#but no. that would be separating him from hell and the violence that takes place in it and he is VERY much involved in the violence

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[worldlxvlys]

can u do one where the reader actually rocks Chris’ toxic girlfriends shit PLEASEEEEEE

and btw you an amazing writertrr

reader x chris who has a toxic gf (part 4)

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: cursing, violence, mention of sex

a/n: thank youuu and i hope you like :)

previous part

if someone told me two days ago that i’d be standing in my kitchen, baking cookies with chris and his girlfriend, i would’ve looked at them like they were crazy. yet here i am, doing exactly that.

it was chris’s bright idea for the three of us to spend time together, “i want you guys to try to get along” were his exact words.

i offered to do it at my house, so i could kick layla’s ass out when i got sick of her.

so now, here we were, baking cookies together. we hadn’t even been at it for longer than five minutes before layla started to piss me off.

“what the hell type of cookie sheet is this? it looks like you got it from the dollar tree” she snickered.

the sound of her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, she was obviously making it higher on purpose.

i gave her an odd look at this, “i did. why would i pay for expensive ass cooking sheets?” i squinted my eyes at her.

she looked taken aback, probably expecting me to take her words to heart.

“for real. who cares where you got it? as long as it works” chris agreed.

when he saw the look on layla’s face, his eyes widened slightly and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

chris grabbed the bag of cookie dough, starting to hand it to me.

i went to grab it before layla, who stood on my other side, reached around me and took it.

“great, let’s get started!” she spoke, an annoyingly wide grin covering her face.

i glanced at chris, giving him a look to express my annoyance without verbalizing it.

he gave me a pleading look, silently asking me to try.

letting her open the bag, i reached for the parchment paper, lining my “cheap” cookie sheets.

i watched as she struggled to open the bag, letting out dramatic huffs and puffs.

“baby, can you open this for me? my nails-” she stopped talking when i grabbed the bag from her, ripping it open.

my nails were longer than hers, however, i opened the bag without a problem.

“it’s not the nails” i spoke to her as i separated the pre-cut dough.

“and next time, if you can’t open something, don’t take it from someone who actually can” i finished.

she let out a sigh, her lips turning into a slight pout. “whatever” she said.

once the dough was separated, chris and i started to place it on the cookie sheet.

i glanced over at her, noticing that she was just standing there.

“are you actually gonna put the cookies on the sheet, or are your nails too long to do that too?” i asked.

her face dropped at that, her brows furrowing slightly. a deep frown grew on her face and she looked like she was going to cry.

“ok, i’m not just gonna stand here and let you belittle me” she said, catching me by surprise. she seemed like i genuinely upset her.

“and, you, chris ? you just let her talk to me however she wants. i’m not some monster, i have feelings” her voice broke when she spoke, “but all you care about is her”.

i pressed my lips together when chris made no effort to deny her statement, well this is awkward.

chris and i just stood there, staring at her with wide eyes.

“whatever” she shook her head, “can you just bring me home? i’m not feeling great” she asked as she looked at chris.

i squinted my eyes at her, confused. “didn’t you drive here? how is he supposed to take you home?”

chris shot a look at me that said are you serious?

“ok, forget it. never mind” i spoke, holding my hands up.

“i was asking if he could come home with me” she spoke quietly.

“yeah, just let me go use the bathroom real fast” he spoke quickly. he turned to me, “please just leave her alone” he said before walking towards my bathroom.

as soon as he left the room, her face turned into a light smirk.

my eyebrows rose as her eyes, which still had tears in them, held an evil glint.

what the fuck?

“isn’t he so gullible? all it took was a few fake tears to get him on my side” she said, her voice now at its normal pitch.

“see, the difference between you and me? you may have him wrapped around your finger, but i know exactly how to get what i want from him” she spoke.

“well, that and the fact that you’re a manipulative, lying bitch” i said.

“yet i’m the one in a relationship with him. i just know that shit hurts” she said.

her words definitely struck a nerve, but i’d never admit it.

“i’m the one who’ll be taking him home. and once he finishes comforting me, i’ll bat my eyelashes at him. tell him how much your words hurt me, and that i need a distraction”

“before i know it, i’ll be under him. i’ll hear him moan my name because, like i said, i always get what i want. call it manipulative if you want, i have needs” she shrugged once she finished.

“he’s a good fuck, it’s a shame you w-” she started but was cut off by my fist making contact with her face.

there was a sickening crack that echoed through the kitchen, as she fell back into the chair behind her. she held onto her nose, screaming out in pain.

“stand the fuck up” i told her, as she started to actually cry.

she didn’t listen, she just sat there and continued to sob.

“i told you what would happen, bitch. i don’t know why you thought i was joking” i said as i got closer to her, making her shrink away from me.

“you don’t get to talk about chris like that. your ungrateful ass doesn’t deserve him.” i grabbed her by her ponytail, making her cry out in pain.

i pulled her to her feet in one swift motion before letting go of her. i pushed her in the direction of my door, “get the fuck out of my house or i swear to god a broken nose will be the least of your problems” i said.

instead of listening to me, she spun around quickly. she swung at me, but i moved back quickly, only receiving a scratch to the face from her nails.

i swept my foot out, making her lose balance and fall to the ground. without missing a beat, i climbed on top of her and punched her over and over again.

all i could think about was the way she talked about chris, as though he was simply a thing that she used for her own pleasure.

if she thought i was just going to sit back and allow her to treat chris that way, she was wrong.

i got in a few more punches before a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me away from her.

“what the fuck are you doing?” chris yelled as he let go of me.

my face fell as i realized how bad the situation seemed. when he left she was crying and now here i was beating the shit out of her.

“chris, just let me explain” i said as he rushed over to her.

“explain? what is there to explain? when i left she was sobbing, and she still is. why would you do this?” he yelled.

i backed away from him at the tone he used, realizing how mad he was.

he picked her up bridal style, before walking towards the door.

when he walked past me, he mumbled something before walking out of the door.

“all i asked was for you to try.”

💟💟💟💟

yikes 😬😬

i think i’m gonna make this a series, should i ?

MASTERLIST #1.

MASTERLIST #2.

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @heraakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @mattsnymphette @leah-loves-lilies @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock

[aratedfreyjablog]

Squishmallow HC Kings ver.

When they find you hugging a gigantic squishmallow in your sleep. Reader/MC gender neutral!

Satan 

Violence is going to be only thing in his mind when he sees you sleeping while holding a squishmallow

He’s going to be glaring  and grinding his teeth at the squishmallow, regarding it as an angel incarnated from the heavens itself and imagining all the ways he can torture it in the worst and most terrible ways (most of them involving shredding and stuffing flying every where)

When not thinking about tormenting the squismallow, he would be trying to figure out what exactly it’s supposed to be. Like, he can tell it resembles some sort of animal on Earth but its head and body aren’t even separated! Hell, he would’ve felt a tiny bit better if its head and body were separated so he could rip it into two cleanly like he does with other stuffed animals! But what is that supposed to be!?

The only that’s stopping him from doing exactly everything he’s wanting to do was the fact knowing it was one of your precious keepsakes back on Earth and has been giving you comfort during your stay in Hell

That and he finds the image cute of you hugging some sort of stuffed animal in your sleep

Don’t get him wrong though, the minute he finds an opportunity, it’s gone. Dead. Done.

He’s going to remember what it had done to him and have it pay the price once he gets a chance. 

In the meantime, he opts to leaving you to sleep and climb into your bed

He hugs you from the back, pulling you closer to himself and snuggling his face into your head as if rubbing his scent on you will assert his dominance over the thing and show you were his

He’s petty enough to give you a hard time over the whole thing the next morning by making you incapable of walking out of bed for breakfast

Beezelbub 

Sort of shows a similar reaction as Satan where it starts off with him either dragging his cigarette longer and harder compared to normal if having one or being devoid of expression with arms crossed as he simply stares at the scene of you hugging the squishmallow in your sleep

He does feel puzzled by it and tilts his head side to side to try to figure out what it is while taking a quick picture because, even he admits, the scene is 100% cute and blackmail material

But this whole thing doesn’t last long, probably 2 minutes at best

Remember, once he puts his mind into something, he’s going to be sticking to it. And that thing stole the spot that’s reserved for him and only him. As if he’s going to leave it alone and let it stay in his spot

There isn’t any hesitation when he walks closer to you and casually yet quietly rips the squishmallow out of your arms before he quickly slides into your arms without waking you up

It does satisfy him a bit when the squishmallow hits the wall across from your bed before falling face-down on the floor

He holds you tightly and calms himself down by smelling your scent from the top of your head

He may even choose to secretly mark you in a couple of places along your upper body since if he went any lower, it'll definitely wake you up

Now there’s two options he can choose from: 

If he chooses to stay the whole night, he’s going give you a hard time in the morning by “reminding” you who exactly is yours

If not, he’s going to take the squishmallow with him as he leaves to give it a special disposable treatment or draw bunch of doodles all over its face and body to make it ugly and no longer charming in your eyes without guilt

Leviathan

Oh boy, you better prepare yourself because if you thought Beel and Satan were bad, this demon takes the whole cake

He will know whether or not someone or something other himself was in your arms and he will not react well to it

And that’s exactly what is happening when he catches you hugging some sort of abomination in your sleep

There’s none of the whole contemplation or staring - The second he sees it and at where it is, he yanks the squishmallow out of your arms without caring whether it tears or not and hangs it by its nonexistent neck tightly to the point it looks it’ll burst

He doesn’t even care if he wakes you up when he does it as his jealousy consumes him from the mere sight of something other than himself in your embrace

Because of this, this, too, has two options this can go:

If you don’t end up waking up from it, he’s going to contemplate whether or not to wake you only to choose to hold some restraint and let you sleep by yourself. But he does plan on giving you one of the worst mornings involving pain from mostly your spine all the way to your legs, that’s for sure

But if you wake up from the feeling of missing something while he’s still in your room,  he’s not planning to let you go back to sleep and leave you alone until he calms down and feel that he’s marked you or you marked him enough so that you won’t ever look or touch anyone or anything other than himself 

No matter which option you choose, say goodbye to the squishmallow because he does take it with him and utterly destroys it no matter if it’s precious to you or not. 

Mammon

He’s the only one amongst the four that decides peace was an option and doesn’t show a visceral reaction over the squishmallow

Because he was the one that gave the idea to humans to create  the stuffed toy, despite not knowing what it is, he thinks he’s the one that gave it permission to be graced for the night while sleeping in your arms. Though, he does think he could’ve given you something better…

But if it gives you comfort during your stay in Hell, that’s fine. That's a free service that he’s willing to offer as a means to persuade you into becoming a permanent resident. 

Despite finding the image of you hugging such a massive squishmallow endearing as it reminds him of how you hug him in your sleep, he does feel disgruntled over the fact he got replaced

No matter though, he’s bigger than the squishmallow in every single way. That works to his advantage along him being a living being that pleases you in all aspects including pleasure. So, there’s no competition whatsoever

It doesn’t mean he won’t join you in bed. He climbs in and pulls you into his chest from the front, squishing the squishmallow to the point one might pitifully think it’s suffocating

In fact, when you wake up the next morning, you’re the one feeling jealous seeing that you missed out to being the one that gets squished 

Of course this leads to morning playtime once he senses this as you throw the squishmallow out of the bed and dive straight to something that’s much softer and squishier

[thechaoticdruid]

Hello! A scene rewrite for your consideration (no obligation of course!):

Astarion’s siblings’ reactions when they break into the party’s camp at the Elfsong Tavern and see Astarion and Winnie cuddling in bed. After the fight, Winnie asks him about not having empathy for the other spawn and Astarion says his line, “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind thing to me…you’re the only one.”

angst/hurt/comfort?

Thank you for your amazing writing! ❤️

Forever

Pairing: Astarion x Named!Tav (Winnie)

Note: I hope you don't mind, but some of it is word for word from the game while some is changed a bit, but it's pretty much the same context. This is literally one of my favorite scenes in the game! Also please ignore that the photo is not set in the same place as this oneshot. The oneshot takes place in the Elfsong!

Content: Violence, Fluff, slight angst with comfort. Nothing too bad!

Winnie had never thought she'd feel safe enough to sleep peacefully, undisturbed. Not since before the attack on the Lost Grove, her childhood home, did she ever truly feel safe. Today had been particularly tiring since Winnie, Astarion, Jaheira and Karlach had been on the trail of Jaheira’s friend Minsc. Karlach seemed super excited to meet him, apparently he was some great hero or something. Winnie had never been too educated on Faerûn’s heros. They didn't tell stories of them in the Lost Grove. Now she was resting up in their room in the Elfsong, snuggled up in Astarion's arms as he played with her hair, face nuzzled into his chest. The two of them laid on the bed together hidden away from the view of the others as the drapes closed off the room they were in. 

Astarion was awake watching over the human druid as she dozed off in his arms. The sound of the Elfsong’s ghostly songstress lulling her to sleep. Astarion leans over and plants a chaste kiss on her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of lavender and cherry blossoms, the druid’s signature scent. 

For a while she was in a peaceful slumber, but the wicked don't sleep, someone was here to disturb her rest.

Astarion’s pointed ears detected the sound of footsteps and the scent of undeath hit him hard. 

His siblings had come for a visit, slipping in through the curtains that separated them from the rest of their sleeping companions. Glowing red eyes gazed over at the couple in curiosity.

“Astarion? Finally we've found you.” A tiefling female said as she stepped through the curtains. She was followed shortly by what appeared to be a shirtless human male. The two immediately noticed Astarion curled up around his sleeping human love. Astarion mentally cursed himself for allowing his siblings of all people to witness him in such a vulnerable moment. Cazador was the last person that needed to know of his relationship with Winnie.  

“Looks like he found himself a pet mortal.” The man murmured. Astarion slipped away from Winnie and stood in front of her. 

“Oh, her? She's more of a convenient blood bag, really.” Astarion bluffed, hoping his lie would make sure Cazador didn't see Winnie as a means of leverage to use against him. Winnie shifted, exposing the faded bite marks upon her neck.

“Nevermind that brother, you're coming with us.” The tiefling said before she and the male began to corner Astarion.

Winnie slowly shifted, unconsciously feeling around her bed for her lover. Her eyes blinked open as she suddenly heard the sound of shouting. 

“GET THE HELLS AWAY FROM ME!” Astarion snarled. Winnie leapt out of bed now wide awake as she noticed Astarion backing away from two unfamiliar intruders with his fangs barred. 

“Peace brother, we've come to take you home.” The tiefling said. Winnie glared at them and moved over towards Astarion's side.

“The master needs all seven of us for the ceremony, come with us and be reborn. We'll live again.” The man said.

“You're not taking Astarion anywhere.” Winnie growled out, taking a step in front of him protectively.

“Our master needs him for the Rite. He must attend.” The tiefling woman said.

“Oh, I'm well aware of what the master needs. But don't we deserve better?” Astarion spoke up.

“Better? What do you mean?” The other male spawn questioned.

“After these centuries of torment, I know what you all want, more than power, more than to walk in the sun.” Astarion looked at the other two spawn before a devilish grin formed upon his lips. “You want to see him dead.” The other spawn looked at one another as Astarion continued. Winnie rose an eyebrow at Astarion, curious about what he had to say. “The Rite of Profane Ascension will be mine and he won't see a scrap of its glory. I am going to complete the ritual as the Ascendant and then I am going to kill him!” 

Winnie's eyes widened in surprise. He was really still trying to go through with this despite all of her warnings. Winnie wasn’t a stranger when it came to killing, but his siblings were under Cazador's control just as much as he'd been. Whatever their sins were, they weren't their own. At least that's how it was in Winnie's mind. 

“This is your chance. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge and you will live again.”  Winnie could see the lie in his smile, the hunger for power was clear as day. He'd throw them to the wolves for his own gain.  Normally Winnie would be sickened by such a rotten scheme, but being that it was her lover cooking it up she just felt disappointed. 

“Astarion, you can't be this cruel. You're asking them to die for you in that ritual.” Winnie looked at him, eyes saddened. Astarion tensed as he looked back at his lover's round puppy-like eyes, the soft pout of her lips nearly making him cave.

“Don't look at me like that. With the sweet little ‘disappointed I'm not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can't take it.” He glared back at her slightly. “I can't be what you want to see in me.” 

“Die in the ritual? Whatever are you speaking of? We're going to cheat undeath.” The tiefling said, looking quite puzzled.

“Cazador is lying to you. He needs your souls to complete this ritual!” Winnie exclaimed, “why else do you think he wants Astarion back so badly?”

“The master doesn't need to lie to us. He controls us completely. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope?”

“Oh, I don't know…Maybe because he's a sadistic piece of shit?” Winnie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at their ignorance.

“Shit. She's right, we're doomed.” The male spawn said. “Alright, we'll help you. Just tell us what to do.” Just as he was about to speak further the tiefling woman began to cry out in pain, her body glowing red.

“The bond’s hold. He owns us. We have no choice, we must obey. Get out of here, Astarion!”  She shouted before the other male began to glow red as well.  Winnie tensed, the sound of the front doors to the connecting rooms slamming open sent her into survival mode. Almost immediately she dropped down, wild shaping into her direwolf form with a loud howl to alert the others. 

Astarion quickly grabbed his rapier from under the bed as his tiefling sister came at him with claws. Astarion's blocked her with the blade, slashing her across the chest and kicking her back. Winnie immediately jumped on Astarion's brother and sank her teeth into his shoulder. While the other members of their group fought with the other invading spawn, they were able to slip right past them and make their way towards the room where Astarion and Winnie were locked in combat. 

They lunged at the transformed druid, sinking their fangs into her flesh and draining her of her precious ichor. Winnie released the spawn, jerking back with a high pitched dog like whine as the other spawns mobbed her.

“Winnie!” Astarion pushed his sister out of the way and rushed over to the druid as she was forced out of her wild shape and into her human form. The arcane trickster kicked one of his siblings off her before casting scorching ray and hitting multiple of them with it. Winnie had to take a moment to regain her composure as her head was spinning from blood loss. 

This is bad….Fuck…If only the sun was….Wait a minute!

“Sol Invictus!” Winnie suddenly cast daylight on one of the nearby chairs, sending intense beams of light at all of the nearby vampire spawn. Their skin began to sizzle and scorch. Astarion's siblings immediately made a run for the exit, disappearing into mist before they could be turned to ashes. Winnie huffed a bit, eyes glancing around at the blood and damage caused by their uninvited guests. 

“What a mess. Well at least you've met my family now.” Astarion sighed, running a hand through his hair. Winnie crossed her arms and glared at Astarion.

“Oh come on, you're not still pouting over this!” Astarion whined.

“That was low Astarion. Lying to them like that.” Winnie huffed out.

“I don't know why you're so upset. They're only six vampire spawn!” 

“Can’t you at least be a little sympathetic to others who suffered the same as you?” 

“None of them would do the same for me! 200 years or torment and no one ever said a kind thing to me! You're the only one.” He said, gesturing towards the brunette haired druid.

“Astarion.” Winnie frowned, a saddened look in her eyes. 

“Other people don't have a heart like you….You're you….No one is like that.” Astarion said softly before suddenly feeling a soft hand on his cheek as Winnie looked into his eyes.

“Star, there are so many wonderful people in this world who will love you as much as I do. You just need to open your heart to them.” Astarion placed his larger hand over Winnie's. 

“Don't sell yourself so short. I'm doing this for you too, you know. To make sure we're both safe. Forever.” Astarion smiled sweetly as he gazed lovingly back at his druid before adding a firm, “for good.” Winnie smiled at him, eyes growing soft.

“Your sweet words aren't gonna change my view on this I'm afraid.” Winnie smirked, “but I am rather happy to hear you want to protect me.” 

“Stubborn little thing.” Astarion murmured before leaning in to kiss Winnie's forehead. “I saw you get bitten quite a few times. Are you alright?” 

“I feel woozy I guess, tired.” Winnie admitted, before receiving another forehead kiss. 

“Wait here, I'll go get you something to eat.”Her vampiric love hummed.

“Ooh! Ooh! Cheese!” Winnie said giddily as her partner rolled his eyes with a smile before walking off to fetch her some food. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Taglist for Winnie's during campaign oneshots:

@vixstarria , @paganwitchisis , @kerwin290710

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; zestial

requested by ; anonymous (13/02/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; zestial

outline ; “can you do general relationship headcanons for Zestial?”

note ; characterisation is likely very shaky as we haven’t seen much of him so far in the series

warning(s) ; some canon typical references to violence, but mostly fluff!

though he may be a terribly imposing demon and an overlord with a reputation and presence that demands respect and fear, when it comes to your relationship zestial is nothing short of a complete and utter gentleman

he’s very traditional in his displays of affection, as one might expect, which means you’ll be on the receiving end of many of the following gestures (amongst many, many others along the same lines): him draping his outercoat over your shoulders if you complain about feeling cold or are wearing something that’s drawing a bit too much attention for his liking, him walking you home from every date just so you feel safe (and because he enjoys your company, of course), him bringing your hand up to his lips to chastely kiss your knuckles or the back of your hand in greeting, him memorising how you enjoy your drinks and either making them for you himself when you visit his home or sending for his servants to do so on his behalf, him walking with you whilst either placing a guiding hand on the small of your back or interlocking your arms just to make sure that all of hell knows that you’re taken, and so on…

he tends to lean towards more traditional pet names and would prefer if you did the same when addressing him — think along the lines of ‘my dear’, ‘my darling’, ‘my heart’, or ‘my love’ (emphasis on ‘my’ as that’s one of the many casual ways that he proclaims his ownership over your heart and being through your partnership)

his dating style is, again, very traditional and gentlemanly with him preferring to take things slow to enjoy the process of courting and wooing you in its entirety — so expect things like: lots of chaste shows of affection leading up to that eventual kiss that happens after a long time of anticipating it, semi frequent dates that involve more walking and pleasant conversation than anything else, the frequent exchanging of letters and gifts that would feel incredibly out of place for anyone but him, and compliments given in earnest that are very sparsely heard from such an intimidating overlord

carmilla is the first person to find out about your relationship and deals with the brunt of zestial’s pining for you whilst also being the only person he goes to for advice on the rare occasion where he feels like he needs it — of course he’s plenty confident in himself but if you happen to be from a more modern time period there are times where he’ll turn to carmilla’s expertise and experience in order to properly meet your needs and expectations for your relationship

usually this means an afternoon spent in her office discussing gift ideas (between his own thoughts, carmilla’s suggestions, and your personal tastes it’s safe to say that you’re never left wanting for anything so long as you’re together) or with her briefing him on modern day dating etiquette, which he rarely ever makes use of unless it’s to make you laugh (truly he believes that his technique and approach is much more romantic but he can see the humour in the attempts at courtship made by younger generations… sometimes, anyway)

whenever there’s an extermination due, he insists on you staying at his home with him so you can ride out the slaughter together — the mood is always surprisingly light and almost tender as you take the time to enjoy each others company, eat good food, and try to forget about what’s going on just outside of your field of view

despite how much of an effort he makes to keep you and your relationship separate to his work as an overlord, it’s only a matter of time before you get to see firsthand exactly why the denizens of hell would sooner set themselves ablaze or take their own lives before risking drawing his attention to them for even a second — and even though his anger and violence is never directed at you (he wouldn’t dream of raising a hand to his partner) it’s still incredibly frightening to witness and it would take some time to reconcile those two versions of him in your mind

but once you know how ruthless he can be, he becomes much more willing to wield that reputation in order to protect you and your relationship — of course he’s already publicly claimed you in every way he could think of, but it doesn’t hurt to drive the message home by making some examples out of a few unfortunate sinners or hellborns that dared to flirt with or threaten you (or even that just happened to look at you for too long or at the wrong time; he’s not that picky about his victims)

it’s his duty as your lover to protect your honour and well-being after all… and it never hurts to drive home how far he’s willing to go to maintain his status and relationship just in case anyone gets any ideas about using you against him

now despite his public claiming of you as his significant other, zestial is still a pretty private person and doesn’t advertise much of your personal life to the world beyond the fact that you belong to each other and you’re content in that fact — he’ll answer questions from old friends and acquaintances (like carmilla or alastor) when asked but he enjoys keeping you to yourself and being able to have a part of his life that is mostly separate to his role as an overlord

[r1pp4r]

Hello There! I hope you're ok, I was wondering if u can help me, It's my first time asking :( ...

Anyway, imagine being captured during a mission, the enemy results being someone from your past an ex boyfriend or something like that, and he's trying to break your spirit which is not an easy task, so finally he ask why are u keep high hopes and confidence, and you answer him with a smile and a "he's going to find me and that will be the end for you"

Would be so cool with König 🤞🏻 but u can decide that 🥺

i hope i did your idea justice!! <33 i tried my best :)) im sorry its a bit long, and not much of tha boys🧍‍♂️i kinda liked the idea of keeping it mysterious n not much of them

anyway!! here ya go <333 i’ll make a ghost version if y’all like this one :)) anyway this’ll be sfw!!

warnings: mentions of gore and violence :))

——————————————————————————————

you could feel the hair nearly ripping from your scalp as you were being drug a across the floor in a large, open warehouse room. you kicked and scratched, thrashing your arms like you knew how.

but you were like a caged animal, with no escape. thrashing and trying to run. but to no avail. you were on a recon mission with KorTac, and a few of you had gotten separated. including you. but that was their plan all along.

you grunted loudly as you felt you back thrown against a chair, your hands being bound to the back of the metal chair. you struggled once more but finally realized it was futile. so you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before whatever cloth was over your eyes was removed.

it took you a minute to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights, blinking out all the dust which gathered into your eyes. but as you opened them, you could hear people around you. talking. it was loud, and you couldn’t think.

“oh, you’re awake huh.”

that voice was familiar. too familiar. you began to struggle almost worse, your eyes widening as you realized who it was. but the hand on your shoulder made your blood run cold. the weight was the same. the exact place he touched was the same. you knew it all too well.

“it’s been a long time, yeah? when was the last time we saw each other? was it- no no no. it was france. three years ago.”

the voice made you sick. it was disgustingly sweet, and the way his hand trailed over your skin made it crawl. your hands flexed against the zip ties and tape that were binding you down. you could barely breathe as he had taken all the air from your lungs.

the man came around to the front, squatting down in front of you. of fucking course. but how the hell did he get in to europe? especially here? those are questions you’d get later, but for now you kept eye contact. your gaze was cold as you had a mask which covered your nose down.

“let’s take off that little fuckin’ mask shall we?”

you threw your head back as the man reached out, a sinister grin on his lips. but as you threw your head back he grabbed your jaw and throat, nearly crushing it as he ripped your mask off.

the mask was more than just something to hide your face. it had become your identity and once the man ripped it off, you felt violated.

“there’s that pretty little face i missed.”

without thinking, you spat in his face, your chest heaving as you stared at the man with a deadly stare. your eyes were narrowed and you were clearly holding your ground. the man chuckled, shaking his head as he pinched his nose between fingers and wiped the spit off.

you didn’t care. you knew this man wouldn’t do anything to you or at least you thought.

and as you heard a deep breath, you suddenly felt pressure against your jaw and it was hard. it nearly knocked the chair over and of course he’d punched you. you coughed, spitting out blood as you sat back in your chair, staring at him.

“know your place, bitch!”

the man flung his hand slightly and it was obvious he’d barely thrown a punch before.

“you’re here to give me some information and then we’ll be on our little way. got it?”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t even move a single muscle. you were trained for moments like these and you wouldn’t let a man like him break you. but you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. so you just didn’t say anything.

you didn’t have any of your gear on you. they’d obviously stripped you of everything but you could see it on the table. you didn’t know how long it had been since you’d gone missing and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

so you just knew you needed to hold your ground and keep composure. you were ready for this. you were made for this. you absolutely knew he was coming for you, and you’d be dammed if you were dead. you wouldn’t leave him like that.

but as the man tsked, it broke you out of your thoughts. you watched as he began walking over to you as he placed a hand on your jaw, gently tilting your head to look up at him.

