might be unsatisfying, but it happens every day. It’s not always a pivotal point; sometimes it’s just a point.

Taehyung stares at the object in his palm. “That’s it?” he asks in disbelief. “We’re breaking up?”

“What else is there to do?”

“You’re not even gonna ask me anything? Who she was, how it started, how long it’s been going on?”

The other morning, Sohee had asked you to elaborate after you told her what happened, but there was just not that much to tell. You were there. He brought someone else home. End of story.

It was enough for Sohee to call him every name in the book and curse his entire bloodline though.

You suppose that’s a reasonable reaction. Taehyung cheated. You never thought he was a person capable of doing that. Three years of your life, down the drain. There’s nothing left to save.

“Okay,” you shrug tiredly, like you’re just having a casual and dull conversation about the weather. “Who was she? How did it start? How long has it been going on?”

Your name comes out of his mouth, sounding like a scoff. “Ask it like you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it,” you say. “What difference does it make? Knowing doesn’t change the fact that you still cheated on me. You know what I’ve been through and you still fucked it up. You did the worst thing you could ever do to me.”

“Fuck, I know that!” he groans, throwing his hands up. “I messed up badly, and I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry. I will never deny that what I did wasn’t wrong. But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re to blame for this too? You never want to admit that it could be your fault too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. I keep having to put up with your baggage.” Then he shuts right up, barely even makes it through the last syllable before he’s squeezing his eyes shut for a second, clearly realizing that out of all the things he could’ve said, that was grossly out of line. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean th-”

And now you’re getting angry for the wrong reasons.

“You cheated but somehow it’s my fault, right?” you snap. “Boohoo. Sorry that you’ve had to put up with me all these years. I’m such a burden, right? Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I think you should leave.”

You think it’s the steel in your voice as you say this that makes him stop arguing.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer. You’re someone who tears up when you see stray dogs, who cries alongside the fictional characters in your favorite show. And yet, as you watch your own fiance leave…

The door clicks shut as he exits your life, but everything he said stays behind, clings to your walls and festers like mold.

The second you step onto the floor, everyone grows quiet. Lively chatter turns into hushed whispers. People go back to making their morning coffee, side-eyeing each other in a way that’s not meant to be very subtle.

You quietly make your way to your desk, all the while feeling the nosy pairs of eyes on you as you walk. You don’t know how word got out, but you were sure that everyone would know eventually. You just didn’t expect it’d be this soon. Sohee would never do that to you, and you highly doubt that Taehyung would go around broadcasting his infidelity.

As you set your stuff down, you make eye contact with the new intern who sits a few spots away from you. You haven’t had the chance to talk to her much, but she’s a nice girl. She gives you a small smile in greeting, and even though you know she doesn’t mean to pity you, you can still see it in her eyes.

A minute later, Sohee comes up to you. “Hey, babe,” she says, leaning on your desk with two plastic cups in her hands. One iced latte and one mango smoothie. She puts the yellow-colored beverage down and nudges it toward you, a little lackluster and unlike her usual playful self.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the smoothie with a smile, commenting, “Interesting morning so far. Never thought I’d ever be the subject of office gossip.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you know who was Taehyung’s… uhm… y’know?”

It’s okay. She can say it. You can handle it.

You already feel nothing, and there’s nothing you can even do to rectify it. Might as well lean into it, right?

Or maybe you should just go to therapy.

“No,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Well, uhm, now that the whole office knows, I think you should hear this from me first…” Sohee bites her bottom lip as she gauges your reaction. When you only sigh and give her the go-ahead, she continues, “It was Yura from Marketing.”

“What?”

“Yura from Marketing. You know the one. Brought muffins for the whole office on her first day? A little too bubbly for my taste. But yeah, she was at work the other day and suddenly burst into tears at, like, 10AM, and that’s how everybody found out.”

Of course. Even though people here are surrounded by celebrity gossip on the daily, nothing beats the good old-fashioned office affair. Why bother with celebrity gossip when you have front row seats to live drama unfolding ten feet away?

You take a sip of your smoothie, swallowing down the inkling of irritation that tickles the back of your throat. “Well,” you say, “I’m glad the downfall of my relationship is like a circus animal for them to gawk at. Can’t wait until they move onto the next big thing.”

“Honestly, it might blow over sooner than you think. The Love Doctor is back today.”

