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pangtasias-atelier · 11 months

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Idk how much you know about SoV but I would love to see something with Saber and Atlas, with saber as very fit and muscular and Atlas losing his mobility from getting too fat, Atlas struggling as Saber does his best to help him stay active but also continues enabling him as a feeder until even with Sabers help Atlas can't stand up anymore

Bonus points if Atlas gets stuck in a doorway, or sits on the floor in the middle of the night eating everything in the fridge I want that jock obliterated and I want the handsome merc to push him to eat

Don't you worry bestie, Ive played each game at least twice ajnsbjsnj. And I've had the (mis)fortune to play gaiden and I honestly prefer it in a few ways to echoes lol. But anyways here you go! Enjoyed this one and kinda went crazy a bit in the middle cause took break and also cause this was the only echoes request

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“I think it’s about time we call it quits, don’t you think?” Saber asks, stretching one arm across his barrel sized chest. The retired mercenary’s outfit practically painted on him, his training clothes struggle to enrobe all of his chiseled, muscular physique. Saber’s bicep presses against his pecs as well as his face, the massive arm almost the size of his head.

A few paces away from Saber is Atlas; the also retired mercenary —formerly just a retired woodcutter a while back— leans back with all his might. “Ughh, whatever,” He wheezes out in between tired, interspaced pants. Constantly blinking, he does his best to keep the beads of sweat that drip down his portly face from getting into his eyes.

The duo hitting it off to the surprise of the entire army, the army’s surprise had only grown with the two planning to head off. With an already sizable recommendation from the new queen of Valentia and a generous payment to each of them, the mercenary work they did take on together was more of a bonus to their heaping pile of savings than any real necessity. That had been a couple years ago. Now, the two are nothing more than seclusive, retired mercenaries.

The land repairing with the Earthmother returned to the land, the two took to the abundance of leisure time and newfound abundance of food differently; where Saber kept up his daily regimen and even practiced a higher sense of discipline to achieve his rather built frame that makes his figure from a few years ago seem scrawny, Atlas instead took to more indulgent habits with his near daily binges that were accompanied with a helping of snack breaks that only grew more frequent as his waistline did. Now, Atlas no longer resembles his formerly shredded self. All his muscles are gone, the beefy, brawny man now replaced by a fat, overweight man. His stomach protrudes from his training clothes. His shirt rides up his flabby gut, a generous portion of his tanned belly sticking out. His shorts also face the same issue with his thighs. The fabric rides up his thighs, fabric crumpled as they show the flabby rivulets of flab that line Atlas’ inner thighs. Saber also faces the same issues from his musculature. The already thin straps of his shirt are stretched even thinner; his top resembles a bra more than a shirt with how the hemline only just barely reaches past the meaty, lower curve of his breasts to show off Saber’s glorious six pac, the defined abdomen reminiscent of Atlas’ own before he put on so much weight. Unlike Atlas’ sleeves that bulge from distended, flabby arms that have enough lard on them to have sagging arm fat now, Saber’s shirt is sleeveless; his powerful biceps are free to be shown off. Much like the rest of their large sizes, the two’s rears are the same —Atlas’ padded with ample fat while Saber’s bulges from muscles.

“See? A little working out once in a while never hurts,” Saber grins as he reaches for a towel. The towel is not for himself; instead, he reaches over and holds the bottom hemline of Atlas’ shirt with one hand.

“I can do it my damn self,” Atlas instinctively reaches for his shirt and tugs down. He reaches for the towel with his other hand.

Saber pushes Atlas’ hand away. “We agreed that this was my reward for helping you work out. You can’t go betraying a mercenary’s payment like that,” Saber’s smile grows as Atlas relents. He pulls up Atlas’ shirt and gets a nice, fat view of Atlas’ tits, the two flabby moobs large enough to rest on his gut even as he stands perfectly straight. Saber gets to work. He starts wiping at the sweat on Atlas’ blubbery torso. His gut squishes and wobbles under Saber’s assistance, not that Saber tries to do it properly; he simply pats and slaps every flabby inch of Atlas’ gut before moving onto his tits and doing the same.

“You enjoy yourself?” Atlas pouts as he pulls down his shirt before crossing his arms.

Saber pats Atlas’ belly. “As much as you did,”

Workout done and remarkably less sweaty, Atlas’ body reacts with its usual response — a deep, rumbling groan from his belly. “I should pass for now. I need to limit myself if I want to get back on track,” Atlas flexes his bicep. His shirt shows zero discernible difference, nothing for him to flex with his arm swallowed in flab.

“Oh come on!” Saber wraps a beefy arm over Atlas’ broad, puffy shoulders, muscles sinking into flab. “You already worked your ass off. There’s no need for you to limit yourself so much,”

“I don’t know…”

Saber slowly guides Atlas, pushing him along with a generous push on his rear after removing his arm from his shoulder. He flexes his bicep, the large spherical arms looking ovular from the flexing bundle of mass. “I eat plenty damn enough and look at me! You just keep doing what you're doing and you’ll be back to your good old self before you know it,”

“You’re right. And we both know just the place to eat and get drinks,” Atlas leads the way now with his own eager motivation revitalized. He fails to see the way Saber’s grin grows, attributing his partner’s handsy groping to just his usual raunchy self and not any other ulterior motives.

_________

“He sure is taking his damn time,” Enjoying the fine sun and the salty wind from the ocean not too far off in the distance, Saber sips at his beer from the protected cover of the awning. Lounging in his chair, he enjoys his day off. Saber’s physique is the same as ever. He has maintained his large, squarish chest and his sculpted biceps along with his powerful thighs and defined abdomed. His entire frame is only a bit larger, each bit of his body radiating with a slight bit of extra muscle mass and width behind each body part now from clearly sticking to his exercise.

The same is definitely not the same for Atlas. The large male currently gone, he had left earlier to go grab some beer for the two along with some snacks, the snacks mostly for himself. Atlas had been unable to stick to his regimen with Saber’s indulgence and advice. So much so that he had swollen up by another few hundred pounds, so much lard stacked onto his frame in such a quick span of time. Not that Saber could complain, happy to see his partner blimp out. Though Saber did try his best to help Atlas be somewhat active. He had even cajoled the much larger, obese man into getting up from his spot. Said insistence is the cause for his current predicament, out of beer and no Atlas to bother, Saber gets up from his comfortable spot with a sigh.

It doesn't take long at all for Saber to find Atlas's fat ass wedged in the doorway of their massive pantry.

Doorways had been an issue for Atlas around a hundred pounds back, getting the doors in their house widened had certainly helped combat Atlas' waistline that struggled with most anything that was meant for thinner, more slender men. Well, the issue was more so postponed; larger doors only mean so much when Atlas can never stick to a diet or workout routine with Saber indulging him and his waistline. The pantry door also received the least renovations, Saber the one to usually get up and fetch more fattening snacks to Atlas.

Atlas gut lurches forward. The formerly buff woodcutter is now an absolute butterball. The butterball for a man's gut is halfway through the door; unfortunately, Atlas can barely take another step in either direction, not after already forcing himself to keep shoving himself further in and getting punished for his idiocy. His stomach seeps around both sides of the doorway. His ass is in the exact same precarious situation. Each cheek splays to both sides. Atlas' is unable to move his bloated figure as if caught between two bonewalkers.

"Just help me," Atlas glares at Saber. His neck folds and chin flab smush.

Saber saunters up to Atlas, bubble butt swishing behind him. "Need someone to grab you some food?"

"Later! Get me the hell out of here," Atlas' hair is slick from his sweat, the light perspiration forming on his body. Atlas still attempts to get out of his predicament.

"Hey now, I'm trying to be helpful," Saber rests his back against Atlas and sinks into his flab. "I'm sure you're hungry after the effort you spent,"

"This isn’t,,," Atlas’ eyes follow his husband’s sudden movements, not without a small grimace as Saber pushes himself off of Atlas like nothing more than furniture to support his weight. Groaning, his eyes narrow even further. The man glares at Saber who reaches into the other, smaller cupboard for a pantry.

Saber grabs whatever he can. Nearly the entire pantry is dedicated to satisfy Atlas immense and growing cravings So, Saber is far from surprised to pull out a packet of dried, cured strips of meat, the protein one of Atlas' favorite to satisfy his hunger back when he would feel tired back when he used to be a simple woodcutter —or back when he used to do anything besides practically only stuffing his face everyday. Atlas kept his preference for the protein packed treats, always insistent that they were meant to help him bulk up after his workouts —even now where the few workouts Atlas does are always followed by a massive intake of calories that more than surpass several workouts.

With the snack in hand, Saber crawls in between Atlas’ thick thighs and under his sagging stomach. The cramped space has his entire sculpted body practically smothered by Atlas’ expanse while he makes his way to the other side of Atlas. Which he easily does: Saber stares at Atlas with a grin plastered all over his face.

“This is serious,,,” Atlas’ face completely burning red, his eyes refuse to look at Saber’s face. They instead stare at the still sealed package of beef. “Just get me out, and then-” He shuts himself up when he hears the crinkling of the paper, Saber tearing the item open with zero hesitation.

Grabbing one piece of meat, he slowly brings the snack to Atlas. “This’ll be nice and easy. Just eat one and then I’ll help you,” The room silent for a moment, Saber’s smile grows when he sees Atlas’ greedy lips tear into the jerky.

“There. Now help me, damnit,” He tries his best to stop his burning blush and to scowl instead. His irritation helps him, Atlas able to keep it for just a moment before Saber pushes him. With his hips, Saber’s push more akin to flat out humping him more than anything else. But the effort does help him; Atlas feels his ass to no longer be so stuck and tight.

Saber brings another piece of jerky to Atlas’ mouth.

“I already ate the damn meat,”

“And I helped you. Unfortunately, it looks like you need even more help. Can’t help being a mercenary, I need to get payment before I can start working,”

Atlas immediately devours the next piece of meat. “Freak,” He says while still chewing the last bit of tough, salty dried meat. Though he cracks a smile after eating.

“You’re the one enjoying yourself,” Saber helps Atlas again by humping him. Again, the two both feel Atlas get pushed back a little bit, his gut no longer sticking into the pantry quite as before. But, he’s still wedged, flabby arms still stuck along with a jutting stomach and shelf for an ass. Saber continues to help Atlas; the two get into a steady rhythm, Saber practically dry humping Atlas’ gut while he feeds him more.

Chewing the last piece of meat, Atlas looks at his husband with half lidded eyes. “Well? You gonna get me out of here or what?”

“I guess you paid your share,'' With that, Saber finally decides to properly help him. Crouching ever so slightly with bent knees, Saber has one hand wrapped underneath his gut and snaking all the way under his fat pad to grope Atlas’ ass with his other looped over his shoulder; his biceps bulge under the strenuous effort. His pecs pressed up against tanned blubber, he unwedges his husband with a big smile. “Now, let’s get you back to the porch. I’ll grab the booze and snacks,”

“After what I went through, you better,” Atlas demands as he and Saber walk back.

_________

The house usually silent in the dead of night, the entire pace is also usually completely dark, no lights needed to illuminate the area with both its occupants normally asleep far before the current time of two in the morning. All three commonalities are broken with the extremely large man seated in the kitchen. He sits on the floor, his fat ass too big for standard, normal chairs meant for people who don’t weigh an obscene amount. Atlas is immensely fat now; his entire corpulence splays out in every direction around him. So fat now, Atlas nearly always has Saber by his side to assist him with walking. Help that Atlas always demands, the large male becoming more demanding as Saber’s insistence of him eating grew.

But right now, Atlas is completely alone. Feeling peckish after only eating three heaping servings of food —all of which had been followed by multiple snacks before going to bed— his appetite had been enough to wake him up in the middle of the night. So much so that he couldn’t be bothered to wake up Saber. So he mustered up every ounce of energy he could to get himself out of bed and waddle his fat ass over to the kitchen. Which had been an ordeal with him at his current size. On the cusp of immobility, his future isn’t hard to see when Atlas has a stomach large enough to envelop another man if they were to lay underneath the sagging expanse of belly flab that hangs past his waistband to droop enough to reach to his knees. And his thighs are so drenched in lard that each ponderously wide leg is in a constant state of turbulent, wobbling motion with each labored step he takes, his legs so caked in fat that even his knees are absorbed in a heaping layer of flab from his upper thigh —the same also being true for his ankles being smothered by his flabby calves. Atlas also sports a hefty chest, the large size of them reminiscent of the days back when he used to have broad, powerful pecs. Now, the two massive moobs splay out in separate directions, each hefty tit using the massive gut as a table to rest on with his chest larger than his own head. The motor boatable chest sags enough to rest against Atlas’ girthy love handles and his blubbery arms. The two enormous arms are filled with nothing but fat; each limb larger than someone’s thighs, Atlas arms struggle with mobility like the rest of him. Elbows swathed in bicep flab make it so that any of his former flexibility is entirely gone. Attached to such a heavy, large body is Atlas' flabby face. His cheeks puff out, the two jowls stuffed with food like usual. His gray mop of hair the same as always, the parts of his hair frames his blubbery, filled out face to outline the soft, doughy curvature of his cheeks that seem to blend into his chins that smush against his pile of flab for a body.

Somehow able to move himself to the kitchen by himself through the sheer motivation of eating, he is currently seated in front of the two’s clay chest. The object powered by magic that they encountered when exploring the depths of the Thabes labyrinth so long ago, the chilling magic had been implemented to be used to help with storing food. The addition helpful to everyone, it had been especially beneficial to Atlas and his waistline. The two’s clay chest is even larger after additions and renovations to it. And Atlas currently does his best to devour what he can reach into it.

Which he does an excellent job at. Atlas’ speed is only held back by his own sluggish figure, moving such a massive, flabby arm difficult with him having to sit far back from his gut pressing against the chest of food. He eats without pause, cramming as much of the cold food into his mouth without much thought besides satisfying his hunger.

He keeps going even when he hears a sharp, prolonged whistle from behind him.

Saber now up, the mercenary is large in his own right. Unlike Atlas, he is shredded from head to toe. So much so that the muscular man would put Atlas’ former buff body to shame and even the Warfather the two fought against long ago. He does his best to look past his own obscene jutting chest and see Atlas. He gets an absolute eyeful of the man’s expansive rear that has lost most of its shape now with his weight.

“Just come feed me already,” Atlas doesn’t bother to turn around —not that he can at his size, his several chins that meld into his folds of neck flab making sure of that. Atlas doesn’t even get a response. He instead sees Saber pull food out of the clay chest and a massive pair of pecs that practically press against his face as Saber lies on top of him.

“I better not hear a comment about how much I weigh coming from you,” Saber feeds Atlas while resting on top of him, straddling his huge gut. Dragging the clay chest to be beside him, he simply reaches into it with his left hand, then hands it to his right hand to feed Atlas so that he can grab even more food while stuffing him. Efficient in his work, Atlas follows Saber’s commendable work ethic by following his rapid pace.

“Damn, you’ve really let yourself go,” Saber comments as he crams leftover meat that he had been saving for himself, the dish far healthier than the usual buttery, decadent, calorie laden dishes Atlas eats —all of those devoured by him before Saber showed up. “You could’ve looked like this you know,” Saber flexes his bicep, the bulging muscle already larger than his head becoming even more ridiculously large with each powerful vein straining.

Atlas' eyes are squinted; he has to squint them from how forceful Saber always is, the fit, buff mercenary making sure that he doesn’t waste an ounce of food. “Whatever, this is more fun,” Atlas burps, a content sigh immediately followed afterwards. “I get to laze around and do nothing,” Atlas gets a small sight of the food left and lets out a small groan. Nothing but Saber’s healthy treats remain.

“I guess even someone as big as a necrodragon has standards,”

“Oh please, I’m not that fat,” Atlas scoffs at Saber’s remark, the former woodcutter glad to not have dealt with going to the Seabound Shrine like so many of the others complained about.

“Yet. But, if you’d rather not, then how about I get you to bed then,” Getting up off of Atlas and closing the chest, Saber reaches down to help lift him up. Grabbing from behind, Saber has to do all of the work, his thighs and arms straining as they use all their might to get Atlas into a standing position.

Try as he might, Atlas’s hedonistic fueled figure stays firmly planted on the ground.

“Damn, I guess this is a special occasion,” Suddenly leaving, Saber quickly comes back with another chest of food. He opens it up to reveal that it’s packed full of creamy, sugary desserts.

Atlas’ mouth already begins to water just for the sight of more food before temporarily snapping out of it. “You suck for hiding all that, but you better get me off of this eventually,” Atlas opens his mouth as soon as Saber shoves a cupcake into his mouth.

“I’ll call in some favors in the morning to get you comfortable. But for now,” Saber taking his former position on Atlas again, he resumed feeding the now fully immobile Atlas, neither of the two drowsy at all as they enjoy the night away.

#fat emblem #my writing #male weight gain #ssbhm #feeder emblem #fat fiction #maleweightgain

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istumpysk · 1 year

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: A Ghost in Winterfell (Theon VI) [Chapter 46]

It's a Christmas murder mystery! 🎄🎅🏼🎁

Thank you for allowing me the break. I needed it before tackling this chapter.

It wasn't Harren, Arya wanted to say, it was me. She had killed Chiswyck with a whisper, and she would kill two more before she was through. I'm the ghost in Harrenhal, she thought. And that night, there was one less name to hate. - Arya VII, ACOK

Before we get started, I have to point out something that may or may not be important.

It's a rare Arya -> Theon chapter transition. We all know sometimes the character transitions are significant, sometimes they're not.

In ACOK, mysterious deaths start happening at Harrenhal, which is paralleled in this chapter.

While it was Jaqen killing the men, it was Arya who was responsible for the deaths. She was the ghost in Harrenhal. She called herself the ghost in Harrenhal.

Is that relevant right now? I don't know.

On we go.

+.+.+

The dead man was found at the base of the inner wall, with his neck broken and only his left leg showing above the snow that had buried him during the night.

If Ramsay's bitches had not dug him up, he might have stayed buried till spring. By the time Ben Bones pulled them off, Grey Jeyne had eaten so much of the dead man's face that half the day was gone before they knew for certain who he'd been: a man-at-arms of four-and-forty years who had marched north with Roger Ryswell. "A drunk," Ryswell declared. "Pissing off the wall, I'll wager. He slipped and fell." No one disagreed. But Theon Greyjoy found himself wondering why any man would climb the snow-slick steps to the battlements in the black of night just to take a piss.

Right away let's get it all out there.

The murders that happen in this chapter aren't considered much of a mystery. It is all but confirmed by the text that the wildling spearwives are responsible for the killings.

It's foreshadowed in ACOK.

The killings stopped after Farlen's death, but even so his men continued sullen and anxious. "They fear no foe in open battle," Black Lorren told him, "but it is another thing to dwell among enemies, never knowing if the washerwoman means to kiss you or kill you, or whether the serving boy is filling your cup with ale or bale. We would do well to leave this place." - Theon V, ACOK

Osha seduces and kills one of Theon's men.

Theon flung the cup into the hearth. "I'd say Drennan was pulling down his breeches to stick it in the woman when she stuck it in him. His own cheese knife, by the look of it. Someone find a pike and fish the other fool out of the moat." - Theon IV, ACOK

We're shown a Ryswell privately canoodling with a spearwife in the previous Theon chapter.

Beneath the Burned Tower, he passed Rickard Ryswell nuzzling at the neck of another one of Abel's washerwomen, the plump one with the apple cheeks and pug nose. The girl was barefoot in the snow, bundled up in a fur cloak. He thought she might be naked underneath. - The Turncloak, ADWD

And Theon outright accuses them.

"Touch me," he said. "Kill me." There was more despair than defiance in his voice. "Go on. Do me, the way you did the others. Yellow Dick and the rest. It was you."

Holly laughed. "How could it be us? We're women. Teats and cunnies. Here to be fucked, not feared." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

Little Walder, thought Theon. The big one. He glanced at Rowan. There are six of them, he remembered. Any of them could have done this. But the washerwoman felt his eyes. "This was no work of ours," she said. - Theon I, ADWD

"Words are wind." They are no better than me. We're just the same. "You killed the others, why not him? Yellow Dick—"

"—stank as bad as you. A pig of a man."