“aw sweetpea. you’re not gonna talk? i’m sure you will soon.”

the man spoke. you didn’t move once again. but you looked over to the side where the door was. you were waiting. he gripped your jaw once again, causing you to look at him. you still didn’t say a word as you turned your head back, getting his hand in your mouth and you bit down as hard as you could. you could feel his bones flexing under the sheer power of your bite and you definitely drew blood.

but you didn’t care.

the man stumbled back, holding onto his hand as he screamed. you just sat there in the chair, blood running down your chin as you kept your hard and heavy gaze pinned upon him.

“you fucking cunt! fuck! you- oh you shouldn’t have fuckin done that!”

the man yelled at you. he held onto his hand, hissing at the pain but you just sat there with a dumb little smirk on your face. he obviously didn’t know what was coming and you wouldn’t give any evidence to what was.

but you knew he was coming. he had to. the tracker in your suit, walkie, and almost all of your gear proved that. and as if he’d ever let you out of his sight for that long.

you truthfully thought that would be it, but once the man had gotten his hand wrapped, he walked back over, placing a chair in front of you and he sat. the grin on his face truthfully sent a shiver down your spine. he was going to hurt you and he’d make it painful.

but you wouldn’t budge.

———

you were bloodied, bruised to a pulp. even though you were sobbing from the pain, you hadn’t given anything up. and you wouldn’t. you hadn’t said a word besides a few nasty remarks and retorts, which obviously just landed you more blows. you could tell the man was getting frustrated as him and his colleagues began arguing. you coughed, looking back at the door once more.

you could feel it. you could feel him. his presence was absolutely menacing and you knew he was coming for you. but did they? absolutely not. otherwise they never would’ve put their hands on you.

the man walked back over to you, and gripped your jaw once more, shifting your focus. you had a dead set look on your face and your eyes were numb. at this point you would’ve let them kill you, because the rage of him wouldn’t disappoint.

the man groaned loudly, narrowing his eyes.

“you were never this strong when i knew you. what happened to the little bitch i knew, huh? the little girl that tucked her tail between her legs at the sight of a man, huh!?”

he yelled, slapping you across the face once more.

you finally turned to look at him with a smile as you heard the sounds of men talking outside the building. you knew exactly who it was.

“you’ll be dead soon enough.”

was the only thing you said and the man scoffed, guessing you were referring to the obvious reinforcements that were coming to save you and of course the man didn’t think anything of it.

“we have this place surrounded little girl. no one’s getting in or out.”

he pfft’d. the other guards were laughing slightly. even with the radio chatter outside, they didn’t seem scared. but they should’ve been.

the man finally sighed and walked over to the table which had various weapons that had been used against you. but this time it was a gun. your eyes widened a bit, and you thought this was it.

but he was coming for you.

“those boys out there are the least of your worries.”

you finally spoke out.

you chuckled, leaning your head back against the chair as the man then pointed it at your chest. the man laughed with you, and of course it wasn’t for the same reasons. you’d let him have his fun and his moment. but this wasn’t ending well for one of you, and it wasn’t you.

“oh really? what could i possibly have to worry about besides them?”

and the smile which graced your face with was something beautiful. it was a real genuine smile as you began to hear the yelling. you knew exactly what was coming.

“just him.”

your tone was flat as the man raised an eyebrow. and as if on cue, the door was busted down. and there he was.

of course könig had come for you. he was a bit farther away but you could see the rage in his eyes. you saw as he looked to you, his eyes widened with concern as he saw the way you were bloodied and bound to a chair. but seeing a man with a gun to your chest?

how dare he.

and as könig began sprinting towards the man who had just tortured you for god knows how long, you took comfort in knowing that this man would be dying at the hands of your lover. and god would he die.

könig wasn’t kind, nor merciful. but hell was terrified of him after what he did to the man who put his hands on you. you couldn’t keep your eyes on him, because you’d never seen him move this fast. könig would usually take his time, but for what they did to you? a fast death was merciful. and as silence rang loud in the building once again, your thoughts were broken by heavy footsteps.

“oh.. my libeling..”

könig’s tone was soft, but the rage in his eyes was still burning bright. with his stature, he had to get on his knees in front of you, untying the ropes in which bound your hands to the back of the chair.

“don’t.. don’t worry, i’ve got you. you’re safe i’ve got you now.”

and as you fell forward, könig wrapped you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. you knew he would come for you.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Other Half Part Twenty Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Notes: This is a long one y'all. There's more angst, BUT there's a fluffy ending, so. Ya just gotta trust me.

Length: 6K

Warnings: Angst that ends in fluff, so you're gonna suffer, but you're gonna be happy about it; canon-typical violence; a D-level DC villain that's usually more of a Superman baddie, but he's fought Batman once or twice, so.

Summary: When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you. 

“I never liked him.” 

Michelle’s flat insistence makes you splutter a laugh through your tears. You sniffle, raising both hands and scrubbing at your eyes, knowing that you're almost certainly ruining your makeup. You’ve tried to put on a brave face, but Michelle has known since you arrived that something was off. She’s banished everyone else from the kitchen, giving the two of you a quiet space to talk. The odd swell of laughter and conversation reaches you every few moments, reminding you that you’re having an incredibly sensitive conversation just a few feet away from people that would probably sell it to the Gotham Gazette for one corn chip. 

“Yes, you did,” You argue, raising your hand and scrubbing a tear away. 

“...I mean, a little.” Michelle rips a piece of paper towel off of the roll, passing it over. “Did he tell you why?” 

You dab at your eyes, trying to piece a reasonable explanation together—one that wouldn’t shock Michelle and expose Bruce’s secret. 

You had waited up for Bruce all night, but he’d never come back. At least, he hadn’t come back to you. You’d realized when you’d gone down for breakfast that Bruce had returned, but slept elsewhere—down in the bat cave, maybe, or in an entirely separate wing of the house? But there he was at the table, genially listening to your father discuss whether or not the Metropolis Metros had any chance of making the playoffs that year. You had gotten yourself some coffee and sat at the opposite end of the table, unable to catch Bruce’s eye. He was avoiding it; he was avoiding you. He’d kept that up as you’d seen your parents to the car, as you’d hugged your mother and dodged her attempts to discuss what had been said last night. You saw the firm handshake that Bruce had shared with your father, the strained smile that he’d managed as your father had insisted that he hoped that there weren't any hard feelings. 

The two of you had stood side by side as the car pulled out of the driveway, hands to yourselves, eyes set on the fading red tail lights until they were out of sight. 

“Can we talk about it?” You finally hedged. 

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.” 

You turned to watch him stride away, stunned. It took you a moment to follow, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up. 

“I think there’s a hell of a lot to talk about!” 

“I don’t agree.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

“Because they’re right.” 

“Excuse me?”

“They’re right!” Bruce barked, whirling around to face you. You froze in place, eyes widening as his yell echoed in the foyer. “I can’t keep you safe.” 

“You have kept me safe—You do keep me safe, Bruce!” 

“If I could, you never would’ve gotten kidnapped in the first place!” 

“I got out of there because of you—” 

“You got in there because of me!” 

“There are people in this world that are just plain greedy, Bruce. There’s nothing that you can do about that, it is not your fault.” 

“It’s my fault that you of all people were taken, and as long as you and I are together, you will continue to be a target.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“I do!” 

“Oh, so you get to go out every night and put people away and get the shit kicked out of you even though you know I hate it and that’s fine, right? Bruce Wayne can make his own damn decisions and put himself in as much danger as he wants, but I get into one little situation and that’s it? You’re decided? I don’t get a say in this?”

“You get a say. You have had a say, but I am through knowing that I’m endangering your life.” 

“Well let’s think this through, then. Who else are you putting in harm’s way? Lucius, for one—” 

“That’s enough—” 

“You’re endangering Alfred. Are you telling him that you’re through putting him in danger?” 

“Do not bring Alfred into this.” 

“It’s a bullshit argument, Bruce.” 

“I’m done talking about this,” He warned coldly, turning away from you. You didn’t let him get far, keeping a pace or two behind him as he strode toward the study.

“What if I’m not?” 

“I don’t give a damn.” 

“What do you want, Bruce?” 

“I want you to leave!” 

He stopped short again, but there was no danger of you slamming into him this time. In fact, you took one step back, then another. You searched Bruce’s face desperately as your entire body felt like it was going to cave in on itself. You shook your head a little, hands flexing at your sides as you forced yourself not to reach out, not to tug him in and hold him close and beg him, plead with him to reconsider. 

“You don’t mean that,” You insisted. 

“I do.” Bruce’s gaze dropped to your shoes. 

“Look at me.” 

“I’ll have Alfred pack your things—” 

“Look me in the goddamn eye and tell me that.” 

“You can stay at the penthouse until Michelle can move you back in.” 

“Bruce, don’t do this—” 

“You can take as long as you need.” 

“You—” You reached up, grasping the lariat necklace and yanking it roughly. You felt the clasp break roughly against your skin, heard diamonds scatter as you tossed it at his feet. “You are a fucking coward.” 

You hadn’t let him see you cry, but you were sure he’d heard you. You’d hardly made it into your shared bedroom before you’d knelt down and let out a raw, sharp scream—one so long and so loud that you were hoarse when it finally broke. You had spent the day hiding out in your room, and had only managed to stop crying just long enough to fake a few smiles at Friendsgiving. 

When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears again. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you. 

“We just, um…” You sniffle. “We just haven’t been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things lately.” 

“Marriage? Kids?” 

You shake your head at her plying. 

“A lot of things.” 

“...Does this have anything to do with the fact that your parents were at Thanksgiving?”

“Let’s just say their visit was less than stellar.” 

“Oh, hon, I’m sorry,” Michelle shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. You give them a gentle squeeze in turn, eyes swimming as you look down at them. She’s quiet for a few moments before she plies: 

“What are you going to do?” 

“...May as well move to Metropolis,” You admit. “Mom and dad are there, you’re leaving, and Bruce…” You clear your throat. “There’s nothing keeping me here.” 

“Will they let you transfer at work?” 

“Something tells me they’ll have the bright idea first thing Monday morning.” 

“No, he wouldn’t.” 

“He’s stubborn. Once he gets an idea into his head, he won’t shake it.” 

“You can be damn stubborn, too.” 

You nod a bit. “I can, but I’m just…” You shake your head as the tears well viciously again. “I’m so damn tired, Mish. I can’t keep fighting for him if he doesn't want me.” 

“Honey,” Michelle sighs, crowding close and drawing you into her arms. You curl your hands around her arm, keeping her close as the sobs begin to shake you again. 

-- 

“How is the weather there?” 

“We’re really resorting to speaking about the weather?” You smile. “My my, times are desperate. Did you pull the lilies up yet? Must be getting cold over there.” 

“Now who is speaking of the weather?” 

You chuckle at Alfred’s reminder, shaking your head. The two of you go quiet on your sides of the phone. You focus your gaze on your mom’s macrame plant hanger, shifting from foot to foot. You know how Alfred is (“Just fine, as always, dear.”), but you don’t dare ask how Bruce is. 

“Have you settled in?” Alfred presses before you can bring anything else up. 

“Um…” Your brow furrows. “The office is nice—bigger desks.” 

“And the apartment? The car?” 

“I’m with my parents. I don’t have a car.” 

Alfred is quiet for a few moments before he offers: “Master Wayne—” 

“I know what he did,” You cut in quickly. You'd gotten the email from the newly Wayne-owned apartment building, as well as the message to pick your new car up from the dealership when you'd arrived in Metropolis. “I don’t want anything from him.” 

Alfred sighs softly on the other end, and it makes your gut twist. You lean back against the kitchen counter, looking down at the floor. 

“...How is he?” You finally mumble. 

“He misses you.” 

“Funny way of showing it.” 

“Buying you an apartment and a car?” 

“I don’t care about things, he knows that. If he cared, he would pick up the—...Damn phone,” You trail off in a mumble as you hear yourself growing more and more frustrated. You tried calling him three times before you left Gotham, but you hadn't gotten a single response. You haven't bothered to try since.

“Anyway,” You clear your throat, “You never answered me about the lilies.” 

“I have a few weeds to pull up before I cover the beds.” 

“You should do that soon. It’s only going to get colder. Are the lights up in the city yet?” 

“They are.” 

“Must be nice. I love Gotham at Christmas.” 

“How is Metropolis?” 

“It’s nice! It’s nice. It’s fine. Pretty. Good lights. Not as good as Gotham’s, but good.”

“Are the accommodations at your parents comfortable, at least?” 

Comfortable. That isn't the word you’d use. These days, you’re sleeping on a lumpy pullout couch in a cramped living room, living out of a duffel bag. They’re meant to be spending their days comfortably, not with their heartbroken daughter sleeping in the living room and trying to put the pieces of her life together. You’re grateful to them for opening their home, and you feel so ungrateful for feeling crowded, but a week ago, this was not the life that you pictured—

You raise your hand to pinch the bridge of your nose to stem a wave of tears. 

“Mhm!” You nod, though Alfred can’t see you, hoping that the affirmative movement will bolster the firmness of your tone. “S’nice, it’s cozy.” 

“I am glad to hear it.” 

“Yeah! Yeah, thank you.” You clear your throat. “I should get going for work soon, I’ve got a meeting to prep for.” 

“Of course. I'll send the remainder of your things tomorrow."

“Sounds great. I’ll call you soon.” 

“It will be lovely to hear from you then.” 

“It’s lovely to hear from you now.” You smile bitterly. “Bye, Alfred.” 

“Goodbye.” 

You lower the phone and hang up, raising your hand to swipe at the few tears that have managed to slip. Work, you have got to get to work. Your parents' place is a quick bus and train ride to and from the office, but you’ve been getting in early to get up to speed—and with the hopes of avoiding the paparazzi. 

There aren’t nearly as many as there were when you were in Gotham, but so far, you’ve had a handful lingering around the front door when you leave. They always throw out questions—Why’d you leave Gotham? Did you and Wayne break up? Did he cheat on you? Why aren’t you living in the apartment with your name on it? Are you ever going back to Gotham? 

You hadn’t bothered to answer a single question, just kept your head down and strode toward the train station. They had the decency not to follow you on, or back to the apartment. When you arrive this morning, there isn’t anyone with a camera outside the building. You give the receptionist a friendly smile before you head to the elevator, pressing the up button with a knuckle to keep from dropping your phone or spilling your coffee. 

The office is quiet when you step inside. You can see a couple of other people there, but they don’t acknowledge you as you settle in. You open your laptop, humming to yourself as the laptop begins to boot up. You heard a few carolers performing Silver Bells on your way to the office, and it is stuck in your head now. You rest your chin on your hand, trying to picture what the grounds’ gardens must look like all covered over. You can picture Alfred crouching down, covering the raised beds with chicken wire, with Bruce pulling it taut from the other end—

You shift in your seat, trying to push the thought of Bruce away.

He’d be bundled up, too, maybe using the spare pair of gloves that you bought for Alfred—

Ugh, stop it! Stop, just banish him from your mind. That’s probably impossible, sure, but you can pretend, right? You click on the internet app, and freeze when you see the loaded article on the homepage: Bruce helping a model out of a car. You recognize her. You're sure that you’ve seen her at a couple of Liz’s parties. You can’t quite remember her name, though…Your eyes stray to the description before you force them away again, pulling up your email and biting the inside of your cheek to keep from letting tears fall. It feels like all you can do these days is cry, no matter what you do. You know that getting over Bruce is going to be slow-going.

Your hand strays to your neck, where the lariat necklace used to sit…No. Nope, letting it go. Taking out your headphones, putting on your favorite angsty playlist and letting it go. 

--  

“How was your day, honey?” 

You poke through your container of leftovers as you lean against the kitchen counter. You give your mom’s question a placid smile, and don’t bother to say a word. You know that an admonishment isn’t far behind. 

“Oh, don’t stand and eat,” She tuts just a moment later when she spots you. 

“I’m fine standing, mom. I've been sitting all day.” 

“Your day, honey.” 

“It was okay. We got the invite for the Christmas party, it’s next week.” 

“Everyone was nice?” 

“It’s an office job, not my first day of kindergarten.” 

“Well,” She sniffs, “Forgive me for asking a question.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Everyone's pretty nice, yeah, but...I don't know. We reviewed this application for a toy maker who wanted to set up a workshop for the holidays, but the board wound up turning it down. I thought it seemed like a good cause,” 

“Oh really, that’s nice.” 

Nice. She isn’t listening—but you push on anyway: 

“It’s a bummer, you know, this Schott Jr. guy’s application was kinda…Sad. It was a little childish, though. I think the writing on the grant really messed up his chances.” 

“You can tell me about it later, hon. I have my quilting group tonight.” 

God, your mother has more of a life than you do these days. “Well, have fun. Where’s dad?” 

“Late shift.”

“Out on Neville Island? Jeez, how late are they gonna keep him?” 

“Your father is a big boy.” 

“I know, just…” 

Your mom casts you an almost pitying look. “This isn’t Gotham, sweetie. He’ll be fine.” 

You nod a little, peering down into your remaining leftovers. 

“Have fun at quilt club,” You add as your mom heads for the door. 

“Sure! We’ll keep it down when we come in!” 

“Yeah, I know you all get really wild while quilting.” 

“Oh, and honey?” 

“Mm?” 

“Try not to spend the night sulking. Maybe…I don’t know, go to a bar, pick someone up—” 

You choke roughly as you accidentally inhale the bite of food. You regain your breath, throat throbbing as you gasp, “Mom!” 

“The only way to get over someone is to get under someone! Okay, I’m going, I’m going,” She insists, holding her hands up in mock-surrender as she edges for the door, taking up her quilting tote bag. You scoff, turning and practically flinging the remainder of the leftovers into the trash as you hear her footsteps retreat down the hall.  

“Only way to get over someone is to get under someone,” You mumble, “Fucking…Unreal.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing toward the trash can. Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown out those leftovers. You’re still hungry. Maybe you ought to get yourself out of the apartment, grab some food. Or...You reach into your pocket, drawing out your phone. You don’t call Alfred again—instead, you dial Michelle’s number and walk over to the couch, plopping onto it. You wince a little, glancing down at the cushions. You really should be more gentle with it, you are sleeping on it all the time.

You set the sound to speaker as you wait. It rings…And rings…And—

“You better not be calling to tell me that you’re back with that jerk.”

You can’t help but smile at Michelle’s candor. 

“I haven’t even heard from…Him.” 

“That jerk. Call him a jerk.” 

“Mish, please.” 

“Well, he is. But I guess I’ve said it enough for both of us.” 

“How’s Keystone City?” 

“Honey, I have never seen so much corn in all my damn life.” 

“Is it doing the men out there any good?” 

“It would have to be super corn if it did.” 

“How’s the apartment?” 

“Oh my god, it's fucking huge. Half the price we were paying in Gotham for double the size. You should move down here. With our joint funds, we’d be able to build our own mansion.” 

“Mm, I don’t think I could move down just yet. I’ve only been at the Foundation for three months, and just moved to this location a week ago. If I up and left now, I’d lose my job in minutes.” 

“We could find you one down here.” 

“Is it very busy down there?” 

“No. But maybe you could do with slowing down a bit.” 

“Maybe. Hey, have you gotten your tree yet?” 

“Have you?” 

“The couch folds out right where it would go. Mom’s thinking of getting a small one that she can put on the kitchen counter.” 

“She wouldn’t.”

“...I think it’s guilt,” You admit. “She’s why I’m here, anyway.”

“Ugh, you’ve hit the point of blaming your mother. Finally—took you long enough.” 

“Well,” You grumble, “She wasn’t thinking, but her not thinking kinda got me on her couch. You know what she told me before going quilting?” 

“What?” 

“That I should go pick up a stranger.” 

“What?” Michelle screeches, and you wince, turning your head away from the phone. “Oh, my god! Are you mortified? I would die, oh my god!”

You giggle, a lightness taking over you for the first time in several days. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, the sexual tension between me and the electrical sockets are slowly creeping up. I’ve gotta find my own place.” 

“If you need a reference—”

“I’ll call you—” 

“I will lie through my teeth.”

“You’re a dear.”

“...Have you spoken to him?” 

No. “No.” 

“Have you blocked him?” 

No. “Yes.” 

“Do you miss him?” 

Terribly. “Maybe.” 

“...Okay, here me out—” 

“Oh, no, Mish—” 

“I’m just saying, maybe your mom is on to something. Not like that, but—have you taken a moment for yourself since you got to Metropolis?” 

You think for a few moments, shifting back on the couch. 

“...No, I’m just working,” You admit softly. “I feel like if I let myself do anything but work, I’ll just…I’ll fall apart.” Your words quiver as you say it.

“I’m not saying don’t think about it,” She reassures. “I mean…It was almost a year with him, you know? Just…Don’t let that be the only thing that you think about.”

You sink back into your seat, lips pursing as your eyes begin to wet. 

“I don’t,” You protest weakly. Michelle sighs on the other end, and you know that you haven’t fooled her for a moment. You shake your head, resolved to push the conversation in another direction: 

“Are you going to paint any rooms in your apartment?” 

“...I got a few paint samples.” You can hear how reluctant Michelle is to move on, but feel a swell of gratefulness when she does. “Mostly blues and greens. I’m thinking of some kind of turquoise for the kitchen.”

“Some kind of turquoise? Isn’t there only one kind of turquoise?”

“You know, I used to think that, but the paint section of the store proved me very, very wrong.” 

-- 

You tuck yourself in early, knowing that you won’t be asleep by the time your parents get in. Still, you’d rather fake it than have them ask you if you had a nice night in. Worse, your mother could ask if you’d gone out and gotten under someone, as it were. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on taking slow, even breaths. 

You can’t help that Bruce creeps up in your mind. 

What’s he doing right now? Is he creeping through some alley? Swooping down on a wrongdoer? Conferring with Gordon? 

Elspeth Emerson, that’s that model’s name. She’d hardly spoken a word to you the couple of times that you had met her. Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like. 

Can you even remember what Bruce’s voice sounded like?

“I want you to leave!” 

You wince at the thought, and you roll onto your side, as if you can pull away from the memory. Yes, you remember what Bruce’s voice sounds like. How long will it take until you forget? You peer through the curtains, chest muddling with pangs of regret and sadness as your mind begins to race—to wonder if things would be different if you’d just fought a little harder—

But how many times can you give your love to a man that’s trying to push you away? A man who only took a few days to get over you—or at least to go out and make it seem like he’s moving on? 

He must have known that you wouldn’t use that apartment, or that car. He must have just wanted to seem like the bigger person, as if he wasn't the one that had sent you packing. You huff softly, raising your hand to swipe your tears away as they begin to leak. It’s no use; a few slip. It’s only a moment before the trickle turns into a stream, dampening the pillow beneath your head.

-- 

You fall into a rhythm. It isn’t a rut—it is decidedly not a rut. You manage to get up and out of the apartment before your parents are awake in the morning. The paparazzi stop lingering around the office, because your existence ceases to be news. You stop flinching at the mention of Bruce’s name; you stop hearing his voice as you try to fall asleep. The ache of missing him doesn’t disappear, but it lessens, some. You don’t take your mom’s recommendation of getting over Bruce by getting under someone else. You consider it, sure. You download a couple of dating apps, but you never actually make a profile. There’s just nothing about it that feels right. 

You speak with Alfred almost daily—usually on the phone, if not over text. You don’t ask about how Bruce is doing, and he doesn’t tell you. 

That doesn’t stop you wondering. 

-- 

“What the hell is that?” 

“Did you see it?” 

“It’s so cute!” 

“Do you think it’s some kind of office Christmas gift or something? A little teaser before the holiday party later?”

“You hear Wayne’s gonna be in attendance? Someone said they thought the saw him in the elevator. Do you think it’s because of…You know—” 

“Who cares—Hey, does that thing move or is it just a decoration?” 

Your coworker’s chatter draws your focus, and you turn away from your laptop. You can see people crowding around something by the elevators. You stand, joining them and peering around them to try and get a look at what they’re talking about. You can just catch a glimpse of a brightly colored, 5-foot tall nutcracker. Your brow furrows as you take in the fuzzy beard, the crisp blue paint of the nutcracker’s coat, the bright gold buttons, and the rifle tucked at its side. You nod at the painted script on one of the boots. 

“What’s that say?” 

“Schott and Son.” One of your coworkers steps forward, stepping around it and eyeing the back. “There’s a button back here!” 

Schott and Son. God, why does that sound familiar? 

“Press it!” Someone else urges. You hear the gears crank and whir, quickly covered by a music box rendition of the Nutcracker Suite. You smile a little, as the Nutcracker’s arms move as if marching. You all startle, then laugh as it steps forward and does a short bow. It reaches around itself, and your stomach churns as it grasps the butt of its rifle. You take a step back, warning, 

“Uh, guys—” 

“Lighten up,” Someone scoffs, “It’s just a toy.” 

Their insistence is stifled by a gunshot, leaving the tip of the rifle smoking. You hear two panicked huffs before someone screams. You whirl around to see blood pouring from your coworker’s shoulder. Their scream is chased by others as the Nutcracker ventures deeper into the office, firing again. You scramble away as the others do, running for whatever cover you can find. You stumble as someone gives you a shove, practically climbing over you to get out of the way. You crawl along the floor, getting beneath a desk and tugging a chair in. You fold yourself in as tight as you can, clasping your hands together and fighting to keep your breathing and quiet as you peer out, watching people scramble to get out of the way of the Nutcracker. 

Fuck, you left your phone on your desk, so you can’t call 911—Surely someone has, right? Someone’s heard the commotion from another floor, or an alarm has gone off, something— 

You hear a horrifying thud, chased by a few more gunshots. You wince with the furious bashing sounds, raising your hands to press over your ears. You focus on your own pounding heart, your rapid breathing—

The feeling of the chair shifting beside you makes you scream and open your eyes. 

The sight of Bruce crouching beside your desk makes you crumble. 

-- 

“...It’s nice.” 

It’s a feeble attempt at a compliment and a conversation starter. It’s also an insane understatement. It seems that Bruce didn’t only buy you this apartment—he’d had it furnished, and filled the fridge and cabinets with groceries, spices, all of your favorite goodies. You look from the fully stocked bar cart by the kitchen over to the living room, where Bruce is hurriedly closing the curtains over the lowered shades. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise that the apartment he chose is so big. 

Just being the bigger person, You remind yourself, He doesn’t want to be the bad guy. 

Bruce finally turns to look at you. You see his lips twitch with something unspoken before he purses them and swallows thickly. He looks so wan—pallid, and tired. He’d looked it when he’d found you beneath that desk, after apparently smashing the shit out of that Nutcracker with a printer. The ride to this apartment (in the car that he had bought for you and had driven to the office) hadn’t made it any better. Neither of you had spoken. 

“You never, um…” You clear your throat. “What are you doing in Metropolis?"

“It was requested that I make an appearance at the holiday party.”

Your gaze narrows slightly. You smell bullshit...But you're not really in the mood to litigate it right now.

“Right.” 

You turn away, finally, shrugging off your coat and tossing it over the back of a chair as you head for the bar cart. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Mr. Wayne. Great, even.” You take up a clean glass, setting it windowsill beside the car before you reach for the bottle of whiskey. “You want some?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“More for me, then.” 

“Are you sure you wanna do that right now?” 

“I can’t think of a better time.” 

