#if there's too many things (characters/plot lines) on the wall for YOU to work with then there's too many things for the AUDIENCE too

[the-way-astray]

it should be a crime for writers/creators to not make a crazy wall for their story that connects pictures representing the characters and plot points together with an obscene amount of yarn.

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[changbunnies]

Lowkey, I Need You (To Move Out) 18+

♡ Pairing: Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, angst, fluff, smut with plot, mutual pining but especially lots of pining from binnie

♡ Word Count: 12k

♡ Summary: Changbin has a problem– he’s in love with his friend with benefits. And not only is he in love with her, but she’s also his roommate. Torn on what to do, the only thing he knows for certain is that something has to change soon– but is he even brave enough to spark that change, and risk their friendship?

♡ Warnings: miscommunication, but it's resolved quickly!, bin is lil insecure but we're here to make it better !!, gets a bit emotional because truly this is a love letter to changbin and how much i adore him

♡ Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes, switch!bin with a heavy sub lean, as usual changbin is an extremely soft and perfect lover, pet names (baby, bun, bunny, honey, sweet + good boy), oral (m + f rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, begging, a tiny bit of edging, spit as lube, cock warming, unprotected piv, creampie, praise kink, body worship, face sitting

♡ Notes: this was written in response to the topic of binnie being excluded, because as a bin biased girlie it's my job to show out for him when he needs the extra love! i've been wanting to write a fwb for SO long and in true changbunnies fashion this turned out longer than i intended it to be but i just had so much fun writing it and giving binnie the attention he deserves, so i hope you enjoy it too !!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

What do you do when you realize you've fallen in love with your friend with benefits? And what do you do when said friend is also your roommate? The conclusion that Changbin has reached is simple: spiral.

Well, not that spiraling is an actual choice in this scenario– he can't stop it from happening despite how desperately he wants to. He knows you aren't looking for a relationship right now, that you like what you have together because it's casual and fun.

You swore off dating apps and relationships after having your heart broken one too many times, and the only reason you're friends with benefits with Changbin is because you trust him– a trust that he is loath to break by dropping the revelation that he's fallen in love with you.

You were away from your shared apartment for the past week and a half, on a trip back to your home town to visit family. It was exhausting, but fun enough when your parents weren't driving you up the wall by pestering you with questions about when you're going to start bringing a boyfriend back home with you, you told Changbin on the phone last night whilst packing to come back to the city.

He hated the way his heart sank to the pit of his stomach when he considered the fact that he'll never be the boyfriend going home with you to meet your family. And he wants to be, fucking hell, does he want to be yours.

He wants to tell you he loves you and have it mean something more than the platonic love between friends, to take you on dates and freely hold your hand when walking through the city streets together, to share a bed with you for more than just a fuck.

How many times has he wanted to pull you back to him when you start to get up from his bed? To reach out and beg you to stay when you start to get dressed? To knock on your door late at night and lay everything out on the line because the way it keeps him up at night is becoming unbearable?

Fuck, he can't keep dwelling on it– you've been on your way home since this morning, and you're due back any minute now. It'll be disastrous for Changbin if you walk through the door and realize something's off with him.

His heart twisted when he checked his phone and saw a new text, one excitedly telling him you're almost home and that you've missed him– but was it really him you missed, or just fucking him? He didn't know anymore, and he was afraid to find out.

Changbin jumps when he hears the lock to the front door click, taking a breath to calm his racing heart as he rises to his feet to help you with your luggage and welcome you back home. 

He’s spent enough time spiraling over what to do this past week, he can’t afford to anymore; not if he wants to keep his sanity intact, anyways. He can do this– once you get settled, he can have a heart to heart with you, and everything will be fine. Even if it’s too much to confess his feelings, surely there’s a way to go about things where you’re both still happy, right?

Changbin did a lot around the apartment to make it perfect for you upon your return– cleaned and dusted every common room until they were spotless, made sure not a single dirty dish was left in the sink, emptied every trash can.. He even unclogged the drains and scrubbed the tub! He just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a single thing to do, that you could just relax and unwind in clean comfort after your trip. 

But you don’t spare a single glance around the apartment once you enter– you look just at him, smiling as you kick the door closed behind you, and drop your luggage to the floor to squeeze him into a hug. 

He blinks a moment in surprise at how quick the action is– he didn’t even have the chance to get a word out before you were on him. Still, he quickly returns the hug while trying his best to prevent the happy, almost relieved sigh you let out as you bury your head into his chest from giving him false hope.

“You really missed me this much?” Changbin asks with a small giggle– why is he even asking? So much for not giving himself false hope. He just blurted it out without thinking, really; but he can’t pretend the way you affirm it doesn’t make his heart swell. 

It was the longest you’d ever been apart from Changbin since moving in together, and it put a lot of things into perspective. Like, you really did miss him, of course you did, he’s your friend! But there was something more– you don’t think you’d ever missed someone so fucking badly before. 

Like, staying up all night because you can’t stop thinking about him type of ‘I miss you.’ Wanting to text him or call him at all hours of the day just to check up on him and ask what he’s been up to even though you’re supposed to be focusing on your family and reuniting with childhood friends.

You missed everything about him– his smile and cute laugh, the way he smells, his big arms wrapped around you and squeezing you close. You wanted to hear his voice again, and not through the grainy speaker of your phone, wanted to see him without your parent’s shitty old wifi connection lagging your call, and making him pixelated and blurry.

Changbin is your home, you realized; wherever he is is where you want to be. As long as he’s there, you’d have everything you need to be happy. Is that too sentimental of a feeling for just friends?

Yes, you know it is– and every time you felt it for him before, you shoved it down as deep you could, not ready to get your heart broken again just yet. Better to hold onto him for as long as you can, before he cuts things off to start dating again.

But of course, you can’t deny you also missed him in other, less than innocent ways. The squeak he lets out when you surprise him with a kiss, the cute way he blushes and giggles when you compliment him or call him his favorite pet name, the way he’ll easily drop to his knees for you the moment you tell him you need him. 

He never cares what he’s in the middle of or what he needs to get done– if you tell him you want him, he’s ready for you, eager to please. Even if he loses sleep, if it makes him late for work, if it means the food on the stove is going to burn– none of it matters if you need his tongue on you. And you’ll reward him, you always do; with sweet words and touches that makes his heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest while his cock throbs.

“Missed you more than you know,” you say in a near whisper, pressing your lips to his like you’ve been eager to do since walking through the door. Changbin practically melts when you kiss him, as always; he just can’t help it– he’s forever going to be putty in your hands. 

Was he right in his fear that you only missed him for the sex? Maybe, but he can’t even dwell on the idea anymore– not when the urgency in which you start touching him underneath his shirt while sliding your tongue in his mouth makes him weak at the knees.

Fuck it, maybe that is all you want him for these days, but he’d never stop giving you what you want. Use him over and over, run his heart into the ground when it’s done, what does it matter? At least in this moment he’s yours, even if it’s only temporary. 

You grab Changbin by the waist and turn him around, pressing his back against the front door to the apartment. One of his feet very nearly gets caught up on your luggage on one of his steps back, but you kick it to the side, away from the two of you. His sound of surprise is muffled by your mouth on his, as is his gasp when your hands travel up to squeeze his pecs.

You can feel his body shudder when your thumbs brush over his nipples, letting out a whine when you pinch them between your fingers. He’s breathless by the time you pull away, watching you with that eager look in his eyes that makes you crazy for him. “B-Baby, what are you-” he tries to ask as you fall to your knees, though the last word dies in his throat when you look back up at him with a smile. 

He still remembers the first time he slipped up and called you “baby.” You were on top of him, riding him so good that all he could do was babble on and on about how good it felt while gripping the bed sheets beneath him. “S-So good, oh my god, baby, it’s– you’re so good, feels so good,” he whimpered, whining loudly when you stopped moving to just look at him.

Changbin was going to ask why you stopped, beg you to please, please keep going, but then it hit him all at once– he called you ‘baby’ when it was never something either of you had done before. And instantly, he looked up at you utterly mortified with himself, ready to apologize over and over again for crossing the line in your friends with benefits relationship.

While the arrangement didn’t come with strict rules, such as no kissing for example, he still was concerned that it was a touch too far in the ‘romantic relationship’ direction. But to his surprise, and relief, you smiled at him, calling him sweet names in return after picking your pace back up. You continued to try out names, gauging his reaction carefully until you found the one that seemed to make him react the most.

And now here you are, looking up at him with his cock pulled out of his sweatpants and throbbing in your hands, calling him the name that turns his brain and body to jelly. “Want to show you how badly I missed you, bunny,” you told him before pressing a lingering kiss to his already leaking tip, his pre-cum smearing over your lips.

Thank fucking God you pressed him against the door, because if he didn’t have the support he’s pretty sure his legs would’ve given out. It’s not often that you’re the one on your knees for him, and the sight is so erotic it makes his brain feel like it’s going to melt out of his ears– not to mention the way you’re talking to him on top of it.

“So hard and leaky already,” you comment gleefully, sticking out your tongue to lick over his tip, “you missed me too, didn’t you, bun?” 

“Y-Yeah, missed you, I missed you so much,” Changbin replies breathlessly, struggling to keep his hips still and not rut against your hands. He bites his lip, restraining the whimpers that threaten to endlessly spill when you open your mouth to take him in.

You don’t waste any time getting the corners of your mouth used to the stretch, or for Changbin to get used to the feeling after having gone without it for so long; you take him all at once, until his tip is touching the back of your throat and your nose is pressed against his pelvis. 

His head falls back against the door as he squeezes his eyes shut, slapping his hand over his mouth to muffle the obscenely loud moan you draw out of him. Normally he pays no mind to his volume because he knows you prefer him loud, but he’d be beyond embarrassed if any neighbors walking the hall heard him just on the other side of the door. 

You swallow around his length, and it takes effort to not gag given how thick and heavy he is, but you manage just fine. Breathing through your nose, you stroke his cock with your tongue whenever you need to give your throat a tiny break, sometimes pulling back to take a bigger breath and let more air into your lungs before sucking him into your mouth again. 

Changbin cards his fingers through your hair, but doesn’t pull– just holds your head in an effort to ground himself. His thighs are trembling, and he’s seemingly given up on trying to be quiet, or is simply too far gone to care anymore, the hand he was using to cover his mouth now clenched into a fist at his side.

“W-Wait, wait, baby, please wait, don’t wanna cum yet,” he pleads as his stomach clenches, the twitching and throbbing of his cock growing more in intensity. He’s lifted his head from the door, looking down at you now and meeting your gaze as you blatantly ignore his request and continue to swallow him down your throat.

“Please, please, your pussy– want your pussy, honey, please,” he tries again, chest heaving as he begs, the fingers threaded through your hair now clenching into a fist as well, but still, he doesn’t pull you off him. That’s one of the things you like most about Changbin– he’s so strong that it’d be easy for him to make you do whatever he wants, but he doesn’t. 

Even now, as desperate as he is to be inside your pussy, he’s obedient, first and foremost. How can you resist giving him what he wants when he’s so sweet, perfect and well behaved? You pull off him with a loud ‘pop,’ watching the way his cock throbs pathetically against his stomach as his impending orgasm begins to ebb away.

You expect him to take a longer moment to recover, but even with how breathless he is, he’s leaning down to pick you up from the floor. You can’t help but let out a squeal as you’re lifted from the ground– you know very well that Changbin is strong, but it always surprises you how effortlessly he can lift your weight. Excites you too, if you’re being completely honest. 

He has you in a full princess carry, one arm supporting your back while the other is under your knees. You know he won’t drop you, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway for the extra security. He shows his appreciation for you with so many kisses over your face that you can’t help but giggle, and he holds you tighter when his kisses cause you to squirm in his grasp.

“Don’t tickle me with kisses when I can’t escape you,” you half-heartedly complain, and he giggles with you, pressing one more to your nose before he starts walking away from the front door. “We’re going to your room,” he informs you, figuring that’s where you’d prefer to me after having been away from home. 

Your luggage lies forgotten on the floor as he makes his way past the open kitchen and living room, and into the hallway leading to your rooms. Standing in front of your door, you lean in his grasp to twist the door knob, and he gently nudges the door open further with his foot. Your bedroom is just how you left it a week and a half ago, and Changbin sets you down on your bed carefully.

“Are you going to undress yourself for me?” you ask with an expectant tilt of your head, and he blushes ever so slightly as he shyly giggles and nods. It never fails to make him a little shy when you watch him undress like this, but he also takes pride in the way you look at him. Hungry, but somehow still tender and sweet. 

He starts with his sweatpants and underwear, considering his cock is still out from when you pulled them down just enough to get it out. Kicking his feet out once they’ve fallen to the floor, his shirt is next, and he very quickly pulls it up and over his head. “My baby,” you coo at him after beckoning him closer, and it makes his head spin. 

It’s the first time you’ve used a possessive term with him. Your baby.. Yes, whether you know it or not, he’s yours. Only yours. 

“You’re so handsome, you know that?” you continue, smiling when the pink on his flushed cheeks deepens, “And sexy, and adorable, and lovable.” You love complimenting him– even before you were friends with benefits, you’d tell him sweet things whenever you could. It took him a long time to grow into himself and get comfortable and confident in his own skin, and he deserves the pride and joy he feels now. 

Lovable is a new one, and he tries not to let it root itself inside his head– you certainly do love him, but just as a friend, he knows it. You’ve always been sweet to him, and he’s certain that your doting on him and sweet gestures increased only because of the slight change in your relationship, and no other reason. 

Regardless, does the reason matter? You’re complimenting him earnestly, and that’s enough. Even if it’s said without romantic intent, you do mean it– and that’s all he needs, really.

“Help me out with my own clothes now, won’t you, sweet boy?” you ask, and he gives you an excited nod that makes you giggle again. You lift your back off the bed so he can help you with your top and bra, then lift your legs so he can help you out of your pants and underwear when you let your back fall against the bed again. 

He kisses you the entire time he’s getting you out of your clothes, only breaking away when he has to. “Gonna get you ready for me,” he breathes out near the shell of your ear before planting a kiss there, and then trailing them down your neck. He slides his hand between your legs as he does, and you spread them apart for him to make his task easier for him. 

You both know you can handle the sting from his cock stretching you out, sometimes you even crave it– but you can never deny his desire to be sweet to you. If he wants to stretch you out on his fingers first, you’ll let him do it every time. 

“Oh, honey, you’re so wet,” he gasps as he runs his fingers between your folds. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise, really– you always get soaking wet when you and Changbin are being intimate. Still, it always surprises him as much as it did your first time together; he supposes there’s a part of him that still can’t believe you’re this physically attracted to him, even with how much you shower him with compliments. 

Of course, if you knew he had that thought, you’d shower him with even more of them, until there wasn’t a single doubt left in his mind. He’s perfect, truly; there’ll never be anyone who can compare to Changbin.

You don’t need him to start slow or careful, but he does regardless, starting by pressing just one of his fingers to your hole before sliding it inside. He knows you can take more at once, would even enjoy the sting that would follow, but he wants to be good to you! When you’re full of him, so thick that you’re full to the point it’s almost too much, he wants it to be pure bliss. 

Changbin pumps his finger in and out of you slowly, waiting until he’s certain you’re about to start whining for more before adding a second, and after just a little more he’s adding a third. He keeps his fingers still for just a moment, making sure you’re well adjusted before he starts to thrust them in and out in the way he knows you love.

And God, even though it’s you that’s getting fucked right now, he feels like he’s going a little crazy. He’s so addicted to the noises you make, the way your breathing starts to hitch and turn more shallow, how your eyes roll back when he hits that gummy spot inside you. You’re so fucking slick, and squeezing his fingers so tight that he can barely even think straight– not that he was entirely to begin with. 

Is it just because it’s been over a week since the last time you were together? He never thought himself so insatiable or easily worked up, but fuck, you just unlock something in him. He’s had sex plenty of times before you started sleeping together, had plenty of fun experiences with different partners, but only you make me feel so.. needy.

“Binnie, baby, want your cock now, give it to me, please,” you whine, voice impossibly pretty and breathless. “Ah but– are you sure, baby? Don’t want me to make you cum first?” he asks as he slows down the motion of his fingers. 

“We’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?” you ask, rhetorical; it’s much more a statement than a question. You look at his cock, still leaking steadily and impossibly hard, and then look back to Changbin’s face. “Let’s cum together. That’s what I want,” you tell him, and you can’t help but notice the way his cock twitches from your words in your peripheral. 

Of course, he can’t resist doing whatever you want– especially not when there’s a promise to cum together at the end. So he slips his fingers out of you, and before he can even ask what you’d like him to do, you’re putting your hands on his shoulders and guiding him to his back. 

He falls to his back easily, swallowing as he watches you crawl on top of him. You’ve done it countless times at this point, but it never stops being sexy and exciting to watch. Your hands planted firmly on his chest, and your legs straddling his body, you move your hips back and forth, rubbing your pussy up and down his length to get it wet. 

His tip rubbing against your clit feels so fucking good too, but that’s not why you’re doing this; so you quickly move on before you get carried away and end up grinding on him until you cum. Reaching your hand between your bodies, you grab his cock at the base and angle it where you need it. 

Changbin watches with eager eyes and bated breath, his hands holding your hips for extra support. Even when you start to slowly sink down on him, and you’re both gasping and breathless from the pleasure, he’s careful to not squeeze you too hard. He’s always so tender and careful, even when doesn’t need to be, and you love him for it. 

And true to what he hoped, there’s no sting when you’re fully sat on him, the stretch nothing but pleasurable for you. Because of this, it also means you don’t have to start slow– and so within just a few short moments, you’re bouncing on him rapidly, leaning down to kiss him as you do. 

He has long since stopped being embarrassed about the noises you draw out of him, whimpering and moaning freely as the pleasure seeps into every pore of his body. Your tongue once again slips its way into his mouth, and he meets it eagerly with his own, happy to slide it around yours. 

Bouncing on his cock, and kissing him like this, he can’t help but be reminded of the very first time you slept together. You had just freshly agreed to the friends with benefits arrangement, both of you lonely and in need of some intimacy, but being done with relationships for the time for your own reasons. 

You took the lead, and it was the first time anyone ever had– he was so used to being the macho man in charge for his lovers, that he found it interesting and exciting that you wanted to be the one in control. You told him what to do, how to do it, praised him and guided him along, had him lay down while you crawled on top and did all the work for him after you were ready to take his cock.

And to his surprise, he instantly liked it– loved it, even. He never considered before then letting someone else have the leading role in bed, but after you started, it just felt natural. And when you leaned down and kissed him in that moment, when everything was so different for him and exciting, it felt like everything shifted, like the entire world titled on its axis. 

Maybe he’s been in love with you since then, but only fully realized what he felt recently. Maybe he’s been in love since even further before, but didn’t have the tools then to put that feeling together, because the line between friend and lover can sometimes be blurry. Maybe he’s been a fool this entire time, and continues to be one now– because he knows what he feels now for certain, but is still too scared to admit it to you. 

He’s thankful that your tongue in his mouth prevents him from speaking– because he’s certain if it wasn’t, he’d end up saying something he shouldn’t. It doesn’t stop him from having the thoughts internally, however.

“You’re so perfect, I love you, I love you so much, I need you, need you to need me, love you,” his brain is screaming as his orgasm approaches once more. The noises leaving him growing more in volume and desperation is enough of a warning for you on its own that he’s close, but you can feel him throbbing too, eager for release after how close he was to cumming earlier.

You reach your hand between your bodies once more, this time to rub your clit with your fingers. It makes your pace falter a bit, but Changbin is more than used to helping you in the last stretch like this. He helps you keep your pace with his hands, and thrusts up into you in time with the fall of your hips onto his.

“C-Cumming, oh, bunny, you’re making me cum,” you whimper, biting your lip and furrowing your brow as the circles you draw on your clit grow messy. You gasp when your orgasm hits you, your breath catching in your throat as your mouth hangs open in a silent cry. Changbin was already close, and the way you squeeze around him as you cum unravels him too. 

His cum shoots inside you, hot and sticky, his entire body trembling as he whimpers and whines beneath you. He’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but when he opens them he sees you looking down at him with such a beautiful smile that he truly feels like he died and went to heaven– because fuck, you’re an angel. 

Changbin reaches a hand up, tucks your messy, fallen strands of hair behind your ears, smiling when you coo and call him a “sweet boy,” again. You let your body fall against his chest, resting your head in the crook of his neck as you close your eyes and let out a content sigh. “Baby?” he questions, giggling a little when you mumble about being tired against his skin. 

“We have to get you cleaned up,” he reminds you, though the way he strokes your back surely doesn’t give you any motivation to get off him. “And you need to go to the bathroom before you fall asleep!” he adds, and you hum an acknowledgment, but still make no effort to crawl off him. Instead, your body relaxes even further, and soon enough you’re not even responding to him talking to you anymore.

You’ve fallen asleep much quicker than Changbin would’ve ever expected; he’s sure you’re tired from the days you spent away and the trip back home, and the fact that you fucked him immediately upon getting home likely didn’t do you any favors in keeping the fatigue at bay.

But he’s still here in your bed, beneath you, your body warm and soft and entirely limp as serene snores leave you. He’s not sure if he should try to wiggle his way out from under you, or just stay like this and sleep together. He knows what he wants to do, but.. he’s never spent an entire night in your room, nor have you done so in his.

And all he can think about while he looks up at your ceiling with you in his arms is how much he loves you but can’t tell you.

Fuck. What does he do now?

It’s been days since Changbin has had the chance to speak with you, but whether or not that’s entirely a good thing remains to be seen– because even with the distance to sort himself out, his mind remains addled and plagued by the desire to be with you as a lover. 

Thankfully, you haven’t noticed anything off with him– mostly because the distance since arriving back home was due to your own need to catch up on sleep, unpack your belongings, and get ready to go back to work and resume life as usual. Whenever you’re not sleeping, you’re busy, and that works for Changbin– or it was supposed to, anyways.

All he’s done the last few days is get back into his spiral. Confess his feelings or not, risk your friendship or keep everything to himself, move out before he loses his mind or stay until the day you decide you’re done.. He wishes there was a simple, easy answer. More than that, he wishes he could guarantee that you’d stay with him if he laid his feelings bare for you.

And he misses you. You’re only a room away across the hall, but he misses you. And he doesn’t fucking know what to do with himself anymore. He’s been trying to sleep for hours now, but all he can do is toss and turn and think about you, how bad he needs you– not just emotionally, but physically too. Because the moment he started thinking about you, it was only a matter of time before he began to reminisce about the sex you’ve had. 

Is his brain fucking against him, or what? As if it wasn’t bad enough he was in a spiral over the possibility of you rejecting his feelings, now he can’t stop thinking about how pretty you looked after your shower this morning. He only saw you in passing, as he had to head out for work and you had to get back to catching up on the work emails that piled up in your inbox while you were away, but God..

If it wasn’t for the fact that you really needed to get your work done before going back to the office when the weekend’s over, he would’ve dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the hallway and eaten you out until you were begging him to stop (or forcing him to by pulling his hair.) He wouldn’t even have cared about his own job– Chan would forgive him, he always did.

And truly, this is agony. Worse than agony, it’s torture. He needs to go take a cold shower and calm the fuck down so he can start thinking rationally again– as rationally as he can manage to in his lovesick state, anyways. With a heavy sigh, he throws his blankets off himself and reaches for his glasses on his nightstand. After putting them on, he rises from his bed, hoping the shower will be enough of a reset to let him get some sleep.

Opening his door, he’s surprised to see you’re awake. Well, he can’t see you just yet from the hallway, but he can see that the lamp in the living room is turned on, and can faintly hear the tv playing lofi focus music. And even though he probably shouldn’t, he can’t resist walking over to check in on you. 

He can hear you typing away on your laptop as he gets closer, and you look away from the screen and turn your head in his direction when you hear his footsteps over the softly playing music. “Oh, Binnie!” you smile at him, and it’s so genuine it makes his heart flutter. He’s so fucking screwed. “Couldn’t sleep?” you ask him, taking a small break from responding to emails to give him your attention.

“O-Oh, yeah, well I was trying to sleep, but..” he trails off when he sees you glancing down his body, to the painfully obvious erection straining against his shorts. “Had a problem?” you finish for him, and his face instantly flushes red. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve caught him with an erection, but it always makes him feel so perverted when it happens this way. 

“I can help you,” you offer, shooting him that pretty smirk that always turns him into jello. Fuck, you’re a siren, and he’s helpless to resist you. But still, aren’t you busy? As much as he’s willing to fuck up his own work performance for you, he’d feel terrible if his neediness made your own work harder for you. 

“I-I was going to shower and take care of it myself, but I saw you were awake and I just wanted to see what you were doing and.. Anyways, you don’t have to! Seriously, I know you’re busy! It’s okay, I don’t-” he babbles, and you giggle at him. He’s just so cute, especially when he’s trying his best to be considerate to you. 

“C’mere. I can’t help you right this minute but good boys like you know how to be patient, right? You can sit pretty here until I’m done with my emails?” you ask, patting the spot next to you on the sofa. Shit, you always know just what to say to him. 

He listens to your siren song, coming to where you beckon him to sit like the obedient boy you know him to be. “Take your cock out for me, baby,” you instruct, and again he listens, not a single ounce of hesitance as he slides his shorts down enough for his erection to spring free. He watches as you set your laptop on the coffee table and stand up, curious as to what you’re doing.

Changbin gulps when you slide your own shorts down your legs, as well as your panties, and fuck, he’s excited, but more than that he’s confused. He thought you told him he’d have to wait until you were done with your emails.. So why are you undressing already..? 

Maybe this is to keep him hard and eager– make him sit there with a view of your bare pussy so that by the time you’re done, he’s desperate and begging for you. Maybe you want to test the limits of your “good boy,” see how riled up you can make him while you work until he snaps and bends you over the sofa, taking you as he pleases. 

You stand in front of him with your back facing him, and though it’s a bit awkward and challenging, you reach behind and take his cock into your hand. “Spit on it, get it wet for me,” you tell him, and though his mind is still reeling from the unexpected development, he does as you ask. 

You spread his saliva around his length as best you can with your fingers, and when you’re content, you carefully press his cock to your hole. It takes you a second to get the angle right thanks to the position, but once you’ve got it, you slowly start to sink down. Changbin gasps and whines, bewildered by what’s happening right now. “B-Baby, I- what- what are you doing? I thought- I don’t-” 

“You’re still going to wait,” you tell him after you’ve fully sat in his lap, doing your best to keep your voice steady and firm despite how deliciously his cock is stretching out. “Be good for me, and stay still ‘til I’m done, okay? And then I’ll take care of you,” you tell him, and again he whines as he watches you lift your laptop from the coffee table and set it back in your lap. 

It’s a little awkward to type like this, but you think the fun that’ll result from it is worth it. Changbin eagerly nods his head, but then he remembers that you can’t see him in this position, so he speaks the best he can. “Y-Yes, I’ll be good for you,” he says with a shaky breath, biting his lip when you squirm ever so slightly to get more comfortable.

You lean back into him, his chest pressing against your back, his face close enough to your neck and shoulder that you can feel his labored breaths tickling your skin. He hears a click on your touchpad, opening a new email he assumes, followed shortly by the sound of keys resuming as you respond to it. 

Why is this so fucking hot? His dick is fully pressed inside you, and you’re not even paying attention to him– just continuing to type away on your laptop as if he’s not even losing his mind beneath you. Or should he say behind you? Both? 

He bites his lip and closes his eyes, trying his best to keep staying still like you told him to, his hands clutching the sofa cushions to keep them from wandering without permission and distracting you from your work. 

And God, he’s trying so hard to be quiet too, but it feels so impossible. The more you type away and click open new emails, the more he throbs. And the more he throbs, the more your pussy reacts by squeezing around him. And then he can’t help but whimper, his eyes rolling back when you adjust in his lap and cause the tiniest bit of friction. 