"And Little Walder was a piglet. Killing him brought the Freys and Manderlys to dagger points, that was cunning, you—"

"Not us." Rowan grabbed him by the throat and shoved him back against the barracks wall, her face an inch from his. "Say it again and I will rip your lying tongue out, kinslayer." - Theon I, ADWD

With no denial.

In the following Theon chapter Rowan is adamant they didn't kill Little Walder (they didn't), but isn't bothered by the accusation that they killed the rest. Putting all of that together we can safely assume they're the killers.

However, I'm not happy unless I'm throwing widely accepted theories into the garbage.

Therefore, we're going to remain open-minded, and examine the possibility Theon's the ghost in Winterfell who is killing these men.

Yes, I realize that sounds ridiculous.

Moving on.

The first murder is a Ryswell man-at-arms thrown from the battlements.

Theon - the potential murderer - doesn't believe the man was drunk and fell. Theon doesn't buy any of the causes of death throughout the chapter. On its own that's not remotely suspicious, but it's something to keep in mind as the evidence builds.

Of course you're asking yourself how come Theon's internal monologue is never incriminating. If he's killing these men, surely that's going to be reflected in his thoughts, yes?

We'll cover that as we go, but I'll quickly say Theon has demonstrated a bit of detachment from reality, potentially has an alter ego, and probably isn't consciously aware he's killed these men.

I know this is insane, please keep reading the post.

Back to the kill. A man is thrown from the battlements. Theon and the battlements. It's less clear here, but it becomes more obvious the locations and causes of death are all relevant to Theon.

Above, he could see some squires building snowmen along the battlements. They were arming them with spears and shields, putting iron halfhelms on their heads, and arraying them along the inner wall, a rank of snowy sentinels. "Lord Winter has joined us with his levies," one of the sentries outside the Great Hall japed … until he saw Theon's face and realized who he was talking to. Then he turned his head and spat. - The Turncloak, ADWD

+.+.+

As the garrison broke its fast that morning on stale bread fried in bacon grease (the lords and knights ate the bacon), the talk along the benches was of little but the corpse.

"Stannis has friends inside the castle," Theon heard one serjeant mutter. He was an old Tallhart man, three trees sewn on his ragged surcoat. The watch had just changed. Men were coming in from the cold, stomping their feet to knock the snow off their boots and breeches as the midday meal was served—blood sausage, leeks, and brown bread still warm from the ovens.

A potential red flag.

Blink and you would have thought that was a continuous scene. We've jumped from breakfast to a midday meal in the span of seconds. There's no indication hours have passed in the middle of this thought.

Is this horrific writing or is Theon's mind a little jumbled?

+.+.+

Endless, ceaseless, merciless, the snow had fallen day and night. Drifts climbed the walls and filled the crenels along the battlements, white blankets covered every roof, tents sagged beneath the weight. Ropes were strung from hall to hall to help men keep from getting lost as they crossed the yards. Sentries crowded into the guard turrets to warm half-frozen hands over glowing braziers, leaving the wallwalks to the snowy sentinels the squires had thrown up, who grew larger and stranger every night as wind and weather worked their will upon them. Ragged beards of ice grew down the spears clasped in their snowy fists. No less a man than Hosteen Frey, who had been heard growling that he did not fear a little snow, lost an ear to frostbite.

The snowmen are growing larger and stranger. Whatever that means.

Ser Stupid Frey is about to be in over his head. Literally.

He's gonna fall in a lake.

Water will be over his head.

His men will be well nourished, ours go into battle with empty bellies. It makes no matter. Ser Stupid, Lord Too-Fat, the Bastard, let them come. We hold the ground, and that I mean to turn to our advantage. - Theon I, ADWD

+.+.+

The horses in the yards suffered most. The blankets thrown over them to keep them warm soaked through and froze if not changed regularly. When fires were lit to keep the cold at bay, they did more harm then good. The warhorses feared the flames and fought to get away, injuring themselves and other horses as they twisted at their lines. Only the horses in the stables were safe and warm, but the stables were already overcrowded.

On the real, how are those Dothraki warhorses going to cope with dragon flames going off around them?

+.+.+

"The gods have turned against us," old Lord Locke was heard to say in the Great Hall. "This is their wroth. A wind as cold as hell itself and snows that never end. We are cursed."

"Stannis is cursed," a Dreadfort man insisted. "He is the one out there in the storm."

"Lord Stannis might be warmer than we know," one foolish freerider argued. "His sorceress can summon fire. Might be her red god can melt these snows."

That was unwise, Theon knew at once. The man spoke too loudly, and in the hearing of Yellow Dick and Sour Alyn and Ben Bones. When the tale reached Lord Ramsay, he sent his Bastard's Boys to seize the man and drag him out into the snow. "As you seem so fond of Stannis, we will send you to him," he said.

Theon might be a little mad, but he's still one of the more astute POVs in the story (ADWD only). Most of the time you can trust his assessment of a person or situation. I say this with Barbrey Dustin in mind.

Yes, Stannis will temporarily melt the snows. Bad news for Shireen, great news for Sansa who has to get to the Wall.

+.+.+

Then, whilst Skinner and Yellow Dick made wagers on how fast his blood would freeze, Ramsay had the man dragged up to the Battlements Gate.

[...]

The bleeding freerider was carried across the bridge and up the steps, still protesting. Then Skinner and Sour Alyn seized his arms and legs and tossed him from the wall to the ground eighty feet below. The drifts had climbed so high that they swallowed the man bodily … but bowmen on the battlements claimed they glimpsed him sometime later, dragging a broken leg through the snow. One feathered his rump with an arrow as he wriggled away. "He will be dead within the hour," Lord Ramsay promised.

"Or he'll be sucking Lord Stannis's cock before the sun goes down," Whoresbane Umber threw back.

"He best take care it don't break off," laughed Rickard Ryswell. "Any man out there in this, his cock is frozen hard."

ha HA, get it?? In weather like this, you're better to not have a cock if you're going to fall from the battlements and survive.

+.+.+

Winterfell's great main gates were closed and barred, and so choked with ice and snow that the portcullis would need to be chipped free before it could be raised. Much the same was true of the Hunter's Gate, though there at least ice was not a problem, since the gate had seen recent use. The Kingsroad Gate had not, and ice had frozen those drawbridge chains rock hard. Which left the Battlements Gate, a small arched postern in the inner wall. Only half a gate, in truth, it had a drawbridge that spanned the frozen moat but no corresponding gateway through the outer wall, offering access to the outer ramparts but not the world beyond.

The author would like everyone to know it's impossible to leave through a gate.

+.+.+

"Lord Stannis is lost in the storm," said Lady Dustin. "He's leagues away, dead or dying. Let winter do its worst. A few more days and the snows will bury him and his army both."

And us as well, thought Theon, marveling at her folly. Lady Barbrey was of the north and should have known better. The old gods might be listening.

It's up to you to decide whether she's as foolish as she seems.

My stance remains the same. She is.

+.+.+

"Never touch me," he said, twisting down to snatch the fallen utensil off the floor before one of Ramsay's girls could get hold of it. "Never touch me."

She sat down next to him, too close, another of Abel's washerwomen. This one was young, fifteen or maybe sixteen, with shaggy blond hair in need of a good wash and a pair of pouty lips in need of a good kiss. "Some girls like to touch," she said, with a little half-smile. "If it please m'lord, I'm Holly."

Holly the whore, he thought, but she was pretty enough. Once he might have laughed and pulled her into his lap, but that day was done. "What do you want?"

"To see these crypts. Where are they, m'lord? Would you show me?" Holly toyed with a strand of her hair, coiling it around her little finger. "Deep and dark, they say. A good place for touching. All the dead kings watching."

"Did Abel send you to me?"

"Might be. Might be I sent myself. But if it's Abel you're wanting, I could bring him. He'll sing m'lord a sweet song."

Every word she said persuaded Theon that this was all some ploy. But whose, and to what end? What could Abel want of him? The man was just a singer, a pander with a lute and a false smile. He wants to know how I took the castle, but not to make a song of it. The answer came to him. He wants to know how we got in so he can get out. Lord Bolton had Winterfell sewn up tight as a babe's swaddling clothes. No one could come or go without his leave. He wants to flee, him and his washerwoman.

Theon correctly deduces Mance and his washerwomen are looking for a way out.

That's fantastic, but we also have every reason to believe Mance went to Winterfell with more than one goal.

Does she never sleep? What game are you playing, priestess? Did you have some other task for Mance? - Jon IX, ADWD

Mance Rayder and his spearwives had not returned, and Jon could not help but wonder whether the red woman had lied of a purpose. Is she playing her own game? - Jon X, ADWD

He wondered where Mance was now. Did he ever find you, little sister? Or were you just a ploy he used so I would set him free? - Jon XI, ADWD

Why is the wildling interested in the crypts?

"The steps go farther down," observed Lady Dustin.

"There are lower levels. Older. The lowest level is partly collapsed, I hear. I have never been down there." - The Turncloak, ADWD

What is on the lower levels?

+.+.+

Theon groped his way to the wall, then followed it to the Battlements Gate. He might have taken the guards for a pair of Little Walder's snowmen if he had not seen the white plumes of their breath. "I want to walk the walls," he told them, his own breath frosting in the air.

"Bloody cold up there," one warned.

"Bloody cold down here," the other said, "but you do as you like, turncloak." He waved Theon through the gate.

The steps were snow-packed and slippery, treacherous in the dark. Once he reached the wallwalk, it did not take him long to find the place where they'd thrown down the freerider. He knocked aside the wall of fresh-fallen snow filling up the crenel and leaned out between the merlons. I could jump, he thought. He lived, why shouldn't I? He could jump, and … And what? Break a leg and die beneath the snow? Creep away to freeze to death?

✨ foreshadowing ✨

Want to know how stupid the fandom is?

Euron turned to face him, his bruised blue lips curled in a half smile. "Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?" The wind came gusting through the window and stirred his sable cloak. There was something obscene and disturbing about his nakedness. "No man ever truly knows what he can do unless he dares to leap." - The Reaver, AFFC

Looking back that's such obvious Theon foreshadowing, yet everyone in the world thinks it means Euron is somehow tied to Bloodraven.

We're going to ignore the fact that I also didn't make the connection to Theon at the time.

+.+.+

The next morning Ser Aenys Frey's grizzled squire was found naked and dead of exposure in the old castle lichyard, his face so obscured by hoarfrost that he appeared to be wearing a mask. Ser Aenys put it forth that the man had drunk too much and gotten lost in the storm, though no one could explain why he had taken off his clothes to go outside. Another drunkard, Theon thought. Wine could drown a host of suspicions.

Then, before the day was done, a crossbowman sworn to the Flints turned up in the stables with a broken skull. Kicked by a horse, Lord Ramsay declared. A club, more like, Theon decided.

The second murder is a naked Frey squire found in the lichyard.

Makes perfect sense it was a washerwoman seducing the squire. They were spotted in the area in a previous Theon chapter.

Even here in this half-frozen lichyard of a castle, surrounded by snow and ice and death, there were women. Washerwomen. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

However, Theon also frequently visits the lichyard at night, and is petrified of being naked.

"No." He could not let them take the clothes Lord Ramsay gave him. He could not let them see him. - Reek III, ADWD

Theon peeled his gloves off and held his hands up for them to see. It is not as if I stand before them naked. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

The third murder is a Flint crossbowman found in the stables.

Nothing connecting the spearwives to the stables.

Quite the opposite for Theon, who has had several traumatic memories about the stables leading up to this.

The memory came back in a rush. Smiler's screams had sounded almost human. His mane afire, he had reared up on his hind legs, blind with pain, lashing out with his hooves. No, no. Not mine, he was not mine, Reek never had a horse. - Reek II, ADWD

He set my horse afire. That was the last sight he had seen the day the castle fell: Smiler burning, the flames leaping from his mane as he reared up, kicking, screaming, his eyes white with terror. Here in this very yard. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Beyond the tents the big destriers of the knights from White Harbor and the Twins were shivering in their horse lines. Ramsay had burned the stables when he sacked Winterfell, so his father had thrown up new ones twice as large as the old, to accommodate the warhorses and palfreys of his lords' bannermen and knights. - The Turncloak, ADWD

So far we have dead men sworn to the Ryswells, Freys, and Flints.

Do the spearwives know the internal politics of the north? I'll let you decide.

+.+.+

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with sneak.

And which part are you playing, Theon?

Theon is correct, we've done this before. Not just Arya. In ACOK, there was another ghost in Winterfell causing mysterious deaths. We know it was Reek (Ramsay) who was responsible.

Theon pointing out the similarities seems to suggest this Reek (Theon) might be committing the murders again.

+.+.+

"How long must we sit here waiting for this king who never comes?" Ser Hosteen Frey demanded. "We should take the fight to Stannis and make an end to him."

[...]

Lord Wyman Manderly slapped his massive belly. "White Harbor does not fear to ride with you, Ser Hosteen. Lead us out, and my knights will ride behind you."

Ser Hosteen turned on the fat man. "Close enough to drive a lance through my back, aye. Where are my kin, Manderly? Tell me that. Your guests, who brought your son back to you."

Wyman Manderly is so funny. A treasure.

That is exactly what will happen.

Lord Bolton unrolled the parchment. "His host lies not three days' ride from here, snowbound and starving, and I for one am tired of waiting on his pleasure. Ser Hosteen, assemble your knights and men-at-arms by the main gates. As you are so eager for battle, you shall strike our first blow. Lord Wyman, gather your White Harbor men by the east gate. They shall go forth as well." - Theon I, ADWD

The Freys will fall in a lake, will the Manderlys be more lucky?

Unfortunately Stannis doesn't know Wyman Manderly conspires against the Boltons.

"Wyman Manderly." The king's mouth twisted in contempt. "Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. Too fat to come to me, yet he comes to Winterfell. Too fat to bend the knee and swear me his sword, yet now he wields that sword for Bolton. I sent my Onion Lord to treat with him, and Lord Too-Fat butchered him and mounted his head and hands on the walls of White Harbor for the Freys to gloat over. And the Freys... has the Red Wedding been forgotten?" - Theon I, TWOW

There's a lot of room for an oopsie here.

+.+.+

"His bones, you mean." Manderly speared a chunk of ham with his dagger. "I recall them well. Rhaegar of the round shoulders, with his glib tongue. Bold Ser Jared, so swift to draw his steel. Symond the spymaster, always clinking coins. They brought home Wendel's bones. It was Tywin Lannister who returned Wylis to me, safe and whole, as he had promised. A man of his word, Lord Tywin, Seven save his soul." Lord Wyman popped the meat into his mouth, chewed it noisily, smacked his lips, and said, "The road has many dangers, ser. I gave your brothers guest gifts when we took our leave of White Harbor. We swore we would meet again at the wedding. Many and more bore witness to our parting."

Lol.

+.+.+

"Step out into the yard, you sack of suet, and I'll serve you all the bloody bits that you can stomach," Ser Hosteen said.

He might like that.

+.+.+

Wyman Manderly laughed, but half a dozen of his knights were on their feet at once. It fell to Roger Ryswell and Barbrey Dustin to calm them with quiet words. Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear.

Bwahahahahaha.

+.+.+

That night the new stable collapsed beneath the weight of the snow that had buried it. Twenty-six horses and two grooms died, crushed beneath the falling roof or smothered under the snows. It took the best part of the morning to dig out the bodies.

Dear lord (@aegor-bamfsteel),

Please forgive me for laughing at all the imaginary dead horses. This does not represent who I am as a person.

Anyway, what kind of northerner doesn't know you have to remove heavy snow from an unstable roof? Please, George.

+.+.+

And no sooner had the men finished digging out the dead men and butchering the horses than another corpse was found.

This one could not be waved away as some drunken tumble or the kick of a horse. The dead man was one of Ramsay's favorites, the squat, scrofulous, ill-favored man-at-arms called Yellow Dick. Whether his dick had actually been yellow was hard to determine, as someone had sliced it off and stuffed it into his mouth so forcefully they had broken three of his teeth. When the cooks found him outside the kitchens, buried up to his neck in a snowdrift, both dick and man were blue from cold.

The fourth murder is Yellow Dick, one of Ramsay's favourites.

His teeth are broken (!), and his penis is cut off (!!!).

He rubbed his mouth to hide his broken teeth, and said, "I need to speak with your commander." - Reek II, ADWD

"Reek, get over here. Get her ready for me."

For a moment he did not understand. "I … do you mean … m'lord, I have no … I …" - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

A penis shoved in the mouth of one of Ramsay's favourites feels a little personal to me. What about you?

+.+.+

"Burn the body," Roose Bolton ordered, "and see that you do not speak of this. I'll not have this tale spread."

The tale spread nonetheless. By midday most of Winterfell had heard, many from the lips of Ramsay Bolton, whose "boy" Yellow Dick had been.

I bet Roose is thrilled Ramsay can't keep his mouth shut.

+.+.+

The horsemeat was too tough for the ruins of Theon's teeth. His attempts to chew gave him excruciating pain. So he mashed the neeps and onions up together with the flat of his dagger and made a meal of that, then cut the horse up very small, sucked on each piece, and spat it out.

Quick reminder of the state of Theon's mouth.

Dagger! Highlighting for later.

+.+.+

Lord Bolton commanded Abel to play for them as they ate. The bard sang "Iron Lances," then "The Winter Maid." When Barbrey Dustin asked for something more cheerful, he gave them "The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown," and "The Bear and the Maiden Fair." The Freys joined the singing, and even a few northmen slammed their fists on the table to the chorus, bellowing, "A bear! A bear!" But the noise frightened the horses, so the singers soon let off and the music died away.

[...]

He fled quickly, before they changed their minds. His tormentors would not follow him outside. Not so long as there was food and drink within, willing women and warm fires. As he left the hall, Abel was singing "The Maids That Bloom in Spring."

I'll let you guys read into the songs.

I'm mostly including this so everyone knows Mance is accounted for, and can't be the Hooded Man.

Seriously, the amount of people I saw speculating it was Mance would blow your mind. When I say people can't read I mean they can't read.

+.+.+

Outside the snow was coming down so heavily that Theon could not see more than three feet ahead of him. He found himself alone in a white wilderness, walls of snow looming up to either side of him chest high. When he raised his head, the snowflakes brushed his cheeks like cold soft kisses. He could hear the sound of music from the hall behind him. A soft song now, and sad. For a moment he felt almost at peace.

Did you know people use this to dismiss the jonsa in Sansa's drifting snowflakes? Lol.

Poor bastards don't know about the prologue.

+.+.+

Farther on, he came upon a man striding in the opposite direction, a hooded cloak flapping behind him. When they found themselves face-to-face their eyes met briefly. The man put a hand on his dagger. "Theon Turncloak. Theon Kinslayer."

"I'm not. I never … I was ironborn."

"False is all you were. How is it you still breathe?"

"The gods are not done with me," Theon answered, wondering if this could be the killer, the night walker who had stuffed Yellow Dick's cock into his mouth and pushed Roger Ryswell's groom off the battlements. Oddly, he was not afraid. He pulled the glove from his left hand. "Lord Ramsay is not done with me."

The man looked, and laughed. "I leave you to him, then."

Theon trudged through the storm until his arms and legs were caked with snow and his hands and feet had gone numb from cold, then climbed to the battlements of the inner wall again.

Oh goodie, is it time for another meta?

Who is the Hooded Man? Wait until you see how many candidates we have to cover. I'm truly blessed.

I'll leave Theon for last, but to start off I'll let everyone know the general consensus is the Theon Durden theory.

In the movie Fight Club, Tyler Durden is a figment of the The Narrator's imagination. Many theorize the Hooded Man is a manifestation of Theon's own psyche. Theon Durden.

Okay, let's get to it.

THE CANDIDATES

A Banefort

Who? Yeah, exactly. House Banefort of the Westerlands has a black hooded man on a grey field as their sigil.

Um, Black Hood is a comic book reference.

Benjen Stark

One of the more popular theories.