You reach for the seal, struggling to twist it off before you fling it away. You grasp the bottle firmly, trying to ignore your shaking hands as you lift it and the glass. You can’t steady them no matter how hard you try, but you pour anyway, some of the liquid sloshing over the sides and onto your fingers—

You go still as Bruce crowds up close to you, grasping your hands and forcing them down. The glass connects with the windowsill with a sharp, shrill sound; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was chipped, if not cracked. You squeeze your eyes closed as you just feel him—the heat and strength of him up against your back; the gentle press of his face against your hair, and the sound of him drawing in a deep breath; the warmth of his hands, steady over yours. Your lower lip begins to wobble as Bruce intertwines your fingers, using his grasp on your hands to curl your arms around yourself. 

“Good thing I wasn’t in Gotham,” You quip dryly, forcing your stern tone over the your rapidly fracturing resolve, “Or today could’ve been a real disaster.” 

You shake Bruce off, stepping out of his arms and snatching your glass from the sill, striding more deeply into the living room. You hear Bruce sigh behind you before he hedges: 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“An apology would be nice.” 

“You want me to apologize for wanting you safe?” 

“Was I safe today?” You snap, whirling to face him again. “Was that—Killer nutcracker something I was safe from? You can’t anticipate every moment of my life, Bruce. No matter where I go, I could be in danger. What, do you want me confined to a room somewhere and permanently out of harm’s way? What if someone breaks into that room?”

You search his face, desperate for some kind of recognition, some kind of understanding. Bruce shakes his head, his gaze dropping shamefully to his shoes. You lower yourself into an armchair, peering down at the amber liquid, watching it shift with your still-shaking hands. You hear Bruce cross the room before his shoes come into view. He grasps the wooden coffee table, tugging it closer and sitting on the edge of it. 

“I just don’t…I don’t like the idea that someone could come after you again, with the purpose of getting to me, or getting something from me,” He admits softly. “I can’t be the reason that I lose someone I love. I can’t do that again.” 

You lift your head as Bruce’s voice breaks, heart stuttering as you see his eyes well with tears. You set the drink aside, taking his hands in yours. 

“I know that it scares you. It scares me, too. But Bruce, you cannot protect me from everything. But you do—” Your voice breaks as your face twists with upset, “You do protect me, from so much. You protected me after the kidnapping, you protected me today. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened…’Sides between this and the attempted robbery at the store, I think I’ve proven that I can get into plenty of trouble all by myself.” 

Bruce huffs a shaky laugh through his nose as he nods. He raises your joined hands to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles. 

“I’ve missed you so goddamn much,” He murmurs. 

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

“I want…” He winces at the phrasing, and seems to reconsider. “I mean…Would you consider coming home?” 

Home. Your chest aches with it���with the thought of the mansion, and Alfred, and the covered garden beds. 

“Bruce…I love you so much. I want us to have a life together, but…” You shake your head, steeling yourself as his face falls, “But I can’t keep having this argument. I can’t be pushed away from you over and over again and keep wanting to come back. This nearly broke me—No, Bruce,” You chase his gaze as he averts his, holding his eye as your tone grows more firm. “I understand that you want me in one piece, I get it. But how the fuck do you think I feel, night after night, knowing that every time you leave may be the last time I see you?...If I come back,” You hedge carefully, “This is…It. If we implode, or you change your mind and throw me out again, we’re through, I mean really through—” 

“That will never happen again.” 

“But—”

“You have my word.” He says it firmly, holding your eye as you held his. “I…I acted like an asshole. I didn’t want you to leave, but I thought it would be better for you.” 

“Nothing about this has been better for me.” 

“I know, I see that now. I’m sorry.” 

You nod a little, looking down at your hands. 

“...You just want me back in Gotham so you can keep a closer eye on me.” 

Bruce chuckles softly, raising a hand to cup your cheek. 

“I want you back in Gotham because nothing has been right since you left.” 

You tip your face into his hand, letting your eyes slide closed and allowing your tears to fall as you accept the gentle touch. Bruce shushes you softly, smoothing your tears away and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Tell you what,” He murmurs. “Why don’t you call your parents, let them know you’re alright and you’re spending the night here before we go back. I’ll figure out getting your things back in a couple of days.” 

“They’re not gonna like that…And the Foundation’s going to be pissed.” 

“S’okay. I think they’ll understand you transferring back after what happened in the office. They've cancelled the holiday party to secure the building, make sure that thing didn't have any extra surprises hiding anywhere.” 

“Speaking of which,” You lean back, scrubbing your eyes. “There’s someone you should look into.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The uh…The Nutcracker, it had a name on it—” 

“Schott and Son.” 

“Right. Winslow Schott Jr. put in an application for funding from the Foundation, but it was denied.” 

Bruce’s frown deepens. “When did this happen?” 

“Uh—Two weeks ago, maybe? He left a few angry calls and emails, but then he dropped off, so we figured he’d given up.” 

“Did he have a company he applied through, or was it just him?” 

“Umm…” Your brow furrows as you try to remember. “It was…The Toymaker, or…The Toyman, something like that.” 

Bruce hums, nodding. “I’ll have Fox pull the file, see what we can find.” 

“Okay.” 

You stand and step away, and only make it a couple of steps before you hear Bruce stand. He catches hold of your hand, folding you into his arms. You go willingly, pressing your face into his neck and drawing in a deep breath as you cuddle close. 

"Bruce?"

"Mm."

"Why are you really in Metropolis? I know you, you hate these parties."

Bruce's thumb sweeps along your lower back as he peers gently at you.

"I needed to see you," He admits softly. "It was just supposed to be for a minute...But I was headed to your floor, and I heard the shots, and..." His face goes tight, his jaw tensing. "I couldn't stop myself."

"I'm glad you didn't," You give him a small, reassuring smile. "But I'm a little biased." You reach up, gently sweeping your fingers across his stubbled cheek.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” You accuse. 

“Told you,” He mumbles, “Nothing’s felt right since I lost you.” 

You tip your chin, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Then it looks like you found me just in time."

Next Part

[ohtobeleah]

Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter Four: [Men & Their Many Masks]

Summary: You and Jake find yourselves alone in his cell for what feels like a week. Passing the time with mundane conversations. But when The Commander and his fellow officers finally come back? Things take a turn for the worst.

Series Warnings: Heavy themes of violence, sexual assault, torture. 18+ content. Minors DNI. Mature themes. Being held in captivity. Hostage style situation. Main character death! Whump, Angst. Conversations that discuss antisocial & antisemitism views.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author Note: THIS SERIES IS CONFRONTING, FICTIONAL, AND DEPICTS IMAGES OF TORTURE. DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS SERIES WILL BE DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR MENTAL STABILITY. CURATE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“How’s the leg?” In life, only one thing is certain apart from death and taxes. No matter how hard you try, no matter how good your intentions are, you’re going to make mistakes. You’re going to hurt people and you’re going to get hurt. “Feeling any better than the last few days?” 

“Stings, but yeah I think it’s starting to heal.” But you never thought you’d be hurt quite like this. And if you ever wanted to recover, there was really only one thing you could say. “I forgive you though.” 

Jake smiled softly as he sat with you on the floor of the cell the two of you had been put back in for what felt like days at this point. He was just grateful he could hold you, that there were no bars to separate him from keeping you safe. His arm was slung around your shoulders as your head laid heavy against his shoulders. Just sitting, both waiting for the hell that was sure to come. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Jake couldn’t stop thinking about it, your screams that was. The agonising cries that escaped from your mouth as he sewed your thigh up without any anaesthetic, without proper medical training or knowledge. “Might have to consider a career change when we get outta here.” You could hear in Jake's voice that he was tired, but he’d never admit it to you, just how tired he truly was. 

He’d stay up while you slept with your head in his lap or head on his shoulders. He’d stay awake and keep a watchful eye over you as the days mixed in with the nights. He wasn’t about to let anyone take you, he wouldn’t let them. He’d stay awake as you slept stroking your hair back out of your face all the while he’d eye of the passing insurgents that walked past in the hallway. 

You wouldn’t tell Jake, but sometimes you’d wake up from his constant mumbling. The mantra he’d say over and over and over again as you slept: 

“I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, I’ve got you.” 

“Hmm—“ You mumbled in response as you very tiredly lifted your head from the comfort it had found against Jake's broad shoulder. “Career change definitely seems in the cards.” You weren’t lying. “A desk job with zero dangers sounds pretty good right about now.” 

In the time that had passed you and Jake by in the hell hole you found yourself in, there had been times where you’d both fall into mundane conversation just to fill the void. Now must have been one of those times—because instead of sitting in the dimly lit cell with dirty floors and concrete walls in silence, Jake kept the conversation going just to hear your voice. 

“What made you wanna be an aviator in the first place?” You didn’t reply straight away as you moved your leg a little, needing to keep it from going numb. Jake's handy work hadn’t been all that handy. He’d left the pant of your flight suit torn and in tatters from where he’d cut the Normex to get to your thigh. 

“My dad.” You began. “He’s my hero, always has been always will be.” It was the first time Jake had seen you smile since before he was sewing your thigh back up. Jake wasn’t about to say what he was thinking either, if he did it would have your smile disappearing far too quickly. Your dad was the Commander of the Pacific Fleet, would he have signed off on this mission? 

Jake felt like you could light up the darkest of rooms with that smile of yours. So genuine and pure. Full of love and pride for whatever the topic was. “I remember my OC at basic found out who he was and I’ve had the callsign since.” It was stuff Jake wished he’d asked you about at the Hard Deck. Not here on the floor a million miles away from home. He wished he’d put his pride aside, he wished he told his ego to take a hike, because he didn’t know you. He didn’t want to get to know you, but now? You were here because of him and not once had you put the blame on him. “He was always my biggest inspiration, just wanted me to chase my dreams you know.” 

“Sounds like a good guy.” Jake replied as he looked at your thigh, god he’d done an awful job. He could see how raw the wound still was. How inflamed the skin around the stitching was. He felt awful—but it was still better than the alternative. 

“What about you? What made you wanna join the Navy?” Your voice broke Jake from the tailspin his mind had gone into as his eyes went from your thigh back to your eyes, not as shiny as they had been in Admiral Simpson's office, but still just as beautiful and just as captivating. 

“My old man wasn’t as supportive as what your dad seemed to be.” Jake explained as he watched you maneuver yourself so that your head was laying in his lap. Back laid up in the dirt. Looking up at him like he was your greatest protector. “He was an Army triage doctor.” You wouldn’t have ever picked that, especially after seeing Jakes stitch work. 

“Guess the apple fell a little far from the tree huh?” You teased up at him, a soft smile crept itself across your lips as Jake laughed gently with you. He nodded in agreement, he knew he was nothing like his old man. He never wanted to be like him either. If Jake Seresin could be anything in the world, he’d choose to not be his fathers son. 

“He wanted me to join the army, said every other branch of service spent their time sucking each other's dicks and crying about how much they missed their mama’s.” Jake chuckled to himself as he let his head rest against the concrete. “The day I told him I joined the Navy, he beat me near black and blue.” Jake saw the way you looked up at him, with sympathetic eyes and a worried frown. “I left Bradshaw hanging one day in water training, it was supposed to be a team exercise but I bailed.” Jake hadn’t told anyone this story before. He hadn’t really had to, Rooster always did it for him and the narrative was born. “I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to get him out so I just bailed.” 

“Hangman—“ You got it. He always left people hanging. It made so much sense. 

“It’s an excuse to not get personal.” Jake finally looked down at you, his hand had absentmindedly been running through the mess that was your hair. “Once I’m involved I can’t get out.” 

“Hangman wasn’t flying our F-18 when we went down was he?” You asked as the realisation really kicked in. “It was just you.” The Jake who cared about the people around him, the Jake who would go above and beyond to make sure Phoenix was treated equally. Jake who made sure to have glasses wipes in his locker for Bob if he ran out. Jake who was always there to be Fanboys wingman at the bar. Jake who always made sure Rooster had a way home when he got a little carried away. Even if it was his couch. Jake who never told Coyote it was him who set him and his girlfriend up that one night when he was too afraid to talk to her. He wrote the notes they both received, the penmanship should have given it away. Jake who carried an epipen in his car, locker and tucked away in his kitchen for Payback—he’d never seen a grown man so allergic to peanuts. 

That Jake was the guy who went after Rooster. The version of Jake Seresin who was sitting here right now playing with your hair. Not Hangman who’d stare at you from across the Hard Deck trying his best not to get involved. Fighting every instinct he ever had to want to get to know you. 

“I tell you what, if Bradshaw doesn’t cover my tab for at least a few months after this I’m gonna be pissed.” Jake laughed it off as you followed suit. “Hangman’s just an easy character to hide behind.” 

“He’s a safety net.” You understood where Jake was coming from. “But be honest with me will you? because I’d rather die knowing the truth than always wondering.” 

“What’s on your mind?” Jake was curious, where were you going with this?

“Is it Hangman who hates me or is it Jake? Because I think I can handle Hangman.” You were being as honest as you could be as you laid in Jake's lap looking up at him. Stubble had begun to cover his chin and cheeks and boy did it look good. The bruises not so much. “I think I could handle Hangman, but I don’t think I could handle it if the real you had a problem with me.” 

Jake frowned when your eyes never left his. You looked him dead in the eye, unafraid of whatever answer he might give you. His hand curled in your hair as he bent his knees to raise your head closer to his and before you even had a chance to register what was happening? 

His lips were softly planted against yours. Huh, that wasn’t what you were expecting. 

His lips were chapped but still so soft if that made any sense. You always thought Jake Seresin would be a good kisser, not that you’d ever thought about it for more than a fleeting moment. But still, the fact was proven to be true when he ran his tongue slowly across your lip to ask permission for more. You granted his request without so much of a second of hesitation.

There was a small fraction of desperation that showed its ugly head when your hand came up to grip at the back of Hangman's neck. With his knees bent up into his chest you were raised as close to him as you possibly could be. Drinking in the gentle touch of each other's fear. 

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, Hotshot.” Jake paused to catch his breath before things could get too heated too quickly. His forehead made its home against yours as you closed your eyes and tried to control your heart beat. “I was scared.” He finally explained. “I was scared I’d be the reason you'd end up dead and I just thought, that if I didn’t get to know you, losing my first WSO wouldn’t hurt as much as they say it does.” 

“But here we are—“ You reminded Jake of your current situation. “We’re gonna die here, and you spent weeks avoiding me like the plague only to end up rotting next to me in some hellscape prison anyway.” You couldn’t help the irony that escaped as you chuckled softly. 

“You’re not gonna die in here Y/n, I promise you.” With a gentle kiss to your forehead, Jake wrapped you up completely in his arms. His chin remained utop your head as he watched the door. He could hear people outside in the corridor—but they remained out of frame. A scare tactic probably. “Get some rest for me.” Jake whispered as he felt you cling to his chest. “I’m not gonna let anyone take you.” 

“Jake?” His warmth brought a comfort to you that you’d never not crave. 

“Yeah?” Your voice brought a solace Jake would never not need. 

“If you hadn’t gone after Rooster, it would probably be him in here right now.” You reminded him, it was something Jake didn’t like to think about. The what if of it all. All the what ifs there were. 

“Yeah, yeah it probably would be.” He replied softly, a deep bust lingered in his tone. “But you wouldn’t be if I hadn't.” 

Forgive and forget. That’s what they say. It’s good advice but it’s not very practical. When someone hurts us, we want to hurt them back. When someone wrongs us, we want to be right. Without forgiveness? old scores are never settled, old wounds never heal. And the most you can ever hope for, is that one day, you’ll be lucky enough to forget. 

“I forgive you Hangman.” You spoke into Jake's chest. He knew you already forgave him, Jake that was. But to hear you forgave his alter ego too meant a hell of a lot more than you could ever know. “I forgive him too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Up and at it Lieutenants!” At any given moment, the brain has fourteen billion neurons firing at the speed of four hundred and fifty miles per hour. “The Commander wants to see you, Hollywood.” One of the insurgents snickered as he unlocked the cell door, letting in far too much light as he did so.

“You’re not taking her.” You don’t have control over most of them. When you get the chills, goosebumps. When you get excited, adrenaline. The body naturally follows its impulses, which, you believe, is a part of what makes it so hard to control those impulses. “No way.” Jake had been up since you’d fallen asleep in his warm embrace, he held you closer and a little tighter as the guards stepped into the cell you were both being held in. It was instinct, impulse. “You’re not taking her away from me, wherever she goes, I go.” 

“Oh I can assure you, we’ll take her by force if necessary.” You were barely awake, but you heard it loud and clear. The buzz of a taser Jake had already had a run in with. “So I’m going to give you another chance to do what I fucking say, hand, the girl, over.” The buzz only got louder as the man dressed in all black stepped further into the cell. 

“I’ll go—“ But of course sometimes you have impulses you would rather not control, that you later wish you had. “I’ll go, but leave Jake alone.” You added as you sat up. Your leg throbbed as you tried to bend it at your knee. “Please?” You begged as Jake held your wrist to stop you from leaving his side. But when you looked at him with pleading eyes he knew you had to go. “There’s no need for the taser.” You turned back to the man who towered over you. “I’m coming.” 

Without a word, the man shut off the taser in his hand and pocketed it. He didn’t look all that impressed as he removed his mask, revealing a blonde haired blue eyed man with a scar that ran the expanse of his face. Cutting him essentially in half. It was ugly and red and as prominent as a scar could be. Keloid style. 

“The Commander wants to speak with you.” He informed you once again. “And he isn’t a patient man so move.” 

“Let me help you.” Jake insisted as he stood up before you could even begin to try. Your leg was killing you. “Here, take my hands.” He gestured for you to place your hands in his so he could pull you up with ease, such ease it shocked you. Jake was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked sometimes. And he was strong, you’d seen his bench press. 

“Thanks, I’m okay, I promise.” You lied through your teeth, a part of you wanted to cry in pure panic because you couldn’t feel your toes. But what good would that do? Jake helped you to your feet until you were steady before he pulled you in closer. 

“Remember you give them nothing alright?” Jake held your face in his hands as you nodded. “You don’t give them a reason to hurt you, you do what you have to do and don’t you dare worry about me.” 

“Okay.” You nodded. 

“I’m right here.” Jake reminded you before you were harshly being pulled away by the blonde haired blue eyes scar having man. He wasn’t as gentle as Jake was. “I’ll be right here!” 

By the time you were down the hall Jake’s mind had already begun to run through a rolodex of scenarios that you might find yourself in. He was, however, too exhausted to even stand on his own without a reason to fight. He took a knee, gently, feeling faint from the lake of sleep, food and water that the two of you had been provided. It was enough to keep you from starving but not nearly enough to replenish already exhausted muscles. 

“Unfortunately for you my good man we’re gonna need you up on your feet.” The insurgent left behind with Jake snickered as he held a bunch of rope in his hand. “I’ll give you the option to cooperate or again, we’ll force you.” Jake let out a laugh that was laced in uncertainty. 

“The day I cooperate with any of you evil sons of bitches is the day hell freezes over.” 

“You’re call Lieutenant.” The insurgent who had yet to show his face sighed as he took out a baton from his holster at the side of his pant leg, sighed. “You’re call.” He waisted no time. 

You could hear Jakes groans from down the hall. But even though you tried to turn around the guard who kept you walking forward kept you walking one foot in front of the other. 

“Don’t try anything stupid girly.” He hissed as he stopped in front of an elevator, just waiting for it to dig. You watched as the numbers dropped— seven, six, five, four, until they reached your floor. B. B for basement. “In, or so help me god.” 

You did as you were told. Jake had told you not to give them a reason. But from the groans you heard it seemed as though he’d already forgotten his own advice. 

“How’d you get your scar?” You asked as you watched the elevator climb, one, two, three, four. “Looks like it hurt?” You weren’t sure why you were even asking, but the silence was deafening. The answer the blonde haired blue eyed insurgent gave you made your bones turn cold as ice as he turned around and slammed you up against the wall of the elevator, the sudden burst of mania made you gasp as he trapped you in his arms up against the wall. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, but first? He left a gentle kiss against the junction of your neck. His explanation was only two words, but enough to send you into a dizzying tailspin. 

“The Commander.” 

The body is a slave to impulse. But the thing that makes us human is what we can control. After the storm, after the rush, after the heat of the moment has passed, you can cool off and clean up the messes you’ve made. 

All you can do to survive is to try to let go of what was. Freedom.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Get cleaned up, the Commander would like to have dinner with you.” You were expecting something, you weren’t exactly sure what but it certainly wasn’t this. You were standing in the middle of a bathroom. “He’d like you to wear what’s been provided.” The man with the scar spoke just under his breath so his voice didn’t echo. “Take your time.” He told you as his eyes roamed the expanse of your body before he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone in the bathroom that smelled of vanilla and chamomile. Most likely from the candle burning on the vanity. 

Odd. This was all very odd. 

As confused as you were, you did what you were told. You stripped out of your disgusting flight suit that smelt gross enough to walk on its own and stepped into the shower. The second the warm water hit your body you cried. You cried until you couldn’t control the sobs. They echoed painfully off the walls as you washed away the grime that had built up on your skin and in your hair. Shampoo that smelled of apple and rhubarb reminded you of the pies Penny would make at the Hard Deck, which made you cry even more. You missed home. 

As much as you enjoyed the feeling of being clean, you felt guilty knowing that seven stories below, Jake remained in the dirt. Still in his flight suit, still covered in grime. It was enough to nearly drive you insane from guilt alone. 

You dried off and changed into the clothes provided. It had been an emerald evening dress with spaghetti straps at a length that went just above your ankles. It was odd to feel so beautiful in the situation you were in. You couldn’t pry your eyes away from the mirror, you looked ridiculous. With wet hair and swollen eyes. Bruises that weren’t even trying to hide littered your skin. 

So you reached for the hair dryer, and the bags of beauty products that were on the shelf behind you and got to work. Now wasn’t the time to feel sorry for yourself. Now was the time to put on a mask and front a brave exterior. You and Jake had to get out of this mess one way or another. 

By the time you were finished someone was knocking on the bathroom door. You had been told to take your time but perhaps you had over done it. 

“Yes?” You answered, standing tall and proud in the heels that had been provided. In the dress that was a little provocative. 

“The Commander will see you now, Lieutenant.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want to keep The Commander waiting now would we?” You spat, shoving past the guard who was someone you’d never seen. When he tried to guide you, you pulled your arm out of his grasp. “I don’t need your help.” 

“Sorry ma’am, it just looked as if you were limping is all.” He apologised kindly, something you weren’t used to with the guards. He didn’t wear the same all black get up as the others. He wore a suit and tie, evening wear. A navy blue fitted attire with brown boots and tie to match. “My apologies, this way.” 

He was right for what it was worth, you were in fact, limping. But you weren’t about to put your pride aside for that. You didn’t want The Commander or whatever the fuck his actual name was to know you were in pain. 

It wasn’t long at all before you were being led into an near empty banquet room. Its clean cut aesthetic looked like a new world order. It made your stomach churn at the idea. The Commander sat at the end of a massive banquet style dining table made for twenty plus. He stood from his chair when you entered and his eyes never left yours as you hurried your way over to the chair set just for you. 

“You look beautiful—“

“It’s the blush, a brand called prisoner of war.” You huffed as you sat down, not needing any help from the man who’d escorted you in. He stood just behind you with his hands held in front. “What’s all this?” 

“I thought I might be able to explain our current situation a little better over a meal.” The Commander smiled as he gestured for one of the three Buttlers to pour you a glass of wine. “I was able to obtain your Naval records from the information Lieutenant Seresin provided.” It wasn’t all that interesting, you’d never really done anything of import. Sure you were a TopGun graduate but you weren’t first in your class. You didn’t stand out in a crowd. “I’d also like to take a minute to apologise for the wound you suffered—it’s never my first choice to resort to violence of such an extent—but I’m not—“ 

“A patient man.” You finished The Commander's sentence for him. “So I've heard.” Roasted chicken and vegetables, that’s what food was on your plate. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat even if you were slowly starving. It wouldn’t be fair to Jake. So you just moved your fork around and picked at the green beans. “If we could make this quick.” 

“Have you got somewhere to be Miss Y/l/n?” The Commander tilted his head curiously, trying to figure out why you were in such a hurry. 

“More like I’ve got someone to get back to.” You snapped back harshly. “I’d rather not waste my time listening to you babble on about defense budgets and the United Nations because let’s face it if the United States has their eye on you—you’ve probably done something to piss of someone in those bounds.” It wasn’t far from the truth of the matter at all, if anything you were right on the money. “And neither of those two topics really account for your probable anti-semetic ignorance.” You rolled your eyes as you wiped your face with the napkin beside your plate. “I’d like to go back to my cell now, even that shit hole’s better than being up here listening to some pathetic excuse for harbouring nuclear weapons.” You knew why your mission was to destroy that insurgent camp, it wasn’t rocket science. Nuclear weapons were a legitimate threat, and against Jake's wishes, you were catching some of his attitude. 

“I was just going to discuss the geopolitical complexities of the topic, which is in no way the same as going to an anti-semetic place.” The Commander corrected you as he slammed his fist down onto the table. “We believe, as a Rogue Nation, that the United Nations, NATO, all the major international bodies that preach international solidarity should be held accountable for their actions in instigating wars that never would have occurred.” It was a speech you weren’t all that interested in listening to. But with nowhere to run, you did just that. “Sovereign borders should be abolished, one World, one Nation, no countries with different societies and structures, no Nations with different cultures and religions, a universal language, currency and healthcare systems that aren’t flawed, access to food, water, education that isn't currently available.” It was a lot to take in, hell this may have been a bigger problem than your superiors had led you to believe. “Do you see the bigger picture here my dear?” 

“You’re certifiably insane—“ It was the only conclusion you could come to with the information you had laid out before you. “You’re talking about completely annihilating hundreds of thousands of years of cultural history and heritage across the world, you can’t justify that.” 

“It’s been done before in history—“ Was all The Commander replied before he smirked and took a sip of his wine. “The insurgent compound you and your friend were sent to destroy? One of two I believe you and your higher ups were aware of, was full of women and children, my wife included.” Your brain was working in overdrive trying to digest all this new information at the same time while keeping a straight face. Trying to look seemingly uninterested all the while taking in critical information that could be used at a later date was harder than it looked. 

“Tell me Lieutenant, what good would come of killing hundreds of women and children?” It was a trick question, or so you thought. “Your country has a very compelling history of instigating violence and provoking wars that never needed to occur.” The Commander wasn’t wrong, but it still didn’t make him right. “Countries like Australia and New Zealand follow, empires like Europe join the fight and then it’s Nation against Nation, ethnicity against ethnicity, culture against culture and religion against religion.” As much as you hated it there was a logic to The Commander's radical ideology. “There is no need for such violence—such loss of life, racism, discrimination, misogyny, homophobia; it could all be prevented if the entire world was one way. Had one ideology.” 

“Tell me Commander, how do you achieve such a goal?” You asked all the while trying not to throw up. 

“Complete nuclear destruction, pin countries against one another with tactical diplomacy that starts a domino effect—because something you Admirals have failed to realise Miss Y/l/n is that you can’t start a war against a Nation that doesn’t exist.” 

“You seem to have the resources to find out anything you want.” You kept a straight face even if you were thinking of lunging yourself down the time to ring your hands around The Commanders neck. “Why do you need Jake and I for information?” 

“I don't tend to believe everything I read on the internet my dear, it can be quite costly.” He smiled genuinely, it made you want to vomit, or perhaps that was the win. “I like to fact check, validate my findings. Captain Hewens told us that the United States Navy was planning a military strike against one of our compounds, so we were able to switch which site held what.” You couldn’t control your face as shock took over your expression. The Commander was willing to kill hundreds of people for his own political agenda—if you had succeeded in the mission? You could have caused an all out war. “With her help we were able to locate your mission file after an insider sold intelligence to the dark web for one point four million.” 