Click, more typing. A few more clicks, more typing. Click, click, more typing. How long has it even been? Since the moment you sank down on him and started working, he feels like he’s lost all sense of time. All he knows is that your pussy has been squeezing him so good– and it’s so wet now too. Is it just as exciting for you as it is for him? Do you like it? Or is it how good he’s being for you that’s making you soak his cock? 

“B-Baby, are you almost done? Please tell me you’re almost done,” Changbin whines, the desperation in his voice palpable. You chuckle as you click send on another email, wishing you could see his face right now– you’re sure he’s absolutely debauched. “Not quite,” you answer, and you can practically hear the pout in his whine.

Changbin is many things, but impatient and disobedient is not among the list. And he’s trying so, so hard to keep staying still, but he doesn’t think he can take it much longer. Honestly, you’re not sure if you can either– you’re quickly losing focus on your emails, and you’re fairly certain at least a handful of them were written less than professionally. 

Still, you click open another one, trying not to react to the way he desperately whimpers. He can’t be bad, he can’t– so his only option is to keep sitting here, and take it. “You’re- you’re almost done now, right?” he asks after another few minutes of waiting– at least, it felt like that to him. For all he knew, in reality it could’ve been more like 30 seconds. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t wait anymore?” It’s a bit of a mean question, you know– especially since you already know the answer. But still, it’s fun to ask, and you love how whiny and breathy his voice has gotten in the time you’ve been sitting on his cock. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m really trying, I just- I-I’ve never wanted to fuck you so bad before, I’m going crazy,” he practically cries, and you’re sure that if you turned around, you’d see his plump lips formed into the cutest, most devastating pout. “But I’m- I’m good,” he continues after taking another shaky breath, “I won’t move, not unless you tell me to, I promise.”

Fuck it– you still have work, but who cares? Surely your boss will understand if you couldn’t get to every email right? You got through most of them, and that counts for something, doesn’t it? That’s the justification you give yourself anyways as you close your inbox. 

“You want to fuck me, Binnie?” you ask him, and he eagerly nods just as he did before, remembering again at the last moment that you can’t see him. “Yes, yes! I really, really want to,” he replies, letting out a salacious moan when you start to lift off him. You shut your laptop and place it back on the coffee table before you turn around to look at Changbin.

Just as you expected, he looks deliciously debauched. Lips swollen and bitten red, face flushed, eyes sparkling with hope and desire as he looks up at you. “You’re right baby, you’re good. Such a good boy,” you coo at him, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. “How do you want me?” you ask him when you pull back, and his brain has to work overtime to stop itself from short circuiting from the question.

If you’re letting him pick, there’s one clear answer that’ll make him the happiest. “Lay down- on your back, please. Want to look at you, want you to look at me,” he says, and you smile at him as you lay back against the sofa, spreading your legs so Changbin can crawl between them. He kisses you as he takes his cock in his hand, pressing it against your hole before pulling away to look at you for approval.

“Go ahead, fuck me, bunny,” you encourage him sweetly. A shiver runs down the length of his spine as he starts to push back inside you, another obscene whine from deep in his throat leaving him when he’s fully inside. He leans down to kiss you again when he starts to fuck you earnestly, because that’s all he can think to do with his overwhelming wave of emotions. 

He’s thrusting fast from the start, all the pent up desperation and need for you pouring out of him ceaselessly. Your eyes always stay on his, even when he hits your spot in the way that normally makes them close or roll back, and it makes him crazy how you’re catering to his desire to have you looking at him.  

Your eyes are so pretty, so warm in the way they look at him. Everything about you is warm– your hands when they hold him, your body when it envelops him, your voice when you speak to him. The way you smile at him when he enters the room, the way you laugh at his stupid jokes, it’s warm, all of you is so, so warm. You’re home, you’re comfort, you’re bliss.

He feels like he’s unraveling in his entirety as he looks down at you, his pace quickly growing sloppy as his cock throbs. He can’t handle the way you’re looking up at him, can feel the tears threatening to well up in the corners of his eyes. He’s so overwhelmed by it all– by the pleasure, by the way you look lying beneath him, by how much he loves you. 

“You’re so beautiful, oh my god,” he whines, every thought that’s been running through his mind falling from his lips as he squeezes you in his arms. He knows he should shut up, should bite his lip or slap his hand over his mouth before he says something he shouldn’t, but the words just keep pouring out of him. 

“You’re so pretty, so fucking pretty, I can’t take it sometimes,” he continues, whimpering when you bring your fingers to your clit and start to squeeze around him tighter. “You- you make me so crazy, you’re perfect, so perfect, and- God, ‘m so close, love you so much, I love you,” he stutters, his eyes rolling back as he feels you start to cum with him. He presses his cock fully into you one last time, his cum spurting out in thick ropes until you’re full.

He’s panting, glasses fallen down to the tip of his nose, body trembling as he slowly starts to come down from the high. “Binnie,” you call him softly, and it’s not until he opens his eyes and looks at you again that what he said hits him like a ton of bricks.

He told you he loves you. While he was fucking you. He told you he loves you.

There’s no way to turn it out around as platonic in this scenario– it’s so fucking obvious how he meant it. To say he’s mortified is an understatement; and when he tries to speak, all that comes out are pathetic stutters, every explanation he wants to offer dying in his throat. Your eyes are watery as you look at him, and suddenly his throat feels impossibly dry, his hands clammy as he pulls out of you. 

He fucked up so bad. He ruined everything, he knows he did– this isn’t how he wanted to tell you, he wasn’t even ready to tell you. And now you know, and you’re looking at him with so much concern he feels like he’s going to shatter. Not anger, not sadness, but care– a care entirely different from what he’s seen on you before.

It’s pity, isn’t it? You don’t share the sentiment and you pity him for blurting it out like that. “You love me?” you ask him, your voice soft but cautious, unsure. “I..” Changbin tries again, but honestly he just wants to cry. Every emotion, every word, lodged in his throat and stuck, but still he tries to explain himself. “I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean-”

You’ve always loved Changbin. Since the early days of your friendship, you’ve loved him. How could you not? You’d never met someone as sincere as him, his every action so affectionate and caring. A gentleman through and through, always making sure the people he loves are taken care of, always the first to offer a helping hand when someone is in need. 

But you’d given up on the idea that you could have something more so long ago– and becoming friends with benefits with him told you that he didn’t love you romantically. He was the first to offer, and people don’t offer that arrangement if it risks their feelings getting exposed; so he didn’t love you that way, you were certain. 

You told yourself you were okay with that. You were done with relationships, so tired of having your heart broken after pouring all of your love and faith into someone. And sure, you’d be heartbroken again when Changbin inevitably decides to move on, but at least it was a heartbreak you accepted would come, you’d be ready for it– that’s what you always told yourself.

But he loves you? Like, is in love with you? And he’s mistaking your surprise, your teary eyes, your struggle to wrap your head around the fact that he loves you as much as you love him as rejection. You can see it in the panic in his eyes, the way he stumbles over his words, the tremble in his voice– he thinks you don’t love him. 

How could he ever think you don’t love him? 

“Changbin, I-” you try again, and somehow the fact that you’re using his full name hurts worse; it's like a confirmation that you’re done with him, with this. It’s irrational, but the part of his brain that’s trying to talk sense into him is drowned out by the panic and fear of rejection, as if he can protect himself from the pain by accepting the fact that you don’t love him now before you say it out loud. 

“I need- I need a minute, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, because even though he knows it’s coming, he can’t bear to hear it yet. He scrambles up from the sofa, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill as he rushes back to his room. He falls to his bed, burying his face into his pillows and lets out a trembling breath. 

Tomorrow.. He can’t avoid this, knows he needs to accept it sooner rather than later, but for this tiny moment, at least until tomorrow, he’s still yours.

Changbin isn’t avoiding you. At least, not on purpose– he just hasn’t gathered the courage to leave his room yet. He feels a bit like a hypocrite; he prides himself on his communication skills, and yet in the face of an honest conversation and acceptance of rejection, he flounders. Is he pathetic? You’d have every right to think so. 

Are you going to move out now? Should he? No, he should stop beating around the bush and just talk to you. You’re not in love with him, but you do love him– and that’s supposed to be enough, he told himself so many times that it is. 

You can work past this, can’t you? It has to be possible. He just doesn’t want to lose you, even if it breaks his heart he can take not having you romantically, is totally fine without the sex– but losing you as a friend? He can’t bear that.

He sighs, covering his face with his hands as he lies in his bed. He slept like shit, and he’s sure you didn’t fare much better– a thought that adds to the guilt he feels. But fuck, he needs to face this. The only thing that would be worse than losing you as a friend because being friends with benefits blew up in his face would be losing you because he was a spineless coward. 

Changbin grabs his phone, checks the time– it’s still early in the morning, but you’re usually awake by now. With another sigh to steel himself for what’s to come, he gets up from his bed and faces his door. He takes a breath, another attempt to calm his nerves, and walks to his door, quickly twisting the knob and pulling it open. 

“Oh!” you squeak in surprise, jumping where you stand before him. Changbin jumps too, with his own little shout of surprise coming out. How long were you standing outside of his door? Were you trying to work up the nerve to talk to him too? You blink at one another for a moment, and to Changbin’s relief, you’re the first to crack, letting out a little giggle. 

He giggles too, and though it’s a bit awkward given what happened late last night, it’s a relief that you’re not mad at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Changbin explains through his giggles, and God, your smile is so cute. You cover your mouth as you try to stop giggling, eyes crinkling and sparkling as you look at him, “No, no! It’s my fault for standing outside your door like this.” 

It eases him, feels more like the normal he’s used to with you– the normal he hopes and prays you can still share after this. “Can I come in?” you ask him, and of course he lets you, stepping to the side so you can enter his room. Your body language is still relaxed, but when you look at him again, your expression is serious.

Part of him worries that the lighthearted moment you just shared was a lapse in judgment on your part, and that you’re about to chew him out for running away last night– not that he wouldn’t deserve it if you did. But what you actually end up saying is a much stronger shock to his system. “Why do you think I don’t love you?”

“Wh-What? I-I.. I don’t-” Changbin stutters, blinking at you in utter shock, not even entirely sure how to respond.

“Because I do. I love you so much, Seo Changbin. The idea that you think I don’t hurts me,” you tell him, entirely sincere. That’s the part of his impromptu confession that kept you up at night, the part that upset you? Not that he loves you when he shouldn’t, or that your friendship might be ruined?

“If you think you’re not enough for me, you are– if you think you aren’t deserving of love, you are. Tell me what it is, so I can make sure you never question how much I love you again. Okay? I need you to promise me that.”

Changbin blinks, frozen, a million thoughts and emotions running through him. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t know the answer. There was such a big chunk of his life where he wasn’t happy with himself– the way he looked, the soft parts of his personality, his desires that felt so grandiose and impossible.. 

He thought he had to live to what other people expected him to be, that it was the only way they would love him. It took him years of effort, of stumbling and falling and getting back up to get where he is now. More confident in his body, in the way he walks through the world, in the love he pours into his family and friends.

But there’s that part of his old self that still lingers– a part that calls to him late at night, that makes him question if he’s allowed to be this happy. That reminds him it’s still there when he’s weak and unsure, that crawls up his spine whenever you smile at him, that won’t let him believe that you could love him. 

Changbin isn’t the same lanky, insecure boy he was when he first met you, but maybe he is. He looks different than he did then, but maybe that part of him is still there, underneath the built up muscle and maturity. Maybe it always will be, maybe there’s no way to ever make it go away– but maybe he doesn’t need to.

He thinks of all the times you were there for him, from the very first day you met. How you always encouraged him to do what makes him happy, how you supported him through his every decision to better himself. 

“I think you’re perfect the way you are, but if going to the gym would make you feel better about yourself, you should do it!” you told him when he brought up the topic of trying to bulk up and fill out his body. “You’re so adorable Binnie, seriously, how can you be so cute?” you grinned, pinching his cheeks the first time aegyo slipped out in front of you. 

No matter which version of himself he showed you, you loved him. Each part, no matter how different and against expectations, you cared for. And even with all the work he put into himself, there was still the part of him that tried to change in his romantic and sexual relationships. Trying to live up to what he thought his partners wanted, trying to adapt himself to them. 

But so effortlessly, you dismantled the expectations he put upon himself. All the times you called him sexy and adorable in the same breath, made him believe that he could be both at the same time– that he could be manly and intimidating, sweet and loving, sexy and cute all at once, and it was all still genuinely him, all worthy of love.

Maybe it’s impossible to shove insecurity completely aside; it’s likely that it’ll always linger. Even when it’s small, and tucked away, and very nearly forgotten, it’ll be there, waiting. And maybe that’s okay, because when you have someone who loves you as you are, who reassures you and listens to you and comforts you, it’ll start to fade back out as naturally as it came in.

“I don’t know why,” he answers honestly, his bottom lip starting to quiver. His best guess is that his fear of losing someone he loves so much expounded upon his underlying insecurities, made them flare to the point that he felt like he could drown in them. 

“I just know that I love you. And I need you, and not like- not like that, I just- ..I never want to be without you,” he continues, refusing to get choked up by his emotions and let it stop him from saying what he needs to. “And I promise- I’ll tell you, anytime I’m unsure of myself, I’ll tell you.” 

You step closer to him, reach up and cup his face in your hands, rub the tears that threaten to fall from the corners of his eyes with your thumbs. His heart skips a beat when you smile sweetly at him, when you lean towards him to press a soft kiss to his lips, to tell him you love him. “You said I was perfect,” you say as you kiss him again, and then again, “but so are you. You’re the loveliest person I’ve ever known.”

You press more kisses over his face, complimenting each feature as you go. His deep, dark eyes that can be so piercing or so soft depending on the situation. His full cheeks, so cute and endearing when they’re pink from a blush, but so handsome and complimentary to his face. His downturned smirk when something amuses him that can easily turn into a fully bright upturned smile when he’s happy, and makes his nose scrunch adorably. 

“Honey,” he breathes in a soft whine, unsure of what to do with all the excess affection. You guide him back to his bed, crawling atop him when he falls back against it, continuing your trail of kisses down his neck. “You deserve this,” you tell him, smiling against his skin when you feel him squirm beneath you, “deserve it all, and more.”

Changbin brings one of his hands to the back of your neck when you pull back to look at him, bringing you back down to him so he can kiss you. He doesn’t want to hold back anymore, to try and hide how badly he needs you. He kisses you like a man starved, hungry and desperate. His desire is carnal, every inch of him aching for your attention. 

Your hands sweep over his torso, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging at it. He gets the hint, and separates from you so you can take it off him. He watches you remove yours too, heart thumping in his chest as you reach behind you to unhook your bra. He tries to lean up to kiss you again when you’re finished, but you push him back down.

He whines at first, but quickly swallows it down when you smile at him in that pretty way that makes his stomach flare with butterflies, his cock twitching as it hardens beneath you. Your hands travel his body, compliments about each and every inch of him freely falling from your lips. His arms, thick and warm and comforting. His chest, so strong and beautifully sculpted. His stomach, soft and cute, as perfect as the rest of him. 

You kiss him too– everywhere your fingers touch, your lips follow. Soft, tender, overwhelming– his heart is beating so fast and hard, all your words, touches, and kisses make his blood feel like molten lava, every inch of him unbearably hot. It chokes him up too, how sweet you’re being to him; you’ve doted on him plenty of times, but never like this.

You take one of his hands in yours next, bring it up to your lips to press achingly soft kisses to it. The palm first, and then his wrist, before you turn it over to kiss his knuckles. You kiss the tip of each of his fingers, and his breath hitches as he watches you, goosebumps erupting all over him when you gently put it down and pick up his other hand to repeat the actions. 

You treat him with so much reverence, shower him with more love than he knows what to do with. He’s trembling with emotion, aching with desire, overwhelmed by how much he loves you, how beautiful you look. He’s going to cry– seriously, he doesn’t know how much more he can take before tears start spilling out of him. 

“Honey, please-” Changbin whines, and to his relief, you pause to look at him. “Please, I- let me make you feel good, please? I want to, I- I want to show you how much I love you too,” he begs. You intended to take care of him, to shower him in affection until you inevitably made him cum, but you meant it when you said you can never deny him his desire to be sweet to you.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” you say, and you watch as he chews on his bottom lip, face heating up further as he considers what to say. He knows what he wants, he’s thought about it so many times– it’s just the admitting and asking for it part that makes him a little shy. Still, you treat him so well, and you always indulge him, so.. The only thing to do is just go for it. 

“I want.. Want you to sit on my face. Please? Please, please sit on my face,” he begs, and God, that has to be the sexiest thing he’s ever begged for. It makes your stomach flip, and if your legs weren’t straddling him, you definitely would’ve clenched them together. Lifting yourself off him, you make quick work of the remainder of your clothes. 

Changbin scoots down the bed, so your legs will have more room when you return to him, chucking his glasses away, not nearly enough care in him for where they land. He looks at you, with a devastatingly sweet and bashful smile, his arms reaching out to help you when you start to settle above him. Your knees on either side of his head, he wraps his arms around your thighs. 

The latter half of his face is obscured by your body hovering over him, but looking down, you can see his eyes, sparkling with eager excitement as he keeps your gaze. You lower yourself just a little, nervous to sit your entire weight on his face and suffocate him, but Changbin doesn’t want you to hover, he wants you to sit. 

So using the arms he has wrapped around you, he pulls you fully down to him. You gasp– partly because of the surprise, and partly from the feeling of his tongue meeting your pussy. He focuses on your hole first, lapping up all the slick that drips out of you before he drags his tongue up to your clit, licking in a long, fat stripe.

He wraps his lips around it, sucking and flicking it with his tongue until you're writhing above him before he alternates back to licking you up, bottom to top, drinking all you offer. You bury your fingers in his curly hair, and he moans when you tug on it. He squeezes your trembling thighs, letting out happy hums whenever you moan for him.

He sticks out his tongue and lays it flat for you when you start to roll your hips, letting you grind against his face and use him however you see fit to. You shiver when your clit bumps against his nose, your breaths becoming harsher as you drive yourself closer to release on his tongue.

“Oh bunny, you’re so good to me, so good, ‘m gonna cum for you,” you cry, voice whinier than you would’ve otherwise liked it to be, but the way Changbin whines eagerly in response tells you how much he loves it. A few more rolls of your hips, and you’re cumming, your thighs squeezing around his head as you keep a tight grip on his hair to keep yourself steady. 

Changbin enthusiastically laps up your release, continuing until you're squirming and whining from the sensitivity. He loosens his hold on your thighs when you do, letting you lift your leg over his head and fall to the side of the bed a little ways away from him. Both of you are breathless, but Changbin is the first to recover, and when he does he sits up and crawls over to where you landed.

He grabs your face, gently, of course, and pulls you into a kiss. His face is slick with your essence, and you can taste yourself all over his lips and tongue. “You looked so pretty,” he tells you softly between kisses, “You’re so gorgeous when you cum for me.” He carefully spreads your legs and slots himself between them, sliding his tongue around yours as he does. 

“Want to give you my cock now,” he breaths, pulling away just enough to look at you with those eager, pleading eyes that make you weak. “Want to keep making you feel good, want to- want to watch your eyes roll back when I make you cum again.” 

“Sweet boy,” you coo, spreading your legs wider for him, offering yourself to him, “do it, baby. Give it to me.”

He kicks off the remainder of his clothes in record time, taking his cock in his hand and spreading the dribbling pre-cum over his length until it’s completely wet. You’re more than ready for him, but he’s as careful with you as always, pushing each inch inside slowly. 

You reach out to him and pull him down to you, kissing him hard and sweet, drinking in the whimper he lets out when he’s fully inside you. His entire body is trembling, still worked up from all the attention you gave him and sensitive from fucking you just last night. There’s a part of him that still feels vulnerable too, but he’s safe with you, and he knows you always will be. 

He loves you well, but you love him better; and he’ll spend every moment he has showing how much he appreciates you. He doesn’t need to prove his worth, doesn’t need to do anything apart from be himself– the love you’ve given him has shown him that. You understand him, better than anyone ever has. 

You love him, you always have, long before who he is now, and will continue to long into the future. All he has to do to repay all you’ve given him is love you. Love you honestly, openly, freely– because he’s enough as he is.

When he starts to move his hips, you both moan, Changbin just the slightest bit louder than you. He tucks his arms under your shoulders and pulls you closer to him, chests touching as he steadily builds a faster pace. He’s squeezing you in his arms, whining in your ear about how good you feel around him.

He’s so high-strung and sensitive that he doesn’t think he’ll last long, but oh, is he going to try. But shit, he’s still so emotional too– he thought he would’ve recovered by now, but it keeps hitting him in waves. And when you kiss him, it makes him dizzy– not just with lust and desire, but with passion, adoration.

The way he looks down at you when he pulls away takes your breath away, so sentimental and loving. You take his face into one of your hands again, and it takes everything in him to not get choked up again. Your love is his greatest comfort, but it also makes him ache– because no one has ever loved him as sincerely as you do. 

“Do you need to stop?” you ask him tenderly, once again wiping the tears from his eyes. His heart feels like it’s going to burst from all the emotion, but he quickly shakes his head, offering you a sincere smile, “N-No, no, I’m fine! I just- I really love you,” he admits, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips to show you he means it.

“And besides, I might go actually insane if I don’t fuck you, cause seriously, how are you so fucking sexy?” he follows up. “Oh, shut up,” you giggle, playfully slapping his arm. “This is supposed to be about you, you know? My sweet bunny and how perfect he is- maybe I need to remind you?” 

Changbin curiously tilts his head at your words as you lock your legs around him and using what strength you have, and with the help of gravity and momentum, you force him to roll to his side, and then to his back. You smile down at him, your roles easily flipped, while he stares up at you, mystified and easily the most turned on he’s ever been. 

“Oh-” is all he manages to utter, his cock throbbing furiously inside you. He could’ve easily fought it– he’s physically much stronger than you, after all. But he just loves when you force him into the positions you want, loves to be malleable and pliant for you. 

You plant your hands firmly on his chest, bouncing on his cock fast, the sound of your thighs slapping together just barely louder than Changbin’s obscenely loud whimpers. “Oh God, ‘m gonna cum,” he whines desperately, too wound up and sensitive to resist it, his hands clutching at the bedsheets so hard his knuckles have turned white, “please, please, please, can I, please? Please, let me cum.” 

“I love you so much, Binnie, want you to cum for me,” you tell him, bringing one of your hands to your clit so you can cum with him, the way he always loves to. It causes you to squeeze tighter, and he gasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he trembles. “Give it to me, baby, be a good boy and cum for me.”

He does just as you ask, a messy string of “I love you”s falling from his lips until he’s too far gone to keep talking, tears streaming down the sides of his face as his eyes roll to the back of his head, and then close. His noises are high-pitched and pornographic, his entire body shaking with the intensity of his cum spilling inside you.

His vision is blurry when he starts to blink open his eyes, but soon enough you come back into focus above him, looking down at him affectionately. He smiles at you, a goofy, sweet one that makes you giggle. He wraps his arms around you and drags you down to him, pressing kisses to your lips over and over again. 

Changbin tells you everything he’s wanted to this entire time as he does; how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, how he can’t imagine his life without you in it. He blushes when you do the same, while once again making him promise he’ll tell you if doubt ever starts to creep up on him. 

The journey to loving yourself isn’t easy; it’s a long winding road, uneven and easy to stumble on. But when he falls, you’ll be there to catch him. You’ll remind him how loved he is, the value he has simply in being, how he brightens every day you share just by existing. 

You’ll always be here, growing older with him, supporting him as he continues to grow and change, each experience turning him into a newer version of himself. And in every change, in every season of his life, you’ll continue to love him. Always.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

[writingwithfolklore]

Making the Most out of your First Draft

As someone who used to write every first draft without planning and then use that to figure out characters and outlines, I have a lot of experience in first drafts that are incredibly helpful to forming an actual story, and drafts that don’t add much.

              So here’s how to make the most out of your first draft:

1. Write what doesn’t make sense

One of the most helpful first drafts I ever wrote abandoned plotlines and started new ones as though they had existed all along like several times. It was also the longest draft I had ever written because I had packed so many ideas into it. The reason why this is helpful is because you can test out what a plot point will look like in the middle or even end of your story without having to go back to the same beginning again and again.

It doesn’t need to make sense, just try things out. Disappear characters who don’t work, add a best friend near the end that acts like they’ve been there the entire time, whatever idea you’re interested in you can try out without worrying too much about what makes sense or what you’d need in place to set it up. It's like literally stream of consciousness writing, and you're going to learn so much more about your world, plot, and characters than trying to make it make sense.

2. Write poorly

I spent a lot of that first draft having characters monologue to themselves or each other about their interests and problems and lives which allowed me to explore their backstories and voice even if that’s not something I would do in a final draft. I had the wackiest plot points to see how my characters would react, what would happen to the plot, and if I didn’t like it I would keep going like nothing had happened, I did a lot of yadda-yaddaing over worldbuilding and setting the scenes and making up things on the spot to see if they’d stick, skipping sometimes to the interesting stuff, or adding in a random scene just for fun.

It doesn’t have to be good. Even a little bit. You’re learning about your world and your characters and the story you want to tell, but you aren’t writing it yet. Allow it to be the worst thing you’ve ever written.

3. Make notes on what you like

As you go through and throw spaghetti at the wall (figuratively speaking), make notes on the things that stick. If you write a line of dialogue you really like, or a piece of backstory or even a vibe, make sure to make a note of it somewhere. This will help you narrow down your ideas to what you want to keep when you start writing your story. And if you’re like me and you want to outline or plan your subsequent drafts, these notes will be invaluable to start forming your planning.

Anything else I missed?

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

5 - A War of Tragic Beginning

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

Length: 18.5k

Warnings: Angst/hurt comfort, slow burn, mentions of executions, discussions of war, blood and violence, smut, oral (m receiving), p in v, slight dom/dub dynamics, casualties of war, major character death, unexplained mystical phenomena, slight canon divergence

Notes: I have no excuse for the length alright, I apologize. Anyways, I told you this was a slow burn, so strap in because we are in for the long haul now. Series Masterlist Here.

Little news had come out of Kings Landing since Robb had received your raven about his father being injured in the streets by the Kingslayer. Maester Luwin had tried to maintain an air of rational saying that things are likely too busy but it was an unspoken look between him and Robb that talked of a worry about what as to come. Once word from you stopped coming, Robb stopped sending, the likelihood of anothers eyes intercepting any word between you, too much of a paranoia.

He had kept busy, falling into his fathers role as Lord of Winterfell more naturally then he had once feared. You had assured him the morning you left that you had every confidence in him, and a boyish part of him hoped that you’d be proud for seeing the right future in him. Bran was still getting used to his older brothers new demeanour having separate Robb from him as a brother and his more common demeanour now called Lord Robb. If he remembered correctly, he didn’t have too different of a point of view when he was a child.

Still very young, and his only other sibling, only friend even being Jon, Robb had many memories of having the free time to watch his father assume a role he was never meant to have. Winterfell was meant to go to his Uncle Brandon, and once the war ended, his father had to quickly learn to take this role over. Days his father was in court, he was much more stern whereas in the quiet of the night was when he finally could see his father laugh and joke.

Robbs nights however, weren’t filled with the same peace. A plot by the Lannisters to murder his brother that none seemed to know why, his father, sisters, and wife away in Kings Landing where the only word was him being attacked by the same Lannisters, and his own brother, his closest companion for his entire life now up at the Wall swearing his entire life to a whole new family.

It was Jons choice, but somehow it made it harder to accept.

Somewhere along the lines, Robb couldn’t help but realize that he should’ve done more as his brother. He should’ve made Jon’s life less of a series of obstacles to jump over, should have stepped in more between him and his mother’s anger. So much of Robbs life had changed so drastically so quickly.

His father named hand of the king, leaving for the captiol with both of his sisters, his brother falling from a tower in a plot to murder him, his brother leaving for the wall, and now to add being tossed into a sudden marriage with one of his oldest friends and only having one night together before she too was dragged to the capitol. Even just a year ago, Robb would’ve had Jon there to talk it out with.