Why Benjen? Benjen is a missing Stark, there's a bizarre belief within the fandom that a Stark literally needs to be at Winterfell at all times or the world will collapse, and there's an exchange between him and Bran that people have read far too much into.

At the feast in honor of King Robert's visit to Winterfell, Bran had recited the names for his uncle Benjen, east to west and then west to east. Benjen Stark had laughed and said, "You know them better than I do, Bran. Perhaps you should be First Ranger. I'll stay here in your place." - Bran III, ASOS

Anyone who believes Benjen Stark could walk around Winterfell unnoticed is crazy.

Brynden "Blackfish" Tully

Missing, major character, and another Stark loyalist.

Same as Benjen, you don't think someone would have recognized Blackfish by now?

Besides, the former Knight of the Gate is going to the Vale, the ellipsis of truth told me so.

And if Ser Brynden should survive this siege, he might be inclined to claim Riverrun in his own name . . . or in the name of young Robert Arryn. - Jaime V, AFFC

Faceless Man

The Faceless Men are known for infiltrating castles and causing mischief, but there's zero evidence supporting this.

Galbart Glover

Master of Deepwood Motte, last seen in ASOS where he was sent to the Neck with Maege Mormont.

Personally I think he's sitting on a far bigger developing storyline.

Hallis Mollen

The second most popular theory ... yeah, you read that right.

Do you remember Hallis Mollen? Probably not. Member of Eddard Stark's household guard, tends to state the obvious, and was tasked with bringing Ned Stark's bones back to Winterfell in ACOK.

Hallis has been missing for quite awhile, and we're one Theon chapter removed from being reminded of Ned Stark's bones by Barbrey Dustin. Not only that, but Hallis Mollen = Hooded Man. Suspicious, right?

Wrong.

Are we seriously doing this? Hallis Mollen magically got to Winterfell with Ned's bones, and now he wanders around with a knife? Okay, and now what? He dismantles the Bolton empire from the inside?

Leave it to the fandom to take a nothing character and give him one of the most important roles in the north.

Now that I think about it, maybe Val is the Hooded Man.

Harwin

Another popular theory. Wow.

Current member of the brotherhood without banners, former member of the Stark household guard, and horse whisperer. Knows Arya is alive, and might have been motivated to come save her. The brotherhood without banners have infiltrated Riverrun, why not Winterfell?

Because it's stupid.

This is not Harwin. Have people forgotten how many clues there were that pointed to Tom Sevenstrings being the singer?

Hother "Whoresbane" Umber

It's implied all the high lords are in the Great Hall eating.

Umber is big picture betrayal, not petty murder betrayal.

Howland Reed

Stark loyalist, and eagerly awaiting his debut. Not to mention Howland Reed is actually every character in the story. Hooded Man? Howland Reed. The Knight of the Laughing Tree? Howland Reed. The High Sparrow? Howland Reed. Ser Shadrich? Howland Reed. Septa Lemore? Howland Reed.

If it was Howland, guaranteed Theon would have commented on the height of the man.

Mance Rayder

I'm speechless. We just saw him, he's in the Great Hall singing.

I swear to god introducing glamor to the story broke so many brains.

Mors "Crowfood" Umber

Stark loyalist, commits to Stannis, shows up right outside the castle by the end of this chapter, and calls Theon a kinslayer in the next book.

Uh, how is he getting in and out? Theon never connects Mors to the Hooded Man in the sample chapter. He's also a huge man, and that would have been mentioned.

Mountain Clansman

What? They're with Stannis.

Random Unnamed Northman Loyal to the Starks

Surprisingly popular theory.

I mean, maybe? Kind of hard to refute this. I don't mind when unnamed smallfolk are elevated within the story, but it's unlikely.

Robett Glover

Last seen conspiring against the Boltons with Manderly and Davos at White Harbor.

We don't know his current whereabouts, but he's not worth serious consideration. What is the point of Robett Glover being the Hooded Man? Wyman Manderly is already inside the castle, and could execute the same plot.

Rodrik Cassel

Oh my god.

I'm not lying, I came across this idea several times.

The Miller

As in the miller's wife's miller.

Jesus Christ. No.

___

All of these theories suck hard.

Which brings us to our final candidate.

Theon "Durden" Greyjoy

How very George R. R. Martin.

Farther on, he came upon a man striding in the opposite direction

Sounds symbolic. In Fight Club, Tyler Durden is everything The Narrator wishes he could be. Worth pointing out, after this encounter Theon's name will return as the header for his chapters.

One thing I think people miss is that if they're walking in opposite directions, the Hooded Man is walking towards the Great Hall. Why in the world would Benjen or Blackfish walk towards the Great Hall?

a hooded cloak flapping behind him.

Theon wears hooded cloaks.

Ice crunched beneath his boots, and a sudden gust pushed back his hood, as if a ghost had plucked at him with frozen fingers, hungry to gaze upon his face. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Babe, why are you hiding your face?

To be fair, many characters are described wearing hooded cloaks.

When they found themselves face-to-face their eyes met briefly.

Not explicitly stated, but it's implied they're similar height. Sorry to Howland and the Umber brothers.

Theon doesn't name the Hooded Man. Theon should be familiar with almost every notable figure from the north. He grew up in Winterfell, and was right by Robb's side throughout the war.

The man put a hand on his dagger.

Dagger!

A lot of attention is paid to the dagger Theon carries on his hip.

He could feel his missing fingers cramping: two on his left hand, one on his right. And on his hip his dagger rested, sleeping in its leather sheath, but heavy, oh so heavy. It is only my pinky gone on my right hand, Theon reminded himself. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

To be fair, many people in Winterfell are described carrying daggers.

No longswords had been allowed within the hall, but every man there wore a dagger, even Theon Greyjoy. How else to cut his meat? - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

"Theon Turncloak. Theon Kinslayer."

The Hooded Man recognizes Theon despite Theon's altered appearance. Is that bad news for the Harwin and Hallis crowd?

More important, this is the first person to ever call Theon a kinslayer.

Theon will refer to himself as a brother to Ned's children in this same chapter.

The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

To be fair, Rowan the spearwife and Mors Umber will also call him a kinslayer.

"False is all you were. How is it you still breathe?" "The gods are not done with me," Theon answered

Where did you get that idea from?

If you've been following along you know Theon has been doing a whole lot of not killing himself despite claiming he wants to die.

Theon answered, wondering if this could be the killer, the night walker who had stuffed Yellow Dick's cock into his mouth and pushed Roger Ryswell's groom off the battlements.

If Theon is the Hooded Man he just questioned whether he's the murderer.

Oddly, he was not afraid. He pulled the glove from his left hand. "Lord Ramsay is not done with me."

Oddly, indeed. Theon isn't frightened of the Hooded Man, and volunteers his hand. Theon hates showing people his hands.

Later in this chapter he'll be approached by washerwomen, and won't come off quite as confident.

"I told you. I want to touch you, turncloak." Holly smiled. In her hand a blade appeared.

The man looked, and laughed. "I leave you to him, then."

Theon never laughs in ADWD. Not once.

If he had dared, he would have laughed. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Once he might have laughed and pulled her into his lap, but that day was done. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

Theon would have laughed aloud if he'd remembered how. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

Theon would have laughed if he had dared. - Theon I, ADWD

Does this mean the Hooded Man isn't Theon?

No. Tyler Durden is everything The Narrator wishes he could be. Theon Durden would laugh. He might also do a few murders that Reek isn't capable of.

We'll cover this again a little later.

___

ADDITIONAL ARGUMENTS

If Theon is the Hooded Man, it makes complete sense that Theon is also the ghost in Winterfell. If Theon is the ghost in Winterfell, it makes complete sense that Theon is also the Hooded Man. They work better in tandem.

If the Hooded Man isn't Theon, what the hell is he doing? It's Theon or the washerwomen killing all the men. If the Hooded Man isn't Theon he's just some dude walking around with a dagger he apparently doesn't know how to use.

Theon calls himself a ghost in Winterfell. The Hooded Man is a perfect embodiment of a ghost in Winterfell.

I made reference to it before but it bears repeating. If the Hooded Man is Theon Grejoy, it's so George R. R. Martin it hurts. Remember, it's Cersei who is the YMBQ. It's Daenerys who is the focus of almost every vision she's shown from The House of the Undying.

"Murdered by whose hand?" Cersei demanded.

"Have you ever considered that too many answers are the same as no answer at all? - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

___

THEON DURDEN COUNTER-ARGUMENTS

Theon is shown to be recovering mentally with each passing chapter, why has he suddenly developed schizophrenia?

Let me combine this with the next point.

Why is this not happening in a dream? George always writes characters having self-confrontations through dreams. Theon has an extensive history of this.

The reason it's not happening in a dream, and the reason he could be having sudden delusions, is because Theon suffers from insomnia. He can't sleep.

Though his arms and legs were thin as reeds, his belly was swollen and hollow, and ached so much that he found he could not sleep. - Reek I

Last night, unable to sleep, Theon had found himself brooding on escape, of slipping away unseen whilst Ramsay and his lord father had their attention elsewhere. - The Turncloak, ADWD

"I cannot sleep, m'lord. I walk." - A Ghost in Winterfell

In Fight Club, The Narrator very famously has insomnia. It's the reason he hallucinates an alter ego.

Regardless, I would argue the encounter feels like a dream anyway. The Hooded Man exists for precisely this one moment, and is never thought of again.

Why doesn't he recognize himself?

Why doesn't The Narrator recognize Tyler Durden as his alternate self?

Putting aside the fact that Theon is having one hell of an identity crisis throughout this book, if you read it again, I'm not even sure that's an accurate takeaway.

Why does he call himself a kinslayer?

Yeah, that's a head-scratcher.

Theon didn't kill Bran and Rickon. He knows he's not a kinslayer.

Many have suggested Theon might know the miller's boys were his. Listen, I hate Theon, but even I don't think he's capable of killing kids he suspects are his own.

My only explanation for this is that he blames himself for his brother Robb dying.

I got nothing else. I did my best.

+.+.+

He was trapped here, with the ghosts. The old ghosts from the crypts and the younger ones that he had made himself, Mikken and Farlen, Gynir Rednose, Aggar, Gelmarr the Grim, the miller's wife from Acorn Water and her two young sons, and all the rest. My work. My ghosts. They are all here, and they are angry. He thought of the crypts and those missing swords.

Ghosts he had made himself. His work. His ghosts. Mmkay.

Shoutout to @agentrouka-blog for reminding me of this killer Tyrion quote.

There are worse ways to die than drowning. And if truth be told, he had perished long ago, back in King's Landing. It was only his revenant who remained, the small vengeful ghost who throttled Shae and put a crossbow bolt through the great Lord Tywin's bowels. No man would mourn the thing that he'd become. I'll haunt the Seven Kingdoms, he thought, sinking deeper. They would not love me living, so let them dread me dead. - Tyrion V, ADWD

There are ghosts in Winterfell, he thought, and I am one of them. - The Turncloak, ADWD

+.+.+

Steelshanks led him back to the Great Keep and the solar that had once been Eddard Stark's. Lord Bolton was not alone. Lady Dustin sat with him, pale-faced and severe; an iron horsehead brooch clasped Roger Ryswell's cloak; Aenys Frey stood near the fire, pinched cheeks flushed with cold.

Notice how Roose didn't invite Ramsay, the lord of this castle and his supposed heir, to the meeting of Very Important People?

The rift between father and son is subtle, but it's there.

+.+.+

"I am told you have been wandering the castle," Lord Bolton began. "Men have reported seeing you in the stables, in the kitchens, in the barracks, on the battlements. You have been observed near the ruins of collapsed keeps, outside Lady Catelyn's old sept, coming and going from the godswood. Do you deny it?"

The author officially indicates the killer might be Theon.

+.+.+

"No, m'lord." Theon made sure to muddy up the word. He knew that pleased Lord Bolton. "I cannot sleep, m'lord. I walk." He kept his head down, fixed upon the old stale rushes scattered on the floor. It was not wise to look his lordship in the face.

Roose preferring Theon speak like a peasant is deranged.

+.+.+

"I was a boy here before the war. A ward of Eddard Stark."

"You were a hostage," Bolton said.

"Yes, m'lord. A hostage." It was my home, though. Not a true home, but the best I ever knew.

Is there a sadder character?

+.+.+

"Someone has been killing my men."

"Yes, m'lord."

"Not you, I trust?" Bolton's voice grew even softer. "You would not repay all my kindnesses with such treachery."

"No, m'lord, not me. I wouldn't. I … only walk, is all."

Normally I would jump out of my seat at that ellipsis of (un)truth, but Theon's dialogue is always written in this manner, so I don't know.

Damn, I want to believe in the ellipsis of (un)truth so bad.

+.+.+

Lady Dustin spoke up. "Take off your gloves."

Theon glanced up sharply. "Please, no. I … I …"

"Do as she says," Ser Aenys said. "Show us your hands."

Theon peeled his gloves off and held his hands up for them to see. It is not as if I stand before them naked. It is not so bad as that.

. . .

(Look who doesn't want to take off their gloves.)

+.+.+

Theon peeled his gloves off and held his hands up for them to see. It is not as if I stand before them naked. It is not so bad as that. His left hand had three fingers, his right four. Ramsay had taken only the pinky off the one, the ring finger and forefingers from the other.

"The Bastard did this to you," Lady Dustin said.

She's comfortable calling Ramsay a bastard in front of Roose because Roose doesn't care.

+.+.+

"Four is enough." Ser Aenys Frey fingered the wispy brown beard that sprouted from his weak chin like a rat's tail. "Four on his right hand. He could still hold a sword. A dagger."

Lady Dustin laughed. "Are all Freys such fools? Look at him. Hold a dagger? He hardly has the strength to hold a spoon. Do you truly think he could have overcome the Bastard's disgusting creature and shoved his manhood down his throat?"

"These dead were all strong men," said Roger Ryswell, "and none of them were stabbed. The turncloak's not our killer."

Roose Bolton's pale eyes were fixed on Theon, as sharp as Skinner's flaying knife. "I am inclined to agree. Strength aside, he does not have it in him to betray my son."

Are you not all side-eyeing this exchange?

They're LAUGHING at the prospect of it being Theon. It's simply impossible! Look at this pathetic weak man! Too broken to ever plot betrayal!

Is that not making your brain itch? This is the exact same dismissal Wyman Manderly receives from these people.

Are we sure it's the spearwives? Are we?

Strength aside, he does not have it in him to betray my son.

He does. :D

What about strength? Admittedly, that's the biggest issue with the theory. These men weren't stabbed. Is Theon capable of overpowering all the men he potentially killed?

I can't answer that question, but I think Theon gives himself more credit than Barbrey Dustin does.

Fear went through him like a knife. They are only children, he thought. Two boys of eight. He could overcome two boys of eight, surely. Even as weak as he was, he could take the torch, take the keys, take the dagger sheathed on Little Walder's hip, escape. - Reek I, ADWD

It is only my pinky gone on my right hand, Theon reminded himself. I can still grip a knife. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

Side note, have to throw it in for fun:

Victarion is like some great grey bullock, strong and tireless and dutiful, but not like to win any races. No doubt, he'll serve me as loyally as he has served my lord father. He has neither the wits nor the ambition to plot betrayal.

He does. :D

+.+.+

Roger Ryswell grunted. "If not him, who? Stannis has some man inside the castle, that's plain."

Reek is no man. Not Reek. Not me. He wondered if Lady Dustin had told them about the crypts, the missing swords.

This has such guilty dog energy.

Not Reek. Not me. Theon Durden!

He thought of the crypts and those missing swords.

He wondered if Lady Dustin had told them about the crypts, the missing swords.

Kind of hilarious he's consumed with the missing swords, but not a hooded man with a dagger prowling around Winterfell.

+.+.+

"We must look at Manderly," muttered Ser Aenys Frey. "Lord Wyman loves us not."

Ryswell was not convinced. "He loves his steaks and chops and meat pies, though. Prowling the castle by dark would require him to leave the table. The only time he does that is when he seeks the privy for one of his hourlong squats."

Or to plot treason with Davos Seaworth.

+.+.+

"I do not claim Lord Wyman does the deeds himself. He brought three hundred men with him. A hundred knights. Any of them might have—"

"Night work is not knight's work," Lady Dustin said. "And Lord Wyman is not the only man who lost kin at your Red Wedding, Frey. Do you imagine Whoresbane loves you any better? If you did not hold the Greatjon, he would pull out your entrails and make you eat them, as Lady Hornwood ate her fingers. Flints, Cerwyns, Tallharts, Slates … they all had men with the Young Wolf."

"House Ryswell too," said Roger Ryswell.

"Even Dustins out of Barrowton." Lady Dustin parted her lips in a thin, feral smile. "The north remembers, Frey."

Barbrey's big moment that has the fandom convinced she's Team Stark.

All I see is a woman too chicken shit to acknowledge the Boltons are as culpable as the Freys.

+.+.+

"You are free to go. Take care where you wander. Else it might be you we find upon the morrow, smiling a red smile."

Roose should maybe ask himself why Theon, the most hated man in the castle, hasn't already been killed.

+.+.+

The hour of the wolf found him still awake, wrapped in layers of heavy wool and greasy fur, walking yet another circuit of the inner walls, hoping to exhaust himself enough to sleep. His legs were caked with snow to the knee, his head and shoulders shrouded in white. On this stretch of the wall the wind was in his face, and melting snow ran down his cheeks like icy tears.

Kind of sounds like a ghost.

+.+.+

Then he heard the horn.

A long low moan, it seemed to hang above the battlements, lingering in the black air, soaking deep into the bones of every man who heard it. All along the castle walls, sentries turned toward the sound, their hands tightening around the shafts of their spears. In the ruined halls and keeps of Winterfell, lords hushed other lords, horses nickered, and sleepers stirred in their dark corners. No sooner had the sound of the warhorn died away than a drum began to beat: BOOM doom BOOM doom BOOM doom. And a name passed from the lips of each man to the next, written in small white puffs of breath. Stannis, they whispered, Stannis is here, Stannis is come, Stannis, Stannis, Stannis.

Mors Umber, not Stannis.

"We had expected to find the king at Winterfell. This same blizzard has engulfed the castle, alas. Beneath its walls we found Mors Umber with a troop of raw green boys, waiting for the king's coming. He gave us this." - The Sacrifice, ADWD

With Stannis stuck in the village, Mors is a sitting duck outside the castle.

+.+.+

Theon shivered. Baratheon or Bolton, it made no matter to him. Stannis had made common cause with Jon Snow at the Wall, and Jon would take his head off in a heartbeat. Plucked from the clutches of one bastard to die at the hands of another, what a jape. Theon would have laughed aloud if he'd remembered how.

Covered in Hooded Man, but I want to expand on it.

Theon gets his name back, and can't stop laughing in TWOW.

"None. No men." He grinned at his own wit. - Theon I, TWOW

"Their spears and axes were older than the hands that clutched them. It was Whoresbane Umber who had the men, inside the castle. I saw them too. Old men, every one." Theon tittered. - Theon I, TWOW

Theon Greyjoy kicked his feet feebly, and laughed under his breath. Caught! - Theon I, TWOW

Theon's laugh was half a titter, half a whimper. - Theon I, TWOW

Not so hard to believe Theon Durden would laugh.

+.+.+

"Do they mean to try and blow our walls down?" japed a Flint when the warhorn sounded once again. "Mayhaps he thinks he's found the Horn of Joramun."

That is such a bizarre addition to the chapter it makes you stop reading.

What's at the bottom of the crypts, George?

+.+.+

"We should take the fight to him," declared a Frey.

Do that, Theon thought. Ride out into the snow and die.

They will. :D

+.+.+

Leave Winterfell to me and the ghosts. Roose Bolton would welcome such a fight, he sensed. He needs an end to this. The castle was too crowded to withstand a long siege, and too many of the lords here were of uncertain loyalty. Fat Wyman Manderly, Whoresbane Umber, the men of House Hornwood and House Tallhart, the Lockes and Flints and Ryswells, all of them were northmen, sworn to House Stark for generations beyond count. It was the girl who held them here, Lord Eddard's blood, but the girl was just a mummer's ploy, a lamb in a direwolf's skin. So why not send the northmen forth to battle Stannis before the farce unraveled? Slaughter in the snow. And every man who falls is one less foe for the Dreadfort.