“What?” Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, glancing up at her in surprise as you put your drink down. “Doesn’t he work at the Paris office?”

“He used to work here. We joined around the same time. Then he transferred to Paris a few years ago. Nobody even knows why. One day he just upped and left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here? I didn’t have time t-”

“Calm down, sweetcheeks, I only just found out,” Sohee chuckles, holding a finger against your mouth to shush you. “We all know you used to have a major lady boner for him.”

“I do not.” You don’t even know what he looks like, just his name when it appears in the byline of an article. “I admire him.”

Which is true, you do admire him. He’s your own version of a freaking rockstar. Though, you have to admit that Love Doctor is a huge cliche of a nickname, and significantly reduces the scope of his brilliance. The way that man writes makes it seem like he’s experienced lifetimes and is now here to pass on his wisdom.

He doesn’t feel like a mere magazine writer like yourself. There’s something in his words that turns you inside out, makes you experience things that you’ve never even gone through. He flows like poetry, and leaves you stunned every time.

Okay, maybe you do have a lady boner, but for his brain.

Which… is probably something you should never say out loud.

Someone walks in then, a man you’ve never seen before. He looks around your age, if not a couple of years older. He bypasses all of the other desks without saying anything, not a single Hi or Good morning. He doesn’t look like the type to speak if not spoken to.

Then he walks over to where you and Sohee sit, and sets his bag on the empty desk next to yours.

You look at Sohee, and she just shrugs.

It can’t be him. Surely, it’s not…?

“Min Yoongi,” she says in greeting.

Oh, it is.

He spares her a nod before he looks away again. “Sohee.”

Is that the Parisian way? Is that how people normally greet someone they haven’t seen in years? Sohee and him were only colleagues, but still, the least you could do is pretend.

You’re not one to judge a book by its cover, but c’mon, seriously? Were you wrong for expecting the person who writes about love in its most raw and beautiful form to look… not like Grumpy Cat personified? It makes you even more fucking intimidated. And he’s going to be sitting next to you? The fuck?

As he sits down, you blink, still a bit dazed, not sure how to process this. Sohee gently pushes you forward, which makes you nearly stumble right into him. You turn to her with a glare, but she just motions to him, mouthing ‘Go on.’

You clear your throat, wiping your hand on your pants before you hold it out. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, trying to sound as professional as you can. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

He glances at you, and reaches out to meet your outstretched hand in a barely-there handshake. “Yoongi.”

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flyingcatstiel · 5 months

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I’m currently reading superbat fics (sorry, destiel, stony and dinluke, I’ll get back to you some day) and I’m having great time with commenting and authors replying to me. It’s a whole new fandom experience when I can read fics just for personal enjoyment, without planning fic rec lists. So much easier to comment, wtf. Anyways, I’m following 4 superbat identity p*rn fics right now, and it’s glorious. What a feast. My favorite trope, so many interesting ways to explore it. Happy holidays to all superbat writers but especially those 4 WIP writers🎄

ETA - here be some recs

ETA, March 2024 - HERE BE SOME UPDATES!

@pinkb00bsocks asked about those 4 WIPs. Here they are! The usual disclaimer - there are plenty of excellent superbat WIPs going on right now, but I've limited spoons and these are the ones I currently enjoy.

The World and All Its Hedgehogs by Ginevra_Benci [M. 8,007 word count, WIP, 4/?] To investigate illegal arms sale taking place at a tropical resort hotel, Batman goes under cover as a vacuous billionaire Brucie Wayne and Superman takes a part time job as a porter. They didn't coordinate this, they don't know each others civilian identities. Every time they talk there are at least 3 different conversations going on and it is glorious. Also, so much lust. ;)

(Also, check out Interviewing & Counceling series by the same author. Clark is having a superhero identity crisis and Bruce is there to catch Clark gently as he spirals down. It has one of the softest identity reveals in superbat fics. ETA - the series is now complete, it has 5 parts and 18k word count. Awesome ending to the softest identity reveal story)

Watching Our Stars Align by ClarkeStetler [M, 28,840 word count, WIP, 7/14] There's a dating/chatting app only for superheroes and all identities are secret. What could go wrong? Bruce and Clark get matched under their new pseuds, and same happens to Tim Drake and Conner Kent. Now fathers and sons gotta navigate complicated relationships that come with secret identities and judging your coworkers hastily while talking heart to heart to anonymous superhero. The identity porn part happens through DM, which just happens to be another favorite trope of mine. [The story is going strong, it has 10/14 chapters now and a wonderful tangle of 3 secret identities!]