They’d ride to some challenging terrain in the woods and spend the afternoon switching between jesting at the other for complaining and reassuring the other. They were both good at that, or at least Jon was. Robb once more, regretting not being more of that reassuring support to his brother when it would have mattered the most. But at least Robb could’ve gone to Jon to stop the noise in his head screaming about you.

Jon knew you as long as Robb had, and he had a better friendship with you as well. He was close with you for so many years and that was nothing to scoff at but there was a quiet understanding you and his brother had that he was thankful for. Whatever Robb couldn’t see, you always did, and vise versa. Robb had only started to work with you in the training yard, because Jon had started teaching you first. Were the one brother he could talk to still here, maybe he wouldn’t feel so strange about his feelings over you.

Robb wasn’t blind, he knew all too well you were pretty. By the time you had come to Winterfell when you were fourteen and had matured considerably since the last time he saw you, Theon who had not met you by that point made an off handed comment about being the one to teach you what a man looked like. All three of them were around sixteen at the time and he could still see the glaring and aggressive looks both he and Jon gave him instantly. But he wasn’t wrong, you were very pretty.

There had always been a spark of something there, but something in Robb told him to hold off on acting on any of it. Your friendship regardless was fond, soft looks that always warmed him on the inside and eventually Robb simply had matured enough that if this was all there was then it would be alright. Then the letter came.

Something about the morning you came to his room, nervously trying to get out that you didn’t want their first kiss to be in front of the way too big crowd of the wedding set Robb alight. The fact that you did want to, the softness of your lips and skin under his touch and the sigh that Robb didn’t even think you realized you let out dragged him down.

It was duty to marry, but you were someone he cared about, and neither of you were shying away about what being married would entail. He had to guide you that night, and as he watched you nervously collect yourself in his room looking out the window he truly felt like some lecher. His eyes unable to stop looking at you in a way he never really did before and how easily you melted under some of the lightest of touches made him want to ruin you.

It scared him how easily you two fell into something neither thought you’d ever even have, how well you felt around him and how responsive to his touch you were. And now not seeing you for months, not even knowing if you were okay? It made Robb desperate to talk to someone about how on edge it made him feel. Like he was too protective, his thoughts about you too obsessive and he needed someone who understood him to work through his mess of a mind over you.

He couldn’t really talk to Theon. He trusted him like a brother, easy to forget he was a ward, a prisoner, when they both treated each other like he was just meant to be there. But Theon wasn’t the right one to talk to about you. His interest in girls was always just sexual and Robb couldn’t even remember a time he talked about someone in any kind of romantic way. Being so far apart so soon after marrying you was messing with his head.

But, that feeling only got worse. A raven came from Kings Landing, and as he stood there with Theon and Maester Luwin, that confusion turned to rage. Holding it in his hand he looked it over again. “Treason?” Looking up to Luwin he felt as confused as he was enraged. “Sansa wrote this?”

Luwin was doubtful but confident, “It is your sister’s hand, but the Queens words. You are summoned to Kings Landing to swear fealty to the new King.”

His blood growing hot he couldn’t even bring himself to read the words another time, for case he tore it up on the spot. “Joffery puts my father, and my wife in chains and now he wants his ass kissed?”

Luwin spoke low, offering a reason that as Robb only imagined the right of you and his father tossed away in their dungeon, sunk to the lowest parts of the sea. “This is a royal command, my Lord. If you refuse to obey..”

His voice was confident now, the Lord Robb that Bran would call him. It felt drastic, but as every other scenario played in his head, none came to mind that sat alright with him. “I won’t refuse. His Grace summons me to Kings Landing, I’ll go to Kings Landing. But not alone.”

This was it, he says these words and he has chosen his, his families, and the Norths course of action but as he looked at Luwin, he didn’t see the look of someone who didn’t trust him. He saw the same support and loyalty that he’d seen towards his father many times over.

“Call the banners.” Asking to be sure, asking if he truly means all of them and he didn’t blink nor pause to respond. “They’ve all sworn to defend my father, have they not? Now we see what their words are worth.”

Luwin was proud, even if he didn’t say it. They’d dismiss him as a boy, but that was not the command of anything but a man and a leader.

It took some of the houses far sooner to get here, the North was vast but as they arrived it was with no doubt or offence. It would be a few days before they could expect all of the banners, should all of them prove their loyalty at least, and it left Robb tense.

Unable to relax, there was a constant clench in his jaw, a heavy set in his shoulders that hardened each passing hour. Grey Wind stuck dutifully by his side. He didn’t have the words to explain it, but there was a connection he had with his direwolf, something that he was sure if he brought up to Maester Luwin, would be dismissed as his imagination. But Grey Wind always knew what Robb was feeling it seemed and at times, Robb didn’t know why but it felt like he was controlling him as if he were the true wolf.

It was that sense which he put trust into that night. Grey Wind grew agitated and worked up, Robb letting him out into the main yard thinking he may just be in need of a good hunt as all of these men converged on Winterfell.

Robb was speaking with Maege Mormont when it happened, the howling of Grey Wind, a chattering just outside and the galloping of a horse. Drawing him out the doors, Robb had barley stepped onto the gravel below when his eyes deceived him.

You were feeling truly exhausted. Not having slept in days, and the second you had landed in White Harbour you heard of the banners being called and made one hard ride to get here. The no food and barley any water wasn’t didn’t make you any less shaky either. Climbing off the horse, you could only look at Robb as you struggled to catch your breathe. Looking at him, he was more of a leader then when you departed, and you were certainly not similarly better off.

He called your name, and it was hard to remember if you went to him, he you, or met both ways but all you could really recall was collapsing into his arms. Robb pulling you tight against him, one hand wrapped around your lower back and the other cupped the back of your head to hold you close to his neck. Your name once more murmuring quietly from his lips, being hummed into the side of your head as you tried pulling back. “No, no, no, relax. Hold onto me, okay?” That warm voice almost made you cry, soothing in a way you hadn’t heard or felt in months you only managed to wrap your arms around his neck before Robb swiftly scooped you up.

Turning his head away to the crowd you heard him command someone to fetch Maester Luwin, only to turn back to you quietly when you tried shaking your head. “He’s looking you over, and that’s final.” A command in his voice that was well suited on him.

A woman’s voice shouting in the background as Robb brought you inside to, “You heard him, get your asses moving,” He chuckled into you when your brows furrowed slightly.

Your eyes tried fluttering shut, so in need of sleep but Robb slightly adjusted his hold on you to be tighter and higher, “Don’t fall asleep on me now.” You tried to speak, mind racing to get it all out at once but he shushed you with a gentle murmur of your name. “It’s alright, relax for me first. Let’s just make sure you’re okay before we do anything else.”

Sitting you gently onto his bed, you winced to sit up against the headboard as Robb took to the edge of the bed facing you. A hand running over the side of your face, his bright eyes narrowing with flashes of anger at the dirt and cuts still scattered about. Your hand gently reached up, grasping at his wrist and holding it there as you ran a thumb over his pulse. Still as strong as it was when you left. “I’m fi-”

“You’re not fine, you could barley stand for two seconds the second you got off your horse.” Opening your mouth to protest, Robb called your name firmly with his other hand gently at your waist. “You going to force me to make it an order?”

Smirking weakly, you felt some of your insides come alive too at the soft one he returned. “You ordering me around as what, Lord of Winterfell or my husband?” A playful scoff left his lips as he leaned in, sliding the hand on your cheek to gently hold the back of your neck. “I’ve only just gotten back, my Lord. A little patience wouldn’t hurt.”

You barley saw him roll his eyes before he pressed his lips to yours. Nothing firm or pushing, just an ever so gentle kiss as he ran his thumb over the back of your neck from his firm grip. Your hands weak, only willing to grasp at his waist before he already pulled back. Meeting your eyes, you wanted to pull him back at how much was overwhelming his.

Both of you looking to the door as Luwin came in, a genuine look of relief in his eyes as he closed the door behind him. One that was so much more real then any of the people around in Kings Landing.

Robb stood close by as he watched him check you over. Answering his questions, where certain marks came from and Robb’s jaw tightening with each explanation. “They are mostly innocent, should heal in a matter of days but you are okay. I can get someone to fetch some food and water for you,” he looked up to Robb “and you make sure she gets some sleep.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you, “You’ll need all the energy you can to deal with the lot out there.” Laughing weekly, you leaned your head against the wall behind you, covering your face with a long sigh, collecting your thoughts.

“Are you up to telling us what happened?” Hands falling down to your lap you nodded, much more serious then just before. Glancing between Luwin and Robb you explained as best you could. About looking into Jon Arryn, the King’s death and what Renly and Petyr Baelish tried to propose and by the time you got to what truly occurred you felt the same rage you did in the moment.

“He played us for fools. Trusting him, the city watch, all of it.” Your eyes on the fire at the opposite end of the room glazing in the flames as you saw it all again. “He was right, she didn’t care what we were going to do, she knew. Cersei knew we wouldn’t stay quiet and she counted on it, we were always going to get thrown into those cells.”

Luwin relayed what the raven from Sansa had said, and you confirmed what Lord Varys had told you himself. “She’s still engaged to Joffery, and as long as she is she’ll be safe.” Pausing with a tilt of her head, “Relatively safe.”

You hadn’t mentioned Arya and neither did the letter, “What about Arya?”

Shaking your head, a weaker feeling passed over your eyes. “She’s still in the city, and if she is they’ll find her. They’ve got eyes everywhere, someone will see her and Cersei will likely keep her under close watch.”

Luwin had thought it over, “The Queen needs them alive, especially now. Three Starks to trade to prevent war.” Robb asking what about you, and the glance between you and Luwin said it all. Your eyes narrowing as you looked down to nothing as he was far more grim. “She’s not just your wife, she’s Stannis Baratheons daughter, his heir.”

Your voice was tight, yet fooled no one of the strain behind it. “If I didn’t leave when I did, I wasn’t coming out of there with my head.” Missing the restrained anger in Robb as you failed to look at either party in the room. “If somehow they beat my father, then the claim passes to me.” The words felt heavy and unnatural on your tongue as you said them. “Then they really can’t risk it.”

“You’d be dead either way.”

Turning to meet his eyes, you knew the rage behind his stilled expression all to well. A rage many Starks held and one that you had seen in his father as things continued to get worse. He wouldn’t lose it here though, with his fathers bannermen outside there was a real place to channel that rage.

Luwin left you both alone, going to ensure someone sent you up something easy to down as Robb came back to your side. Sitting close enough now that he could lean his forehead against yours, his hands on your cheek and waist while yours found enough strength to gently slide around his neck.

Despite how you both got here, there was no doubt that in this very moment, Robb felt like home and how much you truly had missed him. Maybe it was too strong or too soon, but now wasn’t the moment for you two to talk about that. Right now as he waited for someone to bring you something, you both sat in the others presence. Appreciating both the quiet and the feeling of the other in your arms, but like that day by the Weirwood as everyone else left to give you two a moment. Just quiet closeness to reassure the other, it had to be about you two now and your heart was much lighter at the sensation of how easy it was getting to allow it to be that way.

You’d remember your strange dream that night in the black cell later, the one of fierce cold and fire and the urgency in the rasping voice that you once knew but couldn’t place the longer you were away from the dream. But right now, it was the soothing, all consuming warmth of the one you vowed to be with.

Laughing to yourself, he pulled back with a slight grin. Running a hand over your hair, “What?”

Maybe it was how tired you were, but it just slipped out no matter what you had just tried to tell yourself not to do. “You make it too easy to fall in love with you, you know?” Robb’s eyebrows raised and his eyes lit up playfully.

“Do I, now? Do you want to elaborate on that at all?” Rolling your eyes you tried turning away but he gently pulled you back. “Oh no you, don’t. You’re in my bed, you’re not getting away that easily.” Leaning in he brushed his mouth against yours as he spoke, “How about my pretty little wife tells me all about what’s made her cold, hard, exterior fall for a man like me?”

You smirked as you felt your insides fluster, you were exhausted and for days on end now, in a constant state of panic and yet here Robb was making you feel like a little girl as he teased you. Part of you felt guilty at how Jon had simply known you’d find it easy to do so, but looking at Robb you knew not only did he deserve to be loved but you wanted it to be from you.

Something about these Starks apparently spoke to you. One real father away on the island of your home and yet the one you worried for was the wolf trapped away in Kings Landing. So much of the men in your family found no love or affection for the women in their life and yet both of Eddard Starks eldest sons found their own unique way to make you soft on the inside.

Pushing forward to kiss him yourself, Robb sighed into your mouth. His body relaxing a bit more like you both could only put on a ruse like this for so long. Pulling away just enough to press his lips to your cheek and down your jaw you smiled weakly, “You’re supposed to let me rest.”

Humming as he kissed your neck, it almost tickled from the brush of his facial hair. “I never said you had to do anything, my lady. Just relax, and take it like a good girl.” Oh he was unfair, he was not allowed to make you shiver like that now of all times.

Lightly pushing him back, he breathed a laugh at the knock at the door, sitting back to give you space as he called them in. To your surprise, the door was rather busy. One made sense, Grey Wind having found his way inside, no doubt also keeping to Robbs side more as people arrived. Some likely unsure of being around the increasingly growing dire wolf, and seeing him obey at his masters side would lighten that doubt.

The three others, one was a large man you recognized as Hodor carrying little Bran who upon seeing you widened his eyes and exclaimed your name. Nodding to the bed, Bran glanced at the large man with a polite, “Please, Hodor”.

Steps loud and large, Hodor reached the bed where Robb gently took his brother himself to sit up up close to you the way Robb was. Bran reaching forward the same time you did with a hug, you burying your face at the top of his head running a hand over his back, little exchanges of “I’m so glad to see you,” followed by an “I missed you too.”

Pulling back he sat in front of you as you looked up to the other woman. Not a face you recognized but putting down a tray of what looked like a simple broth and bread. She avoided your eyes but curiously glanced up as you moved your head to meet hers. Bran spoke up first, “This is Osha, she’s-”

“One of the free folk.” She paused before adding on a quick, “My lady.” That sounded unnatural from her mouth, which given who she was you supposed made sense. A quick glance to Robb he nodded calmly that he’d explain later but assuring enough to trust her. Gesturing towards Bran, her voice was deep and with a bit of a rasp that sounded strained, but appeared to just normal. “The little lord heard you’s was here and wanted to see you.”

Thanking her, she turned and slunk away as you watching curiously before looking back to Bran, running a hand over his hair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you woke up.” He seemed to be in better spirits then what Robb had written to you about, no doubt time doing much of the help.

You three sat for a while, you slowly working away at the food while Bran sat, leaning slightly against Robb as you all pretended like the world outside the room wasn’t awaiting death and war. You noticed Rickon wasn’t there, but Luwin later would tell you that Robb calling the banners had almost sparked something in the six year old that made him spend more time on his own.

You felt for him, he was too young. Bran was as well, but at ten he was better equipped to handle and understand the situation. Growing late into the night, Hodor took Bran to bed as Robb insisted you sleep, noticing it was getting harder for you to keep your eyes open.

By tomorrow night almost everyone should be arriving or close to, and when they did? You and Robb were to be put to the real test. A lifetime of being raised by respected lords and leaders and the question of not only could you both be leaders, but did you have it in you to do it together.

Morning came early, far too early but you had woken up in a way you could barley remember by your return. The sun just lightly shining into the window from the more cloudy northern skies, a warm fur draped over you as you lay in a bed, one actually soft and forgivable on your muscles. But it was the warm body behind you that pulled you out of your sleep.

One large warm hand draped over your hip has caused your shirt to ride up ever so slightly, enough that it let him slip under and explore whatever he could find. Sometime during the night, he seemed to have pulled away the thick of your hair out of his way, giving him the space to rest his own head partially against the back of yours and enough for Robb to have pressed a few gentle kisses to your neck when he joined you in bed hours after you fell asleep.

The stone walls of his room were so much more relaxing then the brightness of any quarters you had in the captiol. Twisting slightly, you tested if you could move without disturbing him, but Robb just adjusted in his sleep to whatever you did. Turning to face him now, your hands rested gently in the small space between you.

You wondered if you looked so calm, so at peace in your own sleep. Somehow you doubted it, Robb was the better one to look at in this pair afterall. His brown curls once more tinted red in the morning light, begging you to gently run you fingers through them. Trying not to jostle, you sighed quietly at how soft they were and how easily you could play with his hair.

This..well this was something unique for you. For everything that had your heart before him, the only time you’ve ever had the real grace of waking up next to someone to intimately were dark, stormy nights on Dragonstone. Nights when Shireen had snuck into your room and whispered if you could let her sleep in your bed tonight.

But waking up like this was something you only had once before, with the same man. This time your exhaustion wasn’t from any memory you wanted to look back on, this time it was the scattered fears of fleeing a city wanting your head no doubt. Just as you tried to shake off such a thought, Robb’s brows furrowed, eyes still not open.

His voice matted in sleep, accent thick as anything and slurring together as it came out raw. “You trying to drive a man crazy this early in the morning?” Opening one eye with a playful annoyance you breathed out your own laugh in return. Robb flipped onto his back, arms pulling you along with him, your body cuddled into his side as your head rested closer to his chest.

Moving in closer, you felt your limbs buzzing at how new yet normal it felt with him. “I’m not allowed to admire my husband?” If the way his grip on you tightened, so freely calling him that stirred something within that man.

Keeping his eyes sharp on the ceiling with a smirk sliding onto his lips, Robb let one hand trail down your side. “Not when it riles him up so easily, and you’re supposed to be resting.” His hand said something different however. His palm rough on you as it made its way to your waist, stopping to greedily squeeze the soft skin he could grasp at. His smirk grew at the skip in your breathe.

Your own eyes narrowing playfully as you gently ran your own hand over his chest. Pushing the open sides of his shirt off him to give your fingers room to explore without anything in your way. “I’m supposed to be. Didn’t stop you from getting in the way of that last time.”

Mistake. That seemed to be a mistake. Robb shoved his hand down your hip and thigh, the force of the action shoving your pants down with him. Turning slightly to see you better, you weren’t nearly as teasing or daring as your words. It only made him bold.

Suddenly moving so that you were the one on your back and Robb learning over you on his side, his face looking down your legs as he yanked them the rest of the way off one leg. Pulling back to hover over your bottom half he grabbed the other side and yanked it off as well, tossing the article to the floor like it offended him.

He didn’t give you a chance to return the favour. Climbing up your body, Robb just as roughly pulled your shirt off as well leaving him mostly clothed and you laying back in his bed completely bare. His eyes raking over yours he found himself pausing, “How is it you look even better then I remember?”

Not giving you a chance to answer, Robb leaned down and captured your lips. His kiss much greedier then last night as he wrapped an arm around your back to pull you up into him. Your hands running over his chest and pushing the material off of him enough that you could grasp onto his shoulders.

One hand grasping your jaw to tilt your head to stay exactly where he wanted. Your knees parting without thought to let his hips slide into the space as he hovered over you more. Biting you bottom lip, you could feel the sting from his force pulling a gasp from you. Robb chuckled darkly into your mouth at the high pitched sound, using the perfect opportunity he wanted to slide his tongue into your mouth.

One hand raking up into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as he dragged his tongue along yours while his hand on your jaw gave you no choice but to let him taste you at his mercy. Dragging his fingers along your inner thigh as he dragged them slowly across your folds, you jolted and grasped onto him tighter when he dragged his nails over your clit.

Moving your neck to push your head into the pillows, he granted himself access to your neck with bites not letting you ease into it. Gasping his name, Robb smirked against your neck as he bit and sucked at the skin with much more ferocity then he had your only other night together.

His fingers slid back down your entrance and back up in the same tease as before with no pause, your thighs now sat the side of his own hips shaking slightly as you exhaled trying to keep composure. A feat not worth fighting as you let a whine slip as Robb pressed his lips firmly to a sensitive spot of your neck that he could feel soak his fingers more. Slipping them up to your ear your eyes fluttered as his warmth breathe ran over it, “Is it really this easy to make such a composed woman into such a needy thing for me?”

Another whine failed to swallow down your throat before he heard it. Pushing up onto his knees he pulled the rest of his shirt off. Reaching for his own pants he paused, hands right at the lace when he looked up at you with a dark need. Slowly Robb moved his hands to slide over your thighs and grasp at the skin.

Your chest heaving you couldn’t stop glancing down as your veins burned in a need. “Robb-”

“You want my cock?” It should’ve been shameful how you didn’t even think to nod, but his eyes only grew darker. “Be a good little wife and pull it out for me, then.” What should’ve been more shameful was how quickly you sat up to obey him. The way he looked at you like you were just a juicy piece of meat all for his ravishing hunger made your brain feel foggy.

Looking up at him, you undid the lace slowly pulling the material down. Just as you freed his cock, he grasped the back of your head, keeping your eyes on the thick length begging for attention. You couldn’t understand why you felt so willing to do anything he wanted or asked, but it was like having only him and his touch in your thoughts was a craving. Your hands gently grasped at his hips as he still knelt above you, his voice thick as anything. “It’s all yours. Just ask for it.”

“Please, Robb, my lord, I want you in my mouth.” Were he not spreading them you’d have clenched your thighs together at how tightly he fisted your hair as he almost hissed at you. Unable to risk speaking, he pushed your head forward.

You licked the tip of his cock, eyes closing at the salty taste of precum already leaking out. Moving to take the rest of his length into your hands, he tsked at you with a tightening in your hair. Fingertips flexing, you kept them on his hips as you took his tip into your mouth. Sucking gently as you licked what you could it, it didn’t miss you that even just this he stretched your mouth wide.

Ever so slowly, he allowed you to take him at your own pace, your own saliva building up and coating his cock the deeper you took him. Pushing past a certain point only a little over a third, your heart skipped a beat of what felt like panic. Robb however, seemed to sense it, loosening his grip and more massaging where he held you at your hair, his other hand reaching for your neck. His thumb gently running up and down your throat, as you felt your heart steady and your muscles relax.

“That’s a good girl. You can take all of me, I know you can.” How was he so calming yet making you even wetter all at the same time? It took some time, Robb muttering small praises before you were more then halfway down his length.

You pulled back a bit, as Robb guided your head himself now to pull your mouth up and down his cock, the sight of your closed eyes enjoying as you bobbed your head on him too much. His head falling back with a needy groan, something which might be your name thrown in there as he let you take this for now.

The more you sucked his cock, the more you forgot the world around you, the more worked up you felt on the inside and the more eager you became to take all of him. His length throbbed just as he yanked your mouth from him. A trail of saliva caught between his length and your gasping lips as you looked at him. Soaked from your mouth and shining from how much you spread his own precum along as well.

In an instant, Robb shifted. Pulling you up to his lips as he leaned down to yours. “Turn around for me,” He muttered between another kiss.

Without thought, you moved onto your hands and knees as Robb yanked your hips up more, forcing your face slightly towards the bed. One palm sliding over to roughly grasp at one of your ass cheeks he swore with a grumble under his breath. The other went to gather the wetness between your legs and ran across your clit with two fingers. You gasped as the spark of pleasure burned your core as he was firm and rough in his touch.

Pressing himself closer the tighter the rough circles he had on your clit, the more overwhelmed you felt from it. Head dropping you found it hard to breathe at the constant touch and Robb behind you left your ass to drag up your spine and grasped the back of your neck. Pushing you to stay face down into the sheets as he slid the two fingers deep inside you. Pumping quickly for only seconds before pulling them back out and up to your clit again as you begged with “Please,” and breathless “Robb- oh fuck,”

The hand on the back of your neck made you feel like an animal forcing to obey their pack leader, but perhaps that's exactly what this was. He was the wolf, and you were the mate on your hands and knees soaking his hand. Only Robb’s own need was strong.

Just as you moaned, the fire inside you burning to bright and snapping, your orgasm washing through you did Robb push inside. His cock just as soaked from your mouth and what his own touch gathered from you, he slid in deep way too fast.

You were too slick inside and he sunk deep enough in one thrust that you could’ve cried, but you may have cried more if he pulled out. Pausing, Robb leaned over you, his cock that way pressing firmer inside as he rested his forehead against the back of your own. “Fuck- I should punish you for keeping a cunt this good from me for so long.”

His hips started to move, and they were not gentle but maybe they shouldn’t have been. The pace was fast but the roughness was unrelenting to the point that you could only dig your hands into the sheets and brace yourself. He felt so thick inside of you and his thrusts so fast and rough that it took your words and your breath but not his own.

Biting at your ear he slurred out in great desire as he pounded into you, “My perfect girl, perfect little wife so fucking good for me, taking my cock,” You whined his name and his laugh almost sounded somewhat delirious. “Oh fuck, clenching around me like you want me to spill inside of you already, That what you want? Want me to fill you up already?”

You barley could nod from how pressed into the sheets you were, but you would’ve stayed that way for as long as he kept fucking you so intensely. “Anything, fuck anything Robb please,”

His strength was less rough but his pace was deliciously cruel. “Don’t say that, don’t you fucking say that if you don’t mean it.” His entire chest laid over your back as he buried his head into your neck rambling. “You have no idea the thoughts that run through my head about you, no fucking clue. You’d run back to your father if you knew the things I want to do to you.”

You cried out his name, reaching one hand blindly behind you to grab onto him and grasp his hair like your own anchor. “Please, I mean it, I mean it I promise. I’m yours, fuck-”

His words spitting into your skin as he pushed your orgasm right back to the edge, his cock having to pound into you with more force just to fuck you as deeply as you clenched so tight around him. “You’re mine, pretty girl?” You nodded but he needed more. “Say it. If you’re mine tell me, fuck tell me you’ll always be mine and I’ll fill this cunt right fucking now.”

Nothing else came to mind, only him. “Always. I’m yours, Robb. Now and always,”

The angle was awkward, but as Robb turned you to bring his lips to yours with force neither of you cared about how messy it was, how your teeth bashed against the other at one point as he kissed you and fucked you, he dragged your orgasm right around his cock.

Crying his name into his mouth, his deep groans turned to moans as he came as well. You could feel his seed, more thick then you remembered and somehow so warm as he filled you up. As long as you were still feeling shocks of pleasure from your orgasm, somehow you kept milking Robbs cock for all he could spill inside of you.

Both of you were ragged, out of breathe as he stayed inside you, laying atop you as neither tried to move him or yourself. It was a while you stayed just like that, his touch turning to gentle and soothing eventually. His voice turning much warmer and soothing again as he lulled you back to the present with soft nothing whispers.

You two only had one other night in this bed, and yet today was your last for you didn’t know how long once more. Only this time, as the men all gathered on Winterfell, you’d decide on final plans before departing and then in the dead of night?

It would be the true final judgment, did your lives truly prepare Robb and yourself for war. But at the very least, you both had the other for however this journey took you both. You weren’t going to sit idly as war fought alone for the father who made you feel as he was yours as well.

For all his faults, you at least understood what it was about Northerners that you could see would greatly put off your father. Some of these men you knew, others you didn’t but there was no question that they saw you as part of the dynamic. Maege Mormont took a liking to you right away, with a comment that would’ve flattened your father and sent him walking into the sea were it him.

“And those ingrates said you didn’t have enough of the North in you.” An arm wrapping around your shoulder, she pulled you into her tall, large frame fondly. “Looks like our lady here got plenty of Northerner in here last night.” Her other hand nudging at the marks you had quickly realized just wouldn’t get covered.

Robb had smirked quite proudly to himself when you realized he had done so on purpose.

The laughs though, didn’t put you off. From everything you’d heard about the woman next to you, your tongue slipped the words out easily as dry as ever. “I can hear the bears all growling without you to warm their nests from here, Mormont.”

Grasping your shoulder she shook you with a hearty laugh as did the others. Introducing you to her daughter, Dacey. Just as large and imposing but with the same grin on her face as she forewent the formalities with you as well.