You were now physically unable to hide your shock as your shoulders slumped in defeat. This was much bigger, much worse than you could have ever anticipated. Holy shit, you were going to die here. Where ever here even was. 

“I guess you can always just put it down to the fact you and your friend are a hell of a lot less valuable than one point four million dollars.” The Commander chuckled to himself as he stood from his chair. His shoes clicked against the flooring as he made his way towards you, fixing his jacket as he did so with a proud chest. “You and your friend are nothing but pawns in a war your country has decided it’s in. But how can you be at war with a Nation that doesn’t exist? A nation with no borders or place or origin.” It made you shiver with dread and fear, you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck sticking up like on a cat's spine. “We are the Rogue Nation miss Y/l/n, we are one world and one people, the sooner you realise who’s side you’re really fighting on the sooner your time here gets a hell of a lot easier.” 

Your heart was racing a hundred miles an hour as The Commander reached out to squish your cheeks together between his fingers and his thumb. He turned your face towards where he stood beside you and growled. 

“So before you go back to your cell, just remember, when I ask you or your friend for information? I expect to get it from either of you, the easy way or the goddamn hard way.” 

“I’m not telling you anything you mentality deranged fuck.” You pulled your head from his grasp as you reached for the knife sitting beside your plate. Your food still sat uneaten, but the serrated knife would do just fine. You plunged it into The Commanders hand up until the hilt before you got up out of your chair in a panicked hurry. “You’re delusional!” It was then the blonde haired blue eyed man with the angry scar came bursting through the door. As of right on cue. 

“Nathan—“ The Commander made not a single cry, nor a groan or anything as he pulled the knife from the palm of his hand and placed it back where you had originally picked it up from. Covered in a deep crimson. “Please escort the Lieutenant back to her cellmate. I’m sure he’s ready to talk, if not? You know what to do.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai i @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989 @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @tsofo26 @itsmytimetoodream

[anjaelle]

Wind Me Up

Pairing: Tangerine x Black!Reader

Warnings: Poking at an assassin's hidden praise kink for fun. No smut, but an allusion to smut.

Word Count: 1.1K

a/n: Something that was just rattling around in my head. What if you could get an assassin to whimper for you? There's something really fun about disarming a man that dabbles in violence for a living.

(gif source)

--

There were a few things in life that brought you pure, unfiltered pleasure: fresh laundry, the first scoop of ice cream from a carton, the sun on your face on a warm spring day, and making Tangerine flustered. It didn’t happen often. He very clearly liked being in control of most situations and had a huge affinity for bluntness.

And you usually acquiesced. But today you felt like being a menace.

You found him in the kitchen drinking whiskey and scrolling through his phone, chuckling under his breath. You could tell by the low chuckle that he was probably talking to Lemon. Because, between the both of you, Lemon was probably his favorite person and you couldn't even be mad about it.

You'd probably choose Lemon over you, too.

Tangerine was dressed down in black sweatpants and a tee shirt from some action movie you’d never seen, and his dark curls swept across his thick furrowed brows. You let out a slow, heavy sigh when he took a sip from his glass and his tongue darted out to absentmindedly lick his lower lip.

The devil on your shoulder said, “Ruin his evening.”

You strolled into the kitchen with pursed lips, admiring the way his arms and chest looked in that shirt and how good he smelled. You rested your elbow on the island separating you and said nothing but watched him with wide doe eyes until he sighed and shoved his phone into his pocket.

“You alright?” He casually asked. “What’s up?”

You felt the corners of your mouth twitch, but you softened your gaze. “Nothing, baby, I just wanted to come look at you.”

You both stared at one another for a beat, and he quirked a brow at you.

“…Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful, what do you mean?” You responded matter-of-factly. He squinted at you, but you maintained your innocence, “You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

He finished the last of his whiskey and placed the tumbler in the sink, all the while refusing to take his eyes off of you in suspicion. “The hell are you on? You takin’ the piss?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and sigh as you rounded the island to get closer to him, “I don’t joke about beauty, honey. I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

He snorted at you. Because of course he did. But as you hopped onto the counter and gently pulled him between your knees, he couldn’t help but rest his large, ring adorned hands on your thighs and mumble, “You’re serious? Or are you just trying to fuck with me? You want something.”

You felt his gaze rake over you, but you weren’t giving in. You would maintain the upper hand here. You gently caressed his chin and ran your thumb across his jaw.

“All I want is for you to keep looking at me. God, look at those eyes,” you cooed through slightly pursed lips, “and that nose, and those dimples, and those lips. Look at you. You’re so pretty, baby. How’d I get so lucky?”

His nose twitched, but you could see the hint of a pink bloom across his cheeks as he averted his eyes from yours, choosing to focus on his hands on you. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"

As you cocked your head to get a better look at his attempt at coyness, you shot him a playful and flirtatious smile, "You're so fucking cute when you blush."

"Okay no. Nope. Fuckin' no." He pulled away from you but you caught the way he seemed to fight the smile on his face by biting the corner of his mouth. Even though he turned his back to you and pretended to rummage through the fridge to escape your treachery, you knew you had Tangerine right where you wanted him. "You're not doing this."

"I don't know what you mean." You sighed, swinging your legs and hopping down from the counter.

"You do. You know what you're doing. You're being...me"

You couldn't even argue against that, because you were absolutely taking every page from his playbook. You wondered if anyone had ever told him these things before. Judging by his reaction, you guessed not. But it's not like you were really lying about what you told him. He really was the most gorgeous person you'd ever seen. Even his gruff, sarcastic demeanor had a level of natural charm to it. He had to have known that at least. You hummed to yourself and sidled up behind him, wrapping your arms around him to run your hands up his chest. You could feel his heart thud under your hand.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" You purred, placing kisses on his back, "I'm thinking about the way you looked last night...with my hand wrapped around your throat and that fucked stupid glaze in your pretty eyes."

You felt his back tense and he looked at you over his shoulder. You challenged his gaze and he swallowed hard fighting some unreadable thoughts bobbing around in that adorable head of his. He seemed to be coming up short, so he parted his lips to simply say, "You're evil."

Maybe. But you weren't wrong. You could feel yourself going powermad now that the shoe was on the other foot, and you couldn't bring yourself to stop now.

"So are you saying you don't like getting on your knees for me? We both know that's not true."

In the blink of an eye the fridge was closed, and you were back up on the counter with his hands gripping your hips. His face was even redder than it was before. You gave him your best shit-eating grin.

"You're not allowed to do that." He declared, though his voice cracked a bit and you saw right through the faux bravado. The look in his eyes didn't match his demand in the slightest.

"Do what?"

"Just...that. Whatever you're doin'. It's--"

"What do you mean? I'm being so nice to you. You don't like it?" You reached up to comb your fingers through his hair, and not so innocently grip a handful in your fist. He let out a low groan and slowly closed his eyes. "There he is," you cooed again, kissing the corner of his mouth and along the stubbled, delicate skin of his throat. And when you kissed the pulse point just behind his jaw, and nibbled on his earlobe--earning a low whimper that spurred you on--you whispered in his ear, "there's my sweet boy. You're so fucking perfect, baby."

He hesitated as if his brain short circuited, and he let out a hoarse, "Yeah?"

"Mhm," you hummed, pulling him in closer, "In fact--"

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he blinked like he'd been pulled out of a trance. Confusion and disappointment crossed his features, and as he pulled out his phone to answer, he shot you a sidelong glance.

"Yeah. It's me. What is it now?" he answered after clearing his throat. Considering his evening sufficiently ruined, you jumped down from the counter and kissed him on the cheek.

"Have fun at work." You whispered.

[aria-ashryver]

SAAM2024 - SA Awareness Month

TW: SA, discussions around rape and sexual violence

Listen, I’m going to talk about something it isn’t easy or fun to talk about. I’m going to try and get a point across, and hopefully have it amount to something legible, because I am already feeling my body physically reacting with symptoms of stress.

I want to talk about sexual assault.

Did you know that April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month? And has been, for the last 23 years? Because I sure didn’t! Which is wild, considering I am a survivor of six separate incidents of sexual assault, two of which were penetrative rape.

I looked up the SAAM2024 hashtag and found crickets. Because who the hell wants to talk about sexual violence and rape on a random Thursday, right?

The thing is, we need to be having these conversations.

Of course, the onus isn’t on survivors to start the conversation — who would ask someone who is horrifically traumatised to open those scars again and talk about their trauma? I couldn’t even say the word “rape” for years.

[note: I have chosen not to censor the word rape here as a part of my own recovery process. Its just a word. I refuse to let it incite terror. Its just a word. ]

So who, then? If we could all talk about sex and sexual assault —if these were topics of conversation that weren’t so taboo to discuss— we could begin to take steps to make things safer for ourselves and for others.

So here I am, talking.

I feel it is important to destigmatise sex as this hush hush topic; it’s important to be able to discuss safe sex, consent, to differentiate what is just “bad sex” from what is assault. People are often quick to brush off encounters that give them the ick as just “bad sex”.

I was no different.

At sixteen, I didn’t have the terminology to describe what happened to me as rape. In a culture that glamorises illicit affairs and drunken hook-ups at parties, I didn’t have the comprehension to realise that what happened to me was not some sexy, drunken, desirable thing.

[trigger warning for more context around the first of my rapes]

I had been at a party, celebrating the wrap of my high school’s theatre production. I had been drinking underage and was extremely drunk*.

(*which in no way excuses what happened to me — it is important to take steps to dismantle rape culture and victim-blaming.)

There was a classmate I had been on a few dates with, and though we had been handsy during makeout sessions a few times, we had never discussed having sex. He offered to pick me up from the party, to give me a place to stay for the night. He had not been in attendance at the party, and was completely sober. By the time he drove us both home, I was already intermittently blacking out.

I have only a few memories of that night. One, crystal clear even to this day — a concerned classmate, grabbing my arm as I was heading out of the venue. The look of alarm on his face as he asked if I had a safe means of transport home. I lied to him. I have no idea why. I told him my mother was waiting in the vehicle that had just pulled up, and he let me go.

The next memory that I have is of his bedroom ceiling. A vague, blurred outline of his unclothed body over mine, as he was raping me.

Yes, we had been at that tentative, early stage of a potential relationship. Yes, I had taken him up on the offer to go to sleep at his house.

But, in the state I was in, there is no possible way I could have consented to sex.

I knew something was wrong, afterwards. I knew I spent the next night curled in a ball, sobbing in the shower for a reason. I knew there was a reason I froze up when a friend side-eyed me at school the following Monday, and said “you had sex with him, didn’t you?”. What I didn’t understand was that the reason was because I had been raped.

Because I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe my experience as such.

Because people don’t like to talk about sexual assault.

But we need to talk about sexual assault.

Conversations about sex can and should be removed from the concept of arousal. You can and should talk about sex without it being labelled as horny, or flirty, or suggestive — because it is just another topic to learn about.

Sex is an intricately nuanced thing that can mean so many different things to so many different people. There are elements of shame and embarrassment around sexual encounters sometimes; young and naive as I was, I was ready to take my crawling feelings of shame, self-blame, disgust, and put them down to “it was just bad sex”.

It wasn’t until long after the horror of my second, more violent rape, that I was able to pinpoint some of the trauma responses as being the same as that first time. There were patterns there, feelings that, had I been in a position of knowing more about safe sex and consent, I would have recognised sooner for what they were.

Its all well and good to go “hey! Don’t rape people!” and pat yourself on the back for your activism.

But the thing is, that kind of does sweet fuck all to actually help people who are at risk of experiencing sexual violence. What we really need is to take actionable steps toward improving people’s sexual safety and practises around consent and safe sex.

So what does that look like?

We talk about sex and consent without stigma.

We believe survivors and do not victim-blame

We practice respecting other people’s bodily autonomy in everyday scenarios, before it ever reaches a sexual context — if someone doesn’t want to hug you, respect their autonomy! If someone tells you to stop tickling them, even though they are laughing, hey, guess what? Respect their autonomy!

We remember what consent looks like, and take steps to inform others — consent is always clear, continuous, coercion-free, and conscious.

We make it second nature to take basic steps toward safety — never leave a drink unattended at a party! Stick to a buddy system to ensure people get home safe! Not because you suspect something will happen, it's just a default behaviour!

Be that classmate that tries to stop a drunk person walking out into the night alone.

The more we do these kinds of things, the less mystical and nebulous this whole “safe sex and healthy consent” thing becomes, and the safer we all are for it.

I’m gonna cut myself off here for my own wellbeing, as this has been extremely taxing, but let me provide a few links that I think are relevant. I hope this might be in some way helpful, and encourages others to continue the conversation offline. (or online, even -- reblogs are totally fine, and please feel free to add other stories or links if you have resources to share)

Be safe, and to any SA survivors who happen to be reading this, please know that you will always be yours, and what happened to you was not your fault. 💖

What is Consent (VeryWellMind)

History of Sexual Assault Awareness Month (NSVRC)

Sexual Violence Prevention: Beginning the Dialogue (NSVRC)

How to Support a Survivor (CRCC)

Finding Help If You’ve Been Sexually Abused (Crisis Text Line)

[void-18]

DAR NATASHA: JEALOUS

Trigger: Smut, forced pregnancy, and violence

(Natasha pov)

Y/n and I were currently at one of Tony's big events. As I was sent by Fury to make sure nothing happened to Tony I couldn't help but feel attracted to his little sister, Y/n Stark. Y/n was only 3 years younger than me and was just as smart as her brother. I had kept my cover from getting blown until I started to watch Y/n more than Tony. I started to make sure nobody would come close to her, touch her, and I even became personally close with her. We would sit in her room and talk about anything and everything, we became close. It got so close that we developed feelings for each other, we started with little things like subtle touches, whispering things, and hanging out when I wasn't watching Tony. It was until I started to lose focus of the mission and decided to dedicate myself to strengthening my relationship with Y/n. I didn't mean to feel anything for this girl, for once in my life, something caught me by surprise. I was caught when Y/n and I were making out on her bed. I was about to remove her shirt when Tony came in raising hell.

Once my cover was blown, Fury directed me to stay away from Y/n and help Tony figure out whose behind all the chaos. Did I listen to the order? Of course not. I paid heavy attention to Tony and the mission but I also made time for Y/n. In total we have been dating for 6 months and we've been happy together. The only thing I would say is the pain in the ass is Tony, Fury, and everyone around Y/n. They keep getting in the way of us being happy.

My thoughts were cut off when I see Y/n brought up on stage along with Tony's business partner. As Tony was giving his speech, the partner stayed besides Y/n putting his hand on her waist and whispering things in her ear, Y/n giggled at it. To say I was enraged was an understatement, I was beyond that. I could feel the heat rising to my face as that piece of shit touches my girl. I stand up from my seat and leave to the backstage, by the time I get there the speech was over. I watch from behind the curtain as Tony and Y/n go into a separate section of the stage as the business partner stays in my sight.

I come from behind the curtain silently as he stays looking down at a computer typing away. I see him get a glance of me from the corner of his eye.

" Hey, lady you're not supposed to be here-"

I cut him off by grabbing his arm and rotating it backwards and then up before slamming him on the desk. He shouts in pain and the stage outside is still loud, muffling his shouts. I hold his arm in place.

I put my other arm on his neck putting pressure.

" Tell me, why'd you touch her!"

He chokes on his own spit before spitting out

" she's just a friend please!!"

I didn't listen to his cries, instead I twisted his arm at an irregular angle, hearing his screams become more desperate as the arm twitches. He was being too damn noisy so I slammed his head on the desk another time, watching as his body slumps to the floor.

I calm myself down before heading to Y/ns dressing room. She needs to be punished for what she did. I open the door to see her sitting on her chair fiddling with her phone. She looks up at me and her face changes to surprise then to fearful, I guess she saw I wasn't happy.

I lock the door to the room and walk to her bed taking a seat.

"Y/n, could you tell me why you were rubbing against that guy on stage."

I crossed my legs waiting for her answer

" Nat- Baby I didn't mean for it to seem that way, he's a really decent guy."

"Decent? Well that decent guy is laying on the ground right now, passed out with a broken arm. Do you think decency is worth that?"

She looked horrified by what I said, I knew she didn't know what to say next

" lay your upper body on your desk now."

I instructed her calmly and she did as I said. I felt myself grow hard seeing her in this position.

" spread your legs babe"

I could hear her heavy breathing as she shivered, waiting for what I'd do. I pressed my front to her back and whispered "prepare yourself Y/n, you're gonna need it."

I hike up her dress all the way up to her breast, almost ripping it in the process. I lay her hands on each side of her head telling her to keep them there.

I harshly pull her breasts out from her bra, still leaving it on letting them push her breasts up on the desk. She shudders as the cold air hits her breasts and ass. I run my hands down her sides and down to her ass where I caress and grab it before giving it a harsh smack, earning a whimper from her. I could see a little bit of wetness through her underwear turning me on even more.

I rub myself through my dress as I look at the sight of her, across her own makeup desk waiting for me patiently. I hike up my dress to my waist and stroke my cock through my underwear. I decide to press my hardness on Y/n so she can know what to expect. I see her shift a bit making me groan as her wetness touched my clothed dick. I take her waist and start humping her from behind, laying my head on her back. I did this about 5 times before freeing my cock and stroking it a bit. I move Y/ns panties up a bit so each fold could go up her ass, I finally move the piece she's been wanting. I see the mess she's made and move her panties to the side before roughly entering her. I didn't give her a chance to relax to my size, I roughly slammed into her not caring if she yelped in pain. She tried to get a hold of my hips from behind but I put her into the same head lock I did the man and continued to roughly fuck her.

She kept moaning loudly as her breasts were squished on the desk, moving up and down from my thrusts. Her hands were restrained behind her back as I used my other arm to hold down her head into the desk.

" NAT PLEASE UGH-"

I kept thrusting rough and fast

I got close to her ear

" you need to learn a lesson Y/n. You should've e never touched him." I gritted into her ear before speeding up my thrusts. It was hard to keep slamming into her considering she was squeezing me very tightly and her own pre-cum didn't help.

I kept slamming into her roughly as my balls kept smacking her ass. The lip glosses and other things on the desk have already fallen off and the mirror was holding on as the desk shook roughly. Y/n kept moving her legs trying to wiggle away from my thrusts but that only made me go harder as she screamed for me to slow down.

I didn't have protection on so this was my chance to keep Y/n with me, indefinitely. I kept slamming into her until I felt her clench around me, whimpering that she couldn't take it any longer. I soon felt her clench hard enough to stop my hard thrusts as her body shook, I could feel her cum wrap around my cock as she tried to push me out. I still kept her in the same position till she stopped huffing and caught her breath. As soon as she did, she unclenched around me. I decided to stay inside letting her adjust to me just a bit.

She squirmed making me growl

" Nat I've learned my lesson, you can take it out now. I'll finish you off another way." She said out of breath

I went to her temple and kissed it, letting my cock fully sink into her. She moaned since she was still sensitive. I went to her ear and whispered.

" That's not gonna happen baby"

Her eyes went wide as I started to jackhammer into her as deeply as I could, chasing my high. She kept kicking my legs and moaning for me to stop.

" please Nat, I can't take another round!" Her mouth had a little bit of drool hanging from her moaning so much. I took my hand off her neck and caught her leg propping it on the desk while the other tried to find footing on the ground.

God I could feel that I was hitting a new spot as her moans got louder. I couldn't have anyone possibly ruin this so I shove three fingers in her mouth to shut her up.

" suck on my fingers baby hmm."

She sucks on them as I continue my assault on her swollen pussy until I feel myself close to cumming. I sped up and I'm sure Y/n felt me twitching. I took my fingers outta her mouth and wrapped it around her neck

" Nat! Nat! Please pull out, I'm not on the pill!"

I kiss on her ear

" let's start a family baby" as I thrust harder and lean my weight on her, keeping her hands in place.

" Nat please no-"

She continues to struggle, wiggle, and kick my thighs but I roughly continue and ignore her pleas as I thrust forward biting her neck grunting as I release my warm cum inside her. She goes abruptly forward stiffening with me as her insides are painted with my cum. She gasps at the warm sensation inside her aching pussy as I thrust slowly into her to get every last drop out.

I finally let go of her arms and slowly pull out as she whines. She breathlessly lays there as I watch our mixed cum leak out of her red swollen pussy. I lean over her, kiss her cheek, and whisper.

" hopefully you've learned your lesson dorogoy (darling)."

A/N

She's backkkkkkk aka me, how have ya'll been? Anyways, if you have any suggestions on what to write next, you can either PM me or write it in the comments! Happy reading nuggets:)

[darkbluekies]

Oh, oh, I got an idea! How do you think the Yandere characters will do if they found out their s/o got kidnapped! Kinda like how the mad doctor kidnapped Yandere Doctor's s/o??

Warnings: killing, mentions of suicides, violence, manhandling, dismemberment, kidnapping, arson

Silas: 

All hell will break loose once he understands what has happened. Everyone — even his own men — will be scared for their lives. Silas is angrier than anyone’s ever seen him before and the slightest wrong step will result in death. He will cause blood baths wherever he goes until he gets you back. The gang that has taken you will be sorry, Silas will make sure of that. He’ll grab every kind of weapon he can get his hands on before leaving with his men to go get you back in his arms.

“Alright, you shitheads, I’m going to fucking come for you. Touching my baby will be the last thing you’ll ever do. I’m going to make you regret the day you were born. Oh, I’m going to enjoy this …”

Dr Kry: (oneshot where this happens)

He’ll be absolutely terrified if he doesn’t know where you are. This man will never stop looking for you. He’ll not eat, not sleep, not drink until you’re back in your room. This man is smart, he finds clues where others don’t. Dr Kry is a person who never gets down and dirty, his murders look like suicides or accidents. But when he finds the one that has taken you from him, he’ll beat them bloody until they’re on the verge of death. Then he’ll leave them to die. 

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’m going to find you and I’m going to make sure you come back where you belong. Whoever took you from me is going to suffer. I’m going to kill them, don’t worry, you’ll be safe and sound in my arms soon …”

King Edmund:

This man is ruthless as he is, but if someone dares to take you away from him, he’ll cause havoc. Every kingdom will know about your disappearance and they’ll fear what Edmund is going to do. No one is safe from his wrath. Edmund will burn down villages, he’ll throw people in dungeons, he’ll have public executions — everything to find the peasant (or royal) who took you. And when he finally does … they’ll be tortured for days and days on end until he finally has had enough and kills them himself. 

“The one that touches my queen will be sorry for a long, long time. The kingdoms shall feel my wrath. I’ll burn them all down if I need to. No one takes my queen from me …”

Jerry:

This woman lives for revenge, but not these kinds. You should never be involved. If someone decides to kidnap you, Jerry will turn the world upside down to get you back. No one’s safe from Jerry’s anger. She’ll even hurt her own boss if he gets in her way. Her boss will help her get you back (mostly because he’s terrified of Jerry’s temper) and then, it’s over for whoever was stupid enough to think they could keep you away from her. Jerry is going to cut off limb after limb of the people that separated you from her with a smile on her face. 

“When I’m done with those people, they’ll be lucky if the police will ever be able to find all of them to give them a funeral. Because I sure as hell won’t let them. They’ll be so unrecognizable that they’ll be unsure which name to put on the gravestone! And when I have Y/N back, I’m going to cuff them to my wrist and plant a GPS chip in their neck. They’re mine only. No one else is allowed to touch them.”

Hedwig:

She thought you were safe. She really did. You’re a nobody! She realizes that the one that kidnapped you wanted her to get money, but figured that taking you would be a better way to get a bigger ransom. Hedwig will pay whatever price to get you back. Nothing’s too high. She’ll bring one body guard with her to the meeting place where she can exchange the money for you. She’ll hug your manhandled body tightly while you cry. 

“It’s okay now, sweetheart, you’re safe now. I-I’ll take care of you. I was so scared to never get you back. Don’t cry, my dear, those assholes will get what they deserve. I have my ways, don’t worry. They’ll never see the sunlight again.”

[buckyalpine]

Pieces

18+ Minors DNI Bucky x pregnant reader 

Edited this, lets pretend I never deleted this part of the story when I posted it cause I’m a dumb ass, thanks. Also the ***** indicates a time jump. 

PLEASE READ WARNINGS, I really loved this prompt and I might do an angstier one, separate from this...stay tuned if that’s your thing. 

Warnings: Still birth, child loss, drinking, swearing, bit of violence, thoughts of suicide, bit of fluff 

Word count: 5.4k

“I’m sorry”

Two words. The weight those two words carried, no one would understand. You knew pain. You’d loved and lost. You’d been nearly ripped into pieces and sewn back together. You’d lost countless battles. Yet nothing prepared you for this. Where your heart was being seared. Where death made sense because living was too painful. 

“I’m so sorry”       

You cried. Wailed. Screamed. Nothing brought him back. You curled up in the hospital bed, desperately sobbing, hoping to wake up from the nightmare but it never happened, the little bundle of hopes and dreams you wanted in your arms, he was never coming. You cried for him, screamed, pushed, nearly tore your body apart but it didn’t matter. You were met with silence. You were met with panicked nurses. You were met with your scared husband, who didn’t understand what was happening. Why did they take his baby son away before he got a chance to hold him, he’d waited so long. You were met with the solemn face of your doctor, hardly able to look at you. Your little baby boy, your tiny angel. Your whole world, his entire being summarized in two words. 

I’m sorry. 

Bucky didn’t say a word. He sat motionless. He didn’t look at you. He placed a hand on yours, devoid of any love or comfort. He stared blankly, watching his son disappear before his eyes. The names he picked out, the hours he spent talking to his baby, the clothes, the nursery he decorated. His little one would never know how excited he was to meet him. He’d never know how badly he wanted to hug and kiss and hold him. Read him stories. Hear his first words. See his first steps. Have a family. The new found purpose he had to nurture a life instead of take one. It was all gone. His little baby boy was gone. 

*****

You couldn’t take the sympathy cards. The flowers. All reminders of how your baby wasn’t there. He wasn’t coming back. Ever. You wanted to burn them. Destroy them, the same way every passing minute was destroying you. You’re mind sucked you into hell, the silence of your home reminding you of how your body had failed. No tiny babbles or coos. No hungry little cries. No warm cuddles. You had failed. You were supposed to have a healthy baby and you couldn’t do it. The worst part was you knew Bucky felt the same way. 

Bucky ran through the motions while remaining cold and distant. He brought you food. Made sure you rested. Checked on you. All without meeting your eyes. Without touching you. The gap between you grew; sleeping with his back to you. Sleeping at opposite ends of the beds. Till he didn’t sleep in the same bed any more. Hollow empty words. You tried so hard to be understanding, yes you were suffering but so was he. But you needed him; you needed him to hold you, to talk to you, comfort you. The same sweet husband who kissed your belly each night, promising to love you no matter what happened. The man who promised he’d take care of you till his last breath. You needed your Bucky. You found him sitting on the couch of your shared room, staring blankly at his hands, the hands you wanted to hold you so badly. 

“Bucky, I- please talk to me, I feel like I’m drowning, I feel like I’m alone, I need you-

“What’s there to talk about” He scoffed, crumpling the list of baby names he’d kept in his pocket. You felt your heart break, standing in front of him, reaching for his hands, your eyes pleading for him to at least look at you. 

“Bucky?” 

“I-I can’t even look at you right now” He yanked his hands away before you could touch him, walking away from you. You felt your blood turn into ice as Bucky got up, making his way to the door.

“What does that mean” You whispered, rooted in place as he shoved his boots on, refusing to look at you. Bucky glared at you with cold eyes, his lip twitching, he’d kept everything inside and he knew it was wrong. It was wrong. It was wrong. It was so fucking wrong but he couldn’t stop once he started. 