(Love) Triangles Have Multiple Centers by frozenpotions [T, 27,281 word count, WIP, 4/10] This fic wastes no time getting playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne and pining-after-his-coworker journalist Clark Kent together. After that, first time uneasy partners Batman and Superman gotta solve a case and their civilian selves gotta deal with the realities of their one night stand. Complicated doesn't even cover it! [The fic is being updated and Clark and Bruce are being put through new trials, 6/10 chapters]

A Favor for a Friend by RedFive [Explicit, 18,286 word count, WIP, 4/7] Omega verse fic with alpha playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne and omega journalist Clark Kent. I'm fascinated by dominant, flirtatious, sexually ravenous alpha Brucie Wayne who moonlights as a stoic, covered in scent blockers thus unclear second gender, Batman. Meanwhile omega Clark, due to being Kryptonian, is much less ruled by his second gender. That is, until he meets Mr. Wayne. This fic has so much lust and tension between the two. Does accidental heat triggering counts as a soulmate mark? I'm gonna count it like that. [The fic has entered the finish line, only a chapter or two are left to finish this wild, explosive, life changing story of two people who were meant for each other. 8/? chapters, 44k word count] The fic is now complete!!! 9 chapters, 56,153 word count. (Also, there's this new TV show about two gay dudes, and istg, they look like Bruce and Clark from this fic. I'm not naming it here because I don't want to highjack the show tag with superbat post, but go and check the tag on tumblr)

*****

And a special shout out to two identity shenanigan WIPs that are not actively updating but are absolute must reads.

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat [M, 62,737 word count, WIP, 12/13] OK, so, for me personally, this is the ultimate identity p*rn fic across all fandoms I've read so far. This fic has one of the highest amount of secret identity pairs in superbat fics. There's the usual pining silently Batman/Superman, then there's Clark dating Bruce, Superman saving Bruce Wayne from peril, Clark Kent chatting with Batman. And the cherry on top is Clark writing Bruceman fanfic which is basically a RPF of his two friends, Batman and Bruce Wayne. Which leads to an internet friendship with a fellow fan, who is, you guessed, Bruce. This fic has great reflections on fandom and shipping culture. But the very beating heart of this fic is about how easy it is to lose something you wished to have but were afraid to ask for. The fic, at 12/13, is technically a WIP, but the main reveal is already done, and it is glorious. ETA - THIS IS NOT A DRILL, the fic is finished and the last chapter is a super meta cherry on a top of delicious, layered superhero identity and fandom shenanigans parfait. 13 chapters, 76,7k word count.

10 Things Every Brucie Fan Needs in Their Life by pomeloquat [T, 8,956 word count, WIP, 5/10] The main premise of this fic is hilarious and yet so, so right. Bruce Wayne is promoting himself as a nation's boyfriend instead of a playboy, and is making bank out of his wholesome, PG rated merchandise. The chapters of this fic tell continuous story but they also can be read as separate vignettes, so there's really no cliffhanger. This fic is so soft and fluffy, it will heal your soul. Also, Superman has celebrity crush on Bruce Wayne. Batman is amused.

#flyingcatstiel has thoughts #I’m doing small superbat reblog spree tonight #just to get everything out of my drafts #superbat #identity p*rn #identity shenanigans #superbat fic recs #i already added these to the reblog #but eh #let's ad them here as well #add #i worked hard on them #sometimes i forget how to tumblr #fic rec of the day

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foolishlovers · 6 months

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SOCIAL MEDIA AUs: Below you'll find a list of Good Omens fics that contain elements of social media such as Instagram, Youtube & Co.

You can request more fic recs here.

twitter cryptids by doctormissy (T, 36k)

Crowley's latest brilliant idea involves ranting about his undying love tiny crush on Aziraphale on Twitter instead of actually dealing with his feelings now that the world didn't end. Because he will never find out, right? Right?