Maege had been the one to give you the run on which lords were which and what houses you didn’t already recognize. Normally with a greeting and nudging you up yourself. Knowing the men you’d fight beside with was not out of the ordinary for you, you knew most of your own fathers bannerman by sight but the ease of their handshakes and talk put your mind at ease.

Northerners were different then you, for many reasons you got along with them but at the end of the day you to anyone else would be seen as the enemy. You grew up in the Crownlands, your Uncle was the King and your father one with his own claim down south. Your blood was that of the Andals, theirs of the First Men and yet the ones who didn’t trust you spoke to you and found little to care about in those differences.

And the others, well seeing how you already knew a number of these houses was answer too. It was hard to remember, that across the continent, another war was being prepared by the one man it seemed the Crown thought you’d stand by.

But you were told to stand by your family, and if Eddard Stark had not made you feel as if he was a father to you already? You lived half your life in the North, with these people, your heart belonging to more then one. And now you were Robb’s wife, and that made you a Stark to them more then those who still saw you as a Baratheon.

As the sky fell, more plans begun to form and a camp was in mind that would be the first act of taking them all out into the field. Draped in a fur and standing so confidently at Robb’s side you could feel the starting of looking at those who made such promise of council.

Having come over to greet Robb, you were then met with a pair of curious eyes that sat on the face of a very hard to read man. His voice was smooth and with a quiet kind of power his handshake to you felt unusually tight. His eyebrows raised however, when you squeezed back with your own strength as he now kept his eyes on you. “I must say, my lady, you are surprisingly exactly what I expected.”

Your face remained impassive as you struggled to find something behind the polite gaze. “And what would that be, Lord Bolton?”

Then there was a small half smile on one side of his mouth. “Your father has quite the reputation as a commander. I see much of that in you.” Nodding his head to Robb, “The lad is lucky to have you by his side.”

He and Robb shared an easier look before he pulled you a tad closer with a playful tug around your waist. “That I am. I’d be a fool if I just left her here after spending all those years knocking her into the dirt.” You narrowed your eyes playfully as his smirk grew wider. “Hey, I didn’t say I was still doing it.”

Bolton looked at you with a curious gaze. “I look forward to finding out how a southern girl fairs against her own kind with the North at her side.”

In the moments as he walked off you and Robb were silent before you spoke up. “You’re sure I should come with you?” His eyes narrowing as he turned to stand at your front. “You don’t think it’s a mistake having me at your side out there?”

“Where’s this coming from?”

Shaking your head, you tried turning away crossing your arms over your chest. “I know how to swing a sword, but maybe that doesn’t mean I have the right to be out there with you and these men.”

Robb grabbed your upper arms, not a trace of amusement in his eyes and a sternness in his voice as he looked at you. “How many wars have you fought in?”

“None.”

“How many have I fought in?” You tilted your head at him in indignation but he ignored it. “How many?” You repeated the last answer. “Exactly. You’ve been in as many battles as I have. You’ve trained like I have, and yet none of those men are telling either of us we should just stay here and let them do the fighting for us. They trust me to lead them as I’ve called upon them. And I trust you.”

You looked off at the nothing in the growing sunset for a bit, your voice smaller then you wished. “It’s paralyzing. Not knowing that it’s really going to be like.”

You didn’t see it but Robb smiled softly. Tilting your chin to look over at him with two fingers he leaned down to you. “At least we’ll be scared shitless together.” He pressed a short kiss to your lips before pulling away and tugging you into his side.

“Now come, we have a bunch of men in the main hall all clambering to yell about which one of them gets to do the most killing.” Huffing a laugh, you thought back to your father once more.

Certainly, a very different atmosphere then the kind of army he commanded indeed.

The more ale in their bellies the more rowdy they became over it. Robb had you sat by his side in the hall, Bran beside him on the other table end and Grey Wind having found a place between both of them on the floor. You felt for him, having to watch his brother leave off for war and leaving him in charge of Winterfell at only ten.

At the opposite end of you and Robb sat quite a large and imposing man. Greatjon Umber has a loose tongue and a louder yell as discussions continued. “For thirty years I’ve been making corpses out of men, boy. I’m the man you want leasing the vanguard.”

With one elbow on the table resting over your mouth your eyes narrowed slightly at the roundabout debate continuing on. Robb beside you was stern yet too growing agitated. “Galbart Glover will lead the van.”

Greatjon acted as if he’d just been served piss stew as he scrunched his face up in offence. “The bloody wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover.” Robb leaned forward, resting both hands together in front of him, his shoulders tense. “I will lead the Van, or I will take my men and march them home.”

You rose your head high, a narrowed look that caught Brans attention before Robb’s did. His eyes were unamused when he looked to Greatjon. Sitting back as his voice came out rough and yet unwavering in tone. “You are welcome to do so Lord Umber.” Standing slowly he braced his palms on the table as the ferocity didn't even blink in his eyes. “And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep, and hang you for an oathbreaker.”

“Oathbreaker?” Jumping from his seat, Robb stood straight as you and multiple others stood from yours in defence. The man pushing his luck a great deal too far had silence wash over the hall. “I’ll not sit here here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass-”

In an instant something that caught stuck with you played out. Not even half a second went by, did he reach for a blade by his side did Robb’s eyes narrow slightly and a growl let out. Grey Wind leaped up onto the table and in a few short steps lunged onto the man grasping at his hand with his teeth.

A snap echoed as Greatjon yelled out in pain on the ground, while Grey Wind calmly returned to Robb’s side. Calm as the wolf had been moments before the outrage as Robb scratched behind one of his ears staring still at the rising man holding his bleeding hand. “My lord father taught me it was death to bare steel against your liege lord. But doubtless. The Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me.”

Throwing his chair to the side, none moved but all with watching unsure eyes as you and Robb both stood next to each other with still gazes. “Your meat...” Something in the man seemed to dull back down as he looked around the room then back to the two of you. Realizing in his haste, he had pushed Robb too far and bore the punishment for the subordination. He rose his bleeding hand, and so did he lighten his tone. “Is bloody tough.”

A different air in a Northern Army indeed, as both men started to laugh as did the hall join in with ease as the tension melted down to nothing. Crime committed, justice given and both men could look at the other knowing their limits. For a quick second as the man looked at you, a smirk on his face as Robb placed a hand on your thigh, the touch burning as if his blood ran hot from such an encounter.

“No wonder you fit so well, lass. I’m not the only one whose got a wild bite or two in ‘em now am I?” Gesturing with the bloody hand to your neck, maybe you should feel ashamed for such marks be so glaringly obvious but the laughs that came weren’t at you. In fact a fair few seemed to be of an amused approval.

Robb beside you, tightened his grip on your thigh. Roughed up by a wolf indeed, you were. Only you’d ask for it, even beg for it at this point. The warmth of Robb beside you, the heat of the castle, and yet for some reason as you glanced at him? Feeling something grow inside of you at how easily he sat there in control of such a rowdy barrage of soldiers?

You felt a strange wave of cold, a cold that felt just like that image of fire and rasping tone that so far away from you now, you couldn’t quite recall what it was you had dreamt. But the cold returned as you sat there, at Robbs side preparing to leave for war.

It didn’t last, but it wasn’t the same cold that the army had all left into. Whatever cold and the distant rasp seemed to be trying to get to you with, was something that not even the furs around you shook off.

For only a second, you thought of ice.

Snow had begun to fall once you had reached Moat Caitlin. Only a light dusting that stayed not long after hitting the ground but it felt fitting. The North left for war and this brought the cold with them.

You had all left in the middle of the night, eyes could be on you at any time and under the cover of darkness was the safest bet. Robb took no chance at allowing the Lannisters to find out they were coming. You both had looked back at Winterfell one last time before turning to the other. If the other had nerves running through their heart, neither of you showed it.

A number of you stood in one of the tents, around a map as word reached you all of both forces against you. Tywin Lannister had his army planted close to the Trident and had the numbers, but with a lesser number still greater then the North had, Jaime Lannister was besieging Riverrun fast and pushing them back close to their tails.

“Lord Tywin has more commanders at his own camp-”

“Jaime’s moving faster through-”

Your eyes trained on the map, seeing the forces move in the stillness of the image as you looked to the numbers coming to mind. Either choice was risky, yet the lands that surrounded them spoke to different fights to come. The man around you speaking in your watchful quiet, “Our scouts confirm it’s even larger then the Kingslayer’s.”

“One army or two, the Kings in the North threw back hosts ten times as large.”

You were quiet but the eyes you as you spoke both had a similar understanding. “We worry about their numbers to ours we’ll be here until they find us. We push on Tywin and there’s nothing around us except to chance us against theirs.”

Roose Bolton glanced to you curiously, “What are you suggesting?”

“If we break-” Multiple lords at once looking up, had you and Robb turn to a sight that you hadn’t expected. Lady Catelyn stood with Ser Rodrick almost with a look between shock and worry on her face to the scene she arrived at.

Her and Robb shared a moment where they hesitated to embrace in front of the men, almost making you smirk. Truly there was more love in that little moment then you think you’d ever seen publically from your father in a lifetime. Whatever image of leadership was at their thoughts was already far too much for Stannis Baratheon.

Lady Catelyn smiled at her son in front of his men at the minimum.

Looking at you, she found a far sight from the stripped down emotions you two shared in Brans room as he lay unconscious. Had you asked her, you reminded her far more of the detached reputation of Lord Stannis. You nodded once at her as she requested, “I would speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.”

In a quick moment, you found yourself feeling unwelcome. Not to any fault of hers, but you found yourself pulling from Robb. His quick touch to your waist pushed back gently as you jolted your head to the entrance of the tent. “You heard her.”

Beside you, Theon was shoved forward as well. Greatjon snatching him like wrangling a child, “You too, Greyjoy. Are you bloody deaf?”

The pair of you came beside the other as you gave the pair space to talk, you not looking back at what still didn’t feel like your place. Theon however, felt no qualms of bringing it up. “You’re as much her family as you are Robb’s you know.”

Face flat, you shrugged a shoulder. “She said alone. Can’t be alone if I’m there.” Looking forward you could see Grey Wind wandering along the edges of the camp, eyes trained on you without having any need of. You thought of that day in the hall before looking back to the men around you. Theon kept looking as you shook your head. “What?”

Stopping, you turned to look at him as he looked not like he did to a superior he served, but just as the boy you spent years with at Lord Stark’s side. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Brows narrowing in confusion he stepped forward with an eye roll. “Your father’s off on an island about to declare war on the Lannisters too and you’re not with him. Don’t try and tell me that doesn’t make you feel a bit fucked up.”

Oh, oh this is not what you wanted to talk about at all. It was hard to tell if you gave anything away in your expression as you looked to him. “Robb’s-”

“A husband that he chose for you.” Something inside you felt uncomfortable, not with Theon but with an implication you were clever enough to pick up on. “I’m just saying, you’re still that old bastards daughter and if he’s the one with the actual claim to the throne then that-”

“Don’t.” A harsh almost whispered hiss that took him back. You did not want to hear this, that was not the life you chose and not something you were meant for. “I’m not fighting for a fucking chair, Theon. I’m here for the Starks. That’s all.”

The air between you was thick at the sheer amount that neither of you were saying, and it wasn’t lost on you how he didn’t chose his path to serve this House as you did to marry into it. If he was almost one, as he was insinuating that you could be one right now?

Absolutely not. You wanted nothing to do with this, and neither should he. He tried saying your name and you shook your head. “We are not discussing this.”

You hated whatever the hell this had turned into. Something unspoken and volatile swimming between you both that if you wanted nothing to do with, you pleaded on the inside for him to drop it as well. It was not the same as what happened then. This was about Lord Stark, about the girls, about keeping together the family that had made you both like one of their own.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Grey Wind perched closer by with an eeiry aggressive look in his eye looking in Theons direction. Nervously looking between you both, he backed off with a genuine regret. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

“It was.” A mere second passed before you exhaled. Looking around the camp with a much easier time breathing before turning to stand more beside him as you felt the brush of Grey Wind come to sit close next to you, your hand reaching down to run over his head gently.

“Now that you’re married, is it wrong of me to say you look sexy in that armour?”

Whatever he tried to bring up, now gone into the wind once more. It wasn’t a life meant for either of you, and you knew it. So you both stood there and laughed. Nudging him with your arm he nudged back as you both glanced with a small smirk. “Still look better then you, Greyjoy.”

If something more was running through his head, it was impossible to say, but you laughed together and felt less like you both were here armed and armoured for bloodshed. But once more two people who had long bonded over irritating duties and even more distant fathers.

Running your hand over Grey Wind you spotted Maege Mormont over in the distance, what looked like yelling but could just be her natural manner when story telling. The rowdiness of the northern army stood out so much more. The only other army you’d truly seen ironically was what led you to Theon.

Your father had taken charge of taking down his uncle, Victarion Greyjoy and his Iron Fleet in the Straits of Fair Isle. A victory which allowed your uncle, Robert and Eddard Stark to gain access to the Iron Islands and end the rebellion. In exchange for Balon’s life he surrendered his ambitions to take his crown and gave his last living son up as a ward to the Starks.

Victarion as far as you knew continued to serve his brother and the third, Euron had been banished for crimes that you need not think about. That was a man who was a true Iron Islander. Does and takes what he wants, only paying what they called the Iron Price. If they want something they only get it by taking it. Standing next to Theon though?

Watching other Northerners? You two felt similar. Neither of you belonged with these people by blood, but in many ways you also didn’t feel at home with your real blood. Balon hadn’t been Theon’s father for ten years and Stannis had not treated you like a real daughter in the ten years since Shireen was born either. Yet you stood here now, accepted amongst these kinds and both someone of great importance to Robb Stark.

But still, perhaps what was spoken between you? Was just the insecurity of both, the worry that you wouldn’t be seen as one of them, and the wonder if you should be? For now, all you had to focus on was getting the Starks back.

Everything else now was secondary. This wasn’t a war of anything but justice.

It was Catelyn who later found you, “It seems our families can’t stop going into war together.”

Looking up at her from where you had been partially leaning against a tree, your tilted your head in mild agreement before looking back out to the camp. “Perhaps the crown should stop giving us reasons too.” Clearly there was something else on her mind, but you could see she was struggling to find the right words for it. Pushing up you stood next to her for a moment before speaking up. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Her face shifting into something confused before it morphed more into a motherly concern, saying your name consolingly you just shook your head and looked straight.

“No, I know I shouldn’t have. I thought I didn’t have enough time to get to him, or find Arya or Sansa and I just left. I was there to stand by your husband and do my duty, and I failed that.”

You could sense part of her wanting to come closer, the soft embrace of a mother but with your arms crossed and a distant harsh stare she looked down before taking but one step closer to your side. Not that she said anything, but it didn’t fail to occur to Catelyn that her own reunion with Robb was likely nowhere near anything you’d get should you see your own father and mother again.

The truth she spoke wasn’t sugar coated at the least, “If you had stayed there, the Lannisters would prefer your head on a spike then to even consider trading you.”

A whisper, but one without fear or pain as if you had thought of it too many times to be bothered anymore. “Knowing Joffery, he’d have it sent to my father. Paint a nice picture of what he was willing to do to keep his uncle from taking his throne.”

It bothered Catelyn that this didn’t seem to horrify you as it did her or Robb. “And yet you still think you shouldn’t have left? What would that do, whose justice are you serving by rotting away in a cell?”

A question you thought you knew, but the more you considered it the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that running wasn’t how you were raised. “We both stood in that room and committed the same crime, but I’m the one free and he isn’t. My duty was to stand by his side, what should these men think of me? Knowing I fled that?”

“Your duty is also to stand by Robb’s side, is it not?” Shoulders tensing, you felt tightness in your chest that put a pressure on your lungs. “There is every chance we can get Ned and the girls back safely, but you’re also Lord Stannis’s daughter. Cersei thinks she has no reason to fear us, but she does about your father. And killing you sends a better message then keeping you alive.”

Your eyes were trained down on your feet, a noise in your head that begun to turn into an ache. “I’m willing to wager trading your families lives in favour of my own would’ve caused a lot less bloodshed.”

She had no chance to respond, Robb’s warm voice coming up behind you both. “You mind if I steal her away?” Catelyn relented, but a look between them spoke of a worry in her eyes as his hand found it’s way to your lower back and pushing you forward. Beside him was a larger man, a harsh narrowed almost glare on his face and an armour that was dissimilar to the men around him but a little more like the lighter material of yours. The black colour also flared out in what looked like scales.

Robb introducing you both, and the design clicked. Brynden Tully, known to many as the Blackfish. You nodded to him as he watched you back with a curious look. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, my lady but I would’ve much preferred it to be anywhere but here.”

A weak willed half smirk slid onto your face for only seconds. “Same to you.”

Robb could sense something wasn’t quite right, but it just wasn’t the moment to address it nor did he suspect you were going to make that easy. He’d seen Theon talk to you about something and since then it was like something changed in your brain and kept you at arms from everyone around you.

At least it’d be easy to get out of the Greyjoy what he said then to try and force you to explain what was bothering you. He knew all too well you tended to keep it bottled up until it exploded.

The area around the table was crowded as those present huddled to debate their movements, plotting out who was where in the process. Robb was standing at the head, you and Theon on either side of him. Ser Rodrik to your left, then around the bend was Greatjon Umber, Brynden Tully, Rickard Karstark then closing the loop beside Theon was Roose Bolton.

Night had fallen on the camp and a decision needed to be made now if they were to have any chance at riding ahead of any scouts from the opposite end. Roose Bolton leaning forward as he debated his own stance. “We need to get him on broken ground, put his knights at a disadvantage.”

Greatjon was loud in response to the former’s more quiet tone but with no less fever. “No, we need to get around him and break Jaime Lannister’s siege of Riverrun. Do that and the River Lords will join us.”

Peeling your eyes from the map you met the man’s eyes, a spark of agreement that had you both give the other a very slight nod. Loud and brash, but he had a better point in your eyes. Robb beside you had his eyes much like yours on the map as he plotted out in his head. “To do either we need to cross the river, and the only crossing is at The Twins.”

Palms braced on the table, you scratched at the wood with your nails slightly. “Robb’s right, we need that bridge, but Lord Frey isn’t going to just open the gates and let us pass. Or if the Lannisters have bribed him to their side.”

Brynden Tully rapped his knuckles lightly against the map, “We get to the Twins, then what is it going to be? Do we move against Jaime, or Lord Tywin?”

The answer on Robb’s tongue was interrupted however, two men dragging a small man covered in grime in between. “Pardon, my lords. We’ve captured a Lannister scout.”

Both you and Theon taking an edge and throwing it over the other half to cover the pieces at play, catching the Greatjon’s amused attention. “Don’t you worry, he won’t be leaving this tent with his head.”

Robb watched the scout with careful, dark eyes. Calmly asking where they found him. “In the brush above the encampment. He looked to be counting.”

The quiet in the tent was thick, the only sound being Robb making his way around to the front never taking his eyes off the nervous scout. Coming in front of him, he still made no move that put him at any less fear. “How high did you get?”

Eyes darting around the room before looking back to him, “Twenty thousand. Maybe more.”

Leaning forward, you watched Robb who had yet to give anything away but you could see the gears in his head click into place. Ser Rodrick beside you, knowing him still as a boy tried to offer an out. “You don’t have to do this yourself, your father would understand-”

Turning to him, Robb looked not like the boy he thought he was speaking too, and his voice as sure as any of the seasoned fighters in the tent. “My father understands mercy, when there is room for it.” The men around you far more looked with less confidence as he looked back to the scout. “Let him go.”

The smallest whisper of protest was let out, but a pride filled you with how quickly it was shut down as Robb turned to look at them all. Only as his eyes met you, did yours narrow slightly with a tiny tilt down of your head almost like a nod of yes. You could see the conclusion, both Greatjon and Roose were right.

Stepping towards the scout, Robb leaned in close, voice low and a dangerous authority to it that ran shivers down your spine. “Tell Lord Tywin, winter is coming for him. Twenty thousand northerners marching south to find out if he really does shit gold.”

Almost shocked at leaving with his life, the scout had some decency before being dragged out. “Yes my lord, thank you my lord.”

It appeared, his choice was not yet clicking in some. Both Roose Bolton and Greatjon Umber appeared their own distinct variety of angry but it was the hulking size of the later that rounded the table to get into Robb’s face. Almost spitting as he scolded him, “Are you touched boy? Letting him go?”

Without even a blink, Robb was quietly calm and unflinching. “You call me boy again.” Greatjon leaned forward as did Robb. “Go on.”

Greatjon stammered, taking a leave with nothing more then a huff. A rowdy man that you suspected wouldn’t quite temper that aggression until Robb could prove his worth, a worth you had no doubt in whatsoever. Turning back, he looked to you as your eyes shined with a proud and impressed glaze over them, pulling the map back Robb assumed his previous position. Two carved wolf heads being put down in front of each carved Lion.

“Once we reach below the Neck, we split into two.”

The plan had to move fast, whatever negotiation with Lord Walder Frey was going to have to be done quickly. Roose Bolton would lead two thousand men to the Green Fork and sneak up on Tywin in the early morning before any word could reach him or Jaime Lannister that the main force of the army was sneaking right up on the kingslayer in Riverrun.

If the scouts were correct, you’d come right up behind him at Whispering Wood but first as you stood on the hill in sight of the crossing at the Twins you knew time was ticking. Theon stood primed with a bow, ensuring no word was coming in or out by raven. So far none stood out, and none were directed anywhere but as letters to other Freys, the last one read out by Theon, “A birthday to his grand niece Walda.”

“Or so Walder Frey would have you think.” Catelyn looking to Theon, “Keep shooting them down, we can’t risk Lord Walder sending any word to the Lannisters.”

You and Robb stood next to one another, the tensity in your veins seemed to twist and connect to his as you stared at the bridge in the bright barley rising sun. “Father rots in a dungeon, how long before they take his head? We need to cross the Trident and we need to do it now.”

Theon looking over to him, “Just march up to his gates and tell him you’re crossing, we’ve got five times the numbers. You can take the twins if you have too.”

Watching the sight you could only see the darkness of the black cells you knew Eddard Stark was still tossed into. “Not in time, Lord Tywin will either get too far north to surprise or he’ll hear word from his own scouts before we can get Bolton and his men at their heels.” You and Robb glanced the other, an urgency in both your eyes. “For six hundred years they’ve exacted their toll, we need to get in there and make a deal now.”

“Have my horse saddled and ready.” Peeling his eyes from you, Robb looked to his mother who turned to look at him with her own disapproval.

“Enter the Twins alone and he’ll sell you to the Lannisters.”

Others threw out other suggestions, but if you were to get across now there was no use in standing around debating how to go about it. The longer it took as well the was increasing the chance that you’d lose the ambush on Jaime. Robb shutting down his mens protest. “My father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing. Whatever it took, and if I’m going to lead this army I won’t have other men doing my bargaining for me.”

Just as he looked down to you, Catelyn spoke up. “I agree. I’ll go.” The protests were just as loud as before but there was a calm confidence in her. “I have known Lord Walder since I was a girl. He would never harm me.”

Something turned in your stomach, like it was filling up with blood and threatening to spill out from a slice inside it. Only Robb heard you, gripping your wrist with a thumb over your pulse to ease you down as you whispered. “Unless he had a profit in it.”

Nerves raced within you the longer time ticked by, an antsy feeling that refused to give up no matter how calm others around you felt. You supposed this was normal, that most in your position felt this way but the passing of time had you staring out to the water like jumping in would wash away the growing lurch of anxiety.

Sat down on a high stone nearby, you had one arm laying across your chest as your elbow rested on it to bring your nails up to your lips. Threatening to tear at the skin until a rough hand slid across the back of your neck firmly. “You know it never felt real until right now.”

Robb didn’t question, just coaxed you to stand up. Facing you now his hand drifted more to the side of your neck so his thumb stroked at your jaw. His blue eyes bright in the morning sun and an anxious pang smacked you at what was to come once more. You grabbed at his wrist, turning with it so he rested it alongside your collarbone and you leaned back into the cold armour on his chest.

“All these men, they all came at my call. Following my commands, but they’re all far less terrified then I am.” Your hand tightened against him with a furrow of your brows. “Maybe they’ll know we’re coming, get the jump on us and then I lead them all into a slaughter.” You could feel him glancing at those whom were to be headed towards the Kingsroad into Tywins forces. “More then I already am.”

His voice was deep and rough in your ear as he forced himself to stay calm about it. “I thought the scariest part would be the prospect of yourself dying when I was a kid. I never understood why my father didn’t even blink twice when he set out to take out the Iron Fleet, but I think I get it.”

Your heart raced and your limbs itched to move as you both stood there, “I’m not just watching you sail off to war and hope you come back. I’d have to watch it, or even worse have to live with myself knowing I survived and you don’t.”

He didn’t show the fear he spoke of, it was kept tight in his chest and you wished you had that ability to stay so together. “Then we just don’t die then.” You could feel the small grin in his voice, bringing one out of you as Brynden approached.

“Pardon the interruption, but I know two scared shitless kids when I see it.” If the anxiety weren’t so strong you may have felt flustered at how Robb didn’t move an inch from you as he turned to his great uncle. “Saying we all felt the same before our first time won’t help, but it’s true.”

Robb holding you an indeterminable amount of tighter, “It’s not just being able to fight, I have to lead these men. My father needs me to lead them.” His voice was controlled, not letting much get passed an even tone.

Coming next to you both, Brynden from that angle reminded you a lot of Catelyn. Tougher, brasher and far more authoritative by nature you assumed, but you could see the same worry in his eyes that you had seen in hers many times. “If you weren’t good enough to lead them you would’ve have gotten all them this far anyways. Not just anyone can command twenty thousand men for the first time. Gods know Edmure doesn’t have that kind of leadership.”

You hadn’t met him, but from all accounts he seemed to be in a similar place as Renly once was in the trio of siblings. The youngest and the one which didn’t have the same kind of authority that ran deep in the families blood. At least the Tully didn’t see fit to crown himself and tear the family apart.

Not a single Baratheon was working together, and yet the Starks and Tullys both seek to work together for the sake of a cause of family and justice. The only Baratheon who is even with another of your family is Shireen, but being ten she didn’t count. You were quiet in volume, but the more you leaned against Robb the calmer you felt. “Your fathers a good leader, for all his faults mine is too but I think that’s the problem.” Robb looked down to you, his curls brushing over the side of your head slightly. “You’ve gotten us this far on your own merit, and we didn’t follow you because we expect you to be like Lord Stark. We all followed you because we trust in you.”

Brynden nodding to him, a fond look in his eye to his great nephew before looking to you. “And you’re certainly not your father.” Looking over with a raised eyebrow he shrugged his shoulders as his arms crossed his sleek black armour. “Trust me, us riverlands folk might be more forgiving, but that lot wouldn’t trust Robb if they thought you’d bring him down.”

You bit your tongue, keeping your face impassive. “Guess I die, we’ll find out if that's true.”

Maybe on another day this talk of death would’ve put Robb off, but this was your first battle as it was his. You both knew the others skill, but there was too much at stake in this battle. You lose this and you lose this entire fight for Lord Stark’s life. You lose this with your life? Even worse.

Jaime would have yours and Robb’s head sent to Kings Landing and no doubt Joffery would parade them around the court boasting about what fools the northerners are. You had been in a cell expecting that to be you, but you’d rather throw yourself down in front of the court then have the same done to Robb.

Some time passed before Robb spoke up again, “What do you think he’s asking? Walder Frey?”

Brynden rose an eyebrow with a grimace on his face. “Be thankful you’re married already. There’s nothing Frey wants more then to spread that damned family of his across the kingdoms more then their ugly mugs already are.”

You never considered yourself attractive, your mother was never spoken of like the beauty of the Stark women, your own sister whispered as “that ugly daughter” like they had any right. You briefly wondered if he’d be better off with a pretty Frey girl, a strangely childish and girly worry while you waited to send men off to battle.