Theon recognizing it all falls apart without the girl.

Because of the inclusion of the Ryswells, I'm not automatically assigning all these houses Team Stark.

the girl was just a mummer's ploy, a lamb in a direwolf's skin

Not to be mistaken with that other mummer's ploy: a direwolf in dragon's scales.

+.+.+

Theon wondered if he might be allowed to fight. Then at least he might die a man's death, sword in hand. That was a gift Ramsay would never give him, but Lord Roose might. If I beg him. I did all he asked of me, I played my part, I gave the girl away.

Death was the sweetest deliverance he could hope for.

I'm not sure it will be a sword.

How many fingers do you need for a bow?

As the maester knelt to examine the wound, Bran turned his head. Theon Greyjoy stood beside a sentinel tree, his bow in hand. He was smiling. Ever smiling. A half-dozen arrows were thrust into the soft ground at his feet, but it had taken only one. "A dead enemy is a thing of beauty," he announced. - Bran V, AGOT

+.+.+

And in the heart of the wood the weirwood waited with its knowing red eyes. Theon stopped by the edge of the pool and bowed his head before its carved red face. Even here he could hear the drumming, boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM. Like distant thunder, the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. "Theon," they seemed to whisper, "Theon."

The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. "Please." He fell to his knees. "A sword, that's all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek." Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. "I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands."

Begging Bran to give his life purpose.

Is the boom DOOM supposed to feel like the Red Wedding?

+.+.+

A leaf drifted down from above, brushed his brow, and landed in the pool. It floated on the water, red, five-fingered, like a bloody hand. "… Bran," the tree murmured.

They know. The gods know. They saw what I did. And for one strange moment it seemed as if it were Bran's face carved into the pale trunk of the weirwood, staring down at him with eyes red and wise and sad. Bran's ghost, he thought, but that was madness. Why should Bran want to haunt him? He had been fond of the boy, had never done him any harm. It was not Bran we killed. It was not Rickon. They were only miller's sons, from the mill by the Acorn Water. "I had to have two heads, else they would have mocked me … laughed at me … they …"

Not sure what to make of that bloody leafy hand. Is the pool important?

Bran's ghost, he thought, but that was madness. Why should Bran want to haunt him? He had been fond of the boy, had never done him any harm.

I try to tolerate Theon. I really do.

+.+.+

A voice said, "Who are you talking to?"

Theon spun, terrified that Ramsay had found him, but it was just the washerwomen—Holly, Rowan, and one whose name he did not know. "The ghosts," he blurted. "They whisper to me. They … they know my name."

"Theon Turncloak." Rowan grabbed his ear, twisting. "You had to have two heads, did you?"

"Elsewise men would have laughed at him," said Holly.

They do not understand. Theon wrenched free. "What do you want?" he asked.

I'm not sure I'll ever understand how these wildlings became the biggest Stark loyalists in the story, or why they're prepared to die for Arya Stark, but whatever.

+.+.+

"I told you. I want to touch you, turncloak." Holly smiled. In her hand a blade appeared.

I could scream, Theon thought. Someone will hear. The castle is full of armed men. He would be dead before help reached him, to be sure, his blood soaking into the ground to feed the heart tree. And what would be so wrong with that? "Touch me," he said. "Kill me." There was more despair than defiance in his voice. "Go on. Do me, the way you did the others. Yellow Dick and the rest. It was you."

Holly laughed. "How could it be us? We're women. Teats and cunnies. Here to be fucked, not feared."

"Did the Bastard hurt you?" Rowan asked. "Chopped off your fingers, did he? Skinned your widdle toes? Knocked your teeth out? Poor lad." She patted his cheek. "There will be no more o' that, I promise. You prayed, and the gods sent us. You want to die as Theon? We'll give you that. A nice quick death, 'twill hardly hurt at all." She smiled. "But not till you've sung for Abel. He's waiting for you."

She laughs! She jokes. So obvious. Of course the washerwomen killed everyone ...

or did they.

Final thoughts:

I can't keep doing this. I'll be a puddle by the time we get to locusts.

One final thing I want to mention. The title of the chapter is A Ghost in Winterfell.

George abandoned his typical method of naming chapters.

The Prince of Winterfell, The Turncloak, The Dragontamer, The Griffin Reborn, The Discarded Knight, The Watcher, The Iron Captain, The Drowned Man, The Princess in the Tower, etc.

Unless it's a new name (Alayne, Reek, Cat, Mercy), George exclusively uses the instead of a.

Why does it change for this one chapter?

I don't know, but I can't help but feel that if it was 'The Ghost in Winterfell' the title reveals Theon as the murderer, whereas 'A Ghost in Winterfell' leaves it a mystery.

Okay, I'm crazy. I'll shut up now. It was the spearwives ...

or was it.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #a ghost in winterfell #theon vi

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savethepinecones · 5 months

Note

1, 16, 20, 25! + any one of your choosing

1: what is your nickname?

i dont have any based on my name since its already v short but ive had internet folks call me pinecones or piney and i like those!

16: what do you think makes you attractive?

i think physically my eyes are my best feature but if were talking personality uhh i guess ive got a solid sense of humor?

20: whats a totally random and useless fact that you know?

every piece of knowledge ive ever had just abandoned me lol. if you feel like youre going to sneeze you can stop it by touching the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth a few times, like if you were saying la la la (i think i was told youre supposed to say "pineapple" but its the tongue thing thats the actually effective part)

25: do you/have you played any sports?

oh man. i did gymnastics for a bit when i was like four. tried ballet when i was seven but eventually decided to pursue piano instead (my mom had my sister and i try both for a year and then pick one to stick with). i also was on a soccer team at some point, maybe in first grade? i actually dont remember it at all but i vaguely remember looking at the team photos. also i remember the high socks lol. and then i briefly did softball in middle school because my childhood best friend had picked it up the year before and i wanted to fit in. im very asthmatic though so most if not all of these Did Not Go Well lol

and for the bonus one ill go with 19: a time that you told a lie

first off some important context for this is that i was raised mormon and every summer the church would have all the girls ages 13-17 go camping for like a week. they do hikes and crafts and devotionals etc. i think its all standard church camp type stuff.

so the first year i went they had the younger girls go on a short hike while the older ones went on a longer one. when we got back, a couple friends and i were curious about the longer hike so we decided to check the trail out during free time. we kept walking for quite a while. idk how long it was but we knew wed been gone long enough that people would have noticed we were missing. if i had to guess id say maybe an hour or so idk. anyway we got to a point where the path started to trail off and disappear so we decided to stop for a bit and then work our way back. we were in a pretty big meadow but there were some trees partway down a hill and one of my friends went down there to pee and carved some initials on a tree. i think she said she carved something for me and my crush at the time but i never saw it lol.

anyway eventually we started to head back and at some point we realized we were probably gonna get in trouble for disappearing. i was really worried about it but one of the girls was like "no dont worry about it ill take the blame" and suggested that we tell everyone that she had seen a deer and followed it and then the other girl and i went after her because we didnt want her to get lost in the woods alone.

about halfway back to camp we started hearing people calling our names. we kinda figured there might be some people looking for us but what we werent expecting was that they were men. remember, this is Girls Camp. usually the bishop would show up for a day or two but other than there werent any guys up there. turned out the bishop showed up while we were gone and some other guys whod driven up with him to drop off some food offered to help him look for us.

eventually the search party found us and we all stuck to our story when they asked us what had happened. i think we also said that initially wed been lost and really scared but then we said a prayer and just like that we found a path! and thats why they found us on a trail even though wed supposedly run off into the woods at random. it was very dramatic and spiritual. and also complete bullshit.

so we finally get back to camp and the leaders are all fretting over us. the girl who "followed the deer" did get a lecture about not chasing wild animals because they could be dangerous but that was about it. no big repurcussions.

that night we had a devotional, which is basically just the whole group sitting around the campfire and telling stories about when they felt the holy spirit or whatever. usually the leaders will start off by reading some scriptures or a talk from some church official and then theyll turn it over to the kids to talk about their experiences. in the middle of this, a deer wandered into the clearing near our camp. some of the girls pointed it out because cool, a deer. but the moment the three of us saw it, my friend who had supposedly followed a deer into the woods earlier that same day jumped up and shouted "thats the deer!"

for some reason everyone, including the adults, took it at face value that this random deer in the woods must be the exact same one wed supposedly seen earlier that day and also that it was some sort of sign that god had been looking out for us while we were "lost"

looking back on it now it doesnt really seem like a big lie but it felt like a huge deal at the time because we lied to The Bishop. for a long time i considered this to be the worst thing id ever done. we never came clean to anyone whod been there at the time and i dont think i even told my mom the real story until like a decade later lol

that story ended up being way longer than i thought it would be lol (ive told it before but never written the whole thing out so the word count is surprising) but its probably the most exciting lie ive got. the alternative stories are mostly like "i was super depressed but didnt think that would be considered a valid reason to bail on something so i said i had a migraine" so i think it was the best option despite the length. also its been a while since i thought about this and it made me nostalgic so yay

thanks for asking!! i had a lot of fun answering these (you can tell by how long this post ended up being lol)

#answered asks #thegoliathbeetle

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okthatsgreat · 9 months

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hiii okay i just started reading opddmh and i was wondering if you have any thoughts about komaru and toko's relationship and udg in relation to the virtual reality au you're writing? :3c they are so precious to me and if u dont have any thoughts on it thats fine!! just wondering <3 have a good day!!

OOOO DEFINITELY !!! nothing too complex or thought out but ive definitely got some thoughts on it >:)

first things first ultra despair girls is most certainly some kind of spinoff in this universe! so its not considered a main storyline/killing game however it is still on ongoing series! i imagine after 53 seasons the danganronpa timeline has been seriously fucked up and udg is absolutely one of the main reasons its so wonky, you can IMAGINE all of the conspiracy youtube videos trying to piece that shit together lmfaooooo. but yep udg is a running spinoff series starring toko, komaru, and the warriors of hope (who are teenagers in this au at this point!!). it also features a range of other villains and side characters that were introduced later on :] udg definitely isnt as popular nor is it as consistent in its production as the main danganronpa story is (while danganronpa has at least one season per year, udg has one maybe every three), but it still gets a whole lot of views !! which means toko and komaru are unfortunately in it for the long haul </3

they live seperate from each other however they're over at each others apartments so often that they basically live together LMFAO. they rely on each other SO so heavily. i personally think they have romantic feelings somewhere underneath their fear of losing each other to the mental trauma of danganronpa however there is NO WAY danganronpa would ever let them be a couple. the most theyre allowed to do is queerbait ghfdsjkghjkdf. if they confirm anything between the pair they are destroying an entire market of fans they can profit off of and also likely losing hella sponsorship money. its extremely difficult navigating a relationship like that, where they have become so heavily codependent on each other not only because their wellbeing relies on the other being healthy and well but also because they've grown so close it's impossible to imagine a future where the other isnt involved somehow. everything danganronpa has put them through, it has usually been TOGETHER, which means they've bonded through those experiences. is that healthy? absolutely the fuck it is not however there is no time or space to navigate that or to spend time away from each other (even if they wanted to, which they don't)!!

the pair stay relatively close with the warriors of hope-- or at least komaru does lmfaooo. like i said before the warriors of hope are teenagers at this point (honestly theyre probably mius age!! which sparks a lot of hypothetical interactions LMAO) so they dont really need babysitters or anything like that but because there are not very many people who could possibly understand what they've gone through they tend to stick together!! a few of them, at least. i imagine nagisa is a lot more distant and kotoko probably has other friends she talks to a whole ton :] people that arent constant walking reminders of her current and past traumas lol

komaru also doesnt talk to makoto as often anymore! they kind of keep in touch and definitely see each other at press conferences and all that, but the relationship has become somewhat strained. its a bit awkward knowing they arent actually related!! theyre still kind to each other and care about each other like actual siblings but its hard not to feel sad around the other unfortunately :(

and toko definitely doesnt talk to byakuya much anymore besides the occasional promotional material LMFAO. they dont despise each other but both have done a lot of growing and a lot of that included distancing themselves from each other

SORRY IF THAT WAS MORE THAN YOU ASKED FOR!!! THANK YOU <33

#THANKS FOR THE QUESTION I LOVE ANSWERING <3 #“nothing too complex or thought out” answers with an essay #ask lee #opddmh #kukizuchis

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wcndrlnds · 1 year

Text

ALICE KANG ? the TWENTY SIX year old is the COUNTESS of WARWICK, how exciting to see them this season! rumors have it they are IMAGINATIVE and AFFECTIONATE, but i’ve heard they are QUIET and FOOLISH as well — maybe that’s why they’ve been called the DREAMER. I have even heard that SHE CAUSED THE FIRE THAT TOOK HER FAMILY — only time will tell.

STORY.

I. eldest of three by the time she gets to see her fifth year, the kangs couldn't have wished for better daughters. couldn't have wished for a better family to raise in one of the few estates to their name. II. alice had always been keen to the arts for as long as she could reach the height of three apples. her mother had a voice of velvet, and the count couldn't get enough of the latest byron and poets. not that she would understand much of it in her young age, but recitations were frequent, and thus her brilliant mind put to a pedestal as she could read earlier than most child. III. passion would be putting it lightly, and count kang knew what he had to get started so his oldest could follow into her hobbies as she grew. IV. renovations lasted longer than the finished addition could ever live. for months of works to carve shelves in the finest of woods and acquiring the rarest of books would all go in vain a few weeks after the completion. V. FIRE, DEATH TW. no one knows for sure what happened. only that so the blaze could be seen from the village, smoke thick of wood and paper making for an impossible thing to avoid. was it the british mixed feline that knocked over a candle ? of the fireplace ill placed in the heart of the library going wild ? a misplaced pipe still carrying ambers ? nothing is known of the cause, solely the outcome. alice covered in sot and cuts from the shattered glass that flew out windows after windows in the inferno. VI. all but seven years young, and she's found herself with no estate, no parents, no siblings. only an inheritance that couldn't be clearer : title and every assets passed down to the eldest child, no matter the age. not that any uncles or aunts could try to claim it, for none were in sight to hear of the tragic event. VII. thankfully, or fatefully, the cholmondeleys whomst had always been close and dear to the kangs, couldn't let the poor orphan in the streets. taking her under their wings, she's had the fortunate honor to grow up alongside people she could never call family, guilt ridden mind wouldn't allow such a claim, but they've treated her like nothing less. VIII. unwillingly, though never complainingly, learning how to take care of duties that are far beyond her expertise and interests, as well as trying to navigate a society that whispers about her tragedy like it happened all but yesterday. twenty years anniversary of the event is near, and never once has it stopped plaguing mind uncontained.

QUICK FACTS.

she was a pretty lively kid before the whole fire rip !!

has grown quite... quiet since. never lost her good manners, but is losing herself hiding behind being proper ever since being introduced into society.

her mind is still running rampant with ideas and imagination from all the books she read and will keep reading. loves to evade in stories, as those are some rare times where she is allowed an escape from her reality.

which makes her also quite foolish and naive !! forgets sometimes where the line is between reality and fantasy, it is easy to make her believe in anything. that is only because she wants to believe, too.

extremely soft spoken to the point that sometimes she cannot be heard. would much rather be unfound in a corner of a ballroom than in the middle of the dance.

seasons have come and gone and while she has had her share of courtships, none seemed to ever stick. either from her mind spacing in the middle of a conversation or the rumors surrounding her, it always seems enough to drive everyone away.

much much MUCH more comfortable with people that took time to stick with her. she isn't hard to approach, kind and warm in all the right ways, but she is hard to understand. a handful of people do, and she understands them right back. meaning she'll be in their corners and cling to them no manner what, fear of seeing them vanish from her reach if she doesn't.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

a little tired to come up with specifics </3. but honestly anything that you can think of !! slide in my dms or ims or literally simply tag me in anything and i will respond and go off any kind of vibes !! friends, not so friends, influences gone good or bad, another lady to kiss in secret, anyone to indulge in her imagination, someone she gives her trust to a little too rapidly, make a fool out of her, and so much more truly anything goes !!

#intro #wdintro #bro the way my laptop crashed as i was doing this and ps also crashed prior........................................#didn't want to see me post that intro fr #fire tw #death tw

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canthelps · 9 months

Text

Summer North's incredibly personal Fouth Album-A Little More Time- is OUT NOW! listen here

Happy Birthday @lcvewaslcst

Song explanations under the cut

The Alcott (The National and Taylor Swift)

summer wrote this after the meeting with their lawyers and going to the bar together. its the surprise that molly still wants anything to do with her, about how difficult it is for her to be with her after she knows shes hurt her so much. she doesnt want to get ahead of herself, because she still thinks that shes unworthy of mollys love. “how many times will i do this and you’ll still believe?”

Sunshine Baby (The Japanese House)

written while they were starting to get back together. shes worried that shes gonna fuck it up again but all she wants is just to be back with her wife and its all she can focus on. she just wants life to be easier “well ive gone a little crazy, surely someones gonna save me. i dont know whats right anymore, i dont wanna fight anymore”

I Love You but I Need Another Year (Liza Anne)

much darker sound, written in the depths of the break up. about how she broke up with molly because of her own mental health. she doesnt know how to deal with her mind. “you’re sticking around but how can you stand it? I can’t salvage your mind while im losing mine. and nobody should have to deal with this. but i need you i dont wanna leave you” Also a sick song live because she gets to show off her guitar skills and headbang. probs a fan favourite live. the whole thing sounds like a panic attack

Emily I’m Sorry (Boygenius)

Called Molly I’m Sorry (obviously). An apology song to molly, pretty obvious. she’s sorry for what she did. she shouldn’t have done it. she loves her too much. written a few weeks after the lawyer meeting/the bar. summer coming to terms that she could come back “im twenty seven and i dont know who i am but im becoming someone only you could want”

A Little More Time (Role Model)

Is about summer struggling being in LA, far away from her home and family. Molly is the only thing holding her to LA, so when they break up she doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. Its about her realising that the only thing that will make her love LA again is being with Molly. “in a city with no seasons, in a house thats not a home….am i permanently broken, or is it just the sunshine blues?”

Bad Idea (Girl In Red)

They hooked up while broken up. its literally just about that. they should not be booty calling each other when theyre broken up and trying to figure things out but they do. its a banger and the fans love it. summer wasn’t sure about putting it on the album bc it makes it sound like she cheated. but she and molly both know thats not true and thats all that matters. also the use of darling links back to the previous album

Big Star (Lorde)

another song about how she doesn’t deserve molly. summer does refer to herself as a cheater in this song but once again she never cheated on molly! just a lovely song about how amazing molly is and how much summer loves her. ignore that the original is about a dog. its romantic. “toss up if its worth it every time i get on a plane. i’ve got so much to tell you and not enough time to do it in” was probably written before the break up. when her downwards spiral was starting

Not Strong Enough (Boygenius)

I DONT KNOW WHY I AM THE WAY I AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO BE YOUR MAN. literally its just summers mental issues getting in the way of her being happy lmao who can relate! was written on the same day as sunshine baby bc shes what? TALENTED.

Gemini Moon (Renee Rapp)

another song about how summer believes she is actually the worst!! anxious avoidant attachment who? no its just her gemini moon. “i bet youre sick of it, believe me so am i….but really i should just be better to you” honestly this one is a maybe for the album but ive been working on this playlist for months and i want to get it done

Anti-Hero (Taylor Swift but the Keaton Henson Version)

do i really need to say it? its me hi im the problem its me?