“IT MEANS I CAN’T FUCKING LOOK AT YOU. I DON’T WANT TO BE NEAR YOU. I DON’T WANT TO BE IN THE SAME ROOM AS YOU. YOU TOOK AWAY THE ONE THING THAT GAVE ME HOPE” 

“Y-you think I did this?”

The earth beneath you cracked open, swallowing the fragments left of your soul. You thought you felt broken before but this was unbearable. You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat, staring at the broken man that stood before you. 

“You think I hurt our baby?”

“Well he’s not here, is he?! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SON?! He’s not fucking here. He never will be” 

Your mouth went dry, unable to respond as Bucky’s metal arm whirred, his jaw clenching. The spiral started and he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop the venom that laced his words, the small sense of hope he had for a better future was gone. 

“I can’t take this. I told you over and over again to just fucking rest, stop being reckless, no more missions,  BUT YOU DON’T FUCKING LISTEN. NOW FUCKING LOOK. I JUST WANT MY SON” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, covering your ears as glass shattered against the wall, Bucky’s chest heaving, glaring at you. It wasn’t your fault. Deep down he knew. He fucking knew. But he couldn’t climb out of the darkness that sucked him in, clouding any ability he had to think rationally. He stalked over to you, his hands gripping your arms, his hot breath fanning over your face. 

“I just. Want. My son. And all you do is remind me of the fact that I’ll never get to hold him. I can’t stand being in the same place as you. This wouldn’t have happened if it was someone else” 

He regretted his words as soon as they came out, but it was too late. 

He’d never dare think about being with someone else but the pain was too much, he wanted to hurt you, why the fuck did he want to hurt you. Why did he want you to feel more pain when you were suffering already. He pulled his hands away, desperately needing to leave before he did or said something worse that he’d regret. 

“What the hell’s going on here- 

Tony raced down the hall with Steve and Sam to find Bucky standing by the door, broken glass across the room. You stood motionless, trembling on the inside as Bucky shoved Steve out of the way, slamming the door shut, the roar of his bike engine screeching away.

You blinked at the three men, hardly registering Steve catching you as you fell to the ground, sobs wracking your body making it difficult for you to breathe. You felt empty, limp in his arms, unsure what hurt you more; the loss of your little one or the loss of your loving husband because this wasn’t the man you married. 

“Come here sweetheart, it’s okay” He held you tightly to his chest, rubbing your back, holding your hands gently in his to keep you from tugging your hair and digging your nails into your skin. 

“M-my-my b-baby” You cried harder, clutching onto Steve’s shirt.  “He’s gone; I’ll never get to see him” 

“And now J-James thinks…” You couldn’t even get the words out. You already blamed yourself but to hear Bucky tell you to your face that it was your fault was worse than the actual loss. 

“Shhhh, let it out, we got you, it’s okay” Sam sat with Steve, softly stroking your hair. It pained him. Pained him to see you so broken. To see Bucky hardly a shell of the person he once was. He thought about all the time you spent with his sister, finding out what you’d need, what to expect, what not to worry about. This wasn’t one of the things you talked about.

Tony walked out, waiting in the hallway, unable to see you so broken. While he didn’t agree with how Bucky was handling things, he also didn’t blame him. He remembered the day Morgan was born. The joy he felt when she was placed in his arms. Bringing her home. He didn’t even want to imagine a situation in which that didn’t happen. He didn’t want to imagine what if felt like to be told the little one you thought was going to come home with you would never see you. Would never open their eyes. Smile up at you. Grab onto your finger. Your baby wouldn’t be coming home with you. 

*****

“Shit” 

Bucky staggered back in the compound, his eyes bloodshot, unable to walk straight. He crashed onto the couch, not noticing the team sitting in the living room, waiting for him to get back home. Steve stayed with you until you fell asleep, before waiting for his Bucky to return.  

“I thought he couldn’t get drunk, how much did he drink?” Sam ran over to the nearly blacked out super soldier, with Steve by his side, throwing Bucky’s arms over their shoulders to lift him up. 

“I-I don’t want to know” Steve shook his head. Steve’s eyes brimmed with tears, biting on his lips to keep from shaking. There wasn’t a moment Bucky’ didn’t talk about how excited he was to be a father. Asking for help to order little Avenger onesies online. Spending hours picking out the perfect crib. Practicing how to hold a baby. Getting his arm modified so the plates were smoother and more comfortable to the touch. Bucky’s head lulled to the side, groaning as they got into the elevator, pressing the button to your shared floor with Steve. 

“Let him crash in my room, y/n doesn’t need this right now” Steve walked passed your room, letting Bucky fall on his bead, pulling his boots off, before switching the light off and moving some sheets to sleep on the couch. 

*****

Steve’s eyes shot open when he heard a pained groaned from the bathroom, looking up to see Bucky sitting on the floor. He’d had managed to drink enough to the point he stumbled into the bathroom,  throwing up most of his insides, his head between his knees before throwing up again. Steve managed to clean Bucky up, helping him get back into bed, his heart breaking further seeing Bucky clutch onto the picture of an ultrasound from when you first found out you were pregnant. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah pal”

“W-what did I do wrong?” 

Steve swallowed thickly, looking at his best friend stare at the ceiling, tears streaming from the corner of his eyes, spilling onto the pillow. Bucky’s fingers twitched, careful not to crumple the picture, holding onto it for dear life, the pain was too much for him. He thought he did everything right. He took care of you. He read up on everything he could. 

Nothing mattered. 

“He was supposed to be named after you and Sam” Bucky slurred, remembering the way you giggled at his ridiculously long list he added to every day, knowing damn well he already had the perfect name in mind. 

“I read to him every night” Bucky cradled your belly, reading books, whispering to your tummy, his hand soothing the little kicks he’d feel inside. The little flutters would settle as soon as Bucky started talking, his voice lulling both you and the baby to sleep. 

“I-just wanted to hold him and tell him I loved him at least o-once. He was so small. He’ll never know h-how l-long I waited for him” 

Bucky sobbed, curling into a ball, the picture clutched to this chest. He could hardly feel Steve sit by his side, wrapping his friend in a hug, he could only register pain. Your pained screams while you lay on the hospital bed. The tiny bundle that looked sound asleep, never meeting his eyes. All the nights you softly cried beside him, waiting for him to hold you but he couldn’t. The way you pleaded with him today and all the anger he had kept inside crashed onto you when you were the last person who deserved it. 

Guilt sucked him deeper into darkness, he didn’t want anyone anymore. He deserved this. For all the pain he’d caused people. He was stupid to think he deserved to be happy. How many families had he broken. Destroyed. Innocent lives that never got to go home because of him. And he really thought he’d have a chance. He didn’t deserve to be called dad. To feel the warmth of his son sleeping in his arms. Crying out for him. Wanting his daddy to carry him and comfort him. He didn’t deserve any of it. 

Then there was you. 

Bucky pulled at his hair, his voice hoarse as he continued to break down, his mind fighting against him. It wasn’t your fault. You took away his baby. You gave him a family. You destroyed his happiness. He loved you so much. He resented you. You were his angel. You reminded him of what could have been. You were suffering more than he was. He couldn’t do this anymore. He just wanted to hold you and cry with you in his arms. He was done.

***** You sat up slightly when you heard the door open, rubbing your eyes to see a disheveled Bucky walk in, going straight to the closet, grabbing his duffle bag. He spoke before you could say anything, still not looking at you, grabbing his clothes from the shelves.  

“I’m moving out” He murmured, zipping up whatever he could stuff in his bag, deciding he’d come back for the rest of his stuff later. 

“Why” You had no tears left to cry, no more pieces left to break further. You looked at him blankly, your voice was emotionless. You didn’t even care for the answer but you let him answer anyway. 

“I can’t do this. I just-I can’t y/n” 

You nodded, lying back down, pulling the sheets over you. Bucky felt pain seep deeper into his bones as you turned away, curling up and going back to sleep.

He didn’t know what he expected. You had no reason to fight for him to stay. He failed as a husband to care of you, to hold you through your pain, to protect you from the demons that were eating away at you. And now he was leaving like a coward because he was angry at the world and didn’t know who to blame.

He temporarily stayed with Steve, before moving to the spare room, sleeping on the couch when he wasn’t spending hours in the training room. Each time he thought he could take a step forward; he’d remember something and spiral further down. No one could look at either of you go down your paths of self destruction. Bucky continued to drink himself into oblivion. He was more reckless on missions, putting himself in harm’s way, his temper uncontrollable. You were holed up in your room, skipping meals, isolating yourself from the world. It was clearer than ever you need each other and yet…

Bucky had managed to avoid seeing you, but it wasn’t difficult, seeing as you hardly left your room. Of course, it’d only be a matter of time before you crossed paths.

*****

At first, Bucky felt numb. No feeling at all. He felt like he’d been thrown back to hell when he escaped from Hydra, with no sense of purpose, no identity, no will to live. Your pained screams never left him. The things he said to you were seared in his brain. He’d managed to escape everything but not this. His own words haunted him the most. He drank more. Avoided sleep. Trained. Nothing. All he could hear were your cries for him to hold you and his venom of blaming you.

Numbness turned into a different pain. The longing for his wife. His doll. His baby. His sweet angel who cradled him, kissed him, held him when he was broken. When he wasn’t enough. When he was nothing but a hollow shell of the person he once was. When he had nothing to give.

The woman who trust him. Trusted him enough to carry his child. Who endured pain for months. Who cradled her belly, telling her baby their daddy was a hero. Whispering to her baby in the middle of the night about how excited she was for them to come. How excited she was to have a family. With him. In return, he betrayed her without a second thought. He took his moment of sorrow and tore you apart further when you were already tattered and torn beyond repair. What the hell did he do to you.

His sobs could be heard down the hall, the sounds of destruction echoing from inside the room; absolutely no one dared to see how Bucky was doing. You covered your ears; you heart only breaking more when he repeatedly wept your name every night, continuing to call for you in his sleep. You wanted to feel his arms. Feel his love again. And then you remembered the way he looked at you with such disgust and the numbness would return.

He passed by your door 100 times, hesitating to knock. How could he ask doe forgiveness, he didn’t deserve to even see you. Though he was desperate. He had to see your face, even if you threw him right back out, he just wanted to see his sweet doll again. He knocked quietly, squeezing his hands when you opened the door, holding himself back from wrapping his arms around you.

“Y/n I’m sorry-

You shut the door on his face, the coldness of your eyes unwavering. Until you no longer had to look at him, falling to your knees as soon as the door clicked.

“Baby, please, I’m so fucking sorry” His voice was muffled from the other side. You slapped your hand over your mouth, refusing to let him hear you cry, though it was a futile attempt. He heard you, sitting by the door, just like you, desperately wanting to just break it down so he could hold you. He could have broken the door. Easily. But it was unfair to you. He walked out without giving you a choice. He couldn’t walk back in again and demand you take him back.

It went on for weeks. Bucky was practically on his knees every morning, every night, pleading with you to at least look at him. Funny how things turn out. He cried by the door, falling asleep against it most nights, unaware that you’d fallen asleep on the other side, a part of you desperately missing him. But it was too late. There were something’s that just couldn’t be forgotten.

*****

“I can’t forgive you James” You refused to meet his eyes knowing you’d break if you looked at him. You stared at your feet, shaking your head when he tried to touch you.

“Baby?”  Bucky’s voice was a pained whisper, he knew you were right. He didn’t deserve an ounce of the love you’d given him, let alone any type of forgiveness.

“You can’t call me that anymore” You whispered, digging through your bag, finding the folder. “Just sign them. That’s all I want from you”

“Please baby, no” Bucky shook his head, not even wanting to look at the papers you handed to him where you’d already signed. You had every right, every fucking right, and he was being selfish again, begging, pleading, “You’re my angel baby, I can’t, please y/n, can’t you at least think about it?”

“It’s for the best” You held the door open for him to leave, quietly locking it after he left, feeling more empty than before. Bucky considered just ending it all because the pain he caused you was already killing him; the world would have been better without him anyway.

*****

“You can’t keep fucking trying to get yourself killed on missions, you need to get it together” Sam glared at Bucky, while he hissed in pain, sewing a gash on his side.

“I need her back” Bucky had his head in his hands, his torso bandaged from throwing himself in danger on yet another mission, punishing himself in every way he saw fit. “She wants a divorce”

Sam and Steve looked at each other, before looking at the broken super solider.

“Look. I’ll be honest with you. I know you’re hurting and I can’t comment on the pain you’re feeling from losing a child. But you need to realize what you did was beyond fucked up, that’s your wife man. You’ve been through hell, I get that. But she. Is. Your. Wife. She was carrying your baby, she needed you more than ever. You blamed her Bucky, it wasn’t just you not being there for her. You fucking blamed her”

“I just-

“You left her when she needed you. She needed you more than anyone else, you realize she carried your son in her for months. Did you account for how much pain her body went through, just for the doctor to look her in the eyes and say I’m sorry? For her husband to not look at her, not touch her, accuse her of losing the baby. I can’t even being to imagine what type of hell she’s going through because of you. The pain she’s in now? Its not from the loss. This is all you”

Bucky’s lip trembled, the pain he felt in his chest was unbearable and he’d caused you misery worse than this.

“She hates me”

“And I don’t blame her” Steve scoffed, shaking his head while Bucky closed his eyes, tears streaking his face. “Can you? She lost the baby, you blamed her for losing the baby and then she lost you. It hurts. I get it. Not entirely, but I get it. I don’t get what you did to her. Did you hear her cry the day you left?”

Bucky shook his head, he didn’t want to know. The broken screams you cried at the hospital haunted him. He couldn’t take more. He didn’t stop Steve from speaking, but God he wished the earth would swallow him on the spot.

“You have any idea how long she cried for? How badly she wanted you to come back even after you blamed her for everything? This poor girl sobbing on the fucking floor because she lost a child and then her husband decides to leave because he can’t even look at her. You know you bruised her arms!?” Steve’s voice turned into a growl, Sam squeezing his shoulder before anything escalated in the jet. “I can’t even sleep properly because I can hear her when I close my eyes, so how the fuck you stayed in the same room with her, without even looking at her, not comforting her once, is beyond me”

Bucky’s arm whirred, his ears red from anger but it wasn’t toward Steve; it was towards himself. Every impulsive word he let slip from his lips because he felt like he was in pain destroyed a piece of you instead.

“Took a lot of self-control for me to not kick your ass” Steve stared at the floor, still heavily debating on punching Bucky at least once.

“I think you should give her space. You did your thing. Now its her turn, just let her do what she needs” Sam sighed, he did feel for Bucky. He felt for you more.

*****

Bucky stood at your door, his hands trembling when he gave you the papers, his named scribbled on the line, tear stains littering the document.

“Y/n….please sweetheart…”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“I loved you. So much. So fucking James”

“I love you doll-

“No” You cut him off, glaring at him, ignoring his pleading eyes. You anger steadily rose, all the rage you’d managed to keep in control erupting all at once. “NO, FUCK YOU”

“You-you don’t- you will never fucking understand. I- You read to him each night. But I-I felt him James, do you understand? I could feel every kick, every flutter, documenting every single movement. I counted down each day, waiting for him to come, I waited for the day I’d get to see you hold him”

“Did you consider I’ll never get to feed my baby? How much pain my body was in, having to pump fucking bottles of breast milk FOR WHAT?! TO THROW DOWN THE FUCKING DRAIN BECAUSE THE ALL DOCTOR COULD SAY WAS I’M SORRY”

Your chest heaved, eyes wild with fury. He wanted to hug you so fucking badly but he didn’t dare move, silently standing in front of you while tears dampened his shirt.

“I won’t hear him call me mommy. All I have are empty reminders. You were supposed to love me. So why didn’t you, why wasn’t I enough? Am I not part of a family? If it was just me and you, I would have still said we were a family, but that isn’t how you feel is it-

“No baby, please, you are my family angel, you’re my absolute everything, I’m so sorry y/n-

“You’ll never fucking understand. Because you’re selfish. I don’t understand why you married me, just-just go”

Everything was over.

“GO”

***** Bucky finished another late night workout, the easiest way to numb his feelings, anxiously fidgeting with empty space of where his wedding ring used to sit. He stepped out of the elevator, freezing when saw you. He swallowed thickly, his heart dropping to his stomach; you were hardly able to stand, holding onto the wall as you made your way to your room. You had bags under your eyes from never sleeping. Your lips were chapped, hair in a loose pony tail, wearing just your (his) oversized t-shirt. You stumbled, trying to open the door, shrugging his hand off when he tried to keep you from falling. 

“Don’t touch me” Your voice was nearly a growl, white hot anger surging through you when he didn’t let go of your arm. You yanked your shoulder away, stepping into the room, hoping to close the door on him, only to have Bucky follow you inside. 

“Let me help you” Fresh tears stung his eyes watching you shrink away from him, fear and anger in your eyes when he reached for you again.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME” I need you to hold me. You voice echoed through the room, your chest heaving when he took another step towards you, he hated himself, he hated himself so fucking much for making you suffer alone when you needed him the most. He wrapped his arms around you, refusing to let you go while you cried and screamed trying to get out of his hold. You pushed against his chest, weakly hitting him, angry at the way he softly cradled your head, hating the way he rubbed your back, you couldn’t stand how his strong arms felt when he was hugging you, refusing to let you escape. 

“L-LET ME GO” Don’t ever leave me again. Your words were broken between sobs, squeezing your eyes shut, you need this for so long, to feel his touch, to be held by him, but not like this. 

“Let me go” Hold me tighter. You nails dug into your palms, refusing to melt into his embrace. Bucky felt his throat tighten, he couldn’t understand how he’d left you, how he blindly blamed you, he failed you after promising he’d never hurt you. 

“You-you don’t have the fucking right-” No one else can take the pain away. You tried to pull away again, only to have Bucky shake his head, sniffling and holding you tighter. 

“You don’t get to fucking touch me after you left me” His lip trembled, tears spilling down his cheeks. The sounds of his sniffles broke you from your rage; you looked up at him, meeting his tried eyes. His beard had grown, cheeks more hollow, eyes puffy and nose red from crying each night. 

“Y/n I- I’m so sorry angel-

“NO, you fucking left me, do you have any idea how much pain I was in?!” I needed you so badly. Your body was fighting to escape but your heart needed him to hold you tighter and cradle the broken pieces left inside you. Bucky felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest, his heart racing when he realized the weight of his actions.  

“Baby no-

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK?!” I just wanted you to hold me while I held you. 

“You think I hurt our baby?” You voice as a pained whisper as Bucky sobbed, holding onto you tighter, dropping to his knees, his face buried in your tummy, shaking his head.

“No no no, you didn’t, I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry” His voice as muffled, his arms wrapped tightly around your hips as he cried clinging onto you. “I’m sorry y/n, I’m sorry sweet heart, I’m sorry I hurt you baby” 

“I just-” Your legs felt weak, falling into Bucky’s lap; he carefully held you to his chest, laying down with you on the bed, cuddling you close to him “I carried him, I lost him, you’re right it’s my faul-

“NO” He slapped his hand over mouth; he’d never forgive himself for this. 

“Please, no. I didn’t mean a fucking thing I said, you didn’t do anything my angel, you didn’t do anything. Please don’t ever say that, I- I was just so upset baby, I took it out on you when you needed me, I’m so sorry angel” Bucky wept, clutching into you, you were his life line.

“You left me when I needed you” You whimpered, the ice in your heart melting, “I needed you and you left” 

“I’m so sorry baby, I love you y/n, I love you so much angel, I’m never leaving you again, never, I’m here baby” He kissed every inch of your face, his hand gently wrapping around your tummy, rubbing soft circles on your skin, soothing you. 

“I want our baby” You whispered, curling up in a ball on Bucky’s lap as he cradled you to his chest, his tears dampening your hair. “Me too, sweetheart, me too”

*****

You felt panic rise in your chest, flashes of the last time you felt this type of pain plaguing your mind. 

“Bucky what if…” You screamed as another contraction tore through you, unable to get the words out, you didn’t want to even think about such a thing ever happening again, you wouldn’t get through it. Still, it ate at the back of your mind, draining the little energy you had left. 

“What if….w-will you leave?” 

Bucky shook his head frantically, gripping onto your hand as you cried in pain, his metal hand resting on your forehead to cool your heated skin. It wouldn’t happen again, but even if it did, he’d be there with you through everything. 

“Never baby, never, I’ll never hurt you like that again, I promise, no matter what happens angel, I’m here” 

Your body felt like it was being torn in half, squeezing Bucky’s hand, searing pressure radiating through your lower half. 

“Come on mama, push, you can do it, almost there baby” 

“I’m here doll, breathe y/n, keep pushing”

“One more sweetheart, you’re doing so good, my strong little mama, I love you, just a bit more”

You screamed. Cries filled the room. You could hardly see, tears clouding your vision, holding your healthy, crying, baby in your arms, his tiny hands grasping out, trying to find you. 

“It’s a boy!” 

You were met with smiling nurses, whisking your baby away to clean him up. You were met with your crying husband, kissing you endlessly, refusing to let you go. You were met with your team mates, waiting with gifts by the door.

It didn’t erase the little angel you’d lost

It didn’t erase the pain.

But the pieces were put back together.

When you both held your baby in your arms, you felt whole again.

Not perfect. 

Whole. 

- Bonus dedicated to @xcaptain-winterx

Your feet never touch the floor once during the entire second pregnancy because he carries you EVERYWHERE. 

He still hasn’t forgive himself. Sometimes you find him softly sniffling in bed, he can’t answer when you ask him what’s wrong. 

“I’m sorry” He clings onto you, whimpering, repeatedly telling you he’s sorry, he can’t believe he’d hurt his beautiful angel. 

He definitely wants more babies. 

The first time his son babbles out dada he’s nearly inconsolable.

 He has a small pair of angel wings engraved onto the wrist of his metal arm. He still loves his little angel. 

When you have triplets, he’s full on dad mode, a baby in each arm, one on his shoulders, your older song happily clinging to his leg while he warms up milk, letting you rest.  He’s not sure what to do when your third pregnancy is twins but his heart is full (so are his arms) 

  Please let me know if you want to be added or removed! (also this is an 18+ blog, I can’t tag nameless/ageless blogs)  

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[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

22 - Home of Bloodsoaked Stone

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

Length: 20.5k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, mentions of child death, descriptions of violence, unhealthy alcohol consumption, reference to self harm, smut, oral (m receiving)

Notes: Takes place right after end of last chapter, and part five begins. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Only three times in your life did the halls of Winterfell feel strange and unfamiliar to you. The first all those years ago when you were young and entirely new to the North, and the second was being dragged through them hands tied and living through a hell that felt impossible to stop. The walls seemed darker and more confined, and everything that was once something you came to know looked like a shadow of itself in the hands of the Boltons. The only freedom you had been granted was a few short places you were trusted to be without such heavy guard and most of those were places with little to nothing to occupy your mind from wishing to escape. Now was a different kind of strange entirely.

You knew him well, following a path straight to his own room without any doubt. A stretch of halls that had not been used, that you hadn’t even been allowed in. All of the doors were closed, but you swallowed harshly with biting tears stinging behind your eyes as you purposefully kept your gaze away from even if the flashing memory dared run by you. You could hear shuffling once you reached your actual destination, with hands tensing against the door handle and a shaking breathe that hurt your lungs. You tested it if were unlocked gently, and slipped inside silently. 

Just like everything else, it was somehow exactly what you remembered but nothing like it still. The main part of the room, well you hadn’t actually been in here since you two had almost...strange how such an unsure feeling over four, almost five years ago was still as prevalent. 

He hadn’t gotten far in the process currently. Longclaw sat across his desk, still covered in blood as you walked up to it. Hand tracing over the hilt before a beat passed, and you found yourself gently placing your own beside it, and the dagger just to the side of both.

Blood dried now on all three of them. 

Barley turning to look, you could hear the gentle sounds of sloshing water from the side room. Pulling your gloves off, you gently put them down on the desk before walking further in. The bed looked exactly as you recalled, and yet who were even those two that last had almost had the other on it? Were you anything like that girl still? 

Fingers barley traced over the fur spread out over it, and you felt the sting grow harder. The only thing in the way at that time, was your own separate insecurities of who you were to the other. Of what your future’s would hold after it and now that there was nothing in the way of it? 

It was painted with the loss that the only people who made it back here, the only ones within these castle walls that had a life inside them once, were the three people who never quite belonged. 

Ever so slowly, you stepped towards the other room, hand bracing on the corner wall as you turned ever so slightly to lean against it, the hand sliding down to rest closer to your shoulder. He had gotten as far as scrubbing the blood off his face. The rest of him, still soaked from both the battle and the pile of horror that almost crushed around him. 

You knew he had heard you, always had keen ears about people poking around the corner in the dark but there was a far more fresh offence weighing on his heart. One you knew the agony off as recently as he did. His hands were braced on the wooden surface the small basin of water sat, a bloody cloth tossed behind it with more laying around ready to be claimed as you stepped towards him. 

Head hanging low and shoulders tensed, you knew there was nothing you could do for him until taking off the layers weighing him down. Gently, you traced your hand lightly over his shoulder, and quickly, an uncovered hand flew up to grab hold of it, keeping it there as you stepped right up behind him. Running the other along his other shoulder, and tracing gently up his neck almost soothingly. 

You had no words to say to anyone about her, and it was too soon for him to have any about Rickon. So you gently ran down back from his neck to other his arm and pulled him gently back to face you. 

Ever so lightly, Jon tried murmuring your name to get you to look up at him, but you shook your head with a stern set of eyes trained on undoing the leathers covering him. Gently relieving a shoulder as you started to undo the weight keeping it fastened before reaching to the other side. The feeling of one of his hands caught your attention, having raised up gently to run along your waist with a narrowed expression of his own but he let you work. 

Finally, the heaviest layer of armour came off, as you put it to the side. Not once wavering as you grabbed his loose hanging hand and gently pushed the material of his shirt up enough to undo the bracers over his wrist and then gently pulling the hand off of you to do the other. 

It was hard for Jon to find the right words, but there was something that made him feel heavy enough to break through the floors as you so quietly took it all off of him. Not looking to the blood as something to avoid, and your eyes were focused on only the parts first you knew bothered him the most, the weight off his shoulders and arms that had no doubt been tense enough for hours that he could’ve broken something and not noticed. 

Strange that for a second, you had managed to make his breathe hitch just the slightest as you finally moved to gently grab at the bottom of his shirt, and pulled it up without a single hesitation. The last time you had done so in his own room, you had the most hesitant and unsure look in your eyes as he had draped his hands over yours pulling the material up and off with you. At the time, your nerves were endearingly cute to him. 

Jon had found the courage in him to pull every single thing off of you, leaving you standing before him at the edge of his bed bare and yet it was you being the one to take only his own shirt off that left you shaking in your breathing. At that time, he had gently pulled you up by your chin to kiss you before pulling back to run his eyes over all of you with an awe behind the greys. 

Now though, the nerves were in him and you with the steady calm. Eyes looking all over his chest to find anywhere he was hurt, and yet you kept finding the wounds that would never heal. Trying to look between for ones that were new, and eyes narrowing with a tiny hiss at the bruises covering him already turning purple. Gently you traced just beyond the tender skin before kneeling down. His boots were next, and Jon couldn’t stop the thought. 

You were used to doing all of this because of Robb, but even without being there to witness it he knew the quiet in this room was deafening compared to what his brother would’ve been like with you. He couldn’t help but wondering if you missed it, missed how easily Robb could say anything and everything to you when the silence from Jon now was heavy in his heart. 

Taking no notice yourself of how tense he was as you pulled the rest of everything off. How the last time you were far to nervous to even let your hands gently trail anywhere near his pants and yet now you pulled them off him without a single thought of what it looked like from his place. Only Jon’s desires, were far different then that of Robb’s with you. 