By the time Catelyn had returned, you all were quite antsy through the whole camp. Those whose blooded their swords before ready to jump atop their horses and go, and others worried about how long it would take before it was too late in the morning to not be spotted early.

Looking up, she seemed to have an air of relief about her. Robb beside you spoke first, “Well? What did he say?”

All in the tent dropping with a sigh as she spoke, “Lord Walder has granted your crossing. His men are yours as well.” The Greatjon letting out a small sound at the news. Numbers were indeed what you needed desperately with the events about to come. “Less the four hundred he will keep here to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you.”

Now comes the part all dreaded as he asked, “And what does he want in return?”

“You will be taking on his son Olyvar as your personal squire. He expects a knighthood in good time.” You held off a smirk at the easy dismissal from Robb, more of a nuisance then a burden at the least so far. However, “And Arya will marry his son Elmar when they both come of age.”

You and Robb did share a glance at that one, you could genuinely hear her yelling about such a thing from here. You tilted your head with a slight grimace, “She won’t like that one bit.” Catelyn paused, making you both worry. “And?”

She sighed to herself, glancing at Brynden. “When the fighting is done, Edmure is to marry one of his daughters. Whichever he prefers.” So Arya wouldn’t be the only one causing a fuss over this deal it seemed, but it was so. Crossing was granted.

As the horses mounted, the drawbridge crossed you, Robb, and Roose Bolton passed first. The pair of you nodding to the man, his own confident back. “When we meet again, my lord, my lady.” Watching two thousand men ride off in the direction to get the jump on Tywin Lannister you and Robb looked at one another.

For everything you worried about earlier, it was that sight and that sight alone that had you both feeling unwell. Roose was a skilled man and a terrifying one at that, but the men he led weren’t being drawn to a fair fight. They were cattle being tossed onto the Lannisters for slaughter as you jumped on the other.

You and Robb looked at one another as the men all crossed to the other side. His voice was even and confident like the man you’d seen last night. “You with me?”

You exhaled the shaking on the inside. “Now and always.”

The feeling you had watching the men head one way was the same feeling Catelyn had the watching her son and his wife lead the others in the opposite. Ser Rodrick stayed behind with her, from the point of safety when she refused to leave. The longer the two of them waited, the more she felt her heart tear itself up.

When she had watched Ned ride off to war over two decades ago, she had found out soon after she was pregnant. Robb was the thing that carried her through being alone in that war and now she sat atop her horse, waiting to see if that same son would come back. A son who started a war to rescue his father.

And you. As she waited, Catelyn felt she hadn’t given you the chance. She’d known you since you were a little girl, watched you grow up on and off in her own home and see her children and husband consider you one of their own. But the older you got, the more your friendships started to form and she couldn’t help but think she let one of those get in the way.

It made sense, out of all of her husbands children you and Jon Snow were the most alike. The quieter ones, a little more reserved and closed off and tended to be on the sidelines. A night she remembered vividly, you had been twelve and Jon fourteen, you two had snuck out in the dead of night. Arya was barley two, and was terrorizing Cat’s sleep by doing nothing but fuss and cry at night.

She walked through the second floor outside, gently humming her newborn to sleep when she saw you both come into the yard from the stables. The pair of you soaking wet, head to toe clothes and all as Jon was walking you both forward, his arms wrapped around your front as you could barley speak through teeth chattering laughter.

Apparently having snuck out to ride to a small lake in the dead of night, Jon had picked you up and tossed you in the water, and when you went to climb out, he jumped in himself and dragged you back with him. You both were so comfortable with the other in a way she hadn’t seen from you and Robb, not that you and him weren’t friends but she’d just never seen Jon like this.

It was painfully obvious to her in that moment, Jons crush. She didn’t know when it went away, but the older he got the less she ever saw it until it stopped occurring to her. You were younger, you were only twelve and hadn’t even bled yet, you weren’t thinking of boys that way. The boys did though. Robb, almost fifteen by then had confessed to Cat that he thinks he liked you and it was seeing that same crush in her husbands bastard son’s that made her put a block up.

That crush went away for Jon, and eventually it seemed to simmer down for Robb as you both became adults and had other duties to attend too. But she always kept something in her mind as if it was your fault that you were just closer to Jon. Like you chose a side, but where were you now?

In the thick of Whispering Wood fighting by your husbands side, by Robbs side and she felt ashamed for not having looked to you like the daughter you were now. You both didn’t marry in love, but the foundations were all there.

She hadn’t accepted that when Robb called the banners, it was you he was also fighting for, and yet you were the one who fought your way back to him first just so he didn’t have to ride into war alone. She’d seen the way her son looks at you and it wasn’t fair of her to dismiss you like you were just another soldier in his army.

Catelyn saw the way that you only ever looked like there was truly a living breathing emotional woman in there when you looked at her son. The way you and Robb would grasp at the others wrist was just like that day in Brans room. Grasping at the boys wrist, feeling his pulse as weak as it was to remind yourself that he was indeed still alive.

You hadn’t lectured her, judged her, or said anything but your own understanding of her grief. You hugged her, kissed the top of her head like she was the child in need of comfort and not you. And she hadn’t given you any of that courtesy from the moment she returned.

“We should go, my lady.” Catelyn didn’t even look at him as she refused. Ser Rodrick leaning closer with more urgency, “My lady..” But horses were in the distance. And Catelyn would see them no matter what.

Hearing them gallop and neigh before beyond the treeline did they appear, dark ones all around the edges and two light ones up front. Was it a laugh or a sob that left her? Maybe both. But she smiled none the less.

You and Robb both rode next to the other. Grime, dirt, blood all covered him and you as your eyes trained harsh and forward. Your nerves had all but been shot out of their existence and your heart no longer pounding from your chest but weighing down inside of it. It was both everything you expected and yet none like it.

It was worse but not the nightmare you imagined somehow, and through it all the victory was with no question. The Lannisters had bigger numbers but were overrun like they were sparkling boys of summer unable to keep up. As you had been taught, you weren’t ever going to be strong like them. So you were quick, dodging all the lessons came back to you in many voices at once that blended together until you acted without them.

It was truly hell, but not one that you couldn’t do again. You’d only ever seen the Kingslayer almost overpowered once when he was up against Lord Stark and this time it seemed he had only become cockier for the worse. A man like him looked at Robb like a boy, young and inexperienced that was in over his head until blood was seeping from his face at Robb’s mercy.

Men trying him up with no care of how rough they handled him, Robb had looked to Grey Wind as his teeth bared and the blood pumped in his veins. Grey Wind snarling at the Kingslayer before running to where he had kept track of you.

Robb cared not who saw him stride up to his wife, and grab you by both sides of your face pulling you into a biting kiss before checking you over to see if you were hurt. If the men had anything to laugh about such a display, let them, he said.

Now as the man all surrounded the area, you climbed off your horse as Jaime Lannister was dumped onto the ground in front of Robb. Coming up to his side, you stared him down with nothing more then dark eye. Being jostled up onto his knees before you both, he looked up to you and had finally decided which house he saw fit you belonged too. “Lady Stark. I’d offer you my sword, but I’ve seemed to have lost it.”

His smug face and bright green eyes had once been described as handsome but they all painted him in a vile image as did the voice attached. “I’d take far more from you before that, Lannister.”

Theon stood behind him, the blood in his veins having not yet cooled he was loud and worked up as he spoke with vigor. “Kill him Robb. Send his head to his father, he cut down ten of our men. You saw him.”

Eyes now dark and glaring, Robb spoke low and calm as the eyed the once great fighter on his knees bloody and broken. “He’s more use to us alive then dead.” Standing there, he looked truly like the wolf he was meant to be.

Glancing up at Greatjon you nodded to him, “Put him in irons, feel free to make sure they’re tight.”

Grabbing him roughly, Greatjon yanked him up as Jaime just could not control that mouth of his. A flaw he never outgrew it seemed. Twice your ages and more of a patronizing child in the face of the Stark who beat him firsthand. “We could end this war right now, boy. Save thousands of lives.”

Call him a boy, you thought but he was more of a man then the Lannister had ever been in his entire life. Letting him spill out his little speech as he watched with no taste for the games. “You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords, lances, teeth, nails choose your weapon, and let’s end this here and now.”

Robb didn’t hesitate against him. “If we do it your way, kingslayer. You’d win. We’re not doing it your way.”

You nodded at Greatjon to take him away, him snatching him up and dragging him along, “Come on, pretty man.”

The men around you and Robb cheered, smiles and yells for what they’d accomplished. But you and him looked not at them, not each other. His voice broke your heart as it was full of sorrow, “I sent two thousand men to their graves today.”

Theon trying his cheer, “The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice.”

Lannister called Robb a boy, but there was man beside you. One full of a painful responsibility that he felt in his bones, one that was no game or glory that he knew rested on him. “Aye, but the dead won’t hear them.” He stepped towards you, arms pressed up against the other as you both looked out to the men around.

Robb twisted his hand, grabbing your wrist and you did his. Both of you feeling the beating pulse of the other under their thumb, and pressing against it with harsher pressure in desperation. His voice was loud, cracks as he cared not to hide the weight of their losses. “One victory does not make us conquerors. Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the Queen?”

You held each other tighter as he pleaded the reality to his men. “Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees?” There was quiet amongst them. “This war is far from over.”

Robb looked to you finally and you back, not letting go of the other for a while after. But he was right, this war was not yet over. Only, the war he set out towards burned in front of you when the raven arrived as hours turned to a passing day upon its landing.

Dragged away from the other as the slimy words of Janos Slynt coated your ears and his roughness scratched you up, the last you saw of him was the shocked, angry betrayal as you were forced from the other. The last you saw of him was the seconds after you both had put your lives on the line for the sake of the truth, and as it turned out it would be the final time.

Silence was painful in the camp that day. Defeat heavy in the hearts of men who all came together and just as they begun it was taken off of them. You heard not the quiet words of the soldiers you passed, and you didn’t know if they thought you cared. Face cold, staring forward with nothing but a shaking will power to stay stoned and together in front of them.

You felt no breathe leaving or entering your lungs, but they screamed at you as the world felt fuzzy and the sensations coming to you felt unreal. You had reached a clearing that was scarce by the edge of the camp as you collapsed with your back against a tree.

Kneeling over all alone you gasped, ragged breaths that stung and did nothing to settle you. The panic and gut churning anxiety of what you had done, left behind to such a fate made you feel sick and horrified. Someone on an island you once called home, Stannis Baratheon was alive and well.

So why did this feel like you lost a father? Why did the last thing you did, being smuggled out of the city without Eddard Stark feel like you were at fault and you had the sword in your own had that did it? Why was the world spinning and your breaths coming out in cries you hadn’t noticed?

For years you knew him, and now you felt as if you had been Joffery and you had cut his head off. But no, not even Joffery would do it, he’d leave the pain of being Eddard Stark’s killer to others and not get his hands dirty.

The senses around you only came too when the sound of another person was somewhere ahead of yourself. Yells followed by a thud, grunts that had a similar crying pain to them that called to you, the cool air revealing tears down your cheeks you didn’t know fell in such volume.

Coming up the hill in the brush of the woods did the sun peeking it’s final moments brighten the scene before you. And there was the now the only thing your heart could see. The slashes of his sword against the tree were harsh and violent, and the pain yelling out each time from Robb cut you as he did it.

Twice you tried calling his name, but the sob in your own throat fought with it. Forcing yourself up an edge to the flat ground he stood at you called to him once more, a waver in your voice. “Robb,”

The man he was, gone. Tears of his own, face twisted and broken as he heaved looking at you. Maybe you should be comforting, but he wouldn’t be fooled if you tried to ignore the tears of your own as you looked a the other. You had such little conviction in your tone, nothing but a weak softness that knew there was nothing you could say. “I-”

Head dropping down, his hands gave up. Letting his ruined sword fall to the dirt and leaves as he stepped towards you. He was no longer the man, the leader you saw, and you were not the woman his men watched stand by his side.

He collapsed into your arms, his wrapping around your waist as you both knelt down. You wrapped yours around his shoulders, and one cradling the back of his head to your neck as you perched in his lap. Trying to hold as much of the larger man as you could in your arms as he held onto you.

Robb spoke and it was nothing but pain, a growl in his tears that was a wolf too in pain to hold himself up. But there was such anger and pain in his voice that it pulled more tears from you, and you pulling him closer to you. “I’ll kill them all. Every single one of them. I’m going to kill them all.”

You ducked your head into his curls and kept him close, his arms tightening around you. Your voice was like a whisper in his hair only for him, and with a softness that was new to both. “My love,” He held you closer. “I’m with you, I promise. You and I, we stay together from now on, and I promise we will kill them all.”

Pulling his head up enough, he found the strength to cup your cheeks as his blue eyes found strength for one thing only to give you. Muttering close to you, you felt his breathe on your face as he spoke and his words only pulled tears more. “I love you, now and always.”

You pressed your forehead to his, feeling like the only two who existed anymore and your heart couldn’t find a way to be closer if you tried, you returning the gesture as you held the others face impossibly close. “And I love you now, and always will.”

You shared a kiss, gentle and both of you poured your heart into it. Pulling back, he fell into your neck and your face into his hair. Neither you nor Robb know how long you knelt there together, but there was only one thing you walked away with and it was the only one either of you needed.

Robb had made you his lady wolf, and in turn you gave him your heart and the young wolf gave you his.

The gods had punished you all, and now, they intended for one final test. Your heart was Robb’s, but your loyalty? Your sword? Your duty to the justice demanded from you?

Your heart was asked to choose between something and you made that choice to Robb. But you had another that you didn’t expect, and one you had no way of knowing was coming that same night.

Fitting in with this lot seemed to be of your nature. Neither you, nor Robb, or Catelyn displayed the sheer pain felt by Ned’s loss but as you looked at her, and her you? She saw the pain you could see in her and once more her doubt of you melted away. Robb sat you next to him with Grey Wind laying by his feet as the men gathered around.

His hand was on your thigh as he had you sit up against him with no shame for his display.

Roose Bolton had returned with the few straggling survivors to the news, and thus the fighting begun. A purpose you all came together to fight was taken from you. Now? There were three kings pulling in every direction. Three kings and no agreement.

From one end Galbert Glover had been fighting with the Blackwoods before he turned to Robb with confidence. “The proper course is clear. Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with him.”

Robb watched you shut your eyes in a frustration he knew was making your head pound. Grey Wind below him reached his head up to run against your leg as Robb yelled, “Renly is not the king.”

Glover for all his skill as a soldier, was not a man who could read the camp well. “You cannot mean to hold to Joffery, my lord. He put your father to death.”

You peeled your eyes to look up at the man with a fierce glare and gritted teeth, “That doesn’t make Renly King.” The camp had been growing to learn to listen to your quiet tones as they many times were laced with a surety that many of them did not have.

Robb shutting down that side of the debate, “He’s Robert’s youngest brother. If Bran can’t be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can’t be king before Stannis.” Someone in the crowd asking if this meant they were to declare for Stannis.

As he looked to you, and you to him there was a tightness in your face that screamed of a doubt that was difficult to explain and impossible in front of this lot. But Robb could read you easy, a hesitation about loyalty to your own father as something inside of you had been pulling away from what used to be your duty as just his heir.

Fighting continued before Greatjon started to yell. “My Lords,” repeating himself louder as he stood facing the crowd with his great stature. “Here is what I say to these two kings.” Spitting on the ground half of the crowd laughed, and you raised your eyebrows in wonder.

Continuing he seemed more confident then you’d ever seen and more passionate then the other men trying to lead the debate. “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me. Nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine fro some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall? Or the Wolfswood? Even their Gods are wrong.”

Pointing to you with a bit of a smirk as he said your name, “Well we know all too well she’s had more then enough Northern inside of her to make her one of us.” The crowd definitely laughed at that one, making you bit your tongue to fight back a fierce fluster as Robb gripped your thigh higher and rougher.

“Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, and now the dragons are dead.” Pulling out his sword, you stared with parted lips as he pointed to Robb who sat with a powerful respect. “There sits the only King I mean to bend my knee too. The King in the North!”

Shivers ran all the way down your spine, Robb didn’t look at you as he stood, but his hand on your waist ensured you stood with him. Another stood next, “I’ll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castles, and their Iron chair too.” Coming before you both, he pulled his sword out kneeling down with his sword blade in the ground. “The King in the North.”

Theon next, no question in his voice as he looked at Robb. “As your brother, I swear to be yours to command. The King in the North.”

There was pause as some looked to you. You were his wife, rode into battle by his side and was seen by many as Northern as that like Catelyn was now. You also, were the daughter, a would be declared heir to the one man with the best claim to the Iron Throne.

You felt your insides shake, and your heart swell as you looked beside you. Robb finding your eyes with not a second of guess or question as you spoke to him. “Are we together, now and always?”

“Now and always.”

You felt you eyes sting and did nothing to hide the water wanting to glaze over as you looked at Robb, turning to face him as you stepped back to be right in front of his person. Pulling your sword out, you knelt down closer to him then the others, but knelt all the same. “My heart is yours, my sword is yours. In victory and defeat, from this day until our last day.”

The men of the camp erupted. Standing with their swords high in the air all yelled “King in the North” with a pride like a chant as no man there saw him as anything less.

Robb pulled you up as they yelled, arm around your waist as you both looked at the other as if this was only a fate he wanted if you are to be his at his side. Turning to the crowd, you both looked with a hesitation but awe.

Robb Stark did not choose his fate as King in the North, but the North itself decided he was the only one they would follow now and ever. You had chosen a wolf’s heart today, and now you had chosen your loyalty, your duty, the people who were as much yours to protect as your husbands.

You chose your side.

Miles away in either direction, your fate was known by two. One, hair dark and curls more wild as he heard none, but in his head was the vision of two. The sight of you by his brothers side with love in the eyes of both. Why he kept seeing you like this, why you would appear to him in the dark in foggy visions and dreams at all he didn’t know.

His heart did though, and it tightened a little more painfully as it did each time his dreams showed you with Robb. Jon Snow didn’t go to the wall thinking he would move on from you, he went there thinking he would eventually learn to accept the gods chose Robb for you instead. But it was getting harder and harder to accept that with every harsh blow, every new horror he slowly uncovered in the icy north.

Jon Snow did not understand why he was being shown dreams of you that seemed to come true.

On the other side of the continent on an equally dark place, only this was an island of more then just dim looks. This was the place you once called home, and the people who once called you family.

As news reached him, it would take someone with a keen eye to see the sheer amount of anger in his eyes. Stannis Baratheon, the one true King now stood a the painted table looking over the raven scroll for five times to many now. His firstborn daughter, the one he expected would come to him with the allegiance of the North, the one who would be his heir?

But the North had declared Robb Stark their King in the North, and the River Lords had joined them.

Renly took his men, Joffery took his throne, Robb Stark took two Kingdoms for himself and now had taken Stannis’s daughter and heir, as his Queen. Queen in the North those lot had named her, and oh did those words mock him as he read them over.

The woman in red, draped around the angered Stannis. “She will come to us, my King. Her and her wolf both, the flames have shown it to me. The Princess will return to you, and with her love beside her. The heart of the Great Wolf will stand by you too. That I promise you. The Lord of Light has shown it.”

[asurrogateblog]

what do we know about Nobody Home?

like...in general?

well, for starters, the origins of the song is that during the later sessions for the wall in fall of 1979, david challenged roger to write a new song for the album. never one to turn down a bet, roger wrote nobody home overnight and brought it to the studio the next day. and unfortunately for david it was really good. roger employed his tried-and-true tactic: "just list a whole bunch of things", and it worked.

the actual lyrical content of the song is – if you are aware of any pink floyd lore – fairly objectively about syd. for instance, there are several references to his unique style of dress during the bands early days ("obligatory hendrix perm", "elastic bands keeping my shoes on", "gohills boots"). other imagery references syd's mental condition after his departure (the drone of the TV in the background, the "bag with a toothbrush and a comb in"...long explanations just trust me). in this context, "nobody home" can be interpreted in two ways. either it's referencing how syd was silently iced out by the band, or, it's referencing syd's dissociation – the idea of there being "nobody home" behind his "wild, staring eyes".

*(footnote: many people also interpret the lines "i've got a silver spoon on a chain / i've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains" as being about rick and his cocaine addiction at the time of the album's recording. I go back and forth on my thoughts on this)

however, obviously this song isn't just a standalone – it's a part of the wall. in that context, at this point in the story pink (the character) has locked himself up in a hotel room, in a prison of his own fame and self-imposed isolation. it's an especially sad song imo, because the "plot" of the lyrics is that he's trying to call someone (presumably his wife), and despite that real attempt to peer over the wall and reach out, no one answers him. he's already pushed away everyone who loves him. :(

of course, the syd interpretation and the fictional interpretation are not at all mutually exclusive. the character of pink is an amalgam of roger and syd – and this song feels to me like an attempt of roger's to show the parallels between them. although under very different conditions, roger too has come to feel like his success is like having a lead role in a cage, and that he's lost the ability to show his true self to the outside world.

(this is entering tinhat territory, but I am personally convinced that roger is directly and purposefully paralleling syd's song "bob dylan blues". listen to them back to back and tell me I'm wrong)

I hope that's enough!

[magnoliabutters]

• THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T CARE •

pairing: joel miller x (18+, she/her) reader

summary: joel and ellie are tasked to move a package from jackson to san diego. little did they know you were the "cargo..."

warnings: 18+ content, mdni, adult language, cordycep apocalypse related violence & weapons, canon divergence, tlou part 1 & 2 spoilers; angst, medium to slow burn, pet names, voyuerism, sub!joel and dom!reader, age gap in pairing, masturbation, etc.

word count: ~6.3k

support your writer: reblogs for daddy joel ✨🌿

request: by @yourmomsmilfmistress; katrina babes, i have another idea!!! i was thinking something along the lines of (whatever male character you want/ im not picky) is OBSESSED with reader and one day after a torturous hangout he starts to 🍆💦 ( ya know) after she leaves and for some reason it's not working and it's like he's just edging himself but (of course) reader comes and walks in on it and it's like sub!male and dom!reader smut!!!

note: um… most definitely. the way i thought of joel freaking miller instantly. sub male? common now 😈 we are set in a post-tlou part 2 world where no one died, abby who?, and ellie lives happily on the farm (aka 20+ age). also, loosely following the plot of part 1. for visuals of characters, i am moving forward with what we’ve seen so far of hbo’s part one and game’s part two casting. although as it’s older ellie, i went with video game looks. hopefully that makes sense. enjoy my fellow hoes ⚡️

Don't tell them your name. Just tell them you're there to see Maria.

His words keep running through your head as you gallop atop your trusted steed, Horse. He told you, repeatedly, that they will find you - not the other way around. All you needed to do was get to the vicinity of Jackson County. Well, you are about a mile into said county and you haven't come across a single person. Let alone, a single runner.

The two things cannot co-exist this far from the cities. If there are no runners or clickers, then there must be people. If there are infected, there are no people. But emptiness? That is something unheard of. It puts you on edge. You swear you want to just yell, yell to draw something out. But that would be stupid. You don't know how many are out here ... people or infected.

You hop over a razor wired fence in the middle of the road. Its height hits a the top of your knee. Perfect stop runners. Your first sign that people have been in this neck of the woods. The deeper you get into Jackson County, you wonder why all you need to say is "I'm here to see Maria." Would these people attack you and saying those words would be the only thing to stop them? Or are they dumb enough to bring just about anyone back into their town? You have absolutely no clue what he has signed you up for.

Fear stands your hairs on end. It fuels your adrenaline and heart as Horse guides you into an opened field. On the main road, you read a sign that displays "surface may be icy." You're thankful you were assigned this job in the middle of July. In front of you, you note green ivory glued to the brick walls of an old music store. The roads were shit, as usual. Cracks and bumps from overgrowth and lack of maintenance. You hope they are not too rough on Horse's shoes. She had them switched out in Colorado, back when you saw your people last.

Horse abruptly stops. Harsh enough for your full body to push up against her back. "Fuck," you grumble with a hand to your head. "What the hell?" You slowly open your eyes to note the clicker before you. With widening eyes, you swiftly reach to unhook your knife from the saddle. As quiet as a mouse, you hop off of the pillion and carefully land your feet on the grass below. You side step as you make your way closer. its clicks grow louder as it uses its echolocation in the opposite direction.

Your eyes are constantly moving, wondering if there are any other infected around. There is luckily no movement. Just one single clicker. The fungi sporadically growing throughout its body. The cordyceps on full display on its face - if you can even call it a face. In your last two steps, you rush up to it. You hook your arm over its chest. Your fingers curve over its shoulder as you grip tightly against the rough flesh. With your other hand, you stab your knife into the crook of its neck. It quickly became limp in your arms. You let slide off your body and ultimately onto the road.

"Drop the knife," you hear behind you. The voice is rough and booming. You gradually put your hands up. You drop the knife, careful to have it fall upon its hilt and not its blade. "On your knees," it bellows. You laugh, tilting your head to the side. "No can do," you scoff. "I only get on my knees when I want to." The man behind you laughs as he slowly walks up to you. His boots crunching against the dirt and gravel.

"On your knees," another voice appears. Despite its higher tone, it is just as rough. A smile grows upon your face as you carefully drop to your knees. "Oh for you, of course," you mutter to the woman. She quickly grabs hold of your wrist and places it behind your back. Her grip harsh and tight. You release a laugh as you lean back into your captor. "I'm here for Maria," you mutter.

Abruptly, the movements behind you stop. The grasp remains tight. "Maria?" the exasperated man's voice pushes through the air. His boots' steps become faster as he rushes behind you. "Why?" the woman asks. You feel the cool head of a gun at the back of your neck. "Hey, hey, hey," you furiously mumble. "I-I'm a smuggler. I'm with a group of people who told me Maria owes them one. I just got sent here for her to pay the debt."

The gun is pressed harder against your neck. "What debt?" the man's voice asks. You move your head to the side, attempting to pull yourself away from the gun's focused point. The gun holder makes sure it stays against your skin despite your movements. "I don't even know, man. I was just sent here. They told me to say 'I'm here for Maria' and that she would know what to do," you spit out.

You hear the man pace behind you. He sighs heavily. His voice hushed as he speaks towards the woman. "I don't feel good about this, El," he whispers. "Does she have any people in her past?" the woman asks. "Not that I know of," he says as those steps draw closer once more. You are suddenly pushed to the ground. You cut up your chin as you couldn't catch yourself in time. "Fuck," you mutter into the ground. "Your name," he mumbles. "I don't have time for games." You yell as your palms lay flat against the surface. "Rita," you quickly lie.

"Alright, Rita," the man's voice bustles behind you. "Let's go." Next thing you knew, a bag was pulled over your head. Your head was then banged against the hard rubber bedding of a truck.

They grip against the bag over your head so hard that it pulls on some of your hair as it uncovers your face. Your eyes slowly blink to adjust to the light. "Shit," you grumble as you relax your arms, only to realize that you were tied to a chair. Rope. Fuck, you think. Rope hurts the most.

"Now, Rita, I'm not going to ask again. Why are you here for Maria?" The familiar voice asks. You squint to look in his direction. A latino man with slicked black hair crouches before you. You look behind him to recognize that you were in a stable - a wooden stable. There is hay all over the floor, but no horses. What kind of stable doesn't have horses? As your eyes trail back towards your feet, you note red splotches staining the wooden floor below you. "Damn it," you whisper the elongated swear under your breath. You know exactly what kind of place this is.

"I told you already, man," you whine. "My people didn't tell me shit. Just that I was assigned a job and Maria owed a ride." You look into the brown eyes staring holes into your face. "I'm here to collect on that ride," you whisper. "To where?" the man asks. "I'll tell Maria ... once I get my ride," you answer with a smirk. The man raises his fist as his upper lip tenses. You wince at the sight.

“Tommy!” You recognize the woman’s voice as he holds back his fist. She walks out from the darkness of one of the stables. You smile at the sight. She looks younger than you. Her reddish brown hair gave you goosebumps. Her eyes a greenish blueish grey. Something you would have envied as a child. She some how looks sweet, but also has clearly endured so much in her short time.