Everything (Muna)

shes helplessly in love with molly and everything is about her even when theyre broken up. was written deep in the break up when all she could think about was her wife “four hundred and counting and my only question is how would you feel if one was me. would you wish we made love again, would you want to revisit the marks on my skin, cause the world could be burning and all id be thinking is how are you doing baby”

Show Up (Samia)

its a song for her fans, about how no matter whats going on in her life she will always show up and perform for them as long as they still want her to

#yes i went a bit extra with the tracklist but!!#summer has many emotions and its an important album #ship: summer and molly

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drabbleitout · 2 years

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Find the Word Tag Game

Tagged by: @spacetimewraithwrites like 20 years ago over here and over here (sorry for the delay, been defending the homestead from waves of armadillos —who dgf about you or your dog or that hockey stick you keep poking them with for the record) My Words: nice, near, nature, neither, nasty, normal, whole, work, wing, water, & worse Tagging: @winterandwords, @writer-on-time, @writeouswriter, Your Words: Season, Easy, Bag, Smart, & Stretch

Nice

Beau could smell the liquor on Garnet's breath, woody with hints of smoke. He wondered just how intoxicated he was. "You wanna explain what you were talking about?" Of course, he'd ask now before he could get too drunk to forget. "How long has Duras been asking you about this? Since the nightmares started?" "I want to have a nice time. Can you give me two seconds?" "Okay… One, two –there." It was technically four, but when had Garnet ever been technical?

Near

“I figured that pipsqueak, I saw the live stream. Anyone know who’s behind it? Do we have any suspects?” “One,” Ives said, sending the room into complete silence. No one moved, even Beau’s typing going still. Ives wasn’t seated at a desk, instead at one of the processing seats near the back of the office. He didn’t look himself. The usual stick-straight posture was gone, slouched in the seat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Garnet from beneath his dark brows. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Garnet chuckled, holding Ives’ glare. “Me? You fuckin’ think it was me?”

Nature

“I think you may be mistaken,” Ives chuckled. “Ok, Mr. World-Wide-Web, believe what you want. But that’s the whole point. It’s fucked up. Your CEO is playing God. She knows what you really are, but do you?” Her playful nature went suddenly serious, leaning over the table never letting her gaze track away from his. “Don’t you remember being real?”

Neither

“Shit,” Garnet hissed, leaning forwards to shut the glove box, sending them into darkness. “Don’t move.” He warned, slouching in his seat as light grew down the aisle of the parking garage. A car crept up the ramp, a beam from the windows scanning each car in search of them. Beau watched it grow lighter in the side mirror, able to hear the purr of their car. He slid down in his seat as the light glared in the mirror, spilling over the dash. Garnet held his breath, eyes fixed on the rearview. Neither of them made a sound. Stealth mode was able to make the car look different than a patrol car, hiding the lights and changing the paint. But it couldn’t hide bullet holes. The light shifted to the car beside them, continuing up the ramp.

Nasty

Even as short of a walk as it was, they were soaked by the time they reached Valetta. She glanced up to Lora, enough explained through one look to know Beau wasn’t well. “Hey Beauregard,” she gently smiled, taking him from Lora to bring into the foyer. “Nasty weather, isn’t it? Come on, let’s get you into something warm and dry. Here,” she ushered him over to the bench that held their shoes, sitting him down to begin taking off his shoes. “I can,” Beau whimpered, making a half-hearted attempt to do so himself. “It’s okay, I gotcha,” Valetta shook her head, finishing them off.

Normal

“Is this where you spend your weekends?” “No questions,” Garnet made a short, sharp swipe with his hand in the space between them. “Alright? This ‘class pet spend-a-night’ nonsense wasn’t my idea.” “I’m not a turtle, Garnet.” “Might as well be –either way, I don’t have to explain myself. It’s my turn to deal with you, so I’m dealing with you. Just sit there and try to look normal.” The bartender returned with Garnet’s drink. Beau decided it was probably better not to stare and instead studied the mirrored wall of bottles, scanning over their contents and how different each looked.

Whole

“Easy, easy,” Garnet whispered, hugging him closer. It was an awkward hold, limited by the taut cable still attached to Beau’s neck. Reaching across his back, Garnet worked the charger out of the port, giving him slack and holding him closer. “You’re alright, Beau.” “Did it really happen? Was it real?” “No, no it wasn’t real. You had a nightmare is all. You haven’t gone anywhere, you’ve been here the whole time.” “A nightmare?” “Yeah, like a really bad dream. Uh, thoughts and images that happen in your sleep, but bad ones.” Garnet tried to keep his cool at the realization that Beau had had a nightmare. An AI. He’d never heard of such or even thought it possible.

Work

There were no connections, no trace of a signal, no windows or any way out. Only the mechanical door controlled by the bailiff. The door Bryant could emerge from at any moment. BIOS OVER-TEMPERATURE WARNING Beau drew in another breath, expelling warmth, gasping again and again in hopes of cooling his CPU. Rolling on his right side, he used his left to drag himself towards the bench. It was excruciatingly slow, the work of his limbs making it even more difficult to cool his systems. His regulator was working overtime trying to filter working nanites into his right sectors, cooling unit at max capacity. Shuddering for air he paused at the foot of the bench, willing himself not to cry, not to waste the fluid. ATTEMPTING TO CONNECT TO NETWORK ATTEMPTING TO CALL CAP. RYKER NETWORK UNAVAILABLE CALL FAILED

Wing

| Move up. | Ives ordered, and they ran. Ives took the road in front, Beau scaling the dumpster up to the fire escape. The vantage point of the roof would provide optimal cover for Ives, and give him a position to check on the status of the rest of the team. |Back of the west wing is clear.| Ives reported as Beau reached the roof. Scampering up the pitch he was rushed with radio chatter from Ryker, desperately trying to get in touch with Ives. “Pinned down at building B. Ives, fall back outside of the perimeter and call for backup.” |Can you hear Ryker?| | I’m making the executive decision not to. | Ives returned.

Water

Bryant had some nerve getting Beau alone like that, keeping him in a cell with a jammer. It was grounds for kidnapping. Garnet regretted not hitting him. He’d thought about it. When Bryant had said he saw nothing wrong with Beau’s bloody and scraped-up condition. It’d taken all Garnet had not to shove him to the ground and break his nose in. It was short and turned up, sure it would crumple like an empty water bottle.

Worse

“Jaime!” The call caused his helmed head to turn, quickly looking away with an acute shake. Beau hurried up to him, touching the center cover of his bike in case he needed to kill the engine. “You’ve been suspended?” “God this place is worse than social media,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you ask me to come to the meeting? I could have told Thatcher what happened. What Bryant did. He must not know.” “Beau—” “Come back inside and let me explain it to him.” “Beau, it doesn’t matter,” Garnet flipped up the visor, holding eye contact. “I know what I did was wrong. Thatcher’s right, okay? I crossed a line when I shouldn’t have, and I know that. I knew that. Okay? It’s okay.”

#wip: tb #tag game #tag games

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so-much-nonsense · 24 days

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FINALLY!!

I LIKE A GUY NOW! like actually have a crush. oh my god. literally the first time in 18 years. i dont know what that says about me. but it def says he is too good (-looking). i knowww, what if he just looks good and is popular? everyone likes such guys for these things..... but no. it is def not the case considering how i found his ig acc. very niche, i know. also that one reel where hes so cute and talking about life just the way i write about it makes a lot of difference. not sure if thats his idea tho, what if he just copied from someone else? then its good he has taste. i really want to make a move, but dont want to get my hopes up, considering he might already have a girlfriend. which is very likely to be true... regardless of anything happening, im just happy i finally like a guy. i know damn well im gonna be so good in a relationship. i know its too soon to talk about it, but this is not just about him. and i love long distance. it is a choice of sticking to each other by defying all the odds. also every time u meet, its like youre meeting each other for the first time all over again. this is too cinematic. considering im 18 its the perfect time to be. ill be in his city next month and if he doesnt have a gf already then lets see where it goes. if i still have a crush on him after a month that is.

things are the same at home. tensed. i never wanted to go back to college so bad. its also the last week before i leave to college that this keeps happening. i think maybe its just bc theyre gonna miss me while im gone and are worried, but they dunno how to show love or affection. so maybe getting upset is their thing. but it makes me sick in the stomach. i really need to start caring about my health. losing hair makes me the saddest. i dont even feel alive without my hair. so weird how much my importance hair holds in my life. not bc its a physical aspect or bc its about looks. i feel its one thing that i have always carried with me.

what i wrote about abusers and victims before turned out to be the most real thing ive ever written. but i am neither. so i do not know where i stand in this situation or what to do. when were things ever clear? being cnofused about everything is the new normal for me.

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bunnypopgal · 3 months

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Hello. It's been a few years since i made this blog and made my first post. I now deleted my first post bc i found it to be cringe and honestly really painful. i have grown a lot in these past years and have seemingly beat my hallucinations for now. i know that will most likely come back prob once i become a mother one day but i feel more prepared to beat them again.

Other than that i dumped and got dump by two partners, made and lost almost all my friends besides one. dont judge by like im sure many of us are im a sucker for the friends turned lovers trope and well ive been dating my best friend for almost going 2 years now. he has been super accepting, a wonderful partner and my biggest support thru it all so far. hes my only support system honestly.

i am deeply scared to make friends again after what my last friend did to me.. for years and i just let her. i cant really blame it on having low self worth either since i honestly really like myself and who i am but more so i didnt know HOW to be treated by others. let me be clear NOT how I treat others, no-no but HOW others SHOULD treat ME. isnt that nuts? you think that would be something we just have inside of us as humans (or otherwise) that we would just KNOW that. i dont FEEL like a doormat either but maybe i am. not with everyone, mind you. just like people ive grown to have developed a trusting bond in with respect packed in there like a mozzie stick, yum, ya know? i love em like chosen family and youre gonna body shame me for not being short for a woman, like what? you think i wouldve picked it out asap that chick SCREAMED pick me but i also saw her good qualities too which is why i wanted to be friends with her... i trusted her a lot. Oh well tho.

As much as it still hurts sometimes the fear is still there. i, as a woman also fear other woman. i know, i know. there is so many other wonderful women out there who would never treat me so badly but my brain is gone broken from so many traumatizing events over and over again. it irrational, i know it. its also isolating. i dont go out much at all but honestly blame the economy for that. i plan to be getting a part time job soon which you can also blame the economy for haha but also i want to meet people and have some kinda structure in my life again. hoping for friends right now is something im maybe not ready for honestly i think ill just start with talking to people again and let that be that. i hope to get some kind of a cleaning job so it will be a little to no talking to people depending on where im set up.

im just kinda scared to open myself up again to other people. online of course is different mainly besides the usual explanation but also for me, the internet is a black hole where NO ONE see the crap i shit out which includes my art i make sadly. i dont really try all like hard to make people see it anyways. i am still scared of people after all.

anyways today i have plans to hang out with my partner before he has to go to work. im hoping we can play palworld together again hehe. Other than that its house chores and back to drawing for me today. i just came out of another depressive episode recently so i have a few great messes to clean up. its a good thing i like cleaning, ya know when i dont feel like i wanna disappear. what can i say, its genetic. thanks, dad haha.

im planning to get back into my old hobbies too like live streaming. ive been live streaming all over the internet off and on since i was maybe 14. im 23 now so 10 years!!! WOWIE!! when i was growing up my family would joke around saying i need my own reality show haha. i do have a huge personality, ig but thats something im very comfortable and like about myself. bold and funny, i think!! streaming is a super relaxing thing to me. i talk to myself anyways and i always have. you dont stay this "sane" without talking to yourself to fight off the loneliness haha.

that reminds me recently my partner told me he found me to be a "increaser of morale, an inspiring person, you're motivating and you make being emotionally positive SO EASY." im still so stunned and very very VERY flattered he told me that! even if its not true im glad he feels that way bc thats a nice way to be. hes very very sweet to me.

well i could write forever right now honestly but i should probably go drink enough water to take out a house fire so i dont die of dehydration.

oh, if only. (JOKING)

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sflksjlksflksj · 1 year

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personal diary

day 3 of remembering to write. things at home seem to be doing better. I tell my husband alot of whats on my mind when i am struggling and he always does his best to help me. He’s a huge workaholic. If he doesnt have work he is doing things around the house, doing yard work or helping me clean and upkeep the house. He only gets like at most 2 days off a week and his past 3 days off he has spent it mostly with me and just being there for me instead of doing stuff and it has helped me alot. Sometimes i need days where we are just cuddling and going with the flow. I think alot of my issues with newer/younger couples is that i feel like me and him will never have those same moments again and that makes me envious and feel like we arent soulmates. I know we are soulmates. i just lose myself in family life sometimes and need him to breathe fresh air into me so i can focus on myslef and not my surroundings. I hate his brother and i wish i didnt as much as i do. I hate him so much that seeing him be a 19 year old drop out isnt good enough for me. I hate that his mother got him a car. i hate that he has never held down a job longer than a few weeks. I hate that he dates around like crazy and brings these girls home for days to even weeks at a time. it feels like for me at least, me and his brother got the shit end of the stick when it comes to when we first started dating. His mother was always shaming us or critisizing us and we had jobs and were doing shit. But his brother is smoking weed and ditching school and she is buying him dinner everynight and...well at least thats how i feel. i know my feelings are exaggerated more than 86 percent of the time so i need to get over it. talking things out with my husband helps a load but it helps alot to write it down too and see how far ive matured and far ive come. I have kept multiple diarys before on laptops and computers but it was always private and i always lost them when i sold/broke the computers so itll be nice to have sometjhing thatll be online forever and i can look back on. i know i have matured alot but i also have gone downhill in some other aspects. for instance i have been drinking alot more, like 4-5 days out of the week i mix vodka into juice and drink like 7-10 cups. Not good at all. i have never gotten drunk and thats what started this drinking was that i wanted to get drunk once and it didnt work so every night ive been drinking here and there and now its becoming a destress thing and i hate it. i dont need alchohol but im feeling like i am starting down that road and i dont know how to stop exactly. Ill set out not to buy any and then ill just ask my husband to pick some up and he always is up for it. i dont know. when i drink i do care alot less about those thoughts in my head. I was able to acutally sit on the couch and talk and vibe with my mother in law while i was drunk. i know i am being stupid. my mother in laws ex husband was a alchohlic and i am sure she can see any signs of someone intoxicated. she hasnt said anything to me and we have been getting along great since then. i love my kids so much and i am so unhealthy currently. the worst i have ever been. and not only am i the fattest i have ever been but now i am drinking and i am so scared of now being able to do better. ive been talking for weeks about going on a diet but i have no fucking self control or discipline to do it and i hate so much how good i am at dissasociating with my problems. i hope i can get better with time man. i am hoping that as i grow and mature ill get some fucking self control. ive been able to reign myself in mentally sometimes when i find myself going off on unhealthy tangents in my head but again, it doesnt work for long and i always end up thinking the same way within minutes. i am going for a week to visit my dad and my step mum and let them see the boys and i am hoping there i can quit this drinking and possibly not binge eat shit and that can be my little taste of being the responsible adult i hope to be soon.

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rommahh · 3 years

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The Moment

{Enjoy this new fic im writing. Ive always loved dad!harry, @harryhoney-bee gave me the courage to write dad!h and so here it is. This is only part 1 so I hope to see some of y'all stick around.}

It was a surreal moment. There was one baby in your arms and another in Harry’s. Two babies. Twin girls. Harry sat beside you in a chair by your bed. He couldn’t stop looking between you and the girls- absolutely enamored.

You were exhausted. Your cheeks were flushed, skin sticky from sweat, but you didn’t notice it. You could only notice the way that your babies cooed as they slept or the way that Harry would subtly wipe tears from his eyes. The silence that surrounded you two was comfortable, warm even.

“Im so proud of you.” Harry whispers when his eyes make it back to you. You start to tear up again. Thinking about the year that you two have had and where you are now with two beautiful bubs laying in your arms- it had been a chaotic year but it paid off in the best ways.

Nine Months Ago

Something was wrong, something was very wrong. It wasn’t like you to get stomach sickness. You would wake up and throw up everyday at the same time for the past three weeks. Since your last period, you’ve recognized some changes. The foods that you love are now the foods that you hate. You can’t go a few minutes without feeling nauseous, something was wrong.

A pregnancy test sat in front of you. It’s bright pink exterior burned your eyes as if to mock you for your actions. You had taken it 15 minutes ago, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at the results. You best friend, Ellie, sat beside you waiting for you to check the results.

"Hon, you've got to check the results." She places a gentle hand on your arm. You nod, but make no move to flip it over. "Would you like me to do it for you? I will."

"Yeah, that would be, that would be, yeah." You couldn't form a full sentence. Ellies fingers wrapped around the non-pee side of the stick and lifted it eye level to her face. She pushed her glasses further up her nose to make sure she was reading correctly.

She clears her throat uncomfortably. "Well."

"Fuck." You burst into tears. This is not how you imagined this to happen. You thought that maybe this was just the college stomach bug but pregnancy? Fucked is what you were feeling.

"Its going to be ok." Ellie was quick to hug you, she cradled your head with her small hand. "You have to tell him you know."

That thought didnt even cross your mind. Harry. The only guy you've ever been involved with. You couldn't even imagine his reaction. Would he be mad? Sad? What would he do?

"I can't right now. I need to be by myself for a second." You tell her. She nods at you before placing a kiss on the top of your head and returning to her room in the sorority house.

It was hard to believe that you could be pregnant. Academics were your main priority. You were building a resume, a resume to build your future and a child would put a wrench in that future.

The room was quiet now that Ellie was gone. The only sound came from the humming of your fan and your pounding heart. Your thoughts were louder than anything. What was anyone going to think of you? Women always get scrutinized for a pregnancy first. If you chooses to exterminate the baby, people will say something. If you puts the baby up for adoption, you're a deadbeat. If you keep the baby, you're a whore.

Out of al the emotions that rushed to you when seeing the pregnancy test, fear was the most evident.

Friday nights on campus were wild. The soccer team just won a very big game and almost every frat was throwing some sort of large party. Ellie really questioned you when you said you wanted to visit Harrys frat party to celebrate with him. She didnt think a party would be most suitable for a probably pregnant woman, but as stubborn as you were, she didnt win that fight.

Harrys frat was the most jam packed with people. People kissed the floor that Harry walked on. He could do no wrong in anyone eyes. Winning the game tonight made him the talk of the town, he was even trending on local twitter.

Ellie led the way through the house, a hand wrapped around your wrist so you didn't get eaten by the crowd. Coming upon Harrys group, Ellie was immediately scooped into her boyfriends arms, Jeremiah. You spotted Harry standing in the corner talking to a few people. Sauntering over to his you caught him by surprise when you wrapped threw yourself into his arms.

"Hi bear." He greets you while wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

"Hi H." You smile up at him. Despite the happiness you felt seeing him tonight there was a knowing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You and Harry had a difficult relationship to define. Everyone around thought you two were the perfect soulmates. You two just seemed to be made for each other. Harry only lightened up when you were around, his stoic facade melted away whenever you entered the room. There was never an uncomfortable moment where you two couldn't tell each other anything...until now.

Most people didn't really understand why you two weren't officially together but you two knew. School and preprofessional careers meant more to you two than anything. Harry's soccer career was on the rise. He has one foot in the profession but couldn't go any further because of college. His mail was stuffed to the brink with offers from professional leagues who couldn't wait for him to graduate. Harry had a future that was set in stone. You on the other hand, had a been building a resume in business and marketing with a touch of journalism and social media. You have interned at instagram and snapchat- working behind the scenes and front and center. You both were talented beyond your means and because of that, many things came second.

"Congratulations on your win! Knew you guys would win though." You congratulate Harry and his group. They thank you, some thanking you in compliments making Harry tug you further into your side. You had your tightest skinny jeans on with a loose v-neck t-shirt on. You would've worn something tighter but you felt bloated...if that's the right word to use for this situation.

As the night went on with dancing and ridiculous games, the anxiety you felt never diminished. Watching Harry in his element so happy made you nervous at the thought of disturbing it.

The night started to slow down and you and harry were finally in a quiet area with friends.

"Harry can we go to your room to ta-"

"Harry!" An obnoxious voice cuts you off. Harry turns his attention to Olive who had just walked into the door. She wore her tightest dress, boobs spilling out catching everyones attention in the room. Harry apologized to you before walking over to the girl. That sudden burst of confidence disappeared within seconds. Harry deserved a girl like Olive. Arm candy who would keep him fresh in the tabloids. Not you and baby. You didnt want to be the one to hold Harry back from a future with beautiful ladies and freedom. Maybe it was the jealousy that tingled within you watching Harry grasp Olive in a tight hug and not letting her go when they split.