Press L in the Chat (for Love) by Djapchan, Phoenix_Soar (E, 29k)

Bickering fan-content creators Aziraphale and Crowley only have three things in common — they are both avid fans of a new revolutionary TV series about pirates, they are popular for their fantastic fanfiction and fanart… and they are members of the same discord server. Neither of them likes the other, but across the chaotic virtual world of a discord chatroom, who knows what can happen when these two unlikely fans are paired up for an exciting collaboration? Us. We know ;) Discord Server AU — a collaboration between Phoenix_Soar (fic) and Djapchan (multivoice podfic organization & editing) for Pod-Together 2022

Angelic Whispers by AppleSeeds (T, 20k)

Crowley runs a very popular ASMR YouTube channel, but is considering applying for a job at a real life ASMR spa. He books an appointment as a client to try out the experience for himself, but becomes completely flustered when he meets the ridiculously gorgeous ASMR therapist, Aziraphale, who will be spending the next hour giving him unrelenting personal attention.

No Picture Can Express by nutmeag83 (T, 12k)

Ezra Fell prefers books (and discretely watching the lovely florist down the street) to social media, but takes up the hobby at Madame Tracy's urging. Anthony Crowley has been pining after his neighbor for ages, happy to keep his distance until Ezra asks him to tutor him in using Instagram. They find they have more in common than just having shops on the same block in Soho.

your smile speaks books to me by laiqualaurelote (T, 5k)

Aziraphale's bookshop becomes accidentally famous on Instagram, to his great distress. Since Crowley invented Instagram, it's also his problem.

it's a new craze by attheborder (T, 5k)

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we? CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all. AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not. *** Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast. But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?

You've Got Kudos by curtaincall (M, 4k)

Aziraphale and Crowley both write fanfiction. As it happens, they both write Good Omens fanfiction. Of course, neither of them would ever admit this to the other. (A love story told primarily in AO3 comments)

London Book Shop Recommendations? by nothankyoudear (G, 3k)

A.Z. Fell and Co. is recommended as a local London bookshop on a Reddit post. Chaos ensues when someone actually takes the recommendation and goes there, only to find that: 1. They don't get to buy books 2. The gentle bookshop owner apparently owns a giant python And 3. The bookshop owner is 100% in love with his best friend with the sunglasses OR Ineffable Husbands told through Reddit posts.

Parsley, Thyme, Sage, Daffodils by MostWeakHamlets (G, 3k)

Aziraphale has a cooking show on the internet. It started out with three viewers, but now he's known as the happy grandfather that blew up overnight. Crowley occasionally makes cameos, has dedicated his garden to giving Aziraphale fresh herbs and vegetables, and struggles with living after the apocalypse. _ “Taste this, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He held a spoonful of jam to Crowley’s lips with his free hand cautiously under it, ready to catch any dripping. Crowley leaned forward to wrap his lips around the spoon. Most likely his shyness came from the small tender moments Aziraphale was not afraid of showing the world. It had been the topic of many long conversations after Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in St. James Park, causing Crowley to freeze and break out in a cold sweat. Being discreet had always been their top priority. For 6,000 years, someone would have surely seen them if they embraced in the middle of London. But now, Aziraphale had assured Crowley, things were different. They no longer needed to hide, but Aziraphale would go as slow as Crowley needed him to. It was almost funny how their roles had switched after the apocalypse.

Crowley Invented Youtube Recommended (Parsley, Thyme, Sage, Daffodils remix) by flibbertygigget (T, 1.9k)

After Aziraphale's video on crêpes makes it into Youtube recommendations through a little demonic intervention, he quickly goes viral. Cue college students just trying to make it work, a bunch of young queers who see A.Z. Fell and his husband Anthony as "goals," and quite a few comments from one Newton Pulsifer.

Get Connected by AgentStannerShipper (G, 1k)

Crowley signs Aziraphale up for social media. Even if it's a slightly outdated one.

#reblogs appreciated <3 and come talk to me if you've read one of these!!#good omens #good omens fic rec #good omens fic #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #social media au #foolish recs #go fic masterpost

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rise-my-angel · 2 months

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Heart of the Great Wolf

42 - The Thing in the Night

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

Length: 19.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes narrowed, but only silence followed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How much longer could you even hold yourself together?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghost had begun to bark and growl in great volume.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not as blue as it's eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?”

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

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

Instantly. Jon laughed instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine

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karahalloway · 7 months

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Sleepless in New York: Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: It's the morning after the night before, and Drake does some reminiscing...