“So, we have Tommy,” you share as you nod towards the man. “And El,” you murmur as you look up to her. You smile - a smile that El winces at. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” you sigh as you attempt to shrug against the chair. “I don’t want to give anyone grief. I just need to talk to-” Suddenly, a remarkable woman bursts through the doors. Another man at her side. Her eyes serious and hellbent. Her skin a deep and beautiful brown. She is undeniably gorgeous, and surprisingly pregnant. She definitely had the glow, complete with her large firmed bump. “Tommy, what the hell is this?” she asks sternly.

Maria, you think. They never gave you a picture, but you knew from the second she commanded that room. The second both Tommy and El backed away from you. Their hands either up or open at their sides. She was in charge. And she was headed right for you. “Maria,” you say with a sing songy voice. Her head shoots your way. “I need a ride.”

Maria stares down at your smile. Her upper lip pulls, just like Tommy’s. “Where?” she asks calmly. “San Diego,” you answer. “San Diego?” she scoffs. “I don’t owe them that much.” You tilt your head, smiling to yourself. “Well, someone thinks you do,” you smirk. Tommy grunts as he steps towards you. Maria quickly puts out an arm across his chest.

With a sigh, she returns her gaze to you. Her arm still across his chest. You are curious about those two. “I obviously can’t take you myself,” she mutters. “Obviously,” you affirm as you nod towards her stomach. “I’ll find you someone. You’ll leave in the morning,” she says carelessly. She turns around and speaks to her people. “Untie her,” she says under her breath.

The man who walked in with her quickly follows through with her demand. You rub your wrists and forearms where the rope’s red rings pressed into your skin. You stand with the devil’s smile across your face. El is the first to walk up to you, while Tommy’s eyes are still daggers. “Hey, sorry,” she says as she rubs the back of her neck. “Things didn’t go so well the last time a new person asked about one of our people.” You hum as you nod. “Make sense,” you say under your breath as you return your gaze to Tommy.

“Maria’s his wife,” El adds as she follows your eyes. “He’s been extra sensitive, given the baby and all.” You smile at her words. She pulls your attention. “It’s also Ellie by the way,” she mumbles. She gestures goodbye and walks out. “Rita?” the man asks. You look at him with confusion. “My name’s Jesse. Come on, follow me.” With hesitation, you follow the tall man out into the dark night.

Your eyes quickly fall upon the string lights crossing from building to building. It is so beautiful your mouth gapes open. “We have a small bed and breakfast for travelers,” he shares as he points to a building at the end of the street. “Shit - a bed and breakfast?” you scoff under your breath. As you walk, you note the happy and clean people randomly walking about. They are loud - comfortably loud. It must be nice.

“Where you from?” Jesse asks. His gaze stuck on you. “I don’t do small talk,” you say with a weak smile. “I don’t mean to be rude.” He laughs, raising his hands. “No, I get it. Just trying to make conversation,” he answers. “Oh, well if we’re making conversation, tell me what your favorite color is,” you teasingly laugh. He chuckles, shooting you a sweet smile. “Orange,” he scoffs. “You?” You nod, smiling as you step onto the front deck of this apparent bed and breakfast. “Green.”

With quick goodbyes, you go inside and easily secure your room. The room is on the first floor. Inside the small space, you have a worn down desk, chair, and bed. Your pack is already resting against the foot of the bed frame. You grab the back of the chair and hook it underneath the door’s knob. You turn the lock and deadbolt the door. When you finally lay back to rest, you reflect on your day. It didn’t go as well as you had hoped - as you had been told. But at least you are alive. At least you are on your way to San Diego.

After the best sleep of your life, Jesse led you to a building across the way. Maria, Tommy, Ellie, Jesse, another woman and a man sit alongside a long dinner table. The woman appears sweet. She sits closely to Ellie. The man is something else. His demeanor laid back, like he had no care in the world. His face kind, but also worn thin after years of this shit world. You can immediately see through the facade and know he is good. But damn does he give off such a strong guard dog vibe. He has random patches of grey amongst his black hair and beard. His eyes dark, but youthful. You struggle to keep your eyes off of him. He watches you, though. He sized you up as soon as you walked through the door.

“Rita,” Maria calls out. You are too busy attempting to watch him through your eye lashes. “Rita,” she says louder. You quickly turn your attention to her. Only now remembering that Rita was the name you gave them. “Yes,” you answer with high energy. “These are my best people,” she shares. “I want Joel and Ellie on this.” Ellie sits up straight, shocked as she exchanges looks with the girl beside her. The two begin to discuss in hushed tones. The man abruptly turns towards Maria, disingenuously laughing under his breath. “No, Maria,” he scoffs. “That ain’t happening.” The man stands, his hands firm against the table. He must be Joel. Rarely have you met someone who’s name perfectly fits them. It makes you smile.

Maria sighs as though she saw this coming. “I would go myself-” she starts. “So let me go,” Tommy interjects. Joel and Maria quickly respond “no” in unison. Maria takes a breath as she slowly looks to her partner. “I’m about to pop. You can’t go,” she whispers. “I need you.” Tommy solemnly nods as he looks back towards the rest of the group. Maria turns back to Ellie with patient eyes. “Ellie, Dina - are y’all okay with this?” she asks. Dina nods, looking at Ellie. "J.J. will be fine. You should go," she whispers. Ellie then turns to Maria and nods.

Joel's scoff could be heard from two buildings down. "This is bullshit, Maria and you know it," he yells as he slams his hand against the table. Tommy stands, pointing towards him. "Watch it, Joel," he warns through gritted teeth. Maria takes a breath as she looks between Ellie and Joel. "You two have gone across state lines more times than any of us. This should be easy as pie," she says softly. He rolls his eyes as a deep, unenthused chuckle falls from his lips. "What's the cargo?" he asks with furrowed brows as he looks off in the distance.

Maria turns towards you. She rakes over you with slight confusion and hesitation. Within a second, there was a moment where her face smoothed out. She took a breath and returned to Joel. "She is," she states with finality. Your face remains looking down the table, but your eyes travel to Joel's seat. He gradually turns to look at the group. With a guttural growl, he says, "Absolutely not." Maria throws her hands up. "Joel, they will come to collect. I will not put anyone else's life in danger," she yells.

"If they come to collect, they can take her dead body," Joel booms as he pulls a gun from his holster and points it towards your head. You remain still. Your breathing intensified as the remainder of the group stands to their feet. "Joel," Maria says softly. "We need her - whether you like it or not. We need her in San Diego." Joel exhales through his flared nostrils. His mouth tight as he looks down at you through the sights of his pistol.

"What's so important about her?" he asks as he lowers the gun. Maria sighs in relief. "I don't know," she shakes her head. "All I know is these people helped us in a pinch back when me and dad started up. They said they'd come to collect and all they needed was a team to get something to San Diego." Tommy watches her intently. It must have been the first time she shared this with him. "I've seen what these people have done when groups don't pay up, Joel," she mutters. "We will not win that fight without losing everything."

Joel sucks his tongue against the back of his teeth. He holsters his gun and walks towards the front door. He hooks a backpack over his shoulder and turns back towards the group. "Ellie?" he asks as he slowly opens the door. You turn to watch Ellie kiss Dina. She presses her head against hers and whispers things you cannot make out. They separate with a strong embrace. Ellie walks towards Joel. "You coming, Rita?" she calls out behind her. You stand immediately. Your shocked eyes fall upon Maria and Tommy as you attempt to process everything that has happened in the past few minutes. You grab your pack and walk out to meet the pair in the street.

Ellie watches Joel with trust and a hint of distaste. You wonder about their story. As you walk up, the two stop talking and turn to look at you. "Hello," you greet awkwardly. "While we're out there, you do exactly what I say - when I say. Understand?" Joel says sternly as he points a finger in your face. How could those sweet eyes simultaneously look so threatening? "Understood," you whisper under your breath as you exchange looks with Ellie.

Joel quickly turns and heads straight to what looks like a mechanic's garage. "Does he always have a stick up his ass?" you ask as you skip to catch up with Ellie. She smiles, nervously biting her lip. "At first," she mutters under her breath as her eyes remain on him. "The Chevy," he asks a man standing behind the desk. He promptly hands him keys without question. You nod, noting how nice it must be to live in Jackson.

"Chevy, huh?" you say, attempting to start a conversation with the man. Joel completely ignores you as he slides the keys into the door handle. "Nice try, but he's not going to crack for a while," Ellie whispers in your ear as she walks to the other side of the truck. You laugh as you open the side door and hop into the backseat. "Seatbelt," he says softly as he points Ellie's way. "Oh," she mutters as she slides it over her body and clips it at her side.

The three of you sat in silence for the first hour of the trip. It was unbearably boring. Wyoming's sights were not as incredible outside of Jackson county. You wish you could sleep, but did not trust the two enough to even try. "Joel," Ellie starts but continues to laugh. "Remember when we cleared this hotel. Remember the tomatoes?" She laughs so hard that she holds her stomach. She leans fully against the passenger seat as she kicks her feet up. You swear you watch Joel crack a smile as he watches the girl burst into a laughing fit. You wish you got a better look.

"What happened with the tomatoes?" you curiously ask Ellie. She turns, struggling to speak between laughs. As she starts, Joel quickly interrupts her. "Don't tell her anything. She's cargo, nothing more," he instructs. Ellie sinks into her chair. Her expression perplexed as she seemed excited to share. "Just cargo, huh?" you taunt. His face remains still as he eyes focus on the road. "Wow, you Jackson people are the sweetest I've ever met," you say sarcastically. "Maybe I should just dip out on this trip. I can probably make it on my own."

Joel quickly slams against the breaks. Your shoulder digs into the back of his seat as you let out a stunned groan. "What the hell?!" you yell. "We are taking you to San Diego, or we are taking your body," he turns to say with stern eyes. You place distance between you two. A sudden rush of alertness and danger bursting through your body. "Let me be clear. I don't care if you're dead or alive by the end of this trip. We are paying off Maria's debt," he seethes. "I'd recommend shutting up if you plan to get there alive."

You suck your tongue against your cheek as you laugh under your breath. You lean back harshly against the back of your seat. "Eyes on the road, asshole," you say as you nonchalantly gesture towards the street. He rolls his eyes as he faces forward behind the wheel. He presses on the gas gradually. Ellie sits in awkward silent with a tight lip. She finds comfort in looking out the window.

Less than a week has gone by and you are barely crossing the border into Utah. In each passing day, you learn something new about Ellie. She loves to draw. She met her partner, Dina, on the first day she got to Jackson. Her son is named after Jesse and Joel. She calls him her "potato" - an incredible nickname you find endearing. The days are starting to blend together, but Ellie remains a highlight of each.

Joel, on the other hand, has remained annoyingly silent. He solely speaks to Ellie. If he does choose to talk to you, it is usually some demand where he forgot how to say "please." He is abundantly cold. It is infuriating. Here and there, you catch him staring your way. His glimpses seem familiar, as opposed to his usual and intentional looks of anger.

He never looks at your eyes, but his gaze tends to fall on your lips and hair. Any time you caught his eye line, he would immediately look away. The way his gaze lingered on you always left you in a ball of confusion. You thought you would have been on edge, being stared at for hours on end. Yet, you loved it. It made you feel seen. It made you feel beautiful. If he wasn't so vocal about his disapproval, you would think he had a "thing" for you. For now, you just enjoy his looks - hoping they are filled with adoration and not hatred.

Luckily for the three of you, communication was not needed as much when taking out the infected. The trio even came across a group of clickers a day ago. Without saying a word, the three put on their gas masks and stepped into the spores. They could all hear the clicking echoing through the old and damaged walls. With only nods and looks, the three separated and silently took down each clicker.

You turned to look at them with excitement. “That was awesome!” you said joyously. “Very SWAT-team.” Ellie was kind enough to crack a smile as she cleaned her blade on the side of her jeans. You turned to Joel, waiting for any reaction. He gave you absolutely nothing. He shook off the blood on his machete and gracefully placed it back onto his backpack. He then immediately moved toward the cabinets in front of him to search for supplies. God, did he really not have a sense of humor?

Tonight, you find yourself resting beside Ellie in a closed off room. The day was once again filled with ambiguous look exchanges with Joel. Your body aches from taking out runners. You wonder if you'll be in pain for the entire trip. The room rests at the end of a long hallway with no other entrances or exits. The only doorway to the outside was located at the end of the hallway and was guarded by the one, Joel Miller. You continued to wrestle with sleep as you lay uncomfortably in your sleeping bag. You have now spent hours staring at the plant infested ceiling. Ellie, luckily, rests peacefully at your side. She felt safe enough to put earbuds in to help her sleep. Another thing of hers to be jealous of.

After a few hours, you decide that it will most likely be impossible for you to sleep tonight. You quietly stand and put your pajama shorts over your undies. You open the door into the hallway. It's long corridor was scarier at night. You pull your flashlight from your pocket. Clicking it on, you remind yourself that the only door is at the very front. You would undeniably see if anyone entered the dark hallway with you.

As you reach the end of the hall, you begin to hear quiet moans coming from the other side of the door. Your mind quickly rushes to the thought of a runner making their way inside. But once you hear slight heavy breathing and groans, you immediately recognize that the sounds were coming from Joel. Excitement bursts through your chest as you press your ear against the door. You could not have imagined a better sound escaping his lips. His groans sound so sweet, so supple. You wish you could be the reason they fall from his lips.

You nervously turn back to see that the door at the other end of the lengthy hallway remained close. There was no way anyone would be able to hear at the other end. Not unless they were right where you were standing. With a smile, you hear his breathing louden. You wish you could see him. See his brows pulling together as his mouth hangs open. You wish you could watch him stroking himself. You would bet on your life that his cock was large and girthy. You have been stealing glances of it beneath his tight jeans.

Your mouth starts to water as you hear his moans grow louder. It takes all your strength and will not to burst through the doorway and beg him to let you help. God, would you absolutely beg for that man - without question. You wonder who's on his mind. Who could possibly be the lucky person whom he is wanking off to? Your legs feel weak. You actually contemplate sitting down and playing with yourself alongside his intoxicating moans.

“Oh, Rita,” you hear fall from his mumbling lips. Your entire body lights up with pleasure. He is thinking about you… Your legs buckle beneath you as you struggle to stay standing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hear escape his lips. He must be close. You swear you can hear the slapping against his skin. All your blood rushes towards your clit. You want him - bad.

Out of no where, Joel stops. You hear a sound of frustration but remain curious. Was he edging himself? Shit. Why is that even hotter? you think to yourself. His moans slowly start again. Your mouth hangs open as you tighten your knees together. The friction feels good but it’s definitely not enough. You wish you could touch him. You wish he would be muttering your name as your hand strokes his dick. You wish his big hands could hold your head down as you take all of him in your mouth.

Almost as though you two were connected, Joel’s moans started to repeat more and more. His breathing heavies as your knees tighten harsher and harsher against themselves. Your clit now pulsating, desperate for stimulation. You cover your mouth, hoping your own gasping breaths were not loud enough to hear in the other room.

His voice strains as he gets closer and closer. He mumbles again, “Yes, Rita.” Shit, why aren’t you already in there? Your entire body is on fire but, oh, so nervous. You hear his skin slapping against each other. His moans growing louder. You hear a bump against the wall. His voice begins to break. God, he’s so fucking close.

“Oh baby just like that,” Joel whines. “Cum for me,” you whisper on repeat. Then silence fills the air. You worry if he might have heard you. You’re sure that him catching you listening in is so much worse than you catching him jacking off. “Damn it,” he yells softly with a grunt. That’s when you realize he isn’t edging on purpose. It seems like he can’t get past that final push. To release all that pent up energy.

You could help him. You know you want to. It’s the right thing to do. He must be in so much pain - all swollen down there, thinking about you. You would be helping him. You are so selfless. With a deep breath for courage, you quickly knock and open the door.

You spot Joel in his jean shirt. His legs are spread wide while he sits, bare, on the couch. His pants wrapped around his ankles as he holds his lengthy cock in one hand. His head rests back onto his other. As he hears the door creak open, he nervously grabs hold of a pillow and covers himself. You have never once seen shock and worry on the man’s face until now.

“Shit,” he yells as he scrambles to cover himself. You play dumb, covering your gaping mouth with your hand. “I’m so sorry Joel,” you whisper. “I-I thought I heard my name so I came out here,” you slyly taunt as you end with a smirk. Joel’s usual annoyed face returns as he realizes you know the truth. “Why didn’t you just come get me?” you ask innocently as you sit on the arm rest of his couch.

Joel watches you in confusion as he recognizes your advances. “I shouldn’t have done this, I’m-” he starts. You swiftly interrupt, “No need for apologies. I’m just confused is all.” You gracefully fall beside him. Your bare thigh touching his. The tips of your fingers dance atop his thigh. His grip onto the pillow covering his unit grows tighter by the second. “I thought you didn’t care about me,” you whisper as you lean closer to his face. You are now still, a few inches from his face.

"We don't have to do this," Joel mutters. His teeth locked as he watches you. He must think he's in danger. No, its quite the opposite. "Do what, Joel?" you ask as you pull away from him. You note a chair across from him. His backpack is sprawled over it. You carefully carry the backpack and place it closer to him. To show him that you are not something to be scared of. You then turn to sit in the chair. Your legs spread open as you bite your lip. Your eyes rake over the vulnerable man in front of you.

Joel watches you. He takes in shaky breaths. It is almost as though he is more nervous, now that he understands your intent. "Don't stop on my accord," you say as you gesture towards him. You slowly cross your leg over the other, batting him off with your eye lashes. You gently laugh as you watch him sit still, uncomfortable. "Oh, I get it," you murmur with a nod. "You need help." You watch your shoulder as you slowly push your spaghetti strap off it. You do the same with the other side. When you look back at him, a smirk is shown across your face.

His eyes are darker than normal. He still holds the pillow firmly against the skin between his legs. "Don't stop, Miller," you whisper as you slowly pull your shirt up. You expose your breasts to the cool air. Your nipples immediately harden. He involuntarily bites his lip as his eyes grow full of wonder. With that, he gradually pulls the cover off and shows his enormous cock. You start salivating. Fuck, you knew it would be big.

Joel's thumb starts to move slowly up and down his shaft. His eyes now fully on you. No pulling away this time. Pleasure fills your chest as you raise your chin and open your mouth. You lick your lips, hell-bent on tasting him. He starts to smile between soft moans. His rubbing becoming quicker as your hands calmly travel up your stomach and to your tits.

His breathing shakes harder as your fingers circle your nipples. Your tongue resting gently against your bottom lip. He loves it. His moans become louder as he watches you. "Oh baby," escapes his lips as he watches your sensual movements. "The name's y/n," you whisper. You smile at the shock spreading across his face. "I want to make sure you're moaning the right girl's name this time."

"Your name's y/n," Joel mutters under his breath. His movements stop as he watches you gradually open your legs. Your shorts clearly expose your inner thighs. It shows enough to give him the slightest sneak peek. "And your name is Joel," you coo. “Does that change anything?” He scoffs. A smile spreads across his face. First time you’ve seen it and shit is it beautiful. “Not a single thing,” he mutters. “Then rub one out for me, daddy,” you whisper as your hand travels down your stomach and atop your shorts.

Joel presses his tongue against his cheek as his smile grows larger. His hand starts to rub against his hardened cock. His fingers wrapped around his girth. You bite your lip. You wish it was your hand, but you are not giving up control. “Yeah, start slow,” you murmur as you adjust in your seat. His eyes track you. His eye line at your lips, waiting for the words to just flow out.

His breathing intensifies as he drops his jaw in excitement. “Ooo, just like that,” you whisper as you try to maintain deep breaths. Your clit begins to pulsate. Begging you to jump atop of him. “What next, y/n?” he asks with a gaping mouth. He fully enunciates your name with a smirk at the end. You laugh as your brows bounce. “Hm,” you think aloud. Your finger tapping against your chin. “Have your other hand play with your balls.”

Joel’s brow raises as he’s slightly taken aback. “Don’t make me say it twice,” you playfully seethe through your teeth. He sighs with a smile as his other hand moves from atop his thigh. He cups his balls slowly. A thumb rubbing between them. You suck in a deep breath as you adjust again in your sit. You can’t get comfortable. Your body screams that the only seat you want is on his lap.

His lower jaw keeps moving as deep breaths fall from his lips. “Shit,” he breathes. His eyes close ever so slightly. “Mmm’such a good boy,” you whisper. “Let me hear you.” He gasps as the muscles in his legs begin to tighten. He lets out a low moan. One so deep your entire body shakes. You let out a hesitant breath as your hand covers your mouth. You are trying so hard to keep in control, to be the dominant one - but shit did you want him to wreck your pussy so badly.

“I know you can moan louder than that,” you murmur with a grin. Joel softly laughs and quickens his movements. His breath is fast. His eyes closed. He sits up straighter. His hand slaps against his skin. You spot precum falling from his tip. “Shit,” you mumble under your breath. His head starts to fall back. It rests against the wall. He moves faster and faster. You squeeze your thighs together, holding your breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. You could just about faint. “God, you’re going to make me cum, y/n.” You dig your nails into your thighs. You want nothing more than to see this gorgeous man cum all over himself. “Cum for me, Joel,” you whisper in excitement. Your entire body feels on fire. Goosebumps travel throughout your skin. “I want your big cock deep inside me, Joel. Please cum for me,” you gripe in an innocent voice.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel moans as his brows pull together. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter than before. You hear his voice raise in pitch. Higher and higher as his body moves faster and faster. You note him thrusting into his own hand. He looks so strong. He would feel so good thrusting inside of you. Finally, his breathing fastens and he starts to moan louder than before.

“I’m cumming. I’m cumming, y/n,” he whisper yells as his body tenses up. You immediately rush in front of him. You sit on your knees as you watch the show, up close and personal. Beads of cum stream down his elongated cock as he strokes firmly. You place much effort in keeping your hands to your sides. You watch as his breaths begin to slow.

“Fuck, Joel,” you say breathless. His eyes start to open. He lets out a gentle laugh through his smiling face. You crawl between his legs. His smile quickly falling as he curiously watches you. There you sit, his softened unit before you. “Your turn to help me, Miller,” you say as you bite your lips. His smile re-emerges as his hand pushes your shoulder back towards the ground. His body slides over you until his face hovers above yours. “Yes, ma’am,” Joel whispers as he plants a kiss on your lips so hard, yet so soft, that you completely fall head over heels for the man.

note: whatcha think? joel screams sub and fuck do i love it. also episode 3?? can someone just cry with me about that real quick? shall there be a part two? 🤫

*edit: there shall be & here it is

taglist: @fan-fiction-floozy, @dirtydianaahah

reblogs are much appreciated! feel free to comment or message if you’d like to join a tag list! 🌿✨🌿

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

[aughtpunk]

Any advise for someone who's trying to write their own COTL AU story but keep getting stuck with the main plot?

Okay I waited till I was less mentally wiggly to answer this.

I'm guessing you have the issue where you've created an entire AU with all the background and world and characters and are now sitting there going 'wait, now what'. This has actually happened to me in the past! It sucks! But you can work your way through it!

First, think about what type of story you want to tell. Don't even think about the AU part. Like, do you want to write a romance? A mystery? Slice-of-Life? What sort of story are you interested in? Because I find that trying to force myself to write something I don't want to never, EVER works.

Now think of one super cool ultra thing you want to happen in the story. It could be something you've read a million times before (oh no, we have to share a bed) or something that's totally off the wall and unique (oh no, our pirate ship grew a mouth and it's trying to eat this island). So many of my fanfics have started from me thinking of one really cool scene and working around it.

Next, you work around that cool scene. What could possibly lead someone to that point in the story? What would immediately happen after that? How did our pirates come across this boat? What dark magic transformed the boat? Then, what do the people who live on the island think about how their coast now has a bite mark in it? I find that working from the inside-out is a good way to develop shaky plots. It causes a domino effect backwards, in a way.

Okay you got a cool idea and some very basic ideas for the events of the story. Now comes the messy part: sticking the characters in. It may seem easy at first, The Lamb is the pirate king, it's Narinder's island, but as you put more and more characters in you may notice they start to...rebel in a way. Suddenly Kallamar is there trying to lecture people on how islands Don't Work That Way. Maybe Pirate Lamb doesn't want to work with Island God Narinder. That OC you made to have a single line is now a major character and is making out with Kallamar how the fuck did that happen.

At this point: DO NOT PANIC.

Character rebellion is perfectly natural and part of the writing process. People aren't so cut and dry, and that goes for fictional people as well. The trick is not to force the characters to act against their nature. You want to lean in with whatever these characters are doing. If The Pirate Lamb doesn't want to bow to Narinder you don't force them to bow because that will make the story seem flat and forced. Instead, go into why the character is acting that way. Then go into the consequence of the character acting that way. Now Narinder is pissed and is calling for the Pirate Lamb's head. You didn't plan it, and it may change what you had outlined, but the story is better for it.

So now you have a cool event, a bunch of characters, and a story fleshed out by the actions of those characters. Now comes the hardest part of all: Writing an absolute shit first draft. Just. Just the worst thing you've ever written. When you read it over you will doubt all your writing abilities and debate deleting everything and burning the computer in which it was written on.

Don't do that. Instead have a snack and go to bed.

Then the next day you fix yourself a snack and a yummy drink and FIX THAT SHIT. Just read it over and over tweaking and adjusting until the story is how you want it. And if you have a beta reader than even better! But hey, if you don't it's not the end of the world. The important thing is after you look over your story two of three times you then slap that baby online before second-guessing yourself. Be sure to use the right tags too!

And that's it. Then you have a story out there featuring Pirate Lamb and Island God Narinder making out sloppy-style as the island sinks in the background. Congrats! You're a writer! Pat yourself on the back and slowly realize with sickening horror that you now have at least two dozen more story ideas.

Don't worry, it happens to the best of us.

[avelera]

So I really thought the plot of S2 of Good Omens was going to include a beat where either Crowley went back to being an angel or Aziraphale accidentally Fell, and I wanted to walk through some of the moments I thought were leading to such a Side-Swap between Aziraphale and Crowley, in part because some of them revolve around mysteries that still haven't been fully explained:

When Crowley went out to the street and had his lightning strike "freakout", I truly thought that was maybe a hint that he had flipped sides (accidentally?) back to being an angel

One reason being the "tiny miracle" he and Aziraphale perform later. Why did it fail so dramatically that it set off the klaxon alarms in Heaven?

One theory I had was that Crowley had already reverted back to being an angel, without realizing, so their miracles didn't cancel each other out. Instead, two heavenly miracles occurred which, combined, created that huge outpouring of power visible from Heaven.

The other theory I had was that the miracle to disguise Gabriel was a tiny, quiet miracle, that it totally worked as intended. The alert Heaven got was Crowley's lightning strike, which was also on the same street, right next to Aziraphale's shop. I thought there'd be a twist around that location confusion, and we'd learn that the power outpouring was from Crowley becoming an angel again. Sadly, no dice on that front (the timing didn't quite work either, and I did enjoy the smash cut to their "quiet" miracle not being so quiet)

Note: We still don't have clarity on why their "tiny miracle" failed so spectacularly!

In the second episode we had so many scenes of Aziraphale questioning his faith in God. Of treading the line. Of lying. Of doing all this behavior that felt just a sneeze away from him Falling.

We have that famous book-based line where Crowley wonders aloud if they got it wrong the whole time, wouldn't it be funny if he did the right thing and Aziraphale did the wrong one? Aziraphale doesn't think that possibility is funny at all, but there are so many small indications and subtle hints that Aziraphale acts in a demonic manner and Crowley in an angelic one.

Note: We still don't have a resolution as to whether Aziraphale's questioning of God will lead to anything. Could be an S3 thing.