Throwing a look to Ellie, who already saw your unpleasant face from miles away, you waved to the group before leaving. It was weird to watch Harry with other girls, especially Olive. Without a defined relationship, things like this made your emotions array.

Your sorority was only a block down but you only made it a few feet before you heard your voice being called. Harry ran to you with a grin on his face.

"Just gonna leave me without saying goodbye you loser." He grabs you in his arms giving you a bear hug. Your face smushed into his chest prompting you to wrap your arms around him loosely.

"Sorry, just a little tired." You shrug. He leans back away from you to look at your face. He holds your face in his hands smiling down at you. It was hard to not melt into his hands when he gave you his little dimpled smile.

"Why so tired bear?"

You didnt answer, your eyes averting to the side. Harry moved your face so your eyes aligned with his. His brows raised expecting an answer.

Brushing him off, you move back. He looks slightly offended at your demeanor. "Nothing H, I promise."

"Ok, well you know you can tell me anything. I always have time for my bear." He gets close to you, nudging his nose with yours. Both of your eyes fall shut, savoring the moment between each other. A breeze passed around you two, it set the mood. There was a warmth shared- a buzz in the connection that pulled you two closer.

The second your lips melt you felt yourself start to break. Here was the man you were in love with loving you, and you were harboring this secret that could destroy the little relationship that you two had.

The kiss was merely innocent. There was no tongue but moving lips and small pecks. It was you to pull away first.

"Harry-"

"Harry come back in!" For the second time that evening you were interrupted. Olive stood at the door of his frat frantically waving her hands. Harry looked back at you with an apologetic smile.

"Were you going to say something back inside?"

"Uh, no I guess not." It was dumb of you not to say the thing that had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for the past few days.

"Im gonna go back." He pointed with his thumb behind him to the house.

"Yeah, ok." Harry hesitated for a moment. He knew there was something wrong but he didnt say anything. You both didnt say anything.

Eight Months Ago

Nine and a half weeks pregnant. Estimated by your doctor, you were nine and a half weeks pregnant. That plastic test you took weeks ago stood nothing against the actually paperwork your doctor was reading from your blood work and pee.

Ellie and your mother sat next to the bed you lied on. Your shirt tucked underneath your bra as your doctor spread the jelly on your stomach. You couldn’t look at your mother, the lingering disappointment was evident and creating a tension in the room.

The small instrument that the doctor was holding pressed on your stomach. You could only hear the ruffling of the instrument on your stomach through the small scre-

Thump thump thump

A heartbeat was all it took for you to start sobbing. You couldn’t decipher anything on the ultrasound but just the faint sounds of a small heartbeat made you cry. Ellie gripped your hand tight out of excitement. She wiped your tears off with a tissue smiling at you with a large smile.

Your mother remained stoic though you could see the few stray tears on her face. Everyone walked out of the doctors office that day with a stack of ultrasound pictures, your mom paying for the extra despite her unhappiness. The images were blurry, nothing more than black and white blobs but your were connected to the blob. Your little blob of whatever.

Back at your dorm, your mother following you into the room, you throw the ultrasounds haphazardly on your desk. Your mother sat, prim and proper, legs crossed on the small love seat you had placed by your window.

You threw yourself into your bed feeling the soft bed envelope you.

“Careful, you’re not a young college individual anymore, carrying a child now.” You mother muttered disapprovingly. You rolled your eyes.

“Im ok Y/M/N.” It was her turn to roll her eyes.

“It’s mom to you. Now let’s talk about baby daddy. Harry deserves to know.” Your mother never looks up from her magazine as she utters the words to you. You sit up on your bed, placing a hand on your stomach.

“Way to ease into the small talk. I know I have to talk to Harry. Im just scared." You distracted yourself by playing with the throw blanket on the foot of your bed.

"You're already pregnant, nothing more could go wrong from here." Your mother replies sarcastically. There it was. The resentment. Your mother couldn't hide it.

"Ok, im sorry you feel that way."

"I don't feel anyway dear, you're pregnant and in college and you haven't told the father yet so there. Nothing to feel about." She slams the magazine down on the floor so her hands were free to exaggerate her words.

"Why are you acting like this?" You ask in a small voice. You were brought back to the childish space in your head. Growing up your mother was always like this. She demeaned you in a way that brought you back to your childhood years. As a kid you never felt good enough for your mother and her harsh demands. She always expected you to grow up and be the first woman president. You were expected to be prim and proper and wait for marriage to have sex, and now you were pregnant.

"Im not acting in anyway. You have no right to question me. Cant you see what you're doing to me?" Her words swayed you. Had you been that bad of a daughter?

"Im-Im sorry." Your mother huffed, standing from the chair and grabbing her purse.

"Look what you've done, made my blood pressure rise. I will see you later." She storms out of your room slamming the door behind her. She had no regard for the fact that you were living in a shared house with your sorority sisters. You hated crying over your mother but you couldn't help it. She manipulates your feelings so she can feel better and it works.

A knock on your door broke you out of your reverie. Scared that it was Harry, you quickly confiscated the ultrasound images from your desk and shoved them into the desk drawer. Behind your door was Harry in fact.

He was a little confused by your lack of interaction with him. It was normal for you two to not communicate much during the week but you at least would text him throughout the day. In his right hand was a bag of clothes for the weekend and in the other hand was a bag of your favorite snacks ranging from cheesy Doritos to a hand picked ziplock bag of blue gummy worms.

When you finally open the door, harry could tell you were crying. You're cheeks were flushed and your eyes had a slight puff to them.

"Hi bear, what happened?" He walks into your room placing his bags by the door. You closed the door behind him taking in his jean clad legs and school t-shirt. He seemed to be coming back from a class, he had no game tonight.

He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread to leave a space for you to sit. You slowly move in between his spread legs sitting on his left thigh.

"My mom was here." Was all you said nuzzling your face into his warm neck. His cologne tingled your nose making you snuggle closer to him.

"Im sorry my love." He knew your mom well. She was very present in a negative way in your life. "But its ok, we are gonna have a good weekend. Gonna watch movies, gonna cuddle, gonna do some other stuff..." His voice trails off alluding to the thing that you love to do with Harry. He places soft kisses on your cheek trailing down to your lips. You responded immediately by kissing him back. His hair was gripped between your fingers. He groaned in your mouth at the feeling of your harsh tug.

Before you know it, your on your back underneath Harry consuming the comfort given through pleasure. His gentle thrusts brought subtle tears to your eyes. Harry was above you resting his weight on his elbows as pounded deep within you.

You cradled his face in your hands as he looked down at you from above. He looked at you as if you were the best thing to walk the earth, his home away from home.

"I love you, god I love you." He groaned deeply as you clenched around his length.

"I love you too." You both came, coming apart in each others arms.

After he cleaned the mess between your legs, he lied down beside you, one arm underneath your head and the other lying limp on your side.

"I missed you this week, you went all silent on me." He murmurs. His breath tickles your face. you acknowledge his words but you couldn't form the right words in your head.

"I have- just been a busy week."

Chicken, you were a chicken. You could've said the words that kept you silent this week but you didnt.

"Ok, im sorry this week wasn't treating my baby right." He attacked you with raspberries in you neck making you explode with giggles.

"Stop it!"

"Mmm fine. Brought snacks, lets eat." He moves off of the bed to put his boxers on and throw you your favorite hoodie that sat by your desk. He clambers back in bed with the Doritos, giving you a large grin.

"Yummy." You tell him taking the bag. When the bag opened the aroma of the chips hit your face, your stomach started to coil in discomfort but you brushed it off. You took a chip out of the bag placing it in your mouth. Not even three chews in, your stomach lurched. It was a quick trip to your bathroom as you placed your face in the bowl and released the contents of your stomach.

Harry followed you to the bathroom in shock, confused by your sudden sickness. You could feel his warmth beside you as he rubbed your back.

"Let me get you some medicine, where is it?" His voice was buy your ear by the time you moved your face out of the toilet.

"Its in the second drawer of my desk, pink bottle." He nodded at you before rising to his feet back into your room. The sound of the drawer open made you jump up to your feet as you remembered what sat in that drawer.

"Harry wait-"

It was too late. Harry stood by your desk with the ultrasound pictures in his hands. It suddenly became very cold in the room. Harrys face was pale in color, mouth gaping.

"Harry..."

"What this? Are these Ellie's? Tell me these are Ellie's." The questions poured from his mouth. You could sense the storm coming.

"They're not Ellie's." He almost couldn't hear you. Just like with your mother, you felt as if the ground could swallow you alive.

"Whose are they?" He grits out, jaw clenched. His eyes were watering with tears just like yours. You tried to take a step forward but he took a step back. A sob wracked through your body in heartbreak. "Fuck."

"Harry please."

You tried to reach for him but you were slow. The ultrasound pictures hit the floor in a flurry as Harry furiously pulled on his clothes.

"Why, where, Harry stop." You wailed. There were no words uttered out of his mouth as he stormed out of the room. You could only fall to the floor, for the second time that day you cried. It hurt how hard you were crying. You crawled over to the disheveled ultrasound pictures, clutching them tight to your chest.

It hurt. Today just hurt.

Part 2

#harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #dad!harry

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atlabeth · 3 years

Text

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

#mike munroe #mike munroe x reader #mike x reader #until dawn x reader #until dawn #until dawn fic #mike until dawn #sadie writes #i always get so insecure when i post things that arent for atla #then i remember that. this is my blog and i can write what i want #lol

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psychovigilantewrites · 3 years

Text

Stay Away

Pairing: Reader/Jason Todd

Genre: Smut

TW: AGE GAP!! PSEUDO-INCEST! PLEASE READ SUMMARY, IVE RECEIVED LOTS OF CRITICISMS FOR THIS FIC SOOOO

Summary: THIS IS A REPOST SINCE TUMBLR TOOK IT DOWN DUE TO POSSIBLE REPORTS LOLOL

This fic is about a young Robin!Reader with a much older Jason. Mentions of past sexual abuse. This started out as a drabble lol, I got carried away. Anyway, Hope you enjoy! I love reading comments, so don't be shy!

Edit: Due to this fic being my only controversial one, I’d like to update the warnings by giving a brief description of what happens. Reader is adopted by Bruce at 14, she has a small innocent crush on Jason that isn’t explored until she is older (Jason has ZERO feelings for her at this stage because SHE IS JUST A KID HERE). At 16, she becomes more aggressive in flirting with Jason. At 17 (Gotham’s legal age of consent- I based this on New York’s age of consent), she has oral sex with Jason. At 18, they have sex (Jason is 27).

I wrote this a while back, and now that I’ve learned a few things along the way, I realise that a sexual relationship between a 27 year old and an 18 year old is still highly problematic- even though legal. I do not condone these actions in real life, and I doubt Jason would as well. This is purely fictional, an outlet for my fantasies when I was younger. I still do not believe in creative censorship and I want people to enjoy this fic even if it has no place in the real world. We are all allowed to escape into fiction and our own fantasy and enjoy them privately without guilt.

“And this is Jason,” Bruce introduced you to him.

Another one?, Jason thought, though he felt slightly guilty for thinking it. He had many problems with Bruce, but deep down he knew that Bruce adopted all of them out of kindness and good intentions.

“Hey,” he grunted, holding out his hand.

You just looked at him with big, frightful eyes, still sticking close to Bruce’s side. You looked young. You couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Your hair was cropped messily short, and it made you look almost like a young boy.

Jason raised an eyebrow and dropped his hand when you didn’t take it.

“Who’s he?” you whispered to Bruce with a soft voice that the average person wouldn’t have been able to hear.

“He, well,” Bruce hesitated, “He’s Red Hood.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up.

“I decided to tell her everything,” Bruce explained to Jason, “So she can make an informed choice since young.”

“When you’re that young,” Jason glanced at you then back to Bruce, “Anything would sound cool. Even something dangerous that will rob you of your childhood. It’s not an informed choice, you’re basically dangling a cookie in front of her.”

“I’m not young,” you squeaked, “You’re just old.”

Jason scoffed at that.

Though you had voiced out your comeback, you were still shaking in nervousness, refusing to meet his eye.

Jason couldn’t blame you for that. He knew how his eyes looked.

“All of you were younger than her when you chose this life,” Bruce said softly.

“Did we really choose, Bruce?” he argued back.

“I’m not encouraging her,” he defended, “In fact, I’m doing the exact opposite. This time, I’m telling her the truth and nothing but the truth. The good, and the ugly.”

Jason saw how you didn’t like the way the conversation was going, talking about you as if you weren’t there. You had a deep frown on your face that made you look older than you were, but also, paradoxically, a cute pout that brought out the child in you.

“Whatever,” he finally shrugged, “Your kid. As if any of us had a say in anything anyway. If this was the only reason why you asked me to come here, I’ll be leaving.”

He turned to leave the manor, to go back to his safe house.

“Good riddance, old man!” you called out after him in a shaky voice.

Jason looked back and raised an eyebrow. You immediately blushed and avoided his eyes. In the back of his head, he thought about how he could recognize your accent anywhere.

***

The next time Jason visited the manor, which was about two months after the initial introduction, he found Bruce training you basic self-defense in the Cave.

Your hair had grown slightly, and you probably fixed the cut to suit your features better.

“What happened to being discouraging?” he said out loud.

You jumped at his voice, but Bruce looked at Jason knowingly.

“It’s just self-defense,” Bruce explained, “Useful regardless of Robin or not. She’s a fast learner.”

Jason saw how your face lit up at his praise.

Great, he thought. You weren’t even Robin yet and you already got that Robin complex every one of them seemed to have had.

The constant need for praise and emotional connection from Bruce, as well as a sense of delusional idolization of the man who adopted all of you.

“Where’s Grayson?” he huffed.

“Right here, Jay,” Dick’s warm and bright voice came from behind. Jason resisted the urge to jump just like you did.

Dick was already in his Nightwing costume, and walked towards you.

“Hey little sis!” he greeted, arms open. You flung yourself at him for a hug.

Jason rolled his eyes.

“Don’t the two of you live here?” he scoffed.

“Just because you’re emotionally constipated doesn’t mean the rest of us are,” you shot at him.

Jason smirked. You were feisty, yet still wary of him.

He found that adorable.

“She’s right,” Dick chuckled, “You wanted to see me, Jay?”

“Later,” he mumbled, and changed into his alter ego.

Once Jason and Dick were alone on patrol, he brought it up.

“Don’t you disagree with this?”

“With what?”

“Her,” he said, “Or more specifically, him bringing her into all of this.”

“I did at first,” Dick frowned, “But you’ve only met her once, Jay. You don’t live with her. She’s been through a lot, and her being Robin, well, I think it’d be good for her.”

Jason felt his chest tightening. Bruce had always used the excuse that he made all of them into Robin to help channel their emotions into doing good, to prevent them from falling into darkness.

Yet, Jason still did. And he fell right into an abyssal void that he was still trying to get out of.

“Maybe,” Dick continued, “You should get to know her. You’ll see what I’m talking about, and what Bruce sees in her. Tim disagreed at first as well, but after a while, even he warmed up to the idea.”

He frowned at Dick, and then looked away, sighing.

“Whatever.”

***

A month later, Jason had agreed to meet Dick and Tim at a diner.

The food wasn’t that good, and the service average, but it held many memories for him. Dick used to take him there after patrol when he was still Robin. When he went rogue, Dick had brought Tim there. Post-rogue, all three of them would meet up.

He was early, because he was closer. He waited about ten minutes before he saw Tim walking through the door, with Dick behind him. Following Dick, he saw you.

He frowned.

He supposed that he had to get used to you being around, since you were already in the picture.

He didn’t know why he felt like distancing himself from you. With Tim, he had a good reason. A personal reason that he had moved on from.

But you? He had no reason to push you away. Though, Jason had the tendency to push everyone away.

Dick took a seat next to Jason at the booth, and across from him were Tim and you. You were dressed simply in an oversized hoodie he recognized belonged to Dick. It made you seem smaller and younger than you really were. Your hair was in a short bob now. So you were growing it out after all.

Fine. He decided to give you a chance. He had been unfair to you, after all.

“Isn’t a bit too late for you to be out, kid?” he poked at you, “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

“Fuck you, you colossal freak of nature,” you cussed at him.

Jason was taken aback.

And then he started laughing out loud.

You weren’t so bad after all. The shyness and wariness that you displayed the earlier times almost all gone, and then there was that familiar accent that he somehow felt at ease listening to.

Dick let out a loud groan.

“You owe me twenty,” Tim suddenly said to Dick.

“Come on,” Dick addressed you, “I had faith in you! What happened?”

“It’s just in my nature, okay?” you pouted, “I can’t help it.”

Dick fished out a twenty and threw it at Tim.

“What is happening?” Jason asked, confused.

“I bet ten that the first thing she says to you would be an insult, twenty if she threw in the word ‘fuck’,” Tim grinned.

“And I,” Dick enunciated dramatically, “Thought that she would at least hold it in until after we finished eating.”

“What, you a potty mouth or something?” Jason smirked at you.

“Unless Alfred or Bruce is around,” you grinned.

It was the first time you smiled at him.

“Coward,” he shook his head, “I used to say all sorts of shit even in front of Bruce and Alfred. You gotta step up your game, kid.”

“And Alfred got you bankrupt, didn’t he?” Dick reminded, “You had to put so much of your allowance in the swear jar.”

“I believe in freedom of expression, alright?” Jason huffed, “I had to stand by my principles.”

“Principles?” Tim scoffed, “You?”

“Yes, me, Timbers,” Jason reiterated, “I’m a man of my word. If I’m gonna swear, I’m gonna go all the way.”

“You’re an old man of your word,” Jason heard you mumble.

“I’m only twenty-three, sweetheart,” he responded, “Dick’s the old man here.”

“Am not!” Dick protested.

“Yeah, Dick’s not,” you agreed.

“How does that make any sense?” Jason challenged.

“Because Dick doesn’t treat me like I’m a kid,” you shrugged, “He brings me up to his level, so I don’t see him as an old man. You on the other hand…”

“But you are a kid!” Jason argued back, “What are you, twelve?”

“You know for a fact that I’m fourteen!” you growled.

Jason grinned at you, and expected you to continue defending yourself. But for some reason, you just remained silent, and he saw a blush of red settling on your cheeks.

“Whatever you say, kid.”

***

The time that passed between that night and the next time he came back was shorter. He watched you train with Dick, and saw that you had already improved a lot.

He went back, and came back again, three weeks later. Your moves were faster, cleaner, more efficient.

He went back, and came back again, a week later. You landed a blow on Tim.

Soon, he realised that he was looking forward to his visits, because he wanted to see how much you progressed during the short time he was gone- and you never disappointed.

“She must be training nonstop,” he casually said to Tim one night on patrol. Bruce still didn’t allow you out with them yet, because you were still too new.

“Dude, she wakes up at four every morning to train for two hours before going to school,” Tim told him, “After she gets back, she does her homework and studies for a bit, and then trains again for another three hours before going to bed. She’s borderline crazy.”

Jason frowned to himself.

He knew that pattern. Training relentlessly to lose himself in the physical exertion, to feel like he had some sort of power every time he landed a punch, to regain some sort of control.

You were either running away from something, or towards something.

“I never asked,” he started, “But how did he end up adopting her?”

“Uh,” Tim rubbed the back of his head in hesitation, “I don’t know if I should be the one to tell you. You should ask her yourself.”

“Oh, come on,” he groaned, “You mean to tell me that you asked her yourself? Dick or Bruce didn’t tell you?”

“Of course!” Tim grumbled, “We’re friends, Jason. We hang out. We talk. You’re the only one missing from the circle.”

“Fucking whatever.”

***

He really wanted to ask, he really did.

If not out of care, then out of curiosity.

But honestly, a heart to heart talk with another human being? That wasn’t him.

Yet, he really wanted to know.

He had tried to sit down next to you when you were just watching TV alone in the living room, he had tried to knock on your door while you were blasting shitty music out loud. He had even tried to call you up and see if you wanted to meet him for dinner somewhere.