One of his hands gently reached down to run across your jaw, tilting you up to look at him and yet there was a wide eyed look on him like he was ready to break. Coaxing you to stand up, the second you tired to turn him to the water he gripped your hip a little tighter. 

Your eyes narrowed, and still neither spoke. He never needed to with you, if you didn’t know what he was doing, you would trust him blindly. Jon handled you more gently then you did him if that were possible. Slowly pulling every layer off in case any too fast tug could hurt, pulling your own boots and pants down with a touch so gentle you wondered if he was worried you’d break. 

A moment passed, you both uncovered as the other, your hands running gently along his chest and landing no doubt to the marks that haunted you as Jon’s reached up to cup your cheeks. Leaning down to press his forehead to yours, only then did either feel brave enough to break the silence for the first time. Your voice was small, almost less then a whisper but a tenderness radiated from it, a care that rolled off your tongue with not a shred of doubt to be had. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

He could only find the strength to nod, and you had to be the one to turn him towards the water in the first place. Grabbing a few things both he had set out, and for yourself, to bring over to drape along one of the edges as he got used to the water, still steaming as his eyes shut in an instant at the sensation over the harsh areas across his body. 

Hands gripping what he could of the edge of the tub, he felt his heart slow a bit more, only to be rushed back up in a second at sensing you behind him. Reaching over the tub to gently untie and let his hair loose, running your fingers through his curls with almost a massage that had him humming in the back of his throat, leaning back into you until your nails so lightly scratched along his scalp. Swallowing harshly, his knuckles turning white from his grip at the feeling. “Get in with me.” 

You didn’t respond, pulling away from him only long enough to grab one of the small vials with you, running it along your hands before returning to him. The tenseness in his shoulders almost dimming down some as you ran your hands thoroughly though his curls, letting the oils soak into his hair as you continued to massage your hands through the strands. His breathing pitched up from the rise and fall of his chest but he said nothing at first, only leaning back into your touch. Jon tried calling your name, a deep rasp that sounded on the edge of strained, but you leaned in close as you could from where you knelt behind him. 

Gently collecting some of the water beside him in a very small metal basin, your hand wrapped around the handle as the other gently turned his head just at the right angle to keep the pouring water from falling in front of his face. It went like that for a few minutes, Jon struggling with the need to have you in front of him against your unquestioning focus as you washed out any grime, blood, sweat from his curls. Only it drove him a little more insane each time, wanting to lose it at how lovingly you worked to handle him with care.

Part of him wanted to be jealous at how long he had never had it, but another more sorrowful part of Jon whose heart already was weighed in agony, was thankful Robb had this for as long as you both were together. He was jealous, and he wanted to be for many other aspects of it but deeper within Jon he was thankful that at least he knew for the time he was alive, Robb had you. 

Jon had you now, or he hoped he did. But he was happy that for how unfairly short of a time Robb had with you, that he knew you treated him with the same kind of love and care. His brother deserved that. 

A good few minutes had passed, you ensuring every single spot of his hair was washed and rinsed out before the metal basin down. But before you could move, Jon reached back, a hand covering the one about to leave his hair, your name so lightly on his lips. “Get in with me.” Almost trying to protest, Jon finally turned around enough to look at you, his hand moving to trace what he could reach of your cheek. No strength in his voice, or teasing or even anything beyond a rasp weak with a need. “I’ll make that an order if I have too.” 

That got you to smile. Some things it seemed, were exactly the same between the two wolves. 

Some things though, were rather different. If there was no tease in his voice, there was even less in his eyes. Slowly sitting up straighter as you hesitated, almost as if he could sense you didn’t want to break the moment of quiet calm between you. He had seen all of you like this before, three times to be exact and Robb had even moreso, but somehow now you felt self conscious. As if you only realized now that maybe you could disappoint him. 

But Jon’s eyes never strayed to anything with that kind of need or greed, flickering between scars new and old. Trying to determine as you were on him what needed to be dealt with right now, before he leaned up. Pulling you closer with a hand on your waist to keep you from slipping while having you perched on his lap. The other traced across your jaw while you settled hesitantly on his shoulders as you steadied yourself. This was the kind of close intimacy that you both never freely had before. Never enough time or privacy for it, you had with Robb but no matter how similar they could be, both men had such a different way about them with you. 

Maybe it was the degree of what you had both been through since separating from the other in means of violence, but there was almost a worry like he would break you in how gentle his hands were. The water had made you hiss, bordering on too hot to handle as you got in despite how little Jon seemed to even notice it, but you got to work regardless. He was far worse off then you were, and the hot water quickly soaked up with blood as you quietly cleaned it off him. 

Looking as if he wanted to say something the entire time, but no words found their way to the surface as he looked at you. Eyes once more so focused on only him, unintentionally ignoring that he had wanted you in with him so he could take care of you. But you always did that, starting something that could lose you to the world around you until it was done or something pulled you directly out of it. You were careful around his bruises, running the cloth in your hand gently over them so he almost couldn’t feel it, and working around the new marks across him to not make them sting any more then they had too. 

Jon the entire time, one hand was draped across the edge of the tub as the other, when not in the way, would rest only his fingertips across your waist. It sat right between you, what was going unsaid but both of you knew that it would shatter the peace as soon as one brought it up. You knew too well how little you wanted anyone to speak to you about her, and no one did. But it was painted right across his eyes how much he was going back to it. How close he had gotten, and how horrific it felt to come that short. 

Nothing on him was bad enough it needed any kind of stitching, but you made notes in your mind of what to pay attention too in the future. Only the gentle jostling of water could be heard in that room, only the muffles of outside filled the rest of the air. Most of them would be burned, and no doubt would catch the attention of any finally coming close to Winterfell by that point but both of you would scarcely be there for the most of it. The thing that was being unspoken was for tonight, and there were hardly any of you that would be there for it. Only after would you both rejoin the North in what they surely would let get out of hand in celebration of a long needed victory of freedom. 

Only when you could finally see Jon clear and fresh, the waters around you murkier as they mixed with what was washed from him did you look to meet his eyes. Gently running along his collarbones up to his neck, did you cup the sides of his jaw, thumbs running across his facial hair as his hands more firmly sat at your waist. Jon found it in him to break first, his voice hardly a strained whisper as a mist begun to breeze over his eyes the longer he felt the intimacy of your touch. 

“He was barley half my height the last time I saw him.” One of your hands slid back gently, running through his still wet curls gently as his face twisted into something more angry. “He was so upset too, everyone was going away and he was too young to understand it..” You could feel his grip unknowingly grow tighter on you as his muscles tensed. 

Moving to run your nails gently across his scalp, Jon relaxed only a small bit. You knew that anger, the same kind of one that almost had you run a knife right through the red woman on the spot, building inside of him. Grey eyes slipping tones darker, not really looking at you but through you as the memory was going through once more in his mind, no doubt. He wasn’t going to like it, but you could only come up with one thing, “I’m so sorry..”

His eyes snapped back, up to meet yours now with that rage a little closer to the front just as you predicted. So badly wanting to break, but he didn’t. Grip once more grew tighter but you just let it happen. “Why are you sorry, you weren’t the one who-” 

Dropping down to his shoulders, you let the guilt paint your features. “This only happened because of me,” your name slipped from his mouth in a quiet warning that you ignored. “If I hadn’t run the way I did he wouldn’t have had any reason to be so angry.” Jon warned you with a low run of your name once more, and yet you weren’t even looking at him. “Maybe we should have considered-” 

Both hands left your waist, reaching up and cupping both sides of your face firmly as he narrowed his eyes at you. Voice rough and deep as his grey eyes seethed in front of you. “Listen to me. Even if you gave yourself up, do you really believe he’d have given Rickon to us? And if he did, I’d have done it all the same to get you back.” You bit your tongue, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you looked slightly away from him to the water. “There is nothing you could have done differently, I don’t think he was ever going to let him...” The crack in his voice as he trailed off almost was enough to bring forth tears of your own. Looking back at you there was only heartache left, not anger. “..I was so close..I almost had him. If I was a little faster I could have, I almost could feel his hand..” 

You didn’t let him say another word. Leaning up and closer to him, you pulled him gently into you. Jon’s arms moving to wrap around your waist and to your back as you let one of yours wrap around the back of his neck and the other running through his hair as he fell into you. If you pulled him back, you would’ve seen tears as they fell silently, but you let Jon hide in your neck instead. His muscles were as tense as they could be and his chest shook with every breath, but you didn’t rush him a bit. And you didn’t say anything. 

No one could make Shireen feel better in your heart, and so you just did the one thing Jon needed in that moment. Keep him close, keep your own touch soft and let him fall apart partially hidden in you at how close to his little brother he got. “You came for him. It doesn’t change what happened, but Rickon knew that you came for him, that you loved him.” 

If Jon heard you, he kept it to himself. And that was alright. You didn’t need him to say anything, he needed to let it all out, and you kept him right there for as long as it took. The heat of the water simmering to something a little more comfortable for you as he relaxed more in your touch. Finding the strength to eventually pull back. Rising his head up to look at you, eyes clearly having shed what tears he could as you leaned your forehead against his. Jon moving his hands to run along your waist up and down. 

One hand left as he grabbed something, before pulling back enough to look at you. Something covering up in his expression, and a rough voice forcing itself to sound collected. “Your turn.” Head jolting back a bit in question but Jon only turned you in his arms in an instant. Sloshing against the water as he sat you between his legs in front of him. Instantly his hands reached up to your hair, ever so gently you felt him pull and unravel how you had put it up not letting any pull at the strands jostle you. 

So easily and comfortably Jon handled your hair. He always did, knew exactly how hard he could pull through the strands before it hurt and never once crossed that line. Feeling it spread across your back and shoulders before you sighed, a slight more comfortable then before as it now sat loose. Hands gently running through your hair with a careful ease, as if he had done so a thousand times before. 

Taking longer then it typically would, you knew he was drawing out the process. Almost relaxing in the closeness. Slowly, he tilted your head back, your eyes closing on instinct as he ran water gently down your hair. Matching your treatment, he ran his hands through the strands he had just rinsed out before moving to the next small section. 

Another gentle rinse, and Jon’s voice was a bit quiet, a bit more hesitant. “I almost left to join you and Robb.” Brows furrowing even as they were shut, he let a shakier sigh out. “They told me about my father, and that you and Robb had gone to war with the Lannisters. I tried to leave in the middle of the night, told them my place is with my brother.” 

Your own voice was a bit more breathless, “What happened?” No judgment or accusation in your tone, but he still felt the shame. That uneasy feeling when Jeor Mormont asked him the next morning how his moonlight ride was. His hands paused, prompting you to turn more this time to look at him, “Jon?” 

His mind was far away, but as you called his name a second time he shook his head before gesturing for you to turn forward. “Some of my brothers brought me back. Reminded me that my place was there now.” Quiet for another moment, you could hear the faintest of smiles in his far away tone this time. “They would have liked you.” 

That got a tiny chuckle, “Not a sentence many have ever said about me.” Jon at least, laughed a small bit as well. “Can I ask?” 

Not needing to finish your sentence, Jon knew exactly what you were aiming at. Nodding, even though you couldn’t see, his hands now just running through your strands like a safety net for his resolve. “Two of them..Grenn and Pyp..Pyp was quick, like you. Always had something clever to say. And Grenn- actually I think he would’ve liked you a bit too much.” 

Your face twisted in some doubt but also amusement. “What does that mean?” 

His response only made you roll your eyes. “The way he talked about the girls he had been with, always reminded me of you. Would’ve been eager to impress you. Most men are.” 

You huffed a laugh, “I think that is coming from a position of strong bias, Snow. I’ve only known two men who have been interested in me, and one of them is you.” Jon himself laughed a bit, hands now freely separating chunks of your hair as you suspected he was turning some of them into braids. He loved to do that, if he was running his hands through your hair for a while, he ended up styling it for you, always choosing the ones he personally thought you looked prettiest with. 

“That’s because you aren’t the one who has to watch the way men all look at you when you aren’t paying attention. Or hear the way they talk about you.” Your brows narrowed, genuinely with not a clue what he meant. If you thought back hard enough, Robb had said similar things but you had merely chalked it up to his attempts to rile you up, which always worked. But he wasn’t serious.

“Then there was Sam.” You had begun to lean more into his hands unknowingly. The water now a bearable kind of hot, and his soothing touch you could have fallen asleep. “You would have liked him. He was smart, loyal..he was the one who came after me really. Grenn and Pyp did do, but I don’t know if anyone would have thought to bring me back if Sam hadn’t care enough to try. He was the closest thing I had to a real brother when he got there.” 

There was a fondness in Jon’s tone, one that made your heart lighten just a tad. You could see even from here, the far away but bright look painting over his eyes. You were hesitant about asking, but you wanted to be sure. “Is he..”

“No.” He didn’t mention it, but he was touched at how instantly your shoulders and upper back relaxed at that. “No, I sent him with our maester to the citadel. Maester Aemon was old and Sam was his steward. Loved to read too, I thought it would be something he would do well with. He was the only one who knew about you before Tormund.” 

Tormund had mentioned that Jon brought you up in small pockets when you had died, but didn’t start to speak of you until Hardhome. By then it was a little easier to start saying your name again, and neither he nor Edd would judge him over you. “What did you tell him? Sam, I mean.” 

The pause in Jon’s movements was strange, only for a second did it all stop and then once more right back at carefully doing multiple strands of long, very thin braids. “Likely more then I should have.” Your brows narrowed in confusion, and he didn’t really clear it up. “We were talking about if either of us had ever been with a girl, and I may have said a little too much about a couple parts of you.”

Not to your knowledge, but Jon felt a bit of a relieved shame at how you didn’t really seem to understand what he was getting at. 

Feeling him starting to move sections of your hair around more, it seemed he was satisfied with the level of work he had put in, now letting the small bits braided get wrapped around, leaving a good part of your hair loose down your back. Jon’s voice was quiet as he murmured your name, “I know you said you’d prefer not to talk about her, but there was something on my mind. Did you ever tell Shireen about us?” 

Instead of the ache you expected, it was rather a lightness in your heart that begun to fill you. Memory of a drawing that was sitting on the wall of your room once in King’s Landing, likely gone now. “I think she was simply smart enough to figure it out on her own. I talked about you enough, and once she was old enough to understand what liking boys meant..” You shrugged a little bit with a smile. 

“She asked me about you.” Voice still low, but tinted with his own distant affection from the sounds of his tone. “I told her you were a friend, and she all but called me a liar.” You huffed a breathy laugh out for a few seconds, not knowing it caught a brightness in Jon’s eyes looking up towards you again. “Then she told me she was confused at first, when she realized you had married Robb, and not me.” 

The letter she sent, she was so upset she didn’t know you were to be married until the wedding had already long happened. She knew less about Robb then she did Jon, so she had so many questions and you supposed that made sense. Only, a ting in your mind brought a memory up yourself. Turning only so slightly to the side that he could sense you wanted defend something, but he pushed forward anyways.

“She’d sit on the steps whenever I was in the training yard. Would watch me with the new recruits. I think she liked watching something that reminded her of you.” At the time, it was as endearing to Jon as it was a painful reminder. The only good thing she had left that reminded her of you, was a complete stranger. He understood. Stannis Baratheon himself was a walking reminder of why his father was gone and it felt empty in his heart every time. 

The way his father looked at him that day, the final day. He never forgot that or what it made him feel.

“The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. I promise.”

People would speculate, throw suggestions around, guess names but not a single one came close to recreating that feeling in his father’s eyes. Whatever that pain was, well over twenty years had not let it disappear. He carried it alone, and as much as he hated being in the dark, Jon was beginning to realize that his father wasn’t keeping it from every person in his life out of his own guilt. But now Jon himself had lost so much family, so many he loved and you had as well. 

Sighing deep, you tried to grab a cloth draped gently over the side of the tub before one of Jon’s hands left your hair to snatch it, pulling it behind you out of your grasp. “Jon-” Cutting yourself off with another sigh. “This isn’t about me. You’re the one in pain-” 

The look in your eye couldn’t be kept until it turned to that. Whoever Jon’s mother was, whatever had happened with her, it wasn’t fair his father felt the need to shoulder that burden alone. And he knew you wouldn’t let Jon become the same, so he had to open you up to speak about that pain himself.

 

Before you let it fester too deep. 

Hands finally leaving your hair, satisfied with his work he shifted behind you before the sensation of something soft ran over your shoulder. Gently washing away what was covering you before moving forward to reach over you. One hand gently draping your back against his chest more as he leaned over your shoulder to run the soapy cloth over your neck and downward. His voice a low muttering as it sat close to your ear. “We’re both in pain, but you never want to deal with yours. And I know if I don’t talk about her, you never will.” 

It was quiet for a few moment’s as he cleaned you himself, never jostling you too much as he reached around you or shifted you at a certain angle. It was an odd time for the thought to come up, but once it did an unsettled part of you found no way to let it go. “Renly used to always call her ugly. It made me so mad. I knew it was because of her greyscale. The only reason I even had a sister, was because my father brought every healer from across the Seven Kingdoms he could find to save her, and all anyone could say afterwards was how her scar was hideous.” 

Strands of his hair danced across your shoulder as he pulled your knee up more to your chest before moving to the other. His touch even more slow and light as you were to him. “You described her to me enough that until a few of the men had pointed it out, I hadn’t even noticed it. She looked like you did at that age, but I barley noticed the scar.” Pausing for a moment before he hummed, almost fondly. “Rickon looked just like Robb did at  that age.”

You almost smiled, maybe could have let out a breath of a laugh if you found the strength too. “Do you think they were friends? In that other life of ours?” The thought, did in fact make Jon smile. 

The water finally starting to simmer down to something not as comfortingly warm and the clearness now soaked in darks and red. Jon sat everything aside, just pulling you to lean back entirely against his chest, one of his hands covering your scar without thinking, the other capturing yours as it sat close to your heart. “Maybe they’re friends already, wherever they are now. Giving Robb and my father more grey hair by the day.” 

It was far away, but the lightness in your eyes was close to something alright. Something akin to what a smile in another life could be. There was much to do this night alone, but right here and now you both sat with the other in the only peace found in many years, this time tinted by by the blood outside these halls. 

Neither you or Jon had expected to see what already stood there, the spot just by where Rickon was to be laid to rest. You knew his bones were there, but not that it was made. By the time your faint footsteps could be heard in the crypt, his own eyes were too transfixed on the sight to find yours.

Coming up close, you very slowly turned to match his direction. Whoever was put in charge of making it, did a good job. Easy to see the stern ferocity in Ned Stark’s eyes even as they stood still in the colours of stone. 

Many in the south considered the crypts of Northern Lords to be dim and creepy. A place that none dared to go, as if locking their loved ones away like this was cruel. Your uncle thought so. Thought that Lyanna Stark shouldn’t be buried in such a grim hole in the ground. But as you looked at the statue standing over where Ned was buried, you knew that it wasn’t fair to think that. This was their home, where their families were also buried. A place they could rest undisturbed from the world away from anything that killed them. 

Peeking over to Jon, it was clear that he didn’t expect it either. Grey eyes were wide and bright as they painted over with something so recognizable in them, something almost childlike. His face was soft and nothing like the harsh, brooding, seriousness that was much of what everyone knew on him. It wasn’t a King standing here, just a boy who had never quite gotten over losing his father.

Ever so gently, your hand reached out, fingers stretching just enough to lightly dance over Jon’s as you both stood together. Him grasping yours tightly without a single second to hesitate. A very gentle prompt as you turned to face him, other free hand dragging up to run along the other side of his jaw, tilting him just slightly to you. Voice murmuring as his eyes closed at the sensation. “Did you want to do this part alone?” 

Shaking his head, he gripped your hand almost too tight for the briefest of moments, until he exhaled deeply. “No. We’re family now, we do it together.” 

Oh there was truly something carving deep and complicated within the caverns of your heart. What did that even mean? Were you really part of this family? Catelyn had five children, she was a Stark as much as a Tully to the end as she raised her Northern children. But you didn’t get anywhere near that far. You lost all of it, and now lost the Baratheon’s once called to your name. 

Jon was this families blood, but you didn’t think you had the right to be. Not now. Not anymore. Not after failing all of them every step of the way. 

Knelt on the ground, his hand running so lightly over Rickon’s. Gently tracing his thumb over the skin as you were poised waiting. Your palms braced on the ground, watching his face as you realize how right Jon had been. Rickon looked so much like when you first met Robb. How much did he look like what your son at that age would have looked like? Was there ever a fantasy or dream remaining that maybe you’d find out or was that child forever left where they were? 

But at least they were all together, they could take care of each other where they were now. 

One final kiss was pressed to his little brother’s forehead. Pulling back the tears were there, but he inhaled and stood regardless of them. It was impossible to know who was left out there, especially now, but at least two Starks were brought home. Reunited in their home. That was the only comfort that would be found in Jon now. At least his father and Rickon were buried together. 

He had never asked you about Robb, and in honest he wasn’t ready still. You refused to speak of what happened after, and every time you came close a truly sickening horror came over you and you were adamant about not speaking a word of it. He hated knowing that it was such a weight of terror inside you still that you found no conclusion but to shoulder it alone. 

The world needed to be rejoined, but not quite was the quiet of the crypt willing to let you both leave it. Once more, you were now in front of the statue of his father, a silence between you both. Jon took a moment, knelt on the ground before it, gloved hand slightly digging into the ground as if reaching out to him in beyond his prayers. 

Your eyes found the statue’s, trying to tell Ned Stark wherever he was, you were sorry to become such a disappointment. That once a life full of many grandchildren, many with names to honour, ones Ned himself loved? You very likely wouldn’t be the one anymore to give him that memory of children. 

She said it wasn’t your fault, but it didn’t stop feeling like it. Not in this place, not where he lay, his family lay, and where Robb deserved to lay. Your mother, you thought, was wrong. Maybe your part of the family had one chance to give birth to a boy and you let it die along with you. 

Maybe that boy was your only chance and it was gone. And you wanted Ned Stark to know you were sorry. You failed his son, his children, his wife, his home. You failed his grandson and maybe you weren’t supposed to be the one to carry that line. Maybe you weren’t meant for anything to the Starks but to facilitate their deaths. 

Looking up at the stone, you couldn’t stop the thought of it being for the best, not letting Jon be with you that way again. That maybe you were wasting his time. You failed to give the last King in the North a living heir, what right did you have to fail the second all over again. Why would Jon even want to try with you? He was King, he could find a wife, any wife. A prettier, kinder wife who would do him better by then you. 

This new life would’ve been far easier for himself if Jon would just do the right thing, you thought, and kick you out of his home. Abandon you to the cold forever and find love that would grace him with life.

Theon knew you had said he was said to be trusted now but there was no mistaking the harm he had caused these very people around him. Some he knew on the paths of war, some he knew from years growing up in this place and others only heard whispers of him as a traitor. It was hard to try and defend anything he did, because he couldn’t and he wouldn’t. 

Theon knew too well that there was nothing to make right what he did. That morning he could still recall and it made him sick to his stomach at the memory. The look on Bran’s face when he asked him if he hated them the entire time, he should’ve stopped then and there. Should have made it right. 

Bran in the face of betrayal that he was powerless to stop, pulled himself upright in bed and with no hesitation told him that he wouldn’t surrender. Everything a Stark was made of. Unquestioning in his resolve, and protective of his home and family, telling Theon he wouldn’t give up and yet Theon forced him. 

Bran would have been only eleven then, he looked it. Young and soft faced with wide eyes that didn’t understand why someone he knew his entire life would do such a thing and yet stood up to him even after being awake for only minutes. Then it was the uncomfortable truth as Ser Rodrick looked at him with all of the certainty of someone who watched him become a man. 

“Gods help you, Theon Greyjoy. Now you are truly lost.” 

He didn’t do it because he wanted to or he had to. He did it because he thought, like a fool, this was how to prove his worth. Not even the mercy of a quick death, it was brutal and horrid. The crunch under his boot as he slammed the remainder down onto the ground as Bran and Rickon had begged and cried for him to stop. If he walked to that spot, he could see them all now. He could see them sitting there in horror as the people around him found nothing but a stranger in his eyes.

And standing with him were a people that would never respect him. Who went along with the idea to murder two innocent boys and burn them beyond recognition. Pretend they were the Starks and feel like a tough man, when he hadn’t even the heart to do the killing and burning on his own. Even now, he still didn’t have the courage. Not to go down to the crypts, not to bury the boy he actively betrayed when all he could see was his actions. 

He would go down there eventually. But not now. He couldn’t just go down there, not when he wasn’t ready to face Rickon. He couldn’t see Ned Stark until he could face his youngest son too. 

Crowds had begun to gather in the main castle and courtyard. Nothing had felt anything worth a celebration in the North for a long time, but they found it in their new King. Too many people. Too many who knew what he had done, and who didn’t understand why he was allowed to stand there with his life. He knew it was coming, but he would not stick around to experience it more then he had too. 

As he walked through the corridors, he knew only one person who could not handle that crowd only for reasons opposite his. It also, was the only person anymore that Theon felt as if gave him a reason to stick around. He had known you for over a decade, but it wasn’t until those days in both the dungeons of the Dreadfort and trapped in the hell of the Boltons did he truly understand you. 

It was hard to describe, but something about that endless barrage of terror had bonded you both in a way no one else understood. Watched torture of the other in ways that no living creature deserved to endure and the anguish in your minds found any identity in the quiet moments graced to you. It also meant, that he knew without any doubt, that if you were not to be found in the crowds of North men, there was only one place you’d end up that first night. 

Walking in made him feel sick, but he went through the door regardless. He had to, leaving you alone would be a mistake. He wasn’t there for the end, but he saw enough to know being back here with every opportunity to relive those easy times was not to be skipped. So he walked in. Possibly he should have looked for you sooner. The image he walked in on was an odd one, especially for someone as stoic as you. 

Robb’s room was exactly as it had been left the day you all set out for war. The Bolton’s had no use for most of these rooms, and took others for themselves at least. Window closed to the world, and perched right up against the adjacent wall across the door, was you. Knees pulled up to your chest as your arms draped over them, both hands fiddling with a dagger painted with dry blood. The same one that came with Shaggydog’s head. Beside you however, was enough wine that he was surprised you could even speak.

Your eyes were red, and stains of once fallen tears were shamelessly dried on your cheeks. Glancing up as he slowly closed the door behind him, you sounded much more dry and coherent then he expected for the amount he suspected you had already drunk. “If you’re here to lecture me, I assure you I’ve already lectured myself over it.” 

Watching with narrowed eyes as you took a steady hand and downed the rest of what was in the glass before slamming it down. Your jaw tensed as you let your head fall back onto the stone wall. Theon took slow steps approaching. “Wasn’t going to. How much have you had?”

Your brows narrowed briefly as you thought it over, only to shrug before returning to fiddling with both ends of the blade. Carefully sitting down beside you, leaving the wine between. A single raise of your eyebrows in jest, “I don’t recall inviting you to join, Greyjoy.” 

“No,” Grabbing the pitcher for himself he poured enough in the glass before taking it himself. He threw back the drink in one go. The sour taste shaking his spine out before putting it back between you both. Filling it halfway for whichever of you choose to take the next. “Why are you even holding onto that?” 

He didn’t expect the cold, distant answer with a roughness strained through your response. “Because it was Roose Bolton’s. Because it’s the one he shoved into Robb’s heart.” That sick feeling returned, the same one that left him floating in mid air as he learned the news for the first time in Ramsay’s mockery. 

You picked up the mantle, downing the glass in one breathe before filling it up again. Clearly debating if you wanted to just take another, but chose against it. Slamming your head back against the stone wall watching the blade. Voice so far away, like sliced through the cords and left something tearing and wavering in it’s place. 