Not just in the Resurrectionist plotline where Aziraphale truly does not understand how his nitpicking over the corpse sale led not just to Elspeth and Morag possibly starving, but it directly led to Morag's death. All for the want of a corpse they couldn't even return? Aziraphale's actions were wall to wall evil in that episode. In contract, Crowley not only does favors for Aziraphale this season, he explicitly does not ask for repayment for them. They are truly selfless acts. This is in addition to saving the goats and Job's children.

The thing is, I just couldn't tell if those moments of Angelic Crowley and Demonic Aziraphale were plot points or simple character quirks along the lines of "Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" - were we just being reminded that these two are both gray? It felt like Crowley did too much good and Aziraphale did too much evil for it to be a quirk rather than a plot point, but then... it wasn't a plot point. Like at all. There was no Falling this season.

When we saw Crowley in Heaven, I really wondered if the fact he could hack into Muriel's files wasn't just a poor password but because Crowley had already, accidentally, Redeemed himself or Risen or whatever you want to call it. I wondered if it was a Clue.

Note: We never got answers as to why or how Crowley was able to hack through Muriel's system. Probably it's been left for S3 but at the very least we got new questions raised around Crowley's power level as an angel and what his power level is currently.

(On that note, did the Gabriel statue ever fucking matter? What was the point of that whole thing? Just a weird statue, that was all??)

When Aziraphale took off his halo, I was excited for the possibility that THIS was it, THIS was when he would reject his angelic nature SOMEHOW, perhaps by necessity to save the shop and Nina and Maggie. Instead it was just... a weapon??? Somehow?? I thought he was doing the same thing as proverbially ripping off his own wings.

Basically, I wanted an ending where Crowley and Aziraphale kiss an reunite and realize they really are so important to one another, they've connected, they've inspired each other, they've changed each other... all at the absolute worst possible moment. If either had Fallen or Risen first, they could have been on the same side, instead I wanted to see them figuratively or literally torn in opposite directions into a Heaven/Hell that they loathe but can't escape because technically, all that you need to do is trust or distrust God in order to Fall or Rise, and it can't be easily or quickly faked, because it's about faith and it took them millennia to find or lose their faith, they can't just go "Whoops, never mind, actually I don't trust/I do trust God after all!" just to get out of it.

Frick I just really wanted to see Angelic Crowley and Demonic Aziraphale absolutely fucking miserable at their situation just as yet another Apocalypse kicks off, so they have to navigate that and the fact they're totally out of their depth in their new lives and they miss each other desperately.

Maybe I'm just too much of a angst muffin but damn, there were so few stakes, so little that was lost or threatened this season. Literally, Aziraphale could turn around right now and do the silly apology dance and really, it would all be a wash, Crowley would take him back in a second. They're not in peril, nothing was truly lost, they're barely separated at this point what with Aziraphale's new status there's really no reason he couldn't even visit Crowley. Barely anything has changed - Crowley always knew that Aziraphale was faithful to Heaven, he just has a promotion now that technically gives him more latitude to call the shots, which could easily mean a lot of time spent on Earth with Crowley too.

*Sigh* I'd probably be less bothered if I didn't feel like there were signs everywhere that some sort of Fall/Rise was coming, unwillingly, for one of them. Maybe it'll still happen in S3! Who knows!

[bookshelf-in-progress]

What the hey. I'll ask for some feedback right here on the blog.

I haven't touched my "Twelve Dancing Princesses" retelling in a while because I'm unsure about the style. When I was brainstorming a list of retelling possibilities, the first line of this one jumped out at me and made me start writing in a non-traditional point-of-view. I like the intimacy of it, but the story started expanding into more detail than I initially intended, so I'm not sure if it serves the story or just makes it more confusing. If you stumbled on a story written like this unawares, would it still make sense, etc.?

So I'm posting the first couple of scenes (2,400 words) to give you a taste of what it would be. It's still pretty rough, so there are some things about character and plot that don't make complete sense, but I could use some general feedback about readability. Is it worth continuing in this way or should I overhaul it to something more traditional? Is the story worth continuing at all? And so on.

(FYI: This is a retelling of the French version of the fairy tale, popularized by Andrew Lang, so all unique details come from that version).

Unseen: A Retelling of The Twelve Dancing Princesses

We go to the same garden every day, but you never see me. Why should you? You are the Princess Sonatina, youngest daughter of the greatest king on five continents, while I am only a gardener's assistant, with not even a surname of my own, except one that was given to me half as a taunt for my daydreaming ways. If you were ever to ask, I would tell you I answer to Michael Stargazer--but you never will think to ask, and I will never presume to speak.

Instead, I work silently in the gardens, while you wander past with your sisters--eleven of them, all unsurpassed in beauty of face and form and voice--laughing and chatting and singing snatches of songs. You are, all of you, more beautiful and vibrant than any of the flowers I tend, and I feel more alive just being near you.

Then the day comes when your morning songs are silent. You drag weary feet through the gardens, look blankly at the beauties of the world, lounge wearily along the edges of fountains and atop retaining walls. The rumor comes that every night, you are--all of you--wearing through your shoes.

Were I a prince, I would think no quest too perilous to save you from such sickness. I would climb a million trees in search of golden apples, cross storm-filled oceans in search of the Water of Life, work a dozen years at impossible tasks to find the key to ending your curse.

But I'm only a gardener, and nobody's son, so it falls to those with name and fortune to try their hands at saving you. The king has vowed that the man who finds the secret of where you go at night will win your hand in marriage, and there are many who are willing and worthy to try.

They are wonderful men--strong and handsome, noble and brave, with royal titles, vast holdings, great fortunes, and skills and talents that a simple gardener could never match. Any one of them would make a fine husband for a princess. Yet all of them, to a man, disappear within a day of taking up their task.

The rumors turn darker then, casting you not as victims but villains, luring men to their deaths with some dark magic of your own. Those who say such things did not see you in the gardens, or that would know that not one of you is capable of anything near what they accuse you of. Unfortunately, no one will ask a garden lad's thoughts, and I cannot speak unbidden unless I have proof.

So I go to the gardens and find two tiny rose trees. The head gardener tried to tear them out, in my first days at the palace, and I convinced him to let them live. I have watered them, fed them, saved them from disease and decay, told them stories of the princesses they serve. You have never seen them, I'm sure--you have never seen me--but though they are small, they are fine little plants, with dark, glossy green leaves, and little buds that seem always to be waiting for just the right time to bloom. An old woman told me once that they were wishing trees, planted in the earliest days of the kingdom's existence, and my service to them meant I had only to speak to them, and they would give me whatever I asked.

For myself, I want nothing--wishes too easily become the ruin of those who have them granted--but for you, I would dare all. I ask my two rose trees to make me not only unseen, but unseeable, able to follow wherever you go without detection.

The rose tree sprouts a single bloom, its petals so white and delicate they are almost transparent. When I pluck it from the bush, I disappear from sight. I place it in my buttonhole and move about the gardens, unseen by all who cross my path, even in the brightest sun.

That night, I follow you into the bedroom you share with your sisters, and I hide beneath the largest bed while the room above fills with the sounds of rustling dresses, clinking jewels, and girlish whispers. At last, your eldest sister Aria declares you dressed to perfection and calls for silence.

I creep out from under the bed and find you and your sisters dressed in ballroom finery--silks and satins and twelve pairs of perfectly-mended dancing shoes. I take my place just behind you, and find you more beautiful than ever in this moonlit room.

Aria pulls aside a tapestry, and the blank stone wall suddenly becomes an open doorway leading to a torchlit staircase. You all rush through in single file. I keep close at your heels, afraid that I'll be left behind unseen if I give the door a chance to close.

Aria stands back to hold open the tapestry. I rush past where she stands, afraid she'll follow too close and crash into my unseen form. In doing so, I trod too close to your skirt, and the fabric tears beneath my foot as you take your first steps down the stairs.

You shriek and grab hold of Lyra, standing just before you on the stairs. "Someone stood on my skirt!" you scream.

I hold myself flat against the damp stone wall, heart pounding so fast that I'm certain you hear me.

Aria breezes down the staircase, head held high, the crown princess rolling her eyes at her foolish juniors. "Don't be silly, Tina," Aria says. "I was nowhere near you on the stairs."

You protest that you felt someone on your skirt, but your cries for belief are drowned out by eleven dissenting voices, and they all continue down the staircase. You go only reluctantly, looking back at me--right through me--a thousand times as you go forth. Were it not for the weight of my mission, I would cast off the rose in the hope of a single moment when our eyes could truly meet.

After what seems like a million stairs, we emerge into an open clearing that would look like the outdoors if there was any sight of sky above. Trees tower over us with drops of silver on their branches, like rain upon the leaves. Further down the path is a gold-spattered orchard, each precious drop catching the soft white light that comes from I know not where. Even further beyond is a forest full of diamonds, every stone flashing rainbows that remind me of the fire in your eyes.

The forests are strange, but also strangely unsurprising--as though they've always been here, but simply unseen. Your sisters whisper of the night that this place was wished into existence--a place where they might revel in pure beauty and joy, away from the weighty eyes of the watchful world. But the forest, it seems, is only a prelude--the true marvel is far ahead. We emerge onto the shores of a shimmering lake--so vast, so deep, and so darkly blue that I can see neither the bottom nor the opposite shore. On an island in its center stands a castle so magnificent that it makes your father's palace seem like a paper toy. Its white, sculpted spires glitter with gems in a thousand colors, every brick spangled with precious stones. Its windows hold wonders caught in flawless stained glass. Music sweeter than any I've ever heard pours out its open doors, and the light from within forms a shining path across the lake--upon which float twelve sleek obsidian-colored boats.

Each boat has a boatman who rows swiftly toward the shore, and as they approach, I find that I know all the faces. Every one of these men is a prince who failed at finding your secret--or rather, they found it, and did not return. They are dressed in silks and velvets unlike any I've seen in the outer world, too rich for comprehension. As they slide up to the shore and each offer a place to one of you girls, they wear smiles that shine as bright as your own--but there is also something empty in their eyes.

You, as the youngest, take your place in the very last boat of all, piloted by a king's younger son whose sires have ruled half a continent for centuries. He smiles and bows as he takes you by the hand. The way your eyes light up make me wonder if I've seen what you look like in love.

The prince rows with arms strengthened by a warrior's skill--I doubt he's ever held a shovel in his life--but the other boats still outpace us by far.

"Why are you so slow tonight?" you ask him, half teasing, but with a trace of true annoyance.

"The boat is heavy," he says, "and I know not why."

You glance backward, toward where I sit in the stern, and again, I half-wish you could see me. But I let out a sigh of relief when you turn your eyes back toward the castle and give no further thought to unknowable truths.

We disembark on a dock just beneath the castle entrance, and in moments we are inside the palace of enchantment itself. This is a ballroom beyond what I could imagine--floors of marble streaked with gold and silver, towering windows displaying fantastical birds and beasts, spidery silver chandeliers holding thousands of brightly-lit candles, and at the far end of the room, tables tottering beneath food enough to feed an army, and half a nation besides.

But this splendor is nothing compared to the beauty of the music. It is like a living thing--vibrant, rapturous, all-consuming, pulling all into it like a roaring, flowing river, so the moment one steps through the door, there is nothing one can do but dance. Your prince pulls you into his arms, and your sisters' princes do the same, and soon you are swirling through that wondrous room, beauty and motion and life all brought to their fullness and put into perfect order.

All along the edges of that room are other faces--other princes who've failed at your father's quest--and they all take their turn in the dance. If I thought you alive in the gardens, you are a thousand times more vibrant now, laughing and dancing  so you glow with pure joy. These princes are your perfect partners, matching you with every step, reflecting the glow that you bring to the room. If I ever thought that I could take a place beside them, maybe win your father's wager and claim a princess for my bride, that spark is snuffed by the brightness of your blaze. You are ethereal, almost angelic, and could never be happy with one whose hands are stained from working with the common, solid Earth.

While the princes take their turns, you and your sisters dance without ceasing, and I no longer wonder how you could wear through your shoes in a single night. Those shoes are little more than tatters by the time the last note of the last dance plays, and the twelve of you trudge toward the boats to reach bed. Your princes are silent as they row the boats to the forested shore, and you, Sonantina, do not say a word about his slowness.

When you reach the banks, the prince bids you farewell, then all twelve of them row back to the palace, choosing to stay in the splendor rather than return to the pressures of their ordinary lives. After what I have seen, I cannot blame them for their choice.

But you and your sisters choose to return to your father. You trudge through the diamond, then gold, then silver-speckled forests, and as your sisters file one-by-one up the staircase, I realize that none of this fantastic tale will have a ring of truth unless I have something to bring as proof. I reach toward the nearest tree and snap off a slender branch. It disappears from sight as soon as I touch it to my clothes, but the sound of its breaking rings through that silent wood like a gunshot.

You jump at the sound, and are suddenly wide, wide awake.

"What was that?" you ask your sister.

Aria once again rolls her eyes. "Only an owl," she says. "You know it roosts in the castle at night."

The explanation does not please you, I can tell, but having no other, you fall silent and leave the silver woods behind.

When you are all safely asleep in bed, I slip unseen through the door and make my way invisibly to my small cot in the servants' quarters. When I lay on my bunk, I take off the rose, and my face reappears in the reflection off the washing bowl. I look as I did before I left, though infinitely wearier, and perhaps--though it might only be fancy--I carry something in my eyes of the enchantment of the night.

In my hands sits the branch I broke, its leaves as green, its silver dewdrops as solid, as they were in that fantastical land. I imagine myself taking it to the king at dawn, having triumphed where the sons of kings and emperors have failed.

Then I imagine the you and your sisters standing by. In a horrible flash, the daydream shatters, and I see myself for what I am--a sneak and a spook, who crept uninvited into a strange woman's room to steal evidence that would cut her off completely from the place she loves most in the world. If I have a role in this tale, it is as the villain, not the hero. I have triumphed in discovering the secret, but if I have any love in my heart for you, I cannot think of speaking.

After a short hour's sleep, I awake with the dawn, but I do not go to the king with what I've found.

Instead, I go to the head gardener and get myself assigned the task of bringing the twelve princesses their morning bouquets. I gather careful handfuls of daisies and larkspur and bind them together with handfuls of greenery. I hand them to your sisters one by one as they come bleary-eyed to your bedroom door. When you come to me, last of all, I make sure that your bouquet contains a single silver-spangled branch.

Then, at last, you see me.

[slugtranslation-hypmic]

Hey there Slug! I hope you ain't too buys and might have a lil fun with this one! Of each individual character, what are your respective favorite songs of theirs and why?

This is an easy ask to answer, so I'mma clear it from the pile and get to some older ones eventually.

I assume you mean solo songs only, right?

Under a cut for length because there are a bajillion boys in this series

Ichirou: I like his VA's rapping work in just about everything; he's really solid. Stage Ichirou also has a youthful quality I appreciate a lot, but of the main series songs... probably Break the Wall. It's high energy in a fun way. It also ties into a creative project I've been chewing on for years that's near and dear to my heart, although I'm not sure if I'll ever put it to paper and share it anywhere.

Jirou: I think Jirou's VA has a very pretty singing voice, so I like his softer songs. In general, I admire the "softer" aspects of Jirou's character and think that's where he shines best. So probably School of IKB, although I adore his choruses in Re:start.

Saburou: Requiem. I'm very, very, very into things that commit to being over the top and goofy, and I also enjoy combining classical and baroque elements with other genres. What's not to like here?

Samatoki: Gangsta's Paradise. The high speed rap is technically compelling. I generally appreciate v. fast rap since I enjoy learning and singing them. If the stage plays count, I really enjoy the emotion Samatoki's stage actor brings to Come Back to Me.

Juuto: ...There is some interesting text in the Personality section of Juuto's wiki page. (I have it pulled up to quick reference the song lists.) If anyone with wiki edit powers is reading this, you may want to clean that up... Anyway, I feel like they give Juuto great background music in just about every song, but Uncrushable takes the cake for me. I really like the BG music in that.

Riou: Move Your Body Till You Die, hands down. Goofy as fuck. Also, great workout music.

Ramuda: I find his main voice pretty grating, and his usual styles of music aren't my favorite in general. So Ramuda songs don't do a lot for me. I appreciate Pink Colored Love for plot reasons, though.

Gentarou: The slower Hypmic songs rarely do a lot for me, but I found myself enjoying Yume no Kanata a lot. Not sure I know why, necessarily...

Dice: 3$EVEN was one of the first songs I really enjoyed in Hypmic, and I still like its high energy today. In general, I'm impressed by Dice's VA's rapping ability and appreciate his parts in group songs a lot.

Jakurai: Like I said earlier, I'm not usually a fan of slow songs, so none of Jakurai's solos or duets have ever stood out to me. With that being said, I think Jakurai's speech style and slower rhythms makes him more fun and easier to translate w/ full rhyme and rhythm than many other characters. Like I think Labyrinth Wall would be fun to do a full cover of with syllable matching rhymes and line length while simultaneously trying to stick as close to the core meaning and tone as possible.

Hifumi: Both Champagne Gold and Don't Stop the Party are high-energy bops and great for working out. Slight preference for the former. I also really like his singing voice in group songs.

Doppo: Doppo's angrier verses in group songs are fun, but I'm especially fond of BLACK OR WHITE. In particular, I enjoy the DOTAMA cover. I'm a big DOTAMA fan for both his lyrical strength and considerable rapping chops. He's got a lot of songs that are really punchy and angry in this exact vein, and I love throwing on a playlist of his stuff while grinding out tedious work projects. Hahaha. Just rapping along "I don't want to work. I don't want to work. I don't want to work. BUT HERE I AM, WORKING!!!!" furiously under my breath.

Sasara: Comedian Rhapsody is really fun. This is another song I would love, love, love, love to try and do a full translation w/ preservation of rhyme/line length/jokes. Not for sharing--at that point it's just kinda showing off--but it's fun to chew on bits of it when I have moments of free time.

Roshou: Like most of the slow song characters, Roshou's solos aren't my favorite. I guess I prefer Under Sail to Own Stage for its background music.

Rei: All of Rei's songs are wild to the point of me liking them for the goofiness. If you commit to the bit, I'll enjoy it 9 times out of 10. Doesn't matter what the bit is. Shiro to Kuro is probably my favorite. LOVE the "heh heh we are up to no good" NPC villain energy of that song. But also, shout-out to his singing in Enishi, even if it's nigh-on intelligible to me. I love the hell out of Enishi in general.

Kuko: The king of goof himself. Sou Gyaran BAM is probably my favorite, but I am--to some degree--into virtually every song he's in.

Juushi: Wow, I'm listed as a source on this wiki page, lol. Anyway. Juushi's aesthetic as a whole isn't my cup of tea, but I have a soft spot for Moonlight Shadow, because the first two times I heard it were on Spotify shuffle while I just so happened to be scrubbing a toilet. So for a couple months after, I would put Bad Ass Temple on every time I cleaned the bathroom. Hahaha.

Hitoya: One and Two, and Law is so fucking goofy. I adore it. The live version with the airhorn? Chef's kiss.

Otome: Fuck it, let's do the ladies too. Out of all of her musical appearances, I like Just Do It the most. It adds such an interesting strength to her character, and the English portions are done super well.

Ichijiku: Love, love, love her part in Verbal Justice for its strength. This is yet another song I think would be fun to do a hell TL of, and then I remind myself that trying to rhyme "Kadenokouji" in English is a fool's errand.

Nemu: Her singing voice in WINK is nice, but I love her part in Femme Fatale for its energy. "I'm Nemu, and this is my masterpiece" Fuck yeah it is

[rustbeltjessie]

I love writing short fiction that’s light on plot, heavy on character, setting, etc. Much of the prose I write could be considered more like vignettes than traditional stories. I mean, some of the fictions I write do have plots, but even within those, I usually spend more time on description than I do on events that move the plot forward.

I enjoy reading that type of writing, too. Give me a lushly-written short story where nothing much happens but I get to know the characters and can picture the exact slant of sunlight on a wall? Amen. To be honest, even many of my favorite films are like that. Take Jim Jarmusch films, for example. Yeah, they have plots (some more so than others), but they’re also just very atmospheric, full of scenes where no one even talks, you just watch the characters and the scenery while the excellent soundtrack plays in the background. Hell yeah.

I think that’s part of the reason prose poetry appeals to me so much. I can write little vignettes, or stories without (much of) a plot. But to tell the truth, I don’t even differentiate much between poetry and prose, when it comes to my own writing. Sure, some of my poems ‘look’ more like traditional poems, with line breaks and enjambment. But I’ve written pieces that other people see as prose but that I consider poems. It makes it difficult, sometimes, to know how to submit my own work to lit mags, because I have some pieces that could work as prose poems or as flash fiction/non-fiction.

I don’t like to have to differentiate, or decide. Between poetry and prose, or even between fiction and non-. For this reason, hybrid works appeal to me a lot, too.

That said, I’m working on several things right now that even I would consider definitively prose fiction (although, see item 1: with varying levels of plot). I’ve realized that a good, oh, 40% of the characters I’ve been writing lately are some flavor of trans. And a good 70% of these stories take place in the midwest.

[youareiron-andyouarestrong]

Answer the Questions and Tag 5 Fanfic Authors

tagged by @mosylufanfic, thank you friend!

1 . How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I think I had been telling myself stories in my head since I was old enough to think coherently, but it wasn't until I was in college that I realized that I could write those stories down, and actually put them in the world to be read by other people.

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

According to AO3, I have written in twenty-six fandoms, not counting whatever's lurking in my writing tag in my blog. The fandom I've written the most for is Rogue One.

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

I started writing things to be read in the spring of 2013, so...eleven years. which is insane to think about.

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

I read a lot more, but I am trying to set aside dedicated time to write...at least once a week.

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

I think my phrasing has improved a lot. I love writing long, involved descriptions and worldbuilding, plus snappy banter, which is a thing I think I've gotten a lot better at in the last eleven years.

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

not weird per se, but I definitely looked up Indian wedding traditions for my Kanej mehndi fic and Punjabi names for children (also for a Kanej kid!fic), not to mention I tried to figure out how London neighborhoods work for a Lockwood & Co. fic (I still don't know).

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

The fact that anyone comments at all is a fact that continues to blow my mind, but anyone who tells me that they loved a turn of phrase, a description, or that one particular sentence flowed/hit home/stuck with them? may they be blessed in their endeavors forever.

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

I wrote a Mad Max: Fury Road prompt/fic where all the characters had beast aspects/animal traits but they weren't were-animals, or something like that? Idk, I really wanted to write tiger!Max and lioness!Furiosa, so that's what I stuck with. 9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Multi-chaptered!! It is so hard for me to sustain a continued story with an actual plot. my latest Lockwood & Co. piece, passed down like folksongs was the better part of a year's worth of labor, not to mention heroic beta-ing, and me going back and adding and rewriting and adding some more.

10. What is the easiest type?

Anything in media res, where I can just jump right in and get to the "good stuff," like the kissing or the action. Too often I get bogged down with the "how did we get here?" or "wait, they were against the wall, now they're on the floor? how did that happen?"

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Google Docs is the most convenient, also for sharing purposes, though if a document is like, my thesis work, I'd probably use Microsoft or something more permanent. Someday I'll save up enough to get Scrivener...like a grown up.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I really want to write a sprawling Lockwood & Co fic that's like, involved family trees and weird anecdotes about the Lockwood family, and how ghosts like exist in other places. I would also want to start introducing original characters in different works, but I'm always afraid they'll end up sounding too much like a self-insert. But I'll get there!

13. What made you choose your username?

I had just changed my tumblr handle, and I didn't want the bother of having to keep track of two usernames! so I borrowed a line from a tumblr poem that I admired: "youareiron_andyouarestron." it stuck, and that's been my name ever since.

tagging @dangerously-human, @cats-and-metersticks, @menina89, @linearao3, and @oneofthewednesdays, if they want to!

[glorified-red]

Things only get added into the room if the character interacts with it. If the character doesnt, then you're just telling the reader what to imagine.

can you go a little more in depth with this?

I'd love to! This is a really good question, too.

So most writers I work with are visual learners and need some kind of visual to understand an abstract concept, and with writing, there's many.

So sure I could say "Show. Don't tell."

But what does that look like?

So I say your story starts with an empty room. It's a little 4 x 4 room, no windows, no doors, nothing on the walls, no furniture, just absolutely nothing. When you start writing, your character gets plopped into that room.

The room is the setting of your story, but if you haven't specified a setting yet, the room is empty. Sure you can tell the readers that the room is supposed to be a forest, a classroom, or a mall.

But, you haven't detailed the room yet, it's still empty, it just has a little sign in the middle of the room that says "forest". But forests all look different, so that tells me absolutely nothing.

Plus, that's telling, and we don't want that.

So with my writers, I make them write me a scene with only one rule (fun little writing exercise for those who wanna try):

Nothing gets added into the room unless your character physically, mentally, or emotionally interacts with it. If your character doesn't? It doesn't exist.

You wanna specify that there's a desk in the corner of the room adjacent to the bed? You can't tell the audience, you have to find a way for your character to interact with it and show them that it exists.

This also applies to pre-existing scenes. If you read a scene and your character only interacts with the bed, yet you spent two paragraphs describing the furniture layout of the room?

I make them delete it.

They can then see visually that now there's only a bed in that once empty room. Plus, if your character only interacts with the bed and nothing else in that scene?

Then what's the point of describing the desk.

At that point you're just controlling your readers imagination because you can. You're taking away the readers freedom to imagine any room they want to, a room that they find familiar, find intriguing, or just think would look cool for the story.

Micromanaging the visuals of a story is fine if it's pertinent to the plot or you have a specific vibe (then you use tone, connotation, etc. Instead of focusing on specifics of where shit is, specify what it looks like because if you want a vibe, that's important to character portrayals which is therefore important to plot), or your character interacts with it in a specific way.

Otherwise? Does it matter?

Especially when talking about fanfiction. The entire point of reader-insert writing is for anyone to picture themselves and their situation into the fic and micromanaging what they can and cannot imagine limits that projection.

That's why all my fics are as vague as shit. So you guys can picture your bedroom or your kitchen, because me saying the countertops are marbled doesn't affect anything but your ability to effectively immerse yourself into the story.

Now if I were to have a flashback or reference that you and your comfort character spent a week remodeling the countertops and you can trace the spot where you tried writing your signatures in the marble---that affects the plot, that would be a fun tidbit.

So when it comes to setting and scenary, there's a fine line between creating enough things in the room to make a cohesive story, accidentally creating nothing at all, and creating too much.

And it all boils down to your audience, what your writing, why you're writing it, and your platform of writing.

Specifically in fanfiction, listing off scenery is fine to create the mood, but it gets boring when done in excess. I like for my writers to get out of the habit of relying on telling the audience what to imagine for the sake of "just 'cause" because that's the quickest way to tread the path towards excess.

"The desk was pushed against the furthest wall, the window next to it shining light against the array of notebooks and broken crayons. The bed was in disarray. Pillows made their way to the foot of the bed and the blankets were crumpled and half falling onto the carpet below."

Like yea, you could absolutely do that. It paints the scene well even though you're just telling the audience what to imagine.

But the key in that paragraph is that all the things I mentioned in the room had a purpose. I'm not just saying there's a desk in the room because I'm picturing a desk so therefore you have to picture the same desk (aka micromanaging imagination)

No, I'm showing that the room is chaos which could then bridge into a story about why. Maybe the character is going through Shit™ or that's a character trait. It's still showing the audience something in the subtext even though it's telling the setting.

(This would be an example of room vibes which helps with character portrayals like I mentioned earlier. Notice how I didn't specify where the desk or bed was In relation to each other, instead I focused on details of said things to get the message of chaos across [crayons, blankets, notebooks, etc]. I also implied that a character interacted with the room because how else would crayons break? How else would blankets fall to the floor? This is what I mean when I say a character can interact with the space without it being inherently physical [can be emotional or mental], it can also be implied. That implication counts towards creating stuff in the room because technically, your character interacted with it. So yes, I told you what's in the room. But I also had the character interact with it in the past. Fun little loophole to my rule.)