Word Count: 3,500

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, awkwardness, references to masturbation, obsessive-compulsive drinking)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This was not what I was supposed to be working on 🙈 My plan was to finish up Part 3 of Thanksgiving so it could be my submission for this year's Flufftober, but - as per usual - my brain (and my characters - thank you, Walker!) had other ideas, so here we are 😅

A/N2: I had 90% of this chapter written before the start of the summer, but then my inspiration kinda fizzled out, and I only finished it very recently. I was then umming-and-ahhing about whether to wait to post until the next part was also finished, or whether to split the content into two chapters. I went with the latter. Next chapter should be posted soon, though! Thanks for bearing with me! We're almost at the end (I know I keep saying this, but I can officially see the light at the end of the tunnel now!)

Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

My eyes snap open.

And just like that, I'm back on top of the hotel room bed, staring up at the ceiling, my hand wrapped around my still-pulsing dick.

Fuck.

I've never tripped out like that before.

Sure, I've dived down the rabbit-hole of a fantasy or two before. I mean, what guy hasn't? You're not gonna jack off staring at your own schlong, and if porn isn't available, you're gonna make up your own.

But to lose myself in the warren of make-believe so completely? To the point where the line between fact and fiction dissolves and I've lost all sense of direction?

Never.

Though I guess I now know what The Matrix feels like...

As if to evidence the point, I feel the end-results of my feverish daydream slide down my hip.

I swallow a groan. Great...

Yet another reason why I'd wanted to avoid flying solo. Because in addition to the sour taste in your mouth, you're always left with a God-awful mess to clean up... Especially if you hadn't had the foresight to grab a towel beforehand.

Which leaves me with an unenviable choice: make an awkward dash to the bathroom while trying (and most likely failing) to contain the dog's breakfast sitting in my lap; or repurpose something to act as an impromptu rag...

...though one downwards glance quickly narrows my options.

Definitely Option 2.

Unclenching my cum-covered hand from my junk, I carefully balance on an elbow as I reach up to grab the collar of my t-shirt. Because given the extent of the damage, there's no way I'm making it to the sink without some serious casualties.

And I'd rather sacrifice the shirt off my back than the one pair of jeans I'm going to have to travel back home in.

Decision made, I pull the t-shirt over my head, lowering myself carefully back against the headboard so I don't accidentally capsize my payload onto the covers. Because that's definitely not something that I have in me to deal with tonight.

Scrunching the cotton up, I wipe my hand before reach down to begin cleaning myself up...

...and nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of the loud rap on the door.

"Room service...!"

"Shit!" I cuss under my breath, tossing the ruined t-shirt onto my duffle while grabbing for my jeans as I roll of the bed.

Yanking the denim up as my bare feet hit the floor, I quickly secure the fly and top button with one hand while scrambling for my wallet with the other. "Two secs!"

Locating the well-worn, hand-stitched leather on the bedside table, I flip it open and extract a couple of notes for the tip. Throwing the wallet back onto the bed, I do one last visual sweep to make sure that everything was kosher before—

Knock-knock-knock!

"I said I'm coming!" I holler back, wrenching my belt through its buckle as I make my way across the room.

Sweet Jesus! Hold your fuckin' horses already!

Reaching the entranceway, I snap an irate hold on the door handle. Wrenching it back, I come face-to-face with the impatient staff member who's gearing up for yet another round of aggressive knocking.

"Oh!" she exclaims in surprise, her fake-lash enhanced eyes going wide. "I—"

"No need to wake the whole damn neighbourhood..." I tell her tersely. "I said I was coming."

She flushes scarlet, not quite knowing where to look. "Sorry... The... umm... the doors are sound-proofed, so I... I couldn't—"

"Never mind," I grunt, pulling the door wider so she could wheel the food in.

She stares at me like a newborn calf seeing a fence for the first time.

I quirk a brow. This girl high, or something?

But just as I'm about to open my mouth to say something, she snaps out of whatever trance she's stumbled into and quickly refocuses her attention on the task at hand.

Stepping back, she reverses the service cart slightly so she can angle it into the room...

...and she still manages to hit the door frame on the way in.

The contents of the trolley jerk with a loud rattle and I have to snap a hand out to save the bottle of whiskey from crashing onto the floor.

"Christ alive..." I mutter under my breath.

"Oh, my God!" she gasps, face going red. "I am so s—!"

"I'll take it from here," I tell her, throwing the whiskey under my arm as I snatch the clonche-covered tray off the trolley while it was still in one piece.

"But—"

"Thanks," I say firmly, holding the tip up with an uncompromising look.