“He made Robb watch his unborn son be murdered, murder me before shoving it into his heart. And then he kept it to himself like a prize. A prize for destroying everything that meant the world to Robb. He never walked around without this thing, it was a reminder to everyone what he had done. Ramsay only sent it because he wanted me to know that there was nothing in his way anymore.” 

He should’ve moved quicker, because you drank down the contents of the glass once more without thought. Face barley even flinching each time, letting it fill again. Theon pulled it slightly closer to him when you stopped looking as he quietly called your name. “Does Jon know your drinking yourself to death, hiding away up in Robb’s room?” 

Were he not feeling that same sickening need to hide, he may have smiled at the ease which brightness filled your eyes. A small smile asking to peek through on the corners of your mouth lasting only as long as you spoke of him. “Probably not. Slipped away right as Tormund was trying to get him to drink whatever that fucking nonsense of his he was offering. Said something about how vomiting is celebrating, meaning I have plenty of time to drink alone until the need to smash something into the wall and pass out arises.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he contemplated whether or not at this point you being missing from the crowd would be upsetting or just angering to an equally as drunk Jon Snow. He was willing to wager on the second if he was to be careful. “So you’d rather him not know where you are, while you’re up here looking at the worst possible memory you could come up with, pissed out of your mind.” Theon nor you noticed your grip on the sharp end was slowly growing tighter. 

Drinking himself, Theon paused, had one more and continued the process as was before. Pulling his own knees up in similar fashion, resting as you did. “You’re not a failure because the Bolton’s betrayed you. That’s not your fault. It’s theirs.” 

“I am to him.” Theon’s eyes narrowed as he watched you, “I know he looks at me like I’m useless, my one purpose and I failed at it. Maybe I always will, maybe that was my one chance at it. And he hates me for it.” 

It was an odd feeling, you clearly thought you were being obvious. But Theon realized he had no idea who you were talking about. Then again, were he in your place he may not know who he’d be talking about either anymore. “I think at this point the only person who hates you, is you. Whereas damn near everyone here but you hates me.” 

You huffed a laugh, only to narrow your brows as Theon took the liberty of snatching the glass from your reaching hand. “You’re the only reason I’m alive, be weird if I hated you after all that.” 

Theon begun to match your level, were to to stand up at this point he might not be as sober as he seemed to be on the floor. Shrugging, pouring the next and handing it to you personally. Keeping the jug beside him away from your reach this time as you downed in one go. Gods could you stags ever drink, he thought to himself. 

“It’s weird that you don’t. Knowing that everyone hates me, Robb died hating me, but here you are, the only other person then him who should hate me the most, is the only one who doesn’t.” The smirk wasn’t genuine, but the oddness of your dynamic still was a faintest of amusing in a way. “How the fuck did we end up here, Baratheon?” 

You shrugged. Drunk enough to not have noticed the blood starting to run down your arm that was furthest away from Theon’s sight. “I’m bad at dying, not a clue what your excuse is.” For a while it was quiet, the muffles of Northerns below not reaching as much as they could from the closed door and window. You sounded much more sober when you spoke once more, much more in the moment as your eyes glazed over. “I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone this much.” 

Watching your eyes watering, they looked up to the room, around and landing on the untouched bed almost making that pain behind worse looking. Theon suspected were you alone again, you’d haul yourself up and curl up on that very bed but he knew it would only make it worse. He had no idea what to say, there wasn’t anything to say. 

The North lost their King, Jon lost his brother, Theon lost his best friend but this was something all too different for you. Yours was a pain that he had not an inkling on how to help. 

Almost a whisper you spoke once more, “Everyday for over three years, we never spent more then a few hours apart. Always at war, always going somewhere but most of the time we were right beside the other. But now, even after a year being away from him? It feels as fucking horrible as it did that first day.” One hand finally let go of the sharp end, letting it hand down towards the ground for a moment before startling Theon as you chucked it as hard as you could manage. 

The handle slamming into the wall as it fell to the ground with a clunk before he realized you had buried your head in your arms. The tears that time were fresh, and it was almost enough to pull them from Theon as well. Not a single word existing in any language which could make this kind of pain better, all he could do was move a tad closer. Reach an arm around your shoulders and pull you to at least lean a little more into his side. 

He missed Robb and so did everyone else here, but there was something about the way he was ripped from you, the way his unborn son was ripped from you? That was a pain that he could only be someone to cry against, nothing could heal that for you. Not even time. Theon suspected you would get better at handling it one day, but it would likely always hurt this much. 

But he let you lean somewhat into him and cry until you slowed your breathing. Quite the first night back in a reclaimed Winterfell under a new King in the North, it was. The Queen passing out drunk against the traitor, on the floor of the dead King’s bedroom. 

It was funny leading the crow up to his room, never having seen the man anything less then hearty on his feet and as collected as he could. Too much in his system however, was only not knocking into shit as long as Tormund kept him steady at his side but nothing could be done about the smart ass temper Jon Snow had been spouting. No doubt Tormund had tipped his hand a little too much, pushing the man past a reasonable limit but by the time it was noticed how long you’d been gone, Tormund had pushed Jon’s limit essentially into the floor and down a hole. 

If he recalled half of the things he’d been saying by morning, it would be nothing short of a miracle. And the longer the night went on, the more short tempered he would get. Years ago he’d have considered knocking the crow into the ground for getting in his face like that, but now he was the only one who could get away with it. Certainly the only one who could threaten Tormund and live, then again it also was done just on the cusp of almost too drunk to stand on two feet alone. 

It shouldn’t have been so funny to hear Jon turn to Tormund with a hiss in his voice and getting in his face. The large man having commented that you’d been gone so long you probably passed out somewhere in need of rescuing, looking to the swaying King with a light, “How about you go sweep her off your feet in the morning when you can see straight. I’ll go find her if you’re that worried.” 

Only for him to get a mighty glare, and through a drunkenly very thick accent he managed to spit out at Tormund, “I shouldn’t be letting you within fifty feet of my wife, the way you look at her.” 

Apparently, telling a very drunk Jon Snow with a grin that you were in fact, not his wife, was enough to awaken a territorial, possessive wolf hiding under the surface. “Last time I checked you Southerners aren’t considered married just because you gave your girl a good fuck once. Who knows, maybe I give her a go and I’ll have as good a chance as you.” 

Leaning up into his face, Jon was ready to knock him on his ass. “You wouldn’t even be able to get a sound out of her, I know her better then you ever could.” Truly was testing Tormund’s already slightly drunk resolve not to laugh but there was less the any chance the man was going to remember having this conversation. “She was mine first, she’ll always be mine.” 

Never had he heard him talk about you like that, truly a wolf he was. Ready to bite and snarl at anyone coming close to his mate now that he was so many drinks deep it was a shock he was conscious. “Then why’d she run off all night?” 

In some time between leaving the crowd full of equally as amusingly drunk Northerners and Free Folk outside, and Tormund wrangling the King in the North to his room they agreed to have him go searching the main room halls to look for you while Jon entertained the idea of sobering up. Declining Tormund’s offer to toss him into a barrel of water and get the job done quick. 

Morning sun shining brightly into the bedroom, and the around spoke that it was far too early for any to be awake. And yet, there was an intentionally slow drifting feeling of you slinking away only to be pulled back by into a warm chest before reaching the edge of the bed. Your world jolted moving so quickly, but the arms held you with more strength to him then you had to dodge or escape. Jon’s voice was deep, thick with sleep and only in mumbles you could understand as he was right against you. “Think you’ve been hiding from me enough for one day.” 

Settling back down more relaxed into the bed with a sigh, you knew he could feel how you hadn’t let go of the tensity in your muscles. A shrinking in your lungs that tightened everything else until you felt a familiar overwhelming that sent you feeling last night. Was it you didn’t know what to say, or you simply couldn’t say it without your voice cracking in tears? 

Either answer, Jon shifted closer to you, nudging against the back of your head gently with his, as one hand rose from it’s spot around you. Pulling your hair gently to the side and out of his way so he could find a spot and slink down enough to a comfortable place to gently press his lips to the back of your neck, that same hand drifting down to run firmly along your hip. “I’m not mad.” 

It felt so often like he had to assure you of that. Saying he wasn’t mad at you for things you almost preferred if he would be. Wanting him to scold you, lecture you, yell, start a fight but he never did. Jon was in your head far too much to bother with that. You were barley above a whisper when you found any air to speak out, “I wish you were.” The hand on your hip tightened an you knew his brows narrowed despite likely still keeping his eyes shut. “Could handle it better if you were.” 

Jon sighed deeply, likely his only solace was that you hadn’t tried to leave his grip again. “I’m not going to get mad at you for slipping off to Robb’s room,” Your little amount of air in your breath hitched, and there was no way he didn’t feel it. “What worries me is what you would’ve done if Theon hadn’t found you.” 

Your hands clutched the thin sheet below you, tight enough that you could’ve threatened to tear them if it got any worse. By the time he found you, you were already bordering on a point too far to properly remember. Part of your hand was wrapped gently with a hint of old red having soaked through hours ago, and there was no memory at all of how that even happened. “I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. That’s the problem, you’re always sorry for things no one blames you for.” Finally having enough, Jon loosened his grip only to turn you on your back to face him. Your injured hand reaching out instinctively to steady yourself against Jon’s arm having moved to sit on the other side of your person. Pushed up enough to hover just over your top half, his eyes still heavy with sleep as yours were as well as his voice still rough but there was no denying a level of frustration in them. “I know you’re in pain, and I can’t even imagine what that feels like. But I know it’s not good for you to deal with it all on your own like this.” 

You tried looking away, but there was little else to grab your attention. His warmth all around you it felt, his curls loose as they traced along your skin and his breathe closer to your face as he leaned more to keep your eyes, it was impossible to not get drawn back to him. Your own much more close to a stinging red then when you had awoken. 

Laying more relaxed a bit, you let your injured hand stay gently resting up against the arm still caging you in, the other twitching as it rested flat against your torso unsure of what it wanted to do. The washing over of a tender care in his eyes shined bright against the grey. Even hidden slightly from the morning sun of his own room, they still were as loud as ever. He held a lot back in his words most days, but it was all spoken in his eyes if you knew how to read them. 

“You loved him, you were staring a family with him.” You swallowed heavily as he spoke with an assuring conviction that held no judgment despite that which you feared. “You’ll always love Robb, but I’ve always loved you and that isn’t going to change just because your in pain.” 

The hand on his arm absent mindedly begun to run along the bare skin, looking somewhat at him but also far inside a memory of your own. “When your father told me he knew, I was worried that he’d assume I was always going to just be thinking of you when I was with Robb..” Meeting his eyes properly, you shrugged a shoulder as best you could from your splayed out position, “Now I suppose I’m worried you’ll assume I’m only thinking of Robb when I’m with you..”

If he had been thinking of it for a while, or he was just that good at knowing what you needed to hear, either way it made a block in your throat that choked itself up, and you knew he could see it in your eyes. “You have a big heart, there’s plenty of room enough for both of us.” Shifting ever so slightly, Jon gently ran a hand over where he could reach of your hair at the top of your head before pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

Normally, he’d pull back easily, giving you a degree of space. Only, this time, he hovered there. Looking down at you, hidden away from the world so close to the other by his arms and hair laying loose as his curls draped around you both. Thinking to himself maybe if you both stayed exactly like this, he wouldn’t cross that line. One that always had something else looming over keeping him from wanting to push you too fast.

Both having spent six years building together slowly in these very halls once, taking a long time from that first kiss to when he hovered over you in this exact manner once before. Only this time, you were far more clothed then last, and yet it ran his blood hot all the same. It wasn’t the right time then, as far as you both had discovered the other together, you weren’t ready to take that final leap and Jon himself knew that he’d be taking something from you that you may have to give to another one day. 

You never liked being referred to as someone in the royal family, but it was undeniable. Your uncle was the King, and your father had taken you to live in King’s Landing with the rest of them all in that same luxury. You never felt right amongst it, but Jon knew that no matter what you said, you were one of them and a beautiful Baratheon girl like you wasn’t ever going to be allowed to marry a bastard.

He could pretend he was yours, but as he hovered over you just like this all those years ago, he knew that he was pushing it. Whoever you married might not take too kindly to a highborn girl like you already having lost her innocence. Then a far worse anxiety for Jon in those days, came in form of the sickening truth that he would be ruining your entire life if he got you pregnant. 

The shame given to you for it, for who it was with, and the kind of shame that would be looked at to your child? He couldn’t bear that idea, not then. Now though? It felt difficult to remember that. What was there telling him he couldn’t have those things, who was saying you couldn’t be together, couldn’t find a family with each other? 

But it was in fact, that small hesitant look in your eyes that had Jon stay in place. So badly wanting to close the gap and finally kiss you again, but the fear of pushing you too fast was strong. What he was trying to figure out, was why that hesitancy inside you was screaming of things much different then he saw looking at you.

You weren’t sure why the thought came to you, or why you felt this sudden need to do it except that in this moment it felt like if you didn’t you would ruin everything again. Was it the familiar intimacy you once shared with Robb, or was it the turmoiling taunts in your mind that spoke of your only use. If you weren’t good for one thing, you might be useful for another. 

Finally moving the hand resting on your torso, you pushed against the scars littered about his chest leaning up along with the force until he was forced to move off you where previously he lay. You twisted slightly, moreso taking the position he previously had and prompting him to relax back in the sheets only you only stayed gently at his side instead of boldly hovering over him. You could ask him, but maybe it was easier to just offer it. Asking ran the risk of Jon sensing the nervousness and insecurity in your tone. “Let me do something for you.” 

Your fingers drifted up his chest a bit more, a light and tender touch that wasn’t greedy or even purposely sensual, just an innocent exploration as you looked over him, not quite meeting his eyes for any kind of long stretches at a time. His own hand reached over, running across your jaw with a rough tone, “I don’t need you to do anything..” There was a concern there, but you had to shove past it. 

Something in you was fighting between a want and an obligation, but you didn’t care to linger in your thoughts too long to find out which was the stronger inclination. Instead, quietly you leaned forward to press a kiss to his jaw. Jon’s hand slipped down to your upper arm with a firm hold at the feeling, breathing picking up as you let your lips gently run along his jaw contrasting to the roughness of his facial hair against your own soft touch. 

Ever so lightly, you trailed down. Only light and gentle touches of your lips to his neck but were enough to have the hand laying about closest to you, slip around and find your waist. Every kiss you left was almost too innocent, nothing greedy and dominating like the ones Robb would give, and not the painful and cruelly subjugating the ones Ramsay would draw blood from on his worst moods. Instead it was like the more innocent days as teenagers between you and Jon. Unsure and light, trying to find your stride with him. Lightly trailing down his collarbones, his chest clearly was rising and falling heavier, breathing picking up as he begun losing his easy touch on you. 

Gently moving down, you begun to find the scars along him. The one by his heart catching your eye, and as one hand ran down the side of his waist almost keeping you or him steady, you breathed heavily before his own eyes slipped shut. 

Your lips pressing nothing but a light feather kiss to the scar, before making a path to the next, and the next. Not letting a single mark of skin between the scars untouched by your lips until you reached the lowest one closer to his hips. Jon breathing picking up heavily, one hand gripping the sheets below and the other debating reaching out to run through your hair or pulling you up from down there entirely. 

That debate boiling over as your heart raced, coming to his hips. Unlacing him, you peeked up to him to see his jaw clenched as he was spending a great deal of effort remaining as calm as he was with his eyes sealed closed. Slowly, you sat up just a bit, taking both sides of his pants and gently pulling them down, watching the tensity in his person as you did so. 

Ever so carefully with a slow pace you took the material off him entirely before trying to your nerves racing to quell. Trying to tell yourself, you’ve done this before, you aren’t in danger here and it’s just like any time with Robb. But your time with Jon in that cold, dark night had nothing like this act, that yanking pull between anxious and desire filled you and it was difficult to tell if it was fear or need such a mixture was creating. 

But he let you go at your own pace, never once trying to force you to get to it. Your hand gently wrapped around his cock, already hard as if he had worked up to this state the second your lips touched his jaw. Now it was thick so close to your face, tip turning slightly red in need and twitched in your soft touch. You had seen it that night and yet now your nerves felt as if it was the first time. Your hands already on the side of smaller, it only made your delicate touch around him that much more electrifying for him to feel.

Ever so gently you stroked him and a low sound deep in his chest tried to contain itself, your name strained on his lips as if in warning, but as you found a slow pace to run up and down his cock at, you leaned down to press a kiss to his hip downward. Gentle kisses as you made a path closer and closer, only to be paused in your movements as Jon sent one hand down quickly to cover yours over top him. His hand dwarfing yours around his already thick cock, sitting up ever so lightly to look down at you. Your eyes were dark and wide as he started to guide a bit more. 

Holding you against him tighter, moving a bit faster at a different pace until you found the confidence to stroke him by yourself, lips now back towards him. Only whatever he thought he was prepared for, the feeling of you pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock had him tense, with a hiss.

Much like his size, the bit of cum already leaking from his tip was thick as you licked over top of him, hand now not quite moving but holding him steady. Tiny licks to his tip that had your eyes slipped closed as you took him more into your mouth. Jon’s own head thrown back into the pillows and his hand tight in the sheets. 

The stretch of his cock in your mouth was different, it was wide and already your jaw asked you of mercy but your racing heart told you, you wanted this. Slowly, you ran your tongue over his cock, your mouth sliding down further and further slowly. Pulling back as the saliva soaked around him and mixed with his own pre cum. Making it easy for him to slide deeper. 

Finally, his free hand found your hair with a deep, restrained grunt and his hips almost moving up more into your mouth on his own accord. Slowly, you found yourself halfway down his cock, and you had not once pulled off or increased your speed. Just slowly bobbing up and down as your tongue and mouth soaked around him. Sucking his cock in the same manner of care that Jon raked his hand through your hair with tenderness.

There was none of the filthy words which would so easily spill from Robb’s lips, none of his tight grip on you and controlling pace as he fucked your mouth like it was a treat made just for you. You adored the way Robb treated you, but this was different in just as a loving way. It was quiet in the room except for the sounds of Jon holding back any deep grunts and groans, only the occasional mutter of your name or some variation of swearing that stuttered his breathe mid speaking. That, and the quiet but wet sounds of your mouth soaking up and down his cock to drive him utterly crazy.

Your mouth felt so full already, thick inside you and stretched wide, but you were only halfway down his length and you wanted to be good for him. Wanted to prove you could handle it, your heart skipped a panicking beat as you did so, but you took the rest of Jon’s length into your mouth in one go. 

A louder moan so freely leaving his mouth, hips almost bucking up deeper into your throat as you were pressed up against the coarse black hair around his cock. Your throat begging for reprieve, but you only pulled back to his tip before sucking his cock as deep again. Your hands braced against his hips and Jon barley finding the strength to speak. The sounds turned to almost gagging each time you took him so deeply, and Jon’s hand would almost massage through your hair like it was the only thing he could do for you in comfort. You didn’t come off of him the entire time, even through your lungs ached for air and your heart was pounding in a nervousness.

Just as Jon had fucked you slow and savoured every inch of you around his cock, so did you run your mouth along his thick length. Saliva mixing more with his seed by the second and making a mess around the base of his cock as it spilled from the sides of your mouth. 

Grey eyes so dark they were blown up to a black, Jon slightly moved up a bit to look at you, your body looking so contrasting, fully dressed against his bare frame with you draped over his bottom half, mouth sucking up and down his cock as with a genuine innocence as if you simply loved doing it. Your hands braced on his hips as you never once left his length. Pace increasing against him, his breathing picked up substantially, eyes fluttering closed as his head fell back and let more of a deep groan leave him freely. 

More and more he throbbed inside of you, and it was only then did you feel him gently try to guide you off of him. His voice so ragged and deep that it could barley be understood. “Fuck..darling, come here,”

But you only took him deeper again, that sound of soaked gagging against him as he overwhelmed your small mouth with his size had him shake, feeling a small noise of need from you around him. Trying to keep him in your mouth against his insistence to pull you off, but he was weak to how you felt around him. Jon didn’t want you thinking he expected this, that he expected you to take all of him or run along his cock the closer he felt the need to cum. But you did, and you refused his gentle touch and buried your nose into the hair around his base once more. 

His accent slurred from his tongue, “Gods your beautiful, you’re so beautiful on my cock. But- fuck, you don’t have too..you don’t need-” If anything you increased your pace, shallow bobs so deep on his cock that he knew if he didn’t pull you off him now, he wouldn’t be able to hold back in time before he spilled inside your mouth. Him moving to sit up properly against the headboard to watch, you just shifted against him to follow, always sinking deeper with a whine in your own throat that sent him spiralling. To Jon, this was somehow, even filthier then taking you deep against the walls of the ice cells. 

This was the thing with you he didn’t want. To have you feel like you needed to do these things for him as if that’s what made him happy. But, it was hard to maintain control with your mouth taking him so deep like this, how hard he struggled not to thrust into you enough it pushed you past your limits but your soaking, hot mouth was a true heaven around him. The closest he’s had to that inhumanly obsessed, addicted feeling when he slid inside your cunt for the first time, but here he had so much less control. He wasn’t sure he liked that.

Trying to call your attention with your name, you whined when he tried pulling you off him one last time as you denied. His head falling back against the headboard when he realized it. “You want me to- oh fuck..darling, you want this?” You moaned against him and Jon simply lost the last strand of self control. 

You sucked him deep into your mouth, hands braced against his hips as he throbbed in your mouth before the hand on the back of your head started to hold you against him now, pressing you right up against the dark hair around his base. He before tried to pull you off, but now as his orgasm finally wracked through his body, his instinct told him to feed as much of his cock into your mouth as you could take. And in the darker part of his mind, the amount of his cock he needed you to take, was all of it. 

If Jon’s cum was a lot to take inside you before, having it spill so deeply down your throat was obscene. The gagging sounds of you desperate to swallow so much, had him gritting his teeth. Eyes nearly black as he watched you, unable to tell himself to ease up. His hand cupping the back of your head, keeping his cock sunk as deep as he could into your mouth. Something in the back of his mind he knew was incredibly possessive, wanted to watch as he overwhelmed and filled your mouth. Another part of him though, the animal in his heart, was frustrated with how desperate and badly he wished it was your cunt he was filling. 

What he spilled deep in your throat was as thick as you remembered it feeling. So thick that it was difficult to swallow all of his seed the more he spilled into you, but it was also so warm. Warm near almost hot as he came and came more inside your mouth as if it would never end. His seed spilling down your throat and filling your stomach like he was all you needed anymore. 

Your heart was racing by the time you felt the last of his seed swallow down. Slowly letting him pull you off this time, cock soaked with your saliva and tinted a bit white from how much he came. You almost heaved in desperate, painful need of air as soon as his cock slipped from your mouth.

The last remains of him dripping from your swollen lips, wide as you gasped for air but never moved away from him. Before he could do anything, you leaned back down, kissing a path back to his hips, and up over the same scars you kissed a path down too. 

One last to his jaw before you nuzzled into the scratchiness you found there as his arms held you tight against him. Collecting himself, Jon sighed deeply almost in a frustrated tone. Stilling in his arms you spared a nervous glance up, eyes wide and now suddenly full of a panic he hated seeing directed towards him. Your voice was small and unsure, “I-was..” He tried to come up with the right words before you spiralled but it happened anyways and how unconfident in yourself you were kept breaking his heart. “..I’m sorry if it..wasn’t..good..” 

Oh the gods desperately needed to grant Jon mercy. After everything yesterday, the fight you both found so perfectly at the other’s back to reclaim your home together. And yet, he still found it in him to be this unbelievably angry that the Bolton rotting in his dungeon had managed to make you think this little of your worth. Jon knew this was new. There was no way Robb would’ve let you think about yourself this way. 

Shifting to sit you up along with him, Jon all but pulled you onto his lap. Your hands braced on his shoulders as he nudged your nose with his, one hand on your waist and the other running along the back of your neck. “You’re perfect, do you understand me?” The one on your waist raised to cup your cheek as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You, are perfect.” A light laugh breathed out of him, almost in a bit of a flustering shock for you he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Almost four years apart and you still find things to be my first for.” 

Jon laughed more more freely at the almost embarrassment in you at how easily he said it, but you felt more at ease knowing he wasn’t entirely disappointed in you. That was never really a fear with Robb, and you hated that you kept having to push passed it with Jon. You were never once this kind of nervous with him before and it was difficult handling that feeling now, but the gentleness he held and the charming grin on his face as he held you close gave you some peace.  Your hands drifting up to run through his hair, “Glad the King in the North still has at least one use for whatever I am now.” 

Pulling back to look you more in the eye, the grey a mix of smothered with lust and a seriousness tinted in an overwhelming affection shined in them. “Don’t get used to it, taking me like that.” Your brows narrowed in confusion, as Jon ran a hand through your hair almost combing the long strands, purposely switching tactics. “And calling me a King doesn’t make you any less a Queen.” 

Trying to pull back, you shook your head in protest. “Jon-”

But he held you firmly, not interrupting without having to even increase his tone with your name. “I’m not ordering you to marry me, I would never do that. Especially not now, but to them out there?” His head nodding towards the window, “You’re still their Queen as much as they decided I’m their King. This isn’t the Seven Kingdoms anymore, and I don’t need you to marry me to stand beside me as if we’re signing a contract. This is our home. Not mine, ours. I’m their King, and you’re my Queen that’s all there needs to be to it.” 

It wouldn’t truly feel like home, not until one final thing was done. But that was to wait. Let the North gather here to reveal in their reclaimed land, their new King, and unite for the one cause now that truly mattered. Once they were here, there was only one last thing in the way of ensuring this fight here and now was over. 

Jon didn’t give Ramsay the satisfaction of letting his rage take over and beat him to death out in the courtyards of Winterfell. But he was King now, and he couldn’t help the North heal, help you heal, couldn’t lead his people Northern and Free Folk in the fight of coming winter until he dealt with the one rotting in the dungeons. 

He chose not to beat him to death out there, but Jon without a doubt also knew he was going to drag Ramsay Bolton out in front of his people, to be properly executed by his new King. When the sun begins to go down tonight, Jon will do one last thing to end this nightmare. He just hoped wherever Robb was, he knew that his brother was doing what he could for him. He couldn’t get justice for him or for his son, but he could get justice for the North, and justice for you. 

Jon could only hope for Robb, that would be enough to give him peace. 

It was a strange feeling, the three of you standing in the main hall like this. For a long time, it felt as if this wasn’t quite a home, or at least a welcome one for all of you. Your time here was always limited, months at a time and very occasionally longer stays that always knew you would walk out and not know when the next time would be. 

The main hall was empty, tables pushed to the sides leaving a larger space right down the middle leading up to the small set of steps raising up to the platform. A table just as long sat horizontal along that path, empty as could be when you knew it once wasn’t many times over. Those still working dutifully in the castle of Winterfell were well on their way to clearing out what remained of the Bolton’s, and yet what was left was not the home you all were together in. Full of life and family. The Boltons had taken those away. 

Instead, the room was empty and unlit. Only the glow from the windows and outdoors shined into the room, casting it within a glow of blue and tints of green. Theon trailed along the bottom of the hall, eyes scouring for something, anything. A hint of the life and man he once was, only to find so much like you were, gone and empty. Hollowed out like a shell. 

You slowly paced up along the steps, your eyes trained on the other figure with you. Jon was behind all of the seats, hand gently tracing the tops of the surface until he reached the middle. A far off look as he stared at nothing in particular before he slowly grasped the edge of the chair. Leaning back slightly bent at the knee before his eyes found the room as you all did. Your own fingertips danced along the table’s surface, something too close to the surface on your own to speak. Truthfully, none of you knew how to speak. 