But he never got to it.

In the end, a year had passed since he first met you, and it was your big night. It was your first debut as Robin.

“Stick to at least one of us,” Jason overheard Bruce instruct you in the Cave, “Don’t go off on your own, don’t act first, and always listen to orders.”

“Yes, sir,” you rolled your eyes, then put on your domino mask.

Jason smirked at your attitude. You had come out of your shell and he learned that you were really a feisty, sassy, annoying little brat.

He thought the Robin uniform suited you. It was more modern than his was- the colors more muted- and he saw that you probably had demanded Bruce to include designs of your own. Like how your black cape sort of shimmered in the light, and how there was fucking lace at the lateral sides of your legs.

Your hair was long now.

All of you split up during patrol, and Jason had found himself panting on a roof after taking down a dozen guys who thought it was a good idea to seek revenge for the time he pissed on them from the edge of a building while they were doing a drug exchange.

It had been pretty funny, the way they were so furiously humiliated.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a movement. He turned to look at the building from across the street, and saw that you were sitting there on the edge, legs dangling, overlooking the alley below.

He grappled to where you were and silently approached you from behind.

“I thought he told you to stick to someone,” he said.

“Jesus, fuck,” you jumped, “Stop doing that, you asshole.”

“Think of it as training for your ears,” he chuckled, and sat down next to you.

“I was with Bruce, then Dick, then Tim, then I ran away from Tim to find you,” you explained, “Looks like you found me first, though.”

“Why did you want to find me?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged, “It’s my first night. Just wanted to see everyone in action.”

“Well, you missed one big fight,” he said, “Took out a dozen guys in under five minutes.”

“Not bad,” you smirked, “Wish I could have seen it.”

“You will eventually,” he hummed, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, because you obviously have done worse,” you poked.

“Is that why you were so afraid of me in the beginning?” Jason wondered, “Because you knew I killed people?”

“I was never afraid of you,” you frowned, “What gave you that idea?”

“You couldn’t stop shaking the first time I met you,” he reminded.

“Fine,” you conceded, “You looked pretty big and scary. And when Bruce said that you were Red Hood, that shook me up a bit. But it wasn’t because you killed people.”

“That’s a first,” he scoffed.

“But now I know that you’re just a massive prick who pretends to be badass to cover up the fact that you’re just a sad, fragile being- well, it’s hard to be scared.”

“Oh, we’re throwing shade now are we?” he snickered, “What about you and your obsession with training just to compensate for the fact that you feel small and weak inside with no control over your life?”

He had expected you to retort, but you just frowned and looked down towards the alley.

Shit.

Jason always had that problem where he didn’t know when to shut up, or what not say to people. Granted, most of the time he didn’t care if the other party got offended or not.

But he didn’t want to hurt you.

He was just going to open his mouth to apologize until-

“I’ve been here before,” you started, “This alley. A long time ago. My big brother- he dragged me here away from my dad so he could beat me up.”

Jason remained silent in shock.

“Not that my dad was any better,” you added, “I guess my brother was like that to me because my dad was like that to him.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Was he supposed to comfort you? Or tell you something funny to distract you from the sadness?

Instead, he asked, “What about your mom?”

Jason’s mom had been there, yet not fully there. But when she was, he was grateful at least, to know the warmth of a hug in a run down apartment with no heater during the winter.

“Died giving birth to me,” you explained, “Dad always blamed me for it. He’d tell me that he wished I was never born- that he wished he wore a condom when he fucked mom, that at least if she was alive, he didn’t need to fuck whores.”

“And fuck whores, he did,” you continued bitterly, “But they weren’t enough, I guess. He- he even- I-”

You never finished your sentence, but you didn’t need to. Jason was smart enough to put two and two together.

He felt his blood boil, his rage seeping in. It was like he was that Red Hood again. And for the first time since he came back to Bruce, he didn’t try to push that memory away.

He could go rogue again. Just one more time.

“Where is he- they- where are they now?” Jason managed to grit, tasting blood in his mouth.

“Dead,” you snorted, “Thanks to you.”

“What?”

That took him out of his burning anger.

“Turns out dad was working with Black Mask,” you elaborated, “He dragged my brother with him as well. It’s how he managed to afford all those prostitutes and heroin, I guess. I think they were at one of those shipments you crashed or something back then. You left twenty dead.”

Fuck, he remembered.

Black Mask was at the docks, waiting for a shipment of weapons, drugs, and girls. He remembered feeling frustrated that Black Mask slipped away before he got to him, so he took out his anger on everyone else working with Black Mask.

“Lived in the streets after that,” you continued, “Fend for myself. Cut my hair short so people would think I was a boy. I had to stay tough, you know? When Bruce found me, I was doing an odd job for one of the local gangs. Small one. Was supposed to recruit people my age. Start them young, he said. I guess Bruce had been following me for a bit. He approached me and that scared the shit out of me.”

You paused to smile sadly at the memory.

“But he just asked me for my name, and age,” you stared into space, “And he told me that I could do better than that. That I had potential. He asked me if I wanted to help people rather than drag them into dangerous stuff. And how could I say no? Especially after wishing for so long that someone would come and help me when I was with my dad and brother living in a run down apartment with a leaking roof near Crime Alley.”

You finally looked at him.

Jason was glad that he was wearing a helmet, because he wanted to hide from the stabbing guilt he felt. He didn’t want you to see him that way.

“So you’re right,” your blank white lenses pierced his own, “I train because I want to feel strong, because I’ve felt weak my whole life. I train to feel as if I have control over my own body, my own movements. Hell, even the fact that I grew my hair long gave me a sense of control.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally managed to croak, “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” you dismissed, “Plus, you did me a favour before. I kind of owe you one.”

“Favour?”

“You got rid of my dad for me,” you stood up, “Thanks.”

And for the first time, looking up at you as you were looking down, smiling at him, he didn’t see you as a kid.

“Sure thing, kid.”

***

Jason started dropping by once every two weeks. Sometimes he would even come around twice in a week.

He had warmed up to you after you told him your story, though he was kind of frustrated that Dick, Tim, and Bruce were all right, and he was the wrong one all along because he didn’t know you.

But then, you also started warming up to him.

And that became the major issue.

Since you donned the Robin uniform, your ego had spiked up. Your confidence and arrogance came with every progress you made. A year into Robin, Jason couldn’t see a semblance of that frightened little girl with the short hair, voice shaking as she tried to insult him.

No, now you were just so fucking annoying.

And for some reason, you started to be more aware of your sexuality as your confidence grew.

At the age of 16, you had started coming onto Jason strong.

“Jason,” you pouted at him, “Why don’t you come stay at the Manor anymore?”

“Because you’re there, kid,” he joked, staring at Gotham’s skyline from the rooftop where you, him, and Batman would occasionally stop to catch a breath.

“Jasooon,” you whined, high pitched and long, “I miss spending time with you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, because you were touching his arm, squeezing his biceps. Not that you could see his face, given the helmet he wore. He kind of missed how you were back then. All you had were insults and swear words for him, and you definitely didn’t whine.

“Don’t you have Tim to annoy?”

“He’s always busy,” you huffed, “And when he’s not busy, he’s sleepy. Tim’s boring. You’re more fun, in an assholey cocknose dickweed kind of way.”

Ah, there it was, your colorful language. He had to admit, your creativity impressed him.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he chuckled.

“So why don’t you come over some time and we can have some fun?” you purred seductively.

Jason was taken aback.

He wasn’t sure whether you meant it innocently, or whether you had hidden motives. He glanced at Bruce who was minding his own business, ignoring the two of you.

He didn’t think you would flirt with him in front of Bruce, so he dismissed it and blamed himself for thinking lewd things.

“My idea of fun involves a bottle of whiskey and B-Grade horror movies, kid,” he patted you on the head, “And you’re too young to drink.”

“Hmph,” you slapped his hand away, “That’s not what I was talking about, but whatever.”

You strutted away.

It wasn’t that he didn’t find you attractive, it was that he shouldn’t find you attractive. What was a 16 year old doing flirting with someone his age? Weren’t you supposed to have crushes on the quarterbacks in your school?

Hell, even if you wanted someone who knew of your nighttime activities, there always were the Teen Titans, whom you regularly joined. That Aqualad wasn't a bad kid, but for some reason he didn't like the thought of you dating just yet.

But still, you had no business with someone like Jason. Age wise, or personality wise.

*** Two weeks later, he dropped by again for movie night.

When he walked into the living room, the only person who quirked up when they saw him was you, probably because the rest had already heard him coming.

“Jay!” you squealed, and ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck in a hug.

“Hey- oomph,” he slightly stumbled. It was the first time you hugged him.

And now that you were so close, he was hyper aware of you. You were wearing shorts and a tank top- with no bra. He could smell your vanilla lotion and your chocolate spice shampoo.

He could feel your strong arms, your heavy weight, your burning heat against him.

And for the first time, he actually got turned on by you.

Fuck, he thought. He shouldn’t be thinking of you like that. As if the age difference wasn’t vast already, you were still underaged.

He awkwardly patted you on the back, in an attempt to respond to the hug. He could make out Tim and Dick snickering at him at his obvious discomfort.

“You’ve gained weight,” he gruffed, trying to break the hug because he was dangerously close to popping a boner.

As expected, you let go of him.

“Yeah, I did!” you grinned happily, “I’ve gained about five pounds of muscle mass!”

You started flexing your toned biceps comically.

“Maybe you can gain five pounds of brain mass next time, kid,” he smirked and ruffled your hair.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a medical condition, you twatwaffle arsebadger,” you shot back at him.

“Jar,” a chorus of lazy mumbles from everyone else rose.

You grumbled and walked towards a coffee table, where a clear mason jar almost filled to the brim with folded notes sat. You shoved in five dollars.

Jason took off his jacket and sat next to Dick on the long sofa. You then hopped towards him and started snuggling next to him.

Jason looked at Dick in question.

Dick merely shrugged.

Jason had a hard time concentrating on the movie that night, because you leaning your head on his chest, and playing with the denim of his jeans absentmindedly.

He wasn’t used to it.

Human contact.

And he knew how you were. You were probably the same with Dick and Tim. You just chose him that night to snuggle up to.

But then you made a comment about how hot the guy in the movie was. Jason didn’t think much of it until you leaned up to press your mouth on his ear and whispered, “Not as hot as you, though.”

That made him jump out of his seat in panic.

Everyone else looked at him suspiciously, but you were just looking at him with a knowing smirk.

“Toilet,” he mumbled, and left.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” he paced in small circles in a washroom down the hall.

He looked at his reflection only to see how red he was at his ears. He gripped the edges of the sink and took deep breaths, trying to play it cool.

Now, it was obvious that you were flirting with him. There was no denying it.

But why on God’s planet were you?

Jason groaned quietly to himself.

Whatever. He thought that you’d probably just drop it eventually.

***

Half a year later, and it didn’t.

And it got bad. Real bad.

Jason still kept visiting regularly, and every single time he did, he would get almost sexually harassed by you.

He was just sitting down in an armchair in the living room, reading a book, when you came along, and with the most arrogant, most entitled smirk, sat on his lap.

“Get off,” he grit, eyes never leaving his book. He was scared of what you were wearing this time.

“But you’re so warm,” you hummed, swinging up your legs across his lap, so that you were being cradled by him and the armchair.

“The fire’s right there,” he pointed to the fireplace, “If you need help, I can throw you in it.”

“I’d rather you throw me in bed,” you purred.

He snapped his book shut and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“Just. Get. Off,” he growled.

It was dangerous. Your smell was intoxicating, and you were shifting and shuffling against his front. His mind started to wander, and he hadn’t even looked at you yet.

“But Jasooon,” you whined, “You’re nice and soft.”

He glared at you.

And regretted it.

You were wearing an almost see-through white loose t-shirt that exposed your shoulders. The thin fabric clung onto the curves of your breasts which were- thankfully- covered by a pink bra. You had a pair of satin booty shorts on which hardly covered your ass, which was sitting on top of his crotch.

“Actually, no let me take that back,” you pretended to wonder, “You’re pretty hard.”

And you gave him a wicked grin.

His eyes widen in panic and he stood up suddenly, causing you to fall flat on the floor.

“Fuck!” you cursed, “What's the big deal, jizzcock?”

He left the room and rushed to the toilet. He looked down, and found his penis was normal, flaccid, non-erect, unfilled.

That bitch fucking tricked me, he thought.

And he fell for it.

He went to look for Bruce who was in the cave, in front of the computers.

He took a wheeled chair and sat behind him.

“Bruce,” he started, “I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?” Bruce asked without sparing a glance at him.

That ticked him off a bit.

“It’s about your daughter.”

Jason saw Bruce pause, and then turned around to finally face him. “What about her?”

“She’s been flirting with me,” he grumbled.

Bruce raised an amused eyebrow.

“She’s sixteen, and she’s flirting with a twenty-five year old man!” he complained, “If she’s doing this to me, God knows who else she’s been doing this to!”

“And?” Bruce questioned.

“And? And?” Jason repeated, “And aren’t you worried?”

“She can take care of herself,” Bruce stated, “She’s mature. She won’t let herself be taken advantage of.

“Look, Bruce,” Jason squeezed his temples, “It’s great that you trust her and all that, but don’t you think it’s kind of fucked up? Christ, she’s sixteen!”

“And she’s well aware of that,” he said, “What would you have me do? Do you want me to talk to her?”

“Forget it,” he gave in, and left for his safehouse without saying goodbye to you.

Because that night he laid on his bed in the dark, guiltily thinking about your ass on his dick earlier. But thankfully unlike earlier, he had allowed his cock to fill up.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he thought of that time when you and him went jogging around the manor. You wore just a sports bra that showed off your cleavage, and sports shorts that rode up your ass. He couldn’t resist looking at the way your tits bounce with every step, and when you ran in front of him, his eyes darted down to check out your ass before he realised what he was doing and excused himself.

Excuse himself because he needed to stop looking, to stop thinking.

But now, he let his thoughts free.

He thought about how that one drop of sweat trickled down between the valleys of your breasts, how your muscular back glistened in the sun, how flushed your cheeks were.

He glanced down at his cock, which was already hard and leaking precum onto his stomach, twitching in need of attention.

“Don’t touch it, don’t touch it,” he muttered.

He couldn’t stop his mind from wandering, but he could try to resist from touching himself.

He owed you that at the very least.

He gulped loudly.

It really wasn’t fair. You didn’t look sixteen, or act sixteen. You were far mature even at a younger age.

But you were still sixteen.

And it wasn’t fair how you could tease him and get away with it.

“Fuck,” he groaned in frustration.

The way you swore sort of turned him on as well, oddly. He loved your use of language, and how dirty your mouth was.

How even dirtier your mouth would be if he shoved his cock in-

“No,” he whined, and he touched his cock.

He stroked it once, twice, three times, and then he came hard, long ribbons splashing onto his chest.

“I am a jizzcock,” he whispered to himself in shame, and then cleaned himself up.

***

Three months later, Jason had just come back from a mission in Mexico. Throughout his trip, he’d been bombarded with texts from you.

The topics spanned from the usual banter about training, Dick, and how you’ve been annoying Alfred with “ok, boomer” memes, to you sending him mirror selfies of yourself in fitting rooms trying out clothes that made Jason almost drool and you attempting to flirt with him.

Jason responded normally to the former, but sent short uninterested texts to the latter.

But when he came back to his safe house, he found his spare handgun on his bed- which was not where he last put it. On it, was a sticky note with a written message:

Try not to lick. R.

“What the fuck?” he muttered. R must have stood for Robin, and then suddenly Jason gulped, wondering what the fuck you had done to his gun.

He opened his phone to check his conversation with you, only to find that you had sent him a ten-minute length video.

His thumbs were shaking when he clicked play.

The video started with a closeup of your face in an awkward position, setting what Jason presumed to be your phone, on a surface with an angle you had in mind. Jason looked behind him and saw that his chair had been placed right in front of his bed, where you must have put the phone on.

“Fuck,” Jason realised. He did not like where this was going.

Or did he?

In the video, you then strolled to his bed, fingers touching his sheets. You were wearing nothing but a white flowy sundress that Jason thought made your skin look absolutely radiant. But instead of sitting on his bed, you had gone out of the frame, and then came back with the gun.

He swallowed hard.

You sat on the edge of the bed with a naughty glint in your eye. And then, you started to caress yourself sensually, squeezing your breasts as you made your way down to between your legs.

Jason realised he had started sweating and panting, getting aroused as his cock slowly started to fill out.

You spread your legs and dipped your hand beneath your dress, but Jason still couldn’t see anything because you had taken the fabric and hid what was going on under. He saw your mouth fall open and you let out a long, loud moan.

“Jason.”

Jason’s breath stuttered. His cock was aching in his jeans, begging to be touched.

Your hands were working underneath the fabric, teasing Jason with only an idea of what you were doing.

“I’m so wet, Jay,” you purred at the camera.

And then, your other hand went to take the gun.

You brought it up to your lips and flattened your tongue against the gun and licked all the way to the muzzle. Even in the low quality, he could see your saliva wetting his gun. Then, you gave him a wink and brought the gun to where your other hand was, between your legs.

Jason stopped the video then and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose at an attempt to calm himself down. Once he did have a semblance of control, which took almost five minutes of just trying to steady his breathing, he opened his eyes and dialled your number.

“Hey, Jay,” you picked up.

“What the fuck?!” he roared, “How the fuck did you get into my safehouse? Hell, how did you even know where it was?!”

“Oh, Jason, please,” he could hear you roll yours eyes, “You’re overreacting.”

“Over-?” he growled, “Overreacting?! You came into my house and then started to- started to-”

“Fuck myself with your gun?” you giggled.

His dick twitched.

“You need to stop this, kid,” he tried to bring his rage in, “Stop it, before you regret it.”

“Or what?” you teased, “What would you do to me, Jason? Spank me?”

He couldn’t. Jason just couldn’t with you. So he ended the call and threw his phone across the room.

He sat down at the edge of the bed and buried his face in his palms. His cock was still aching, and he was dying to touch it.

He glanced at the gun next to him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and then unbuttoned his jeans, letting out a hiss of relief when he could finally take it out.

He started to furiously stroke his cock, just staring at the gun laying there. He wanted to smell it. He wanted to lick it. He wanted to see if he could still taste you on the metal.

“God fucking dammit,” he cursed, and then he came in pulses.

*** “What’s up, fucktrumpet?” you poked.

Jason let out a long and heavy breath from his nose, the sound becoming static as it went through the voice scrambler of his helmet.

It was a week later, and Jason had joined patrol with you, Bruce and Tim.

“Fuck off, kid,” he walked away from you, pretending to be looking out for something from the ledge of the roof.

“Oh, come on,” you whined, coming closer to him anyway. “You enjoyed it.”

“Tim,” Jason turned away to approach the younger man, “How’s things?”

“Don’t ignore me!” you ran after him.

“Leave me out of whatever this is,” Tim sighed. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Pfft, you’re always in the mood for me, Timbers,” Jason nudged his side with his elbow.

“No, she’s always in the mood for you,” he pointed to you, “For some reason.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood for her,” he grit.

“Meanie,” you pouted, “All I’ve ever been is nice to you, Jay. And what do you do? Act like an absolute thundercunt.”

He wanted to laugh at that, but he couldn’t. He had to keep up his appearances.

“Listen here, you brat,” Jason finally turned to you and poked your shoulder hard with his finger, making you wince. “You stay the fuck away from me.”

“Hey, Jay,” Tim suddenly interrupted, “You don’t need to do that, man.”

“This little bitch broke into my house and started defiling my things, Tim,” he growled, “Yes, I need to do that.”

“Defiling your things?” Tim repeated.

You let out a soft giggle.

“Forget it,” Jason threw his hands up in the air. “I’ll patrol alone.”

Jason saw the slight disappointment in your eyes when he left which made him feel a little guilty, but he ignored it.

Whatever, you were basically just asking for it.