She glances at the notes almost morosely before reaching out to take them with a sigh. "Is there anything—?"

"Nope," I say, moving to close the door back 'round. "I'm good."

"Okay..." She heaves a breath as she begins to pull the cart back into the corridor. "Well, if you change your—"

"I won't," I assure her, flicking the door closed as soon as she's cleared the threshold.

Jesus... Talk about incompetent.

Retracing my steps, I deposit the tray onto the bed and reach for the whiskey under my arm.

Unscrewing the top, I tip the bottle back, not bothering with a glass from the mini bar.

The sweet sting of the amber liquid hits the back of my throat, and I suck it down, feeling the familiar warmth snake its way through my insides.

God, I needed that.

I take two more generous swallows — after the shit way the second half of the night had ended up unfolding, I'm seriously overdue some Southern comfort — before pulling the bottle back down and re-attaching the cap.

Chucking the bourbon onto the covers, I detour to the bathroom to wash my hands properly before sitting down on the edge of the bed and lifting the clonche.

The smell of grilled meat and salted carbs plumes out into the room, and my stomach growls in response.

Fuck, I'm starving.

Grabbing the burger with both hands, I tear into it viciously. The smoky flavour of the beef hits my tongue, followed quickly by the creaminess of the melted cheddar, and the tang of the pickles.

And even though it's not quite as good as the one I had back at the dive bar, that doesn't stop me from wolfing down another ravenous bite before the first one's cleared my gullet.

Because given how hard my body's craving the calories, even a tub of caviar would've tasted like ambrosia right now... And I fuckin' hate caviar.

Gulping the mouthful down, I grab a handful of fries and throw 'em down the hatch as well, barely pausing to chew before I swallow.

This ain't a high society dinner, so fuck table-manners.

Chowing down on the food like it's my last meal on Earth, I polish off the plate in record time, even wiping up the wayward bits of relish that had escaped the bun with last couple of fries...

...and am rewarded with a loud belch for my efforts.

I scoff. Probably shouldn't've eaten so quick...

But what's done is done. And my body sure as hell feels the better for it.

Sucking my fingers clean, I reach for the bourbon again. Taking another swig — much more measured this time — I drop the clonche back into the now empty plate and move the tray onto the upholstered bench that sat at the foot of the bed.

Glancing down at my watch, I can see that it's just coming up to 5am.

Which means that dawn's right around the corner.

I glance briefly at the bed.

But I know there's no point.

Because as exhausted as I am, I know I'm never gonna be able to nod off. Not this close to departure time. I'll just be staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes 'til my alarm rings.

Especially since the sun's about to come up. And when that happens, there's no way in hell I'm catching any shut-eye. My circadian rhythms are too well-tuned for that.

So, closing the bourbon back up again, I push myself heavily up from the bed. Making my way over to my duffle for the third time tonight, I extract my last wearable shirt.

Pulling it on, I grab my phone — no urgent messages or missed calls, thank fuck! Though the battery's on the verge of dying...

But it's gonna have to suck it up in power-saver mode. Because I only have a handful of self-imposed fiats that I live my life by. And top of the list is never leave anywhere without my phone.

Ever.

I learnt that lesson the hard way...

And I'm not about to break my cardinal rule. Especially not after Chris' disappearing act last night.

So, dropping the device into my pocket, I reach for my sidearm — another thing I never go anywhere without. Slotting it into the back of my jeans, I grab the keycard and exit the room again, not bothering with shoes.

I'm not plannin' on being gone long. And my feet could do with a break after racking up some serious miles over the past 24 hours in my boots. Plus, it feels good to let my soles run free — especially since I can't go for my usual barefoot run on the beach here.

But given that I have nothing better to do, and the TV had let me down earlier, I may as well take advantage of this brief moment of calm to do something that I actually enjoy.

Making my way up onto the roof — via the lift this time because I'm in no particular rush and I've already more than surpassed my daily step count — I push the door open and step into the twilight.

As expected, the roof is empty.

The lights of the skyscrapers twinkle in the distance, the buzz of the traffic merely a faint drone at this height.

Making my way over to the eastern corner of the building, I park myself next to the edge...

...and wait for the sunrise.

At first, nothing happens. The dark of the night sits heavily over the island, seeming to muffle the normally inexhaustible energy of the City That Never Sleeps.