A home was reclaimed, it’s people fought for and liberated from the rule of those whom murdered their King. And before them stood a new King who fought and bled and died for them. But once that home was to be walked through by you, it felt empty. Like it was waiting for you to make a new one and yet that was the pain. 

Making a new home in the place that was once full of life and love. You and Theon both glanced at the other, before finally turning to meet Jons stance as he looked with bright eyes painted the colours of grief. 

Stepping a few paces forward, you kept a good number of feet from him. It wasn’t just his families home he was back in, nor his brother’s kingdom he was to rule, but it was also his father’s seat he now stood at to be for himself. And you knew Jon wasn’t even sure he deserved it still. Considering the last major time he was here, he was shut outside in the cold. 

He wasn’t given a place at this table that night, nor any. He was outside before vowing to the end of the world but here he stood. “I loved them, all of them. I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did...and now there's only me...” 

His voice was rough, tones low and rasping which you could sense even from behind his gloves, were his knuckles tensing harshly against the wood. Your voice was quiet, not wanting to break the sensitive air floating between you. Leaning a bit more against the wood with your palms, and voice as steady as a whisper could provide, “For what little it's worth, you still have us..” 

Truthfully, you knew Theon had looked to you surprised at how easily you still looped him into the circle. Neither he nor Jon knew where they stood with the other, but it still spoke it’s peace that he is here now. Maybe he wouldn’t were it not for you, but he was here to serve under Jon’s rule all the same. That’s what mattered. 

Sighing out, Jon’s eyes slipped shut for only a few seconds before looking down to the table with a pointed stare. “No, you’re right. We’re here, we’re still family, all of us.” Jon met Theon’s eyes this time, the later taking a good moment to blink before his face tried to twist into something of denial and protest before Jon shook his head. “I won’t make excuses for what you did, but you’ve more than made up for it.” His head turned just slightly to the right indicating to you before continuing. “You’re a Greyjoy, and you’re a Stark. We’re family, and we cannot fight a war amongst ourselves. Not anymore.” 

The two stared at the other for a moment, a heavy feeling in their hearts was clear before the moment finally broke, Theon nodding. Clearing his throat, he turned to you tilting his head to the side as if to mock that he could still hear from where he stood, “Been King one day and he’s starting to sound like one.” 

Not quite a laugh, but all three of you shared a bit of a breathy huff. Jon leaning more against where he braced his hands on the chair, like he hadn’t the bravery to even try and sit. Shrugging a shoulder, you trying to keep the mood on the lighter side, not sure if you yourself could handle much more of this lonely weight up much longer. “He and Robb both. At least neither of us ever wore a crown, would be a bit odd having to take that off a second time.” 

Jon’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked at you, but you paid no notice to it as Theon’s voice was tight and controlled to keep the jesting tone in place. “Everyone out there, and in here for that matter still call you a Queen last time I checked.”

Voice hardly even that of a whisper, but the room was quiet enough to hear it just fine. “For now.” 

Some part of you would have jumped into business, trying to change topics to move away from the heaviest in the lot, but you found little resolve to do so. Missing the glances the two men had been sharing before Theon too the plunge for you. “So now what? We’re here, after tonight this will all be over, what then?” 

Standing braced against the chair still, but Jon shifted his posture a little straighter. “We make sure everyone in the North understands what’s coming, and then we make a plan to protect it.” Glancing to you, who was almost unconsciously stepping around to the other side of the table closer to Theon as he responded.

“How do we protect ourselves? Can we even fight back against these things?” Three scenarios came clear to Jon’s mind. One of his own, the distinct memory of just how many of the dead stood back up with eyes glowing a fierce crystal blue that shook him to the core. The second was his first encounter, the only defence he had was to throw a burning lantern at the undead. Part of him still surprised that it didn’t leave any scar on his hand with how painfully it burned, having to be wrapped up after for days. 

Your eyes watched him carefully as he stood up there, with the look and sounding command of a King more then you suspected he thought of himself. “We know of three at the least. Fire kills them, it’s why the free folk burn their dead. They can’t come back if there’s nothing left to come back.” Your eyes flickered to where his heart sat under the fabric and leathers, whereas his snapped down and right back up looking to the scar on your stomach.

Theon’s eyes narrowed, a suspicion on his tongue as he spoke. “Did whatever bring you two you back-” 

“No, whatever happened to us..didn’t bring them back..” Jon pushed off, crossing his arms over his chest as his mind traced back through all the haunting that plagued his life now. “Whatever the Others are doing, it works differently. Almost as if the dead aren’t really alive again or they’re under control together. I also know Valyrian Steel kills them. I cut through one and he shattered like he was made of ice.” 

Raising his eyebrows with a jest that was draped in not too much faith quite yet. “Oh is that all? Good, we just need to arm every man, woman, and child with a blood magic sword and we’ll be set.” Your own eyes glared to the side with an unimpressed manner across it but he technically was not wrong. 

“There is one more option.” This time his eyes found you directly, as you continued to stand silently while he explained. “We were beyond the wall at the Fist of the First Men, Sam found a stash of daggers made of Dragonglass. And when he shoved it into the back of one of the Others, they shattered the exact same way.” 

A lightness in your eyes painted over, a higher pitch in tone as you look at him with more of a sliver of hope. “Dragonglass kills them?” Jon nodded, and you both knew exactly where his thought process was taking him. 

Theon had to ask where would they even get that, and Jon nodded towards you. Your voice far off as it tried to once more recall mapping the underground mines that had spent centuries untouched aside from the small brave souls who dared dig their way to see it all. “There are mines under Dragonstone filled with Dragonglass.” Turning to Theon to explain, “The whole island is essentially formed out of a volcanic mountain. Maesters say it means that there used to be extreme amounts of heat under them, and when that kind of heat cooled off, it makes what we call Dragonglass. And Dragonstone has a shit ton of it.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Nodding, you could still see the early days sneaking out of the castle and following certain paths which had been dug out long before you. Finding your way some days into the deepest of caves. “It won’t be easy. The only tunnels that exist were made to fit one person, and I could barley make it through some of them when I was just a girl, but it’s all there. We find a way to get to it, we should have more then enough.”

“So we need to find ships for enough of us to Dragonstone- don’t start.” Turning to you with an instant sharpness, your head jilted back a bit from Theon, raising your eyebrows at the not as serious look in his eyes. Both of you knowing that was far enough away to jest over, and you found your own smirk in return.

You held your hands up for a moment a strange moment of pure teasing between you both, “I wasn’t going to say a word.” 

With no way for you to know about it, there was another pang in Jon’s heart. Just more of your life he would never know anymore. A history which turned you into the woman you had become that Jon wouldn’t know a thing about, but Theon knew. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. And his tone was a bit rougher then he intended as a result. “We’ll discuss it when most of the lords gather. Find a way there and send enough men who can mine it out and bring it here.”

It felt simple enough but too much as similar to the days leading up to Whispering Wood. It wasn’t nerve wracking or terrifying because so much was far off. The storms being brought in with Winter hadn’t quite hit and for now it seemed like something too far in the future to begin feeling that impending doom over. But this time you knew it would be worse. 

Whatever you thought that first battle would be like, you knew was nothing compared to what would come down on you should the Wall find a way to crumble under their resolve to push passed it. 

You wished he had just let you walk away, but you knew better. And as soon as he called your name the second you and Theon had eventually begun making your leave your eyes close briefly with a shaking exhale leaving you. “You want to tell me exactly what you meant back there?” 

Turning finally to face him, he had moved around to lean against the front edge of the main table with his arms crossed over his chest. His brow narrowed as the grey in his eyes grew on the tint of darker as you stepped slowly more towards him. Your heart beginning to beat a little faster in a more then unpleasant manner. “About what?” Playing coy was childish and you both knew it. 

His voice was low, rasping and there was a frustration behind it which was your fault. “Why does it feel like anytime I get somewhere with you, you turn around and take ten steps back.” You stopped a few feet from him, still standing below the set of stairs leading upwards with a shrug. “And don’t tell me you were only joking, because we both know I don’t think it’s funny.” 

Keeping your eyes on his was next to impossible with the way he was looking at you. The way he radiated both anger and yet a softness that you knew would pull you right into him were you willing enough to close the remaining gap. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be funny.” He stared at you, and you stared at the wall. Not wanting to get into the turmoil of your head at this moment, you had enough of that for a lifetime it felt like. 

Jon though, didn’t seem to agree with the idea. “Why are you still fighting me on this?”

If he had been expecting an argument, it was far from one. Your voice was small, just as you felt, looking at him with much more of an open sincerity. “I don’t know. Sometimes it’s easy with you, other times I feel as if something inside of me is screaming to leave you alone and I have no idea what one is really me and which one the other is...”

Your name slipped easily from Jon’s lips, a softer tone encasing the sounds. “You and I have been through something no one else has.” He in no way missed your eyes flickering down to where you knew the scars were on him that time. Pushing up and off the table, Jon made his way to you. One hand finding your waist, as the other lightly held at your cheek to turn you up to look at him. “I know you don’t like to talk about them, but those dreams meant something. I didn’t just see you in them, I saw you everywhere. Right in front of me and every time I saw you it felt like something was trying to warn me. And I didn’t realize what until it was too late for both of us.” 

One hand slowly raising, you let it rest on the wrist close to your waist as the other traced a path you couldn’t forget even if you tried along the coverings on his chest. Voice cracked as if sand coated all down your throat. “Jon, I don’t even know if I’m good for you anymore. Sometimes I think the woman you fell in love with never really came back, and I’m just...what was left.” 

As the hand on your waist moved to cup your other cheek, you let yours take his place and matched where he held you but along his waist instead. His eyes were so bright, and filled with colour and words as if it were made from paint that had yet to dry, all speaking so much that it was deafening in the silence of the hall. One thumb gently ran across the soft skin he could reach, as the narrowed conflict in his face had him staring at you in a personal contemplation. 

Whatever the debate was, one end seemed to find themselves victorious but it was the path you least expected him to take. It was drastically different this time around. None of the intensity, the force, the roughness or the burning need. Just a light scattering of embers that soothed themselves together when you could feel his breathe dancing along your skin. Then those embers flared up and ran through your veins swimming to fill your heart as Jon leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. 

Almost instantly, a tiny sigh fell from you, your hands drifting up his chest to gently wind around the back of his neck. His lips were softer then you remembered, a coaxing feeling as he never kissed you with demand. Just a firm ask for you to follow along with him, let him gently take his time to memorize how your lips felt against his. And only a dizzy feeling that worsened as he kept your face pulled right up to his and not letting it drift away.

It wasn’t quite hunger, even if it looked as such but more just need. For all of his talk about kissing you again dripping with lust, it was this which you both needed. A reminder that you both had been through something inhuman, something none else had ever thought possible and that in these new lives, maybe it wasn’t fair to push away the only person who would understand. 

You finally leaned into him more, letting your front press closer to his and his kiss only deepened slightly, his lips getting a tad bit more greedy as you did so. Your nails raking delicately along his neck that had him hold your cheeks a bit tighter. As if he couldn’t handle you pulling away just yet. 

Losing himself a bit, he teased your lips enough with small nibbling bites to your bottom lip and just as the sting of a harsher one had you gasp in surprise did he control himself. Nudging his nose against yours before pressing another innocent kiss to your lips. One hand leaving your cheek to slide down the length of your arm and slipping back to your waist. 

The hand on your cheek moving back to run along the back of your hair as he pressed his forehead to yours. His voice was such a low rasp it sent shivers through your spine. “We’re family now, which means I have to take care of you. Even if it means fighting against all the noise in your annoyingly beautiful head.” 

A real smile found it’s way onto his face as you let out a breathy laugh. A smile you hated for how mesmorizingly charming it was. Something was to be said however, at that ever so slowly, you both were finding ways to bring his name up and not have it tear so horrifically at the loss in both of your minds. “You told me I’d find it easy to fall in love with Robb. The night before I married him.” 

“I did.” His voice practically a hum as he raked through the strands of your hair that were allowed to sit loose along your back. 

“I felt guilty for a long time over it. That you were right, that I fell in love with him so easily. That maybe you knowing that meant you doubted how much you meant to me. It got easier, but then I started to feel guilty anytime you were brought up for the opposite. I didn’t want Robb if he found out to ever think that because you came first that put him any lower, so I almost never talked about you. Constantly worried that at any time, I’d be left behind and forgotten about.” 

Jon clearly wanted to say something, but had the sense to let you get it out on your own. Staying quiet as he watched you with a narrowed gaze trying to fix something he couldn’t easily see. 

“Even though you know all the truth, sometimes I think I haven’t let go of that feeling. That I’ll do or say one wrong thing and I’ll get left behind all over again.” Your jaw clenched as your lungs tightened, the words pushing out past a struggle to keep them contained. “You deserve someone at your side whose better then that. Someone who can at the least still stand on her own two feet.” 

His sigh was deep, but he pulled you closer as he did so. Keeping your face pressed more to his neck as your hands lay flat across his chest. His lips pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against your hair as his arms wrapped more around you. Quiet in tones just for you, even when alone in here. “I’m still stronger then you, I’ll keep you with me even if I have to throw you over my shoulder anywhere I go.” 

A single breathe laughed into his skin as he smiled against you. “That’s aggressive of you.” 

“I’m starting to think you enjoy that in a man.” That got you to genuinely laugh. Both brothers had differences, but they certainly held their own in similar ways regarding you. Indeed a pair of wolves you were attached to. 

He knew there was still something you weren’t saying, and he had spent the better part of the morning trying to figure that out. He had an idea, not a firm one, but if he were to wager a guess your newest doubts were a bit more of a sensitive subject. One he had no experiencing in handling. It was going to come up eventually though, this new title? It was only a matter of time before someone brings it up, and you won’t be able to hide it forever. 

He wanted you to talk to him about it, listen to him quell those nerves but he didn’t want to force you to. He wanted you to come to him about it on your own, when you were ready. If his suspicions were correct however, it would benefit you more if you found yourself ready sooner rather then later. 

Jon was smart after all, and there was little he did not see. 

Were your lungs not about to explode out of your rib cage, you may have found it amusing in the eagerness which Tormund had volunteered to bring him up. He and another, Dalba, were clearly more then strong enough to do it on their own. Not that you expected him to put up a fight, clearly, that was not his forte. 

“Could have given you plenty of ideas what to do with him, if you weren’t so fucking nice, Snow.” There was nothing negative in his tone, and the way all three men seemed to find amusement in each other was relieving. 

A bit heavier in Jon’s own tone, “If I were nice I would’ve killed him right in that courtyard to get it over with. Instead I let him rot in a dungeon.” His eyes found your person, but faced away from the four others in the room, you missed it. “Let him wait just long enough to think maybe I’ll spare his life.” 

Dalba was older, but not without the same biting spirit many of the free folk seemed to have. “Should have kept those bloody hounds of his around a bit longer, feed him to those rabid fuckers.” 

You wished such vengeful deeds would bring you relief. But they wouldn’t. The crueller the end, the more you would look back on it with hate for allowing it. Ramsay’s cruelty made you wish you could end it all, but giving into the same violent blood thirst against him wouldn’t make that feeling any better. Wouldn’t give back what he took from you. Took from Theon. 

Besides, you had seen what Ramsay used those hounds for. And the screaming that came from it was something which haunted you. You couldn’t have them around. They weren’t safe, especially not when some of the free folk keeping within Winterfell’s walls had children. 

Like you, Theon had been quiet since walking in the room. The look shared as he came to get you was full of an understanding nerve. Seeing him again no matter what couldn’t take away the horror of what he had done to him, but he could handle his words better then you could. Neither of you directly talked about it since that day he first told you, but he had in that time, needed to get used to it and fast. It would be there everyday to remind of that torture and coming to terms with it was getting better day by day. 

If such a horror did one thing to him however, it was show him that what made him a man he wanted to be proud of himself for being wasn’t one that looked and used women the way men of iron and salt were taught. That’s what led him to this. For now and the foreseeable future, Theon was finding himself perfectly content with having the only woman in his life that means anything be you. 

In a weird way, your time with the Boltons bonded you like a fucked up family. He barley remembered Yara from when he was a boy, but he also knew that the Yara he met as a man didn’t respect him. You, for all his faults, always respected him. Always had faith in him when he clearly wasn’t capable of fulfilling that. 

Ramsay had taken something horrible from Theon in mind and physical, but in a way it also led to him finding a sister he truly believed in to stand beside in you. He knew his father and Victarion, or worse, Euron, would mock him for it, but what did they know of such horror. What did they know what having the most important aspect of your own manhood cut from you? 

He was learning to deal with that being gone forever, but it was you he still worried about.

You however, he knew didn’t quite have the same struggle. Most of what he had done was gone, most marks clearing up by that point. But it was never the physical pain you couldn’t handle from Ramsay. 

In the later quiet of the room, your hands were braced against the small table you were in front of, leaned over trying to soothe out your breathing as best as you could. It was a slow process but it didn’t seem to be getting much better then slowing your heart down enough you wouldn’t pass out. Jon had circled around the other side, your name slipping gently from his lips. “Are you ready?” 

Another deep breathe, and it still didn’t help any. “No. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.” 

Leaning forward on his own, Jon reached to pull your cheek up to meet his eyes. Despite what you were walking out to, the grey in them was as bright and gentle looking at you as ever. Your own hand found an easy courage to reach up, gently pushing the material of his sleeve enough to feel his pulse. Heart still beating under the scar atop it, strong as ever. 

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to watch.” 

Shaking your head, your voice was weak, but there enough you could sound as collected as could be for now. “It’s important. And if I’m going to be here with you, then we do it together. Your choices are mine to follow now.” 

You wondered if he was trying to ease your heart a bit. Giving a softer smile as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Queens not allowed to have free will of their own?” He smiled more as you very slightly shook your head with a sigh. 

Grabbing his hand and pulling it from you, holding it close to your heart in your smaller one. “You’re our King, but I’m only your Queen. They only follow me, because I follow you. What you do or say, I stand behind it. No matter what.” For a brief second, you recognized the darker wave of something in his eyes before he shook it off. Smirking sightly you asked, “What?”

Voice a little rougher then before, you knew he was trying to distract you from falling back into an anxious state. “Seems possessive, making it sound like you belong to me or like I own you.” 

You only shrugged a shoulder failing to hide the nerves through a half smirking jest. “Doesn’t sound so bad coming from you, Snow.”

It seemed fitting, having the free folk Ramsay was so sure he was set to slaughter drag him up to the main courtyard of Winterfell. Their own people, mixed with far more Northerners then when he was last seen in this place but you knew none any longer felt sympathy for him. Not after the thing’s he and his family had done. The things and people they’ve hurt and ruined. 

Faint remarks had tried to slip out of his mouth, but from where you were they couldn’t be heard and you weren’t sure you wanted to. Dropped down to his knees and slammed over the wood in the middle of the courtyard, there was no turning back. You had to see it through with him. No matter how sick you felt with each step. 

Surviving what he had done to you didn’t make you feel brave. Didn’t make you feel strong or better off for it. It didn’t bring Robb back or find an ounce of justice for what was done to him, his son, Catelyn and all the others. It didn’t make any of this better, but it was what was right. So you had to be here as it happened. 

The crowds parting ways as you and Jon approached, stern faces you recognized and almost proud faces Jon recognized. A controlled anger behind his own eyes and a held back ill in yours they could all see plain as day in the evening sky. The only one there who would find any reason to notice it, but Theon surely had seen it. 

The fur around Jon was rich in browns and blacks, much like the ones worn by Robb and Ned before him. And the one around you, was a brighter white, standing out against the black of the cloak but matching the snow surrounding the North. Jon had been the one to gently drape it over you, not hesitating at both making sure you were warm but also to keep you in something that was once his. At the very least, for the time being, it was nice to be able to stand by a King’s side and the two of you not having to be dressed in armours for any fight at any moment. 

Ramsay looked up to you with no words, but a tinge of fear still on his face. Nothing left to hide, no one around to allow him to ridicule and mock, he was not a man afraid of much but he was afraid of the only things which could best him. And right now, that was the sight of Jon approaching him, you carefully standing to his side. You could only hope the expression you held wasn’t holding the raging nerves swimming in your very being as you looked at him. 

It was though, and it might be the last thing he would enjoy. That to even his final moments, you still held that same stiff fear that you always did in the beginnings of his torment. Muscles in your neck holding a great shake trying to force your head up high, but there was only a screaming inside you that begged for it to all be over, to simply stop. But would it stop here? The torment didn’t stop when you escaped the first time after all. 

Roose Bolton being dead, didn’t make Robb being dead feel any less like agony. 

Pale blue eyes looked with a wide eyed dread as Jon stood before him, pulling Longclaw off his person as the great sword shined at the sharpest of edges. The white wolf pommel suited Jon greatly, the red of it’s eyes shining in what was left of the setting sunlight. He stood before him, with his own fellow Northerners all around watching with no protest or any inking in a wish to stop it. 

Keeping the blade pointed to the ground, both of his gloved hands draping over it the hilt. His voice was low, rasping out with all the weighted humanity a true leader did to even the worst of his opponent’s. “If you have any last words, my lord. Now’s the time.” 

You have a duty to look into a man’s eyes and hear his final words, and if you cannot do that then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. Jon looked into his, but Ramsay found one final shred of cruelty left inside of his blackened heart and looking past him, his own eyes found you. 

Wanting one last bite at you. Angry that he lost, and with a childish spite at seeing the thing he saw as his at Jon’s side so willingly. “You’ve done quite a number on the bastard. Must be fucking him real good to make him this angry. What’s next, my bride? You show your thanks to the rest of the brave men of the North by spreading your legs for them all? You certainly have a good enough cunt for it.” 

If you were another person, maybe it wouldn’t have bothered you. But it did, and your subtle nerves shaking only on the inside were visible now. Gloved hands clenching into fists as you swallowed harshly, not breaking his vile gaze. You felt the filth cover your skin all over again, and it always took far too long to scrub it off. 

Jon brought Longclaw down. As a girl the first time you ever saw something like this, Jon had been next to you and you had reached out instinctively to hold his hand in fear. Only to let go right after mumbling an embarrassed apology worried he would think you a childish little girl. But this time, he was the one to bring it down and you had to stand on your own.

Rickon was still dead, you and Theon were still marred in the memories of torture and there were good men who had been lost just to reclaim this place. Ramsay being dead fixed none of those things. An if the wide, glazed over look in Theon’s own gaze towards you said anything, he felt the same.

It didn’t take back the done damage, you could still feel his voice and filth all across your skin.

[leclercstarrs]

reunion, glenn rhee.

summary: in which you get separated from your boyfriend and the rest of the group after the prison’s destroyed!

warnings: typical twd violence but mentions/implied threats of sa and violence so please be cautious my loves! also not yet proof read!

notes: i said this in the warnings but please don’t read this if you think these topics could trigger you. there’s no descriptions of these topics but these things are implied by the group of men daryl briefly joins on his way to trminus. this was requested by anon so i hope it finds you and hope you like it!

You’re currently walking down a path of old and rusty train tracks, having no clue where exactly you are, just that the prison isn’t safe anymore. The governor made his return, destroying the prison and leaving the group with no choice but to flee, resulting in everyone getting separated. You, unfortunately, are alone. No one else went the way you went and now you’ve lost Glenn. He’s your only motivation to keep going, hoping you’ll eventually cross paths with him. However, for all you know, he could be dead, the governor or walkers getting at him. You don’t want to think about that possibility though.

It’s late, the stars being the only form of light, your feet now dragging along the tracks, kicking rocks as you step forward. “Please end my suffering.” You whisper to no one but yourself, rolling your eyes and stopping suddenly when you notice an abandoned factory of some sort next to the train tracks. You think for a moment, realizing it’s best to take a break before you push yourself too hard. Letting out a sigh and wiping some sweat off your forehead, you walk off of the tracks, stepping onto the grass and heading towards the old building that’s surrounded by other, more rundown, ones.

Your first instinct when you reach the building is to knock on the door and some of the windows surrounding it, checking for walkers.

Nothing. Sounds clear.

You knock again, just to be sure.

Again, nothing.

You slowly turn the door handle, expecting to be greeted with an empty place. “Hiya.” A tall man with grey hair, accompanied by a grey beard, is standing right in the doorway, a sinister smile on his face. You quickly move your gun in front of him. “I wouldn’t do that.” Another, skinnier man, appears beside him with that same smile. Then, you notice someone behind them. Daryl. “Daryl?” You gasp, lowering your gun. “Ya know this girl?” The grey haired man turns around for a second. “(Y/N!)” Daryl gasps, ready to push through the men and hug you. “Mm, stop.” The man presses a hand onto to Daryl’s chest, stopping him, while the other young man roughly grabs your arm.

“What the fuck? Get off of me!” You huff, trying to get out of the man’s rough grip. “Cant do that, missy.” His tone is condescending, making it even more terrifying as two more guys join the group. One of them is balding, and if it’s possible, even creepier looking than the other’s. The other one looks greasy, his long and thin hair reaching past his shoulders, his clothes torn and ripped. Then, you notice Daryl again. He’s being held back by two of the other guys, a pissed off look on his face as he struggles to get free and help you, his crossbow no where in sight. “Fuck off!” You spit in the younger man’s face, the grey haired man laughing at you. “Feisty, huh?” He pushes the guy off you and now he’s holding onto you, touching your hair, “Do you know what we’re going to do to you? You see, a certain someone came by and killed one of my men, which I don’t take lightly, so, we need some payback.” He sighs.

“Payback? I didn’t touch your man, I’ve been alone this entire time, Daryl and I were separated!” You scoff. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re in certain danger, you would laugh at this group’s stupidity. “That don’t matter now, pretty girl.” The balding man chuckles, baring his gross teeth. “Go to hell, perv.” You mumble. Daryl glares at you, wishing you’d stop making it worse for yourself. “Well, since you wanna do this the hard way, I’ll show ya the hard way-” Just as the older man gets even closer to you, you quickly push him off, grabbing the pocket knife you have in your boot, the only weapon the group didn’t confiscate or notice. Obviously, this plan is stupid, but it’s your only shot. Before any of the guys can grab you, you slice the arm of the one who was previously holding you, quickly running away and exiting the building, letting your feet take you as fast as possible as the group follows you.

“Oh, you’ve done it now girl.” One of them yells, calling after you. You enter another building, having no time to check for walkers, as one walks right towards you. You take a second to push it back, hoping it slows down the group. Thankfully it does, the walker surprising the group as they enter the next building, biting into of their necks. You leave through the back door, having no time to get Daryl, and running back to the train tracks, not stopping until you’re out of their sight and at Terminus.

“Hey! Let me out!” You bang on the shipping container the people of Terminus put you in, trying to hold back your frustrated sobs. So much for a save haven.

You turn around and slide down the cold metal walls, running your hands through your hair, anger boiling inside of you. Everyone’s gone and now you’re trapped in a container.

“(Y/N)?” You immediately recognize that accent as Rick’s. “Rick?” You gasp, happy to at least see a familiar face as he walks out of the shadows. However, your smile grows even wider when you see Glenn and the others walk out with him. “Glenn! Oh my god, I thought I’d never see you again!” You yell, running towards him and pulling him into a hug. He’s barely able to register it’s you as he wraps his arms around you, smiling resting his head on your shoulder. “I love you.” He pulls away from the hug. “I love you too.” You whisper. The rest of the group watches the sweet moment, before bringing themselves back to the grim reality of the situation. “(Y/N), I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t know those guys were fucked up.” A voice suddenly catches your attention, causing you to turn around and see Daryl, “It’s fine, I know.” You sigh, taking a second to hug him as well, the man trying to hold back his own tears. “You know I’m happy to see you, (Y/N), but we gotta figure this out.” Rick breaks the moment, causing you to put your serious face on again, “I know.” You reply.