You can have both at once.

Sure I'm basically listing off bullet points of what the room looks like. But there's reason behind it. Because if a character walks into the chaotic room, it's showing the audience that hey, there's a reason why the room is chaotic, stay tuned to find out. Even though I never actually specified that there's a reason in the first place.

So you kinda gotta ask yourself where you want to show and where you want to tell, cuz showing all the time gets too poetic and hurts brains unless you want to be an asshole and write poetry.

But just telling makes for a shitty story.

So you gotta find a balance. And the exercise above with the empty room is for you to practice showing setting instead of telling it because it's an easy habit to fall into. Some people don't need the practice but by god do most.

You don't have to use the empty room analogy all the time, but if you find yourself spending 2-5+ paragraphs telling the audience what to imagine, it might be a good exercise to try out to see what matters to plot, what your characters are interacting with, and what your habits are.

I usually write out what the room looks like in detail and then begin the scene. After I finish, I delete all the paragraphs of me describing the room to see what the characters actually needed to make the scene run.

Then If I need to, and only if I need to, I'll re-describe the room with only those things in mind. And most times? I don't need to anyway.

Honestly that's why most of my fics jump into things immediately or start with dialogue because I don't need to describe that shower caddy hanging from the side of the standing shower, I don't even need to specify it's a standing shower and not a tub shower, I just have to say it's a shower.

Especially in fanfictions where the setting has already been created visually (aka the manor, the batcave, bedrooms, etc). Most often, your readers already have a visual of those things based on the canon content they consume.

Describing your version of the batcave is just, again, micromanaging their imagination. But yes, absolutely go into detail about how there's coffee mugs scattered beside the batcomputer and theyre all different shapes, sizes, colors, and filled with different liquids.

Because that implies the Batfamily is up together and each have mugs and it's cute and could affect the plot. (This is also implying character interaction in the past!!! This then allows the batcomputer to materialize into the empty room because the characters have interacted with it. Yes it was in the past, but they still did!)

But please, don't spend so much energy telling me the medbay is next door to the safe room. Cuz in my brain, it's not, and I'm just gonna ignore you.

[apotelesmaa]

HELLO .WAIT. do you have more thoughts on wxs soul eater au i never considered combining the two even thiugh i am off the walls crazy about the,m

Oh I have. So many thoughts. You asking abt it even made me get up off my ass and draw again. Putting everything under the cut to avoid having a mile long post.

When I first had the idea I really struggled on who was a weapon/meister but after deciding on wanting to pair ruikasa/emunene up I was like tsukasa and emu need to be the meisters bc 1) it fits with them being the founding duo of wxs 2) I really wanted nene to be a gun 3) fitting tsukasa’s goals into the SE universe worked better if he was a meister. I elected to make rui a whip first and then I realized I could fit a bloodborne reference in there and reference becoming potatoes with the cane. I’m not entirely satisfied w the first pass at designs for the universe (not super close to the SE aesthetic, I cannot draw guns, I’m not very good at character design, etc) but i kind of tried to pull inspiration from:

- tsukasa and emu’s happy Phoenix costumes (split colors on tsukasa’s coat, tsukasa’s boots, the corset/bell sleeves/little cape thingie for emu)

- for tsukasa specifically: piano (b&w colors and stupid long coat tails), his second wxs costume

- emu: bc I drew her last and it was getting late I did less searching and more winging it but I did try to combine the style of her wxs costumes (shoes, dress, striped socks) & general darker Lolita (for lack of a better word) fashion.

- nene: her gaming event card (weird energy ball device thing? Which I would imagine functions similar to dtk’s shooting soul wave lengths thru the thompsons)

- rui: his ugly ass coat (fond) he wears as his first wxs costume. Also becoming potatoes cane handle thing. Him being a trick weapon (bloodborne term, essentially a weapon that can switch between two forms) also kind of lines up w him being a tech genius.

Ok done talking abt the designs onto the in universe stuff

- not basing any au story off the soul eater plot bc it didn’t work out very well (too many pjsk characters) (going with the main story wxs plot w a soul eater spin. Kinda. Gonna have to think abt that a bit.) but if I did mafuyu > crona, miku & the kagamines > dtk and the thompsons. Would that make cfm lord death. Emu would fill a similar role to maka with mafuyu in that situation but in general (besides the surface level similarities btwn tsukasa and black star) nene is too different from soul, emu is way too different from maka, and rui is literally NOTHING like tsubaki so I can’t justify just swapping out emunene/tsukasa with soul&maka/black star&tsubaki. No equivalent to that fucking cat in this universe. & the pjsk characters get to wear clothes when they’re in the weird place weapons’s bodies go when they’re transformed.

- idk maybe the regular soul eater plot is happening/will happen/has happened but this is the Japan branch (oceania branch in canon?).

- vocaloids are professors (not the kagamines. Forever babies.) but if there needs to be a lord death equivalent making that miku would be so funny. Also the normal vocaloid personalities and not the WXS ones for conveniences sake. Uhhh first thoughts for M/W would be meister miku, weapon meiko, meister kaito, luka can go either way tbh, kagamines are both weapons but are each other’s meister.

- similar to how rui did shows on his own for a really long time I think he was his own meister for a while (like Justin Law was). He doesn’t have many souls bc dwma in this universe at least pretends to give a fuck abt student safety so they don’t want to send him out alone on anything dangerous (despite his talent) and he can’t resonate soul wave lengths with most ppl bc they don’t get him. He ended up giving up on finding a meister when he was younger bc of this & just worked really hard on his own. He experiences a similar isolation from his peers that dtk did (ppl find him intimidating/envy at his skill/etc).

- equivalent of him transferring in to kamikou (? Spelling) second year is the kamishiros spending ~10 years in America. He’s still childhood friends w nene he just moved away after they drifted apart and then came back. Mizuki probably did something similar just 2 keep the mizuki & rui connection still there.

- tsukasa’s SE universe goal is to be the best meister - he wants to protect & help people (inspired by saki. I’ll get to that) but the equivalent of tsukasa forgetting he wanted to make ppl smile & believing he just wanted fame would be tsukasa believing he wants to be the best meister for fame/power.

- saki’s chronic illness is a result of black blood due to an incident w a kishin egg monster when she was younger. I think she would be a weapon but along with the canon typical chronic illness symptoms (not erasing those) she struggles for a long time w controlling her ability to change in and out of weapon form. Tsukasa & her *could* have been a m/w pair & have compatible soul wave lengths but 1) he’s overprotective and I think he realized he would not be able to fight without being too scared of getting her hurt 2) saki’s illness means she can’t really enroll in the dwma (yet. She gets there eventually.)

- nene was in the not classes before the plot picks up bc she didn’t think she had what it took to be a weapon. In universe equivalent to her forgetting her lines would maybe be freezing when she was supposed to transform during an important test when she was younger? Not baby age like in canon (bc I know the DWMA likes child soldiers but 7ish is a bit much even for them) but old enough to be taking classes & old enough to be put into not classes as a result. Im not reading SE NOT! to understand how those classes work though so thank god she gets out of those classes

- nene *is* a really powerful weapon she just lacks the confidence and struggles to resonate with people (& unlike rui she can’t wield herself)

- on that note emu can resonate with just about anyone but she hasn’t found anyone that felt right yet, and Tsukasa needs someone who can keep up w the intensity of his soul wave length and hasn’t found anyone who can do that yet.

- ^ similar to tsukasa being a piano prodigy or whatever in canon tsukasa *is* a really good meister, he just needs a really good weapon. Bc his peers would need more training to get to that level

- I toyed with making emu dtk adjacent (daughter of death) (bc PXL -> DWMA) but that would be too complicated with her brothers/dad/grandpa so I disregarded it. Maybe I’ll come back to it. I think it would make more sense for emu to come from a long line of really talented meisters so she grew up training for the job and running around the dwma.

- emu approaches tsukasa and is like we should work together!!! We’ll do better on missions and be able to take down harder kishin & maybe witches!! & he’s like sure why not every star needs a sidekick (obnoxious laugh) even though emu could kick his ass without breaking a sweat (in line with canon). & like the angel she is emu is like (ignores his pre main story dickheadedness) wonderhoy!! (Deathhoy?) okie dokie we need to find weapon partners then!! (bodily drags him to class)

- tsukasa sees rui training on his own and is like wow he’s really talented! Fitting for a future star like me! & approaches him to ask if they can pair up. Rui is like on the condition that you can find my friend a partner in your class (wants nene out of the not classes bc he thinks she’s far beyond that skill level). Emu jumps on the idea and is introduced to nene who is placed in the higher level courses to accommodate this partnership. Idc if that can’t happen in SE canon I think the Otoris have a lot of sway and any potential issues w nene being less powerful (not the case but it’s the assumption made abt not students) can be made up by emu’s skill.

- emu is instantly very taken with nene and they resonate well. I know what u are dot jpg. Rui & tsukasa can resonate but struggle to unlock their full potential (similar to soul and maka struggling with using the witch hunter form) bc tsukasa needs to realize what his real motivations are.

- tsukasa assumes nene has a low skill level at first (similar to his issues w nenerobo. God I wish I could think of a way to fit nenerobo in this au. sorry nenerobo) but is proven wrong when emu wields her.

- equivalent to the climax of the wxs main story in this is nene freezing again during an important mission and the group losing an important target -> tsukasa gets mad and yells at her -> rui fights w tsukasa over this and tells him that he’ll never be a good meister if he cares more about fame and power than people.

- tsukasa chats w the death scythe kaito & realizes the Error Of His Ways -> emu is considering dropping out bc she feels that she fucked up all of their futures as weapons/meisters by putting this into motion but tsukasa has the heart to heart with emu and they agree to continue being a team -> emu and nene partner back up -> they approach rui who has gone back to working solo and he refuses to partner back up w tsukasa

- idk what a good equivalent to the lonely alchemist show would be. Tsukasa and rui need to resonate & work together to help emunene because they’re in peril or something? & rui through the resonance realizes that tsukasa is genuine? Some sort of hand wavey plot device is used to resolve everything.

- I think that emu & rui and nene & tsukasa are also able to resonate and they do occasionally switch it up just for funsies. Emu and rui bc they just get along very well and nene & tsukasa argue with each other but can still function as a team.

- I don’t think that rui & nene can resonate because. Put down the pitchforks please. *Because* similar to their dynamic in pjsk despite their bond and their care for each other there’s a lot of baggage that needs to be worked through. Too many things left unsaid. Etc. they could probably achieve resonance later on but there’s not really a need to given that they’re both weapons and both have meisters.

- Rui thinks it’s a great training exercise to fight tsukasa “how do you expect to get better if you don’t try fighting against a weapon without a weapon… I’m just trying to help you… (fake crying)” “I’m already good at fighting without a weapon!! This is never going to be relevant knowledge anyways!!! You just want to fight me because you think it’s fun!!!!!!” “(switching manipulation tactics) Someone who wants to be a star would want to be prepared for any situation no matter how small the chance is of it happening” “hm…that’s true… ok let’s do it!!”

- cut to them in the nurses office. This is a weekly occurrence.

- emu also thinks it’s good practice to use tsukasa as moving target practice but this is less dangerous and more just continuing tsukasa’s never ending torment (he is a willing participant in said torment mind you)

- like in canon emu pulls nene out of her shell and hypes her up constantly which is huge in getting nene to have more confidence in herself and her abilities. It’s also incredibly helpful to have a meister who will never judge her for freezing and will always meet her halfway.

- also like in canon nene is very helpful with reeling emu in. She’s a very helpful voice of reason/impulse control but one that understands that even if emu’s ideas are unconventional they still have merit (even if they need to be refined a little)

- similar to the soul eater main cast having the self preservation skills of very small stupid suicidal animals hell bent on getting themselves injured or killed (Liz excluded), emu and Tsukasa are very prone to charging in to a situation w/out thinking. Tsukasa is more reasonable but unfortunately his weapon parter is not and rui usually cajoles tsukasa into doing stupid shit. Nene is suffering.

- maybe someday I’ll design rui & nene if I ever go back and refine these designs but I’m really lazy.

- not really sure how I would go around incorporating the wxs arcs into the soul eater universe with regards to PXL selling out and stuff. Making peace with the witches maybe? Something will probably come to me eventually.

- unlike atsushi ohkubo I’m not a terminally horny freak so there’s zero weird shit in this au.

- initial thoughts on the other units: minori(w)/haruka(weapon that chooses to be a meister) + airi(m)/shizuku(w), kohane(m)/an(w) + toya(weapon who was trained as a meister before deciding to be a weapon)/akito(m), mafuyu(m)/kanade(weapon… don’t make her exercise) + mizuki(w)/ena(m), leoneed swaps pairs frequently but shiho & izuka are meisters + saki and honami are weapons. Open to debate for most of these I haven’t given them much thought.

[mangoshorthand]

No Hard Feelings- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch4

SUMMARY: You're Five's latest assassination target, but things don't go to plan and now he wants you as his fuckbuddy. Funny how what we want and what we need are rarely in line. (Five's physically aged up). Obvious smut warning but there's plot too, I swear! Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five- Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve

In this chapter, it's Tuesday and you made Five wait. You're expecting one visitor but the second is a surprise.

Smut below. Proceed at your own risk. They're actually screwing this time! 😲

Chapter Four: Working With Groragne

You’re enjoying a glass of malbec. You haven’t changed, wearing the same pencil skirt, blouse and mid heels you wore for work. What are you supposed to wear in this situation? You’d needed the wine to calm your nerves. You’ve been half aroused, half anxious all day. You're playing music and keep glancing over at the digital display, unconsciously clock-watching. 

At 19:58, you hear an impatient knock. Something about it makes you think he’s been standing there a while, knocking as much before eight as his pride will allow. Placing your wine glass on the table, you cross to the front door.

Again, he stands in your doorway. Another nondescript suit, the jacket held over one arm and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. You wonder briefly if his wardrobe is all black and navy suits, like a cartoon character.

“Wine?” you ask, “I have- “

“Nope.”

A flash of light and an electric whoosh and suddenly you’re slammed hard into the wall between your kitchen and bedroom. It knocks the wind out of you, but he’s on you. He’s kissing you too hungrily to allow you to catch your breath. More than once, his teeth graze your lips, hard. He deepens the kiss. Needy, insistent, he pushes you inexorably into the wall, as if he’s trying to force your two bodies into one. His long-fingered hands stop caressing your hips, thighs and breasts and come to rest on each side of your head. He scrunches your hair between his fingers and pulls a little harder than playfully.

A low gasp rumbles deep in his throat as he returns to the attack. You take every spare moment he gives you to whoop in air. There aren’t many, and they’re punctuated by hard bites to the back side of your neck. You can feel him getting more turned on as you let out tiny pained noises in response to his teeth. You know you’ll have to wear your hair down for at least the next week.

At last, he comes up for air, breathing hard through his nose. Up until now, it’s been his upper body forcing yours flat against the wall. Now, giving you breathing room, he shifts his weight through his pelvis, grinding his crotch into your hip. For the second time, you feel him stiff against you. This time the pressure’s firm and absolutely deliberate.

With his brow furrowed in mock wrath, he murmurs:“ You made me wait.”

He hasn’t let go of your hair. You try to say something, but either the breath or the right words don’t come. He helps.

"You ok? Color?”

“Gree-orange.” you stammer, changing your mind at the last second. It might feel like your entire vulva is on fire, but his ferality was unexpected.

He allows himself a single exhale of laughter, “I can work with grorange. Now, take off your panties. Leave everything else on." 

You reach up your skirt and pull your panties down, stepping out of them.

"Good."

Suddenly, abruptly, he pulls your left leg up and around his waist. You overbalance- or would, were he not holding you. You suddenly become aware of his strength. His slight build and structured suit-jackets belie the muscle tone underneath. Looking down, you see the muscles and tendons standing out in his forearms, taught. Almost as if the skin can’t contain them.

He pulls you higher and your legs wider apart. He’s not gentle and his rough handling splits your skirt up the back seam.

“Five!” you yell, indignant. He responds only by pressing into you harder and allowing your right leg to find the floor. Eyes glinting evilly, he looks you straight in the face as he grabs the torn seam and pulls, ripping your skirt until only the waistband holds it on. He cocks an eyebrow and gives you a grin.

“It was getting in my way.”

His hand creeps between your legs.

“God, you’re dripping,” he loads as much derision as he can into the single word, laughing malevolently.

He strokes a single finger gently up and down your slit. He puts on a mocking pout as he says: 

“Are we nice and wet for Daddy?”

You nod, but he tilts his head: I can’t hear you.

“Yes,” you croak, hoping it will satisfy him.

As his index finger applies the lightest touch, you buck your hips forward. You've never wanted a man to touch you as much as right now.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chides, shaking his head and withdrawing his finger.

His eyes lock yours again. He knows he’s won the unspoken challenge. He has you just where he wants you and enjoys that knowledge. He lowers his voice to just above a whisper.

“You know what to say.”

You feel the heat rise to your face as you murmur, “I’m wet for you Daddy.”

“Yes you are. Wet like a little slut?”

You don’t wait to be prompted this time. Desperation for him to renew his caresses outweighs your humiliation…or is it the humiliation that makes you desperate?

“Please Daddy? I’m your little slut and I’m wet for you.”

Hearing yourself give in has an electric effect on your pussy. You feel it throb, an epicenter for shockwaves that tingle all the way up into your stomach and down your legs, pleasure radiating outwards. You feel a corresponding gush, and you’re sure his finger must be dripping now too.

“Good girl,” he croons, stroking your slit again, his finger quickly finding your engorged clit.

He works slowly, gently, swirling his finger. He works you to a feverish pitch before sliding his finger down to your hole, taking a moment to circle your sensitive inner labia. He wiggles the index finger against you, letting you know what’s going to happen before it does. Then, torturously slowly, he slides it in.

He continues at a languid pace. It's maddeningly too little. At the apex of his movements, he crooks the tip of his finger, almost absent minded. But for his face, you might believe he was absent minded. He studies your expression, watching your reaction to every micro movement of his hands. He looks detached, scientific; like a physicist taking notes on an interesting experimental outcome.

“You’re going to need more than one, aren’t you?”

This time, your desperate nod satisfies him. Abruptly, he removes his finger. Your breathy cry at the loss is stifled at once as he returns to your clit. He’s no longer experimenting; he's frigging you concertedly. His middle and index fingers strum a steady rhythm as you writhe onto them. Your orgasm builds, you surrender more of your weight to the wall and his arms

“Don’t stop!”

He doesn’t. You let yourself go. Wave after wave of pleasure cascade through your every cell. You buck wildly, your still-heeled right foot sliding slightly on the floor. Then, as mingled supplications and obscenities pour from your mouth, he suddenly changes tac, those two fingers abruptly entering your pussy. Here again he dispenses with teasing, pleasuring you deftly and efficiently until you go limp in his arms, the second orgasm a less intense but deeper pleasure, resonating through you like some kind of choral hymn. 

He removes his fingers and presents them to your mouth.

“Clean your come off me,” you open your mouth and he pushes them in, “suck them.”

You oblige, humiliation making the mingled taste of your juices and his fingers even more erotic. He pushes his fingers in deep before removing them.

He steps away, leaving you to catch your breath against the wall. After a single moment to take you in, he strolls to the coffee table and picks up your half-empty wine glass. He throws it back in one swallow, making a face.

“Ugh. Next time, I’ll choose the wine,” he says, slamming the glass down.

“Snob,” you manage, before he gives his next orders.

“Kneel.”

You kneel, watching greedily as his slightly unsteady hands undo the button and zip on his suit pants. From the plain white underwear, now just visible, he finally pulls out his dick.

The uncut five and a half inches stands proud from his pants, curving slightly to the left. It looks painfully, strainingly hard. Its soft patch of hair curls neatly at the base. You feel your mouth water and you swallow involuntarily.

He approaches, stroking himself just a little. It’s the way he holds it that you notice. Confidently; like he intends to use it.

As he looms over you, your eyes turn, unconsciously to the freezer: you knelt like this with his gun to your head. He notices and withdraws slightly.

“Are you ok?”

You nod slowly and then drag your eyes back to his. He holds your gaze.

“We can move if you want?”

You respond by leaning forward and taking his dick into your mouth, teasing the head with your lips and tongue. His skin is soft and warm. Not expecting it, he arches his back and lets out a tiny, contented sigh, as if home after a long day.

“Mmmm. Fu-uck”

Hands laced once again in your hair, he watches the lips that dared speak back to him now wrapped around him. Around his aching cock: where they so clearly belong. He lets you suck him for a while, enjoying for the moment that you're kneeling there just to pleasure him, working so hard to make him come, the eyes he couldn't forget studying his face, altering what you do to service him better based on his tiniest looks and moans. It's too much, thinking like that with the soft wet heat around him; it's too good when the head of his dick is already tingling.

“I’m close”, he says, casually. “And I want to fuck your face.”

You remove him from your mouth with a wet sound that makes his cock twitch.

“Green.”

He takes one of your hands and places it on his leg, warm and firm beneath his pants.

“Tap me if you need me to stop.”

You accept him again into your mouth, taking him as far as you can. Your nose meets his trimmed curls and his clean, pheromone scent fills your senses intoxicatingly.

As he looks down at you again, he squeezes your hair between his fingers, holding you firmly. He begins to use your face, stroking it up and down his cock while pushing his hips forward. He lets out grunts as he does so; low little 'Ohs' of satisfaction. It's like being a human fleshlight and the thought makes your nipples harden. You feel the head of his dick ramming the back of your throat. You try to breathe through your nose and power through but it’s soon unbearable. As your gag reflex begins to take over, you pat his thigh and he allows you to pull your head away, eyes streaming and taking steading breaths.

“I’m so close.”

A whine edges into his voice and precome beads the end of his dick, invitingly. After a few moments, you catch your breath and use the tip of your tongue to lap up the little drop. This earns you a little stroke through your hair.

"Such a good girl," he whispers, throatily.

Showing him how good you can be, you swallow him again. this time, he tilts your head back and pushes you down to a lower kneel. It makes it easier; you’re able to cope as he slams himself as deep into your face as he can.

“Take more you fucking whore, take all of Daddy’s dick. Ahh-ha you’re such a good little bitch. Such a good-fucking-dirty-whore- slutty-bitch…”

As he devolves into word-salad, his hips surge forward and you feel him spurting against your throat. He slackens, moaning, pulling back to ride out his orgasm in your mouth. The salty taste makes your pussy tingle all over again.

He pulls out and immediately covers himself. As he rights his pants, he strides to the door, grabbing his abandoned jacket and stooping to pick up your panties.

“Thanks," he winks, shoving them in his waistcoat pocket, "I'll probably see you on Thursday.”

The door opens and then shuts. He’s gone abruptly and you’re still kneeling there, some of his come dripping stickily down your chin.

It was harsh, but probably wise. 

He thinks this as he hails a cab. When he climbs in, he’s thinking he should have at least stayed long enough to get her a washcloth. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. 

As the cab pulls away, he thinks that’s bullshit. This wasn’t exactly a ‘gentlemanly’ arrangement. She knows what this is: if she wants ‘gentlemanly’ then she can get a boyfriend.

He drummed his fingers erratically on his knee. 

How was he supposed to know where she kept her washcloths anyway? She could get her own damn washcloth. He’s upholding his end of the bargain just fine. He’d felt the power of her orgasm in the tight, clenching around his fingers- he didn’t need any more evidence that he was delivering on his side of things.

Though he recently came, the reminiscence makes his dick show weary interest…though perhaps not so weary. He’s suddenly very aware of her panties in his waistcoat pocket. 

She has nice eyes.

He pushes the thought away, replacing it with more appropriate ones. She has nice tits, nice legs, a nice round ass and she sucked his cock like a champ. That’s what he should be focusing on.

He looks out of the cab’s window, watching the city go by morosely. 

…Should he have left immediately after calling her a whore? He can’t even recall what else he called her as he came. 

The way she smiled when she called him a snob. It was undeniably cute, he could acknowledge that, but it didn’t mean anything. They were just two adults in a mutually beneficial arrangement and he was maintaining boundaries: keeping things nice and clear for her. 

He sighed.

Having sex in this body is usually odd. When it was seventeen or so, he had a raft of one night stands just because he could get away with saying it was older. It felt all wrong though: he was detached from the experience. He imagined it was how a ghost must feel when possessing Klaus: he was able to feel all the sensations but felt that he had no right to be there, that he’d stolen it from someone else. In Five’s case, the body was stolen it from the teenage runaway he’d once been. It wasn’t really him.

Today was different, though. This whole experience was different from start to finish. The way the body seemed to take over where she was concerned…it horrified and fascinated him. He got caught up in the sensation in a way he hadn’t with any of the others: the feel of her, her little noises and the way he looked at him…he’d been so focused on them that, for a moment, he forgot the fundamental wrongness of his physicality. 

Again, he chased away the pointless thoughts. When all is said and done, you only show physical affection to the people you love. And he simply isn’t available in that way. His heart isn’t free for the taking. It would be wrong of him to make her think it might be.

But still, the sight of her kneeling on the floor, watching him leave with that confused expression keeps replaying in his mind.

 He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

There’s a knock only ten minutes after he left.

By now, you’ve cleaned yourself up, disposed of the ruined skirt and wrapped yourself in your bathrobe. Could he have reconsidered his hasty exit? It was hard to know how to feel about it. It was true that it was a casual encounter, but you hadn’t expected him to be so clinical at the end; to make such an abrupt departure. 

You cross to the door, a smile forming on your face, but when you open it, it’s someone else. A woman.

Her outstretched hand shoots through the door.

“Hi, I’m Lila.”

Almost before you can shake her hand in bewilderment, she barrels over the threshold. You step aside sharply for fear of being knocked over.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this. Just needed a chat.”

“Who are-“

“I told you, I’m Lila!” and then, “I know Five.”

From what you know of Five, this isn’t exactly reassuring, so you eye her warily.

She walks to the living space, looks around with an air of assessment, and turns to face you.

“So, weird thing number one: Five takes a job and doesn’t carry it out- hence you standing here. Weird thing number two: He meets you for a milkshake and now you’re best friends or something?”

Your mind races. Could Five have lied? Is the contract on you really canceled? Who is this woman? You can feel panic starting to build for the third time in the past few days.

“What do you want?” you say, stepping backwards.

If Lila notices, she doesn’t pay your fear any mind. 

“Usually when Five acts shady the world is about to go bye-bye, so I just had to know what that cunt was doing here at…”

She trails off, taking in your appearance.

“No way...is he fucking you?”

“N-”

“OH MY GOD HE’S FUCKING YOU!!” 

She shrieks with laughter before putting both hands on your shoulders, gleeful.

“Oh god! It looks like a baby mouse, right? Like a fucked-up baby mouse? Please tell me it looks like a baby mouse!”

“I-”

“What’s he got on you? Surely nobody’s going to fuck that unless they had to?”

“N-no, we-“

��So you’re taking one for the team? Sort of like a public service to all women?”

“I don’t-“

“Well, you’ve got awful taste but welcome to the clan! I’m with his brother.” 

She seems genuinely excited. She’s volatile, but excited.

She throws herself onto your couch, legs on the coffee table.

“You know, I’m honestly glad. I thought he was only into dolls. Couldn't help thinking about it- what if I'm downstairs eating dinner and he's up there in the attic banging something he had to order special from Japan?" she shudders, laughingly.

Your face prompts her to continue.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? His last girlfriend was a mannequin, honey. You’ve already got her beat on personality. Poor little bastard gets lost in the apocalypse, goes batshit insane and carries a department store dummy around for forty years. Called it Dolores.”

You knew about the apocalypse. He'd told you that much when explaining his age...but a mannequin? 

She chortles, grabbing an empty glass and filling it from the bottle of malbec.

“Apparently, he talked to her like she was talking back. Like a married couple. Pervy little shit.”

She takes a sip from the wine glass.

“Wow, you do have bad taste!”

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series The beginnings of a tag list: (lmk if you want to join) @dilfjohhny