But slowly... ever so slowly, the sky begins to lighten. And the wind shifts. From the depths of the evening's humid, slightly stale breeze comes a fresh, easterly gust that carries the soft scent of the sea with it.

It whips over me, cutting through the thin material of my shirt. But I don't flinch. If anything, I lean into it, savouring the faint taste of salt on my skin.

The black of the horizon gives way to blue and then to grey as the rising sun pushes the darkness back. Spots of colour appear — gold, russet and magenta, framing the clouds like a backlight.

And as I watch, the first tendrils of brilliance start to creep over the buildings, setting the acres of glass on fire. The wind begins to warm, bringing with it the promise of tomorrow...

...until the sun finally bursts into view, scorching the Big Apple in the blaze of the new dawn.

I heave a deep breath of the crisp morning air.

This. This'd been worth staying up for.

The last vestiges of tension drain out of my shoulders as I simply stand, taking in the view...

...and realise that I can't remember the last time I stopped to just enjoy the moment. Be it a hot mug of coffee, or the breeze on my face. Let alone the silent beauty of a perfect sunrise.

I exhale heavily.

I've been so caught up planning every aspect of this trip — not to mention the details of the social season with Bast — that I haven't even had time to think about taking a break, let alone catching one.

It's probably why I—

"Couldn't sleep either?"

I scoff at the sound of the familiar — and not entirely unexpected — voice from behind me. "Nope."

"Jet lag still?" asks Chris, coming to stand next to me.

"Probably," I shrug, keeping my gaze turned towards the horizon. "You?"

He heaves a breath as he surveys the sunrise. "Bit of jet lag as well, I suppose..."

I glance over at him.

We both know that ain’t the whole truth. Just like neither of us are under any illusion that my answer hadn’t been completely honest either. But we've known each other long enough that neither of us feels the need to press the issue.

So, it goes unsaid that I'm fully aware of the fact that Chris' sleepless nights are caused by the looming spectre of the social season, which has been haunting him for the past year. And, with just one day to go, that spectre's about to transform into a living nightmare.

And there's nothing that either of us can do about it.

Because the die has been cast — by forces outside of our control — and both of us are now stuck on the proverbial highway to hell with no exit ramps in sight.

And I hate that feeling of helplessness. Not just on my part — though it grates on me no end that I can't save my brother from his predetermined fate — but on his part as well. Because even though Chris wears the mask of obligation like a second skin, he can't hide the fact that he's shitting a brick.

At least not from me.

Because despite all his years of diplomacy training, we've played enough poker together for me to know that behind that stoic façade, he's terrified. Terrified of the weight of his inherited duty, terrified of falling short of expectations, terrified of ending up on the same error-ridden path that his dad had trod.

But, most importantly, he's terrified of making the wrong choice. Because even though he knows each and every one of the suitors who'll be competing for his hand, that knowledge doesn't make things easier.

In fact, just the opposite.

Because regardless of what each woman brings to the table in terms of money, ability, or allegiances — a dizzying and convoluted cost-benefit calculation at the best of times — the fact remains that none of them are really in this competition for him. They're in it for the Crown. Which means each option's just as relative as the next. As none of the women actually care about Chris. They just want the title of Queen. Or rather, their families do. For the bragging rights.

Except maybe Livy. She's arguably the only suitor who's putting her name in the hat because she actually wants Chris for himself. And couldn't care less about the social promotion.

Too bad she's a class A bitch.

Not that any of that matters. Because the hunt for the next Queen isn't about love, or what people want, or any of the rest of that touchy-feely crap. It's about what's best for the kingdom...

...irrespective of what's best for Chris. Now, tomorrow, or twenty years down the line.

As he's just as much of a pawn — if not more so — as the women competing for his hand. And unlike Leo, he doesn't have the luxury of flipping the system the bird and calling bull on the whole fucked up exercise. Because there’s no one else to fall back on. It’s him, or nothing.

So, it's small wonder he's been burning the candle at both ends, trying to avoid being alone with the weight of his thoughts.

Hell, if I was him, I'd've disappeared down the neck of a bottle long ago.

As if reading my mind, Chris magics up a a pair of tumblers. "Here," he says, placing them down between us. "You look like you need it."

A scoff escapes me. "Didn't think they had a bar up here."

"Invitation only," he winks, unscrewing the cap of the 25-year old, single malt bottle of The Glenlivet that he's also brought with him.

"Comes well stocked, I see," I remark, watching him dole out a generous serving into each glass.

"Well, someone once told me to never cheap out on wallets, watches, or whiskey," he replies with a smirk, placing the bottle off to one side.

I shake my head with a scoff as I reach for my glass. "Yeah, 'cause the first holds your money, the second tells you the time... and the third'll help you forget about both."

"Truer words have never been spoken," grins Chris, raising his glass to clink it against mine.

"Dad knew a thing or two about life," I agree, throwing the scotch back on a suddenly constricted throat.

"He was a good man," nods Chris, taking a reciprocal sip of his drink.

"Yeah..." I say tightly, gazing out over the city without really seeing it. "He was."

Wonder what he'd think of Harper...

I give myself a mental slap. It doesn't fucking matter, you ass. That girl's history, just like Dad. No point getting hung up on—

"You know..." muses Chris, interrupting my self-flagellation. "We never got to see Times Square."

I snort caustically as I reach for the bottle again. "Because Besnard conspired with the weather to fuck us over..."

Chris quirks a brow as he holds his own glass out for a top-up. "I'm not certain it was entirely intentional..."

"You sure?" I counter with a sidelong look, refilling both tumblers. "'Cause I'd be damn hard pressed to find another dipshit on this planet who could've screwed up something so simple so spectacularly."

"Fair point," Chris concedes with a chuckle. "But, lucky for us, both Tariq and the malignant rain clouds are — rather thankfully — in the wind. So, what say we take advantage of the reprieve? Just the two of us?"

My hand stops mid-air. "You wanna sneak out? Again?"

He meets my eye with a knowing look. "May very well be our last chance before the start of the season..."

I shake my head dryly as I place the bottle back on the ledge. "Thought I was supposed to be the bad influence."

"Perhaps the student has finally surpassed the master," he replies, throwing me another wink as he raises his glass up in mock salute.

I can't help but scoff. "With that disappearing act, I'd say you've surpassed even your brother!"

"That may perhaps be a bit of a stretch," he chides. "As we cannot forget that it was my dear brother who once skipped out of a high-profile summit in Marrakech, commandeered a camel and a kaftan, and rode for six hours through the desert so he could watch the Dakar Rally."

"Yeah, that Lawrence of Arabia shit does set the bar quite high, doesn't it?"

"Leo has never been one to do things by halves..." Chris reminds me.

I heave a breath. "Don't I know it..."

Chris catches my gaze out of the corner of his eye. "Hope you weren't too harsh with him..."

I lift the tumbler to my mouth. "No comment."

"Christ! That bad, huh?"

"I may have questioned his sanity," I tell him sardonically.

"You certainly wouldn't have been the first," laughs Chris. "Father seriously considered sending him to a clinic in Switzerland when Leo told him of his plan to abdicate."

"Would've saved me a massive headache if he had..." I grumble.

"No... it was my fault," sighs Chris. "I should not have taken the device. I did promise that I would behave, and I reneged on my word."

I hold up a hand. "Hey. It's fine. I get why Leo gave it to you... and why you took it. Just... Don't get any ideas for the season. I'd prefer to keep my job... and my balls."

Chris laughs. "Duly noted. However, I would still like to take the opportunity to offset my regrettable faux pas... Perhaps with a traditional American breakfast?"

I cock a brow at him. "Do you even know what a traditional American breakfast is?"

"No," he admits. "But what better way to find out than in the company of a local?"

"Okay, fine," I concede, throwing the last of my scotch back. "But you better not skip out on me again..."

"You have my undying word," he says, laying a hand on his heart.

"Good," I say, pointing a finger at him. "'Cause this time, I'm gonna hold you to it." Softening my expression, I add, "But seriously. Glad you had a chance to escape. Christ knows you needed it."

"As do I," he says with a smile, picking up the bottle of scotch to head back across the roof. "So, thank you for pulling this getaway together. I'll treasure the memories — always."

"The trip ain't over yet, buddy," I remind him. "We still have three hours to kill before departure."

He grins back at me. "Then we best get to it, hadn't we, mate?"

The story continues in Chapter 12 - Hungover on You

A/N: As a quick bonus, here is a pic of Leo in the Moroccan desert 😇

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits: Burger - Shirtless - Whiskey - New York

Drake, Christian and Leo were generated with the AI art app Wonder

#drake walker #sleepless in new york #the royal romance #trr au #new york #prince liam #Spotify

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