***

Another half a year went by, and Jason found himself at the Manor for Dick’s barbecue and pool party. He was already dreading it, because he knew you would be up to no fucking good, especially when you had the excuse to wear a bikini in front of him.

He had contemplated about not going, but Roy was going to be there, and Roy was making him go.

The first person Jason looked out for was you, because he had to be on his guard. He was standing at the glass sliding door of the manor that opened to the pool to survey the crowd. He spotted you in the pool, laughing at who he assumed was Aqualad- Jason didn't bother to learn his name- wearing a dark red bikini top that fixated behind your neck.

“Jaybird! You made it!” Roy’s voice boomed all the way from the other side of the pool and came running to where Jason was standing awkwardly.

He knew many of Dick's friends, but he was never particularly close to any of them besides Roy and Kori. Now that Kori was gone, Roy was all he had left.

“Don't call me that,” he grumbled back.

“Aw, come on,” Roy groaned, “You came to a pool party in a t-shirt and jeans? Seriously?”

“I wasn't planning on swimming,” he shrugged.

Roy was sporting a horrible bright yellow swimming shorts with green palm leaves.

“Well, I was, so I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason nodded and decided to head to the pool chairs and put on his sunglasses. He even brought a book to bury his nose into to avoid social interaction.

He heard a splash of water and from the corner of his eye, saw you coming towards him.

“Don’t even,” he snapped at you before you could get a word out.

“I wasn't even going to do anything, fucking dipshit,” you shot back.

Jason forced his eyes back to his book to avoid getting caught looking at how the water trickled down your glistening skin that looked oh so soft-

“What do you want then?” he huffed, turning a page.

“Well,” you began, taking a seat on the pool chair where Jason's feet were, “I was going to ask you about Roy.”

Jason glared at you, peeking from the top of his book.

“What about Roy?”

“You guys are close, right?” you hummed.

“I guess so.”

“Like, best friends?”

“What are we, twelve?” he scoffed, “Why are you asking me so many questions?”

“Well, since you're close to Roy,” you started, “I was wondering if you knew his type.”

“His type?”

“Yeah, like what kind of girls does he like?” you grinned.

“Ones who aren't underaged,” Jason growled.

“Jason I'm already seventeen,” you reminded, “Which is the legal age of consent in Gotham.”

“It doesn't matter,” he grumbled, “He's older than me, which makes him way too old for you. Forget it.”

You pouted, and then stood up. He had to redirect his gaze back to his book.

“It’s like you don't even know me, Jaybird,” you snickered, and with a flip of your wet hair which splashed droplets of water onto him, you strutted away.

He was gritting his jaw so hard he could feel his teeth ache.

Fuck, why can't you just stop?

“I need a fucking drink,” he muttered to himself and left for the kitchen where he rummaged through the refrigerator to find a stout.

He popped open the bottle cap on the marble edge of the kitchen island.

“Alfred would kill you if he saw you do that,” a voice laughed.

Jason rolled his eyes at Dick, who was sipping on a can of beer behind him. “I’ve gotten in trouble for worse.”

“God, I forget how similar you guys are,” he leaned against the counter.

“Who?”

“You know who. Her,” he pointed out.

“We’re not the same,” he denied, heading back outside.

“No, she deals with her issues better than you did,” Dick followed him, “As a matter of fact, you're still dealing.”

“Get to the point, Grayson,” he snapped.

“The point is, she’s not a kid, Jason,” Dick told him, “Why don't you give her a chance?”

Jason stopped in his tracks, standing still before exiting through the glass door. It was quieter inside the manor.

“A chance for what?” he grit.

“To prove herself to you,” Dick explained, “I've noticed how you treat her, Jay. Tim as well. It's like you're trying to push her away. Why? You don't think she's good enough?”

“Holy shit,” Jason started laughing humourlessly, “You think this is about me simply not liking her? You guys think I'm just being angsty?”

“Isn't it?” Dick cocked his head to the side.

“She's been fucking flirting with me, Grayson,” Jason said.

“Okay, I get that, but she sort of flirts with everyone,” he shrugged.

“She comes and sit on my lap, whispers stupid shit in my ear, sends me pictures of herself trying on revealing clothes, makes vulgar motions with her hands, fucking tries to seduce me,” he listed down, “Don't tell me she does that with everyone.”

“Okay, maybe not,” the older man frowned.

“Let me tell you, then,” Jason walked closer to Dick, “She broke into my fucking house, sat on my fucking bed, and started recording herself on her phone, and then sent the video to me.”

“Wait, what?” Dick sputtered, “Recording herself doing what?”

“You fucking know what,” he stated.

“Oh, Jesus,” Dick ran a finger through his hair, “Wow, she's ballsy.”

“That's your reaction?” Jason scoffed, “She's ballsy?”

“I mean-”

“She's sexually harassing me, Grayson!” he argued.

“But,” Dick began, “What did you really think about it? I mean, really?”

“What do you mean?” he hissed.

“Did you watch it?” Dick persisted. “The video?”

“What- I- no, I just-” Jason spluttered, caught off guard.

“You can't lie to me, Jason,” Dick gave him a mischievous smile, “You like her, too. That's why you're pushing her away. Because you don't think you're good enough for her.”

Fuck Dick and his fucking superior detective skills.

“She's too young for me,” Jason simply stated.

“Well, apparently not too young for Roy,” Dick smirked.

“What-” Jason turned around and looked outside.

You were in the pool, standing in the corner. You had a hand on Roy’s chest, looking up at him and laughing. He had a hand on your waist, and was whispering something into your ear.

Jason went into a fit of rage when he saw Roy touching you.

“Mother fucker,” Jason swore, and without thinking, went straight to where you were. He stood there at the edge of the pool, arms crossed, and looking down at the two of you who were both unaware of his presence.

“Roy,” Jason growled.

Roy jumped and looked at Jason in panic, and as if you electrocuted him, immediately jumped away from your touch.

“H-hey, Jaybird,” he awkwardly laughed, “I was just- I was- uh- I was telling her about what a great friend you were.”

“Oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” he nodded vigorously, “Jason here is super good with his aim as well. Could even rival mine.”

Jason ignored Roy, and glared at you, who was looking up at him with obviously fake innocent eyes.

“Out,” he commanded.

“What?”

“I said out,” he repeated. “Out of the pool. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, come on, Jason,” you started to whine, but then stopped when you saw his expression.

You climbed out of the pool, and again, Jason had to avert his eyes. Without sparing a glance at you, he gripped you by the arm and pulled you to go inside.

“Ow! Jason, let go, fucking cocksucker!” you cried.

He snatched a towel from Tim’s grip as he walked, ignoring Tim’s protests and stares from others, and then threw it on top of your head.

“Ugh- Jason!” you complained. He continued to lead you inside the manor, up the stairs, and to his old room.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

“What's the big deal, you shitpouch?! Who do you fucking think you are? Fucking cumwipe, pisswizard, cuntpuddle...”

That wasn't the end of your swearing. You went on for another good minute of words that could make Batman blush, before stopping.

You were fuming. Your face red, your expression twisted into a scowl, water dripping all over the wooden floors, the fluffy towel around your neck that you hadn't used.

God, you were so hot when you were angry.

“You done?” he deadpanned. He sensed that you were going to go into another stream of name calling, so he cut you off.

“I told you to forget Roy,” he grit.

“And since when have I ever done what you told me to do?” you shot at him

You had a point.

“Look, kid-”

“I'm not a fucking kid, Jason!” you yelled at him for the first time, “I haven't been a kid since my dad- since I was twelve!”

Jason suddenly felt pain in his chest.

“I know you've been through shit,” Jason acknowledged, “What happened with your dad and your brother- I’m fucking glad I killed them. And even if I hadn’t back then, I would have broken every single rule and hunt them down and make them suffer before ending their lives after finding out what they did to you. Hell, before you told me that they were dead, I was already ready to turn every single rock to find them.”

Your expression softened at that.

“And I know you had to grow up fast,” he continued, “All of us who lived there did. But you're out of that now. You don't have to fucking try so hard to act older than you are anymore.”

Your eyes shone with anger once more.

“That's the thing you never got, Jason,” you spat, “I'm not trying. I never did. This is who I am.”

You were looking at him with such fierce intensity that Jason almost forgot how to breathe.

Because you were right. He had gone through the same process where he was made to grow up fast, where he couldn’t afford to act like a kid.

He looked at you, trying not to show much emotion on his face.

Somehow in the heat of the argument and you yelling cusses at him, the two of you had gotten closer to each other, and Jason could even see the tears brimming in your eyes that were threatening to spill.

He immediately felt like a piece of shit, like every word you called him. He never wanted to hurt you.

“Whatever,” Jason huffed, looking away to avoid your glare, “Just stay away from Roy.”

“Why, you two dating or something?” you smirked.

He simply glared at you. You obviously had recovered from your anger and was now back to your usual snarky self.

“Or,” you began, “You were jealous.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Jason objected, “Why would I be jealous?”

“Because,” you drawled, walking closer to him, “You like me.”

Jason had backed up each time you walked to him, and before he knew it his back was hitting the door.

Fuck, he hated how much you affected him. You had him backed up against the fucking door, for fuck’s sake.

To get a semblance of power back, he stared at you straight in the eye, unblinking, and leaned closer to you.

“You wish,” he said coldly.

He noticed that your breath stuttered, and a blush creeped up your cheeks.

Then, he leaned back and smirked.

“Oh, no you don't,” you shook your head, “You think you can win this game, Todd?”

“Unlike you, I'm not playing a game.”

“But yes you are, Jay,” you placed your palms flat on his chest, “You’ve been playing hard to get with me.”

“Playing hard to get is only used when the other person actually wants you,” he scoffed.

He didn't know why, but he was sweating. His respiratory rate had gone up, and shit.

Shit.

He could feel his dick getting filled up.

Maybe it was how close you were to him, maybe it was the fact that you were half naked in front of him with all the privacy he could have asked for.

Maybe it was the fact that it was you who had him in a corner instead of the other way round.

“I'm not a fucking idiot, Jay. Batman trained me, too. I've seen how you look at me and I’ve seen how you tried not to.”

Fuck.

“Your pupils dilate, your breathing gets faster, you start to sweat,” you went on, “And then suddenly you excuse yourself. You run away.”

Your hands went up to his shoulders, and your body was now against his, getting his clothes wet. He could smell the chlorine on you when you leaned into his ear and whispered.

“You fucking coward,” you breathed.

Jason's breath hitched and he had to squeeze his eyes shut. He pressed his palms against the door behind him to restrain himself from touching you, grabbing you, squeezing you, slapping you.

Jason knew he was fully hard now, because it was getting painful.

Suddenly, the pressure and heat of your body against his own disappeared. He opened his eyes.

But sucked in a breath when he saw that you were on your knees in front of him, eye level to his crotch, the tent in his pants mere inches away from your lips.

“What the fuck are you- mmpf,” he threw his head back, hitting the door.

You had gripped his shaft hard, sending a pulse of pleasure through his body.

No. Jason had to stop this. He couldn't go through with this. He shouldn't.

“You want me to suck your cock, Jay?” You purred.

Jason swallowed hard, just trying his best to restrain himself.

He remained silent for a beat. And then-

“Do whatever you want,” he managed to choke out.

You showed him a winning grin, and then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, pulling down his jeans.

You started to mouth his length through the fabric of his boxers, getting it translucent with your spit. He had never been so horny in his entire life.

As much as Jason’s head was screaming at him, telling him to stop you, telling him how inappropriate it was, he didn’t have the strength to voice it out.

He wanted to tell you to stop teasing him, to hurry up and put your mouth around his cock already, but again, it was like he had lost his voice.

He was utterly conflicted, so he opt to just stay silent.

You hooked your fingers in the waistband of his briefs and then pulled it down, revealing his cock to you. He hissed slightly at the relief.

Jason wanted to remember your expression the minute you saw his cock forever, he wanted to burn it in his brain and immortalize it. Your eyes had gone rounder, your mouth popped open with a gasp, and your excitement grew.

“It’s everything that I’ve dreamed about and more,” you fluttered your eyes dramatically before gripping his shaft and licking one long, steady stripe from the base to his tip.

Jason bit his lip to muffle his groan.

You licked him again, and again, and then started to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, tracing your tongue around the sulcus underneath his head.

Fuck, you were so fucking good at teasing him, and making him squirm.

He looked down at you, and you were looking up through your long lashes, eyes almost innocent. And then, you took him in his mouth, going all the way down.

“Fuck,” Jason gasped.

You immediately built a rhythm, the most perfect rhythm that he liked. It was suspicious how you knew his preference, and at the back of his head he made a mental reminder to check his room for hidden cameras.

You provided him with the right amount of tongue, the right amount of suction, the right amount of teeth gently grazing him from time to time that he swore could have drove him insane.

Your mouth was soft, and warm, and wet, and before he knew it, he was ready to fucking explode.

As if you were familiar with his expressions, you picked up the pace and started sucking even harder each time you bobbed your head. Jason felt his balls tighten, the heat spreading to his toes and making them tingle.

“Fuck- I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” he rasped.

And then he released with sudden explosion into your mouth, going through a sensory overdrive because as he was releasing, he could still feel you sucking him dry and swallowing.

When he was done, you released his cock with a pop and a grin.

Jason had to catch his breath for a while, because it was the best head he had ever received in his entire life, and he had managed to keep his hands off you the entire time.

“You made me jealous on purpose,” he panted.

“Duh,” you stood up after politely zipping him back up, putting your hands on your waist so fucking proudly, like a power stance.

“Where the hell did you learn how to suck cock that good?” he interrogated.

“You’ve lived in Titans Tower before,” you winked, “You should know.”

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that statement and implication one bit.

“This can’t,” he started, “We can’t-”

“This can’t happen again?” you finished for him, rolling your eyes. “Typical. Just get over yourself already, Jason. It gets tiring.”

“I’m no good for you,” he avoided your eyes.

“You say that right after coming into my mouth,” you scoffed, “Sure.”

He clenched his jaw. You were right. He was trash for doing that to you, defiling you like that.

Jason must have let his emotions leak, because you suddenly added, “What I meant was, we’ve already crossed that line. We don’t have to go back to how it was before. I like you, Jason. And I know you like me, too.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “This was a mistake. We can’t do this again. I’m sorry. Just stay away from me.”

He left.

***

He had avoided you for a long time after that.

Months went by, and he ignored your texts and your calls. Even the knockings outside his door. He had made sure to upgrade his security, with both Tim and Roy’s help so you couldn’t break in again.

When he went on patrols with everyone else, he made sure you couldn’t catch him alone, so he arrived at the very latest, and left at the very soonest, never exchanging more than a few words with you.

And every time, it killed him. He saw the hurt flash in your eyes every time he left quickly, he noticed that you had texted him less and less as the months went on, and eventually came to a complete stop.

You had even stopped calling him those weird, creative swear names that he loved so much.

Jason finally won. He had managed to get you to give up on him.

But hell did it make him feel like absolute shit.

Eight months had passed by, and he was getting ready for the event he had absolutely been dreading. It was your 18th birthday party that Bruce had used as an excuse to host a charity gala at the manor.

Jason thought it was a dick move for him to take advantage of your birthday for the sake of his own gain, but apparently you had been more than supportive over it, understanding Bruce’s position as one of Gotham’s elite.

He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t bear to face you again where you could pull him somewhere private to talk to him. But Dick and Tim had convinced him.

It was your birthday after all.

When he arrived, everyone was staring at him.

Well, he was wearing just a leather jacket over a black shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans after all.

“You couldn’t have dressed for the occasion, Jason?” he heard Tim approach him from behind.

Tim was sporting a suit, just like everyone else.

“Couldn’t be bothered,” he shrugged, “What’s the agenda?”

“Mingling, dinner, speeches, more mingling,” Tim listed down, “Typical charity ball. The others are at the tents. We should get going.”

“I’m the dead son, remember?” he pointed out, “I don’t need to sit with you guys.”

“We’ll introduce you as Dick’s boyfriend or something, come on,” Tim gestured.

“Oh, the media would love that,” Jason muttered under his breath and went along.

The banquet area was set outside in the backyard of the Manor, where tents with clear plastic canopies were propped up, decorated with fairy lights. Since it was spring, the weather was cool enough for suits and warm enough for strapless dresses.

The main tent had a stage where a band was playing classical music- typical tunes you would hear at any other fucking gala.

Each table seated ten, and Tim had brought Jason to a table closest to the stage where he saw Dick, Bruce, and you were already seated with four others. He recognized the Mayor, the Commissioner, Lucius Fox, and a middle aged woman with greying hair he didn’t recognize with who Jason presumed was her husband.

Jason avoided looking at you, but he knew that you were staring right at him. Tim took a seat, and Jason cursed softly when he realised that the only other seat available was in between you and Dick.

Looking straight ahead, he calmly sat down. From the corner of his eye and from a portion of what he could make out, he saw that you were wearing a midnight blue dress, and a silver bracelet around your wrist which you rested on the table.

Bruce had started to converse with the guests, and Dick and Tim were having a banter amongst themselves.

“Hey,” he heard your voice.

“Happy birthday,” he mumbled.

“Thanks,” you replied.

And that was that. The two of you remained silent, with Jason occasionally checking his phone and still avoiding looking at you.

“It’s time for our speech,” Jason heard Bruce whisper to you.

He heard you get up and shuffled to the stage. He was hardly paying attention during Bruce’s welcome speech.

“...and then, the woman of the hour, my lovely daughter,” Bruce introduced you. The audience broke out in applause. Jason still hadn’t turned your way.

“Hello, everyone,” he heard your uncharacteristically nervous and shy voice over the sound system. He took a sip of wine. “T-thank coming for you all- uh- I mean-”

The audience laughed, but not in mockery. Jason couldn’t help but look at you now.

He accidentally inhaled his wine, and ended up trying to cover his coughing fits.

Up on stage, where the spotlight was on you, he had noticed your midnight blue dress had small sparkling stars on them, making you seem like you were wearing the clear night sky. Your hair was done in a simple graceful updo, which exposed your neck that he noticed was flushed, a blush creeping up to your cheeks at your own embarrassment.

Your eyes were wide in panic, and you kept on playing with your thumbs subconsciously.

His breath stuttered, because he thought you were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on.

You were usually so snarky, so full of confidence, and wit with a mouth that could make a sailor blush- but there you were spluttering all over the microphone, a blushing mess. And hell, did that make Jason’s chest tighten in yearning for you.

“I’m sorry, I’m not used to crowds like my father is,” you tried to laugh it off, “Here, let’s try again.”

Despite your fumbles, you had a certain charm on stage that made everyone just like you.

“Thank you all for coming to my eighteenth birthday party,” you started, “I must admit, at first I wanted my party to be small and intimate. But I realised that this celebration could be used for something good instead.”

Another round of claps.

“I come from a very… humbling area in Gotham. I’m sure we’re all familiar with Crime Alley,” you stated, confidence growing as you got used to being on stage, “It was hard, living as a child in the streets. But I got lucky. Bruce Wayne found me.”

“Being the daughter of Bruce Wayne has taught me a lot about understanding and acknowledging my own privilege and using it to help others. Growing up there, myself and many other children were faced with the harsh reality of poverty and abandonment. Therefore, I would like to announce that I have started a foundation called Wayne’s Foundation for Children of Hope, where all proceeds will go to the development of Crime Alley.”

You paused and smiled at the flashing cameras of the media and waited for the applause to die down.

“Our first initiative is to build a home for lost children aged eighteen and under, to provide shelter, basic healthcare, food, and education. The primary goal of these shelters is to help kids find a place where they belong, and to help set them back on the right track. These kids also have the option to maintain anonymity for cases that involve abusive environments.”

Jason was looking at you in awe. You were standing proudly at the podium, graceful in your posture, a fierce intensity in your eyes- all previous nervousness completely gone.

Next to him, Dick leaned in and whispered, “It was all her idea, you know. Every single plan for this foundation, even the future plans she hadn’t mentioned. All hers.”

Jason remained silent and watched as you continued your speech.

“But the truth is,” you smiled sadly, “It’s still not enough. The situation in a lot of areas in Gotham is painfully swept under the rug. But hopefully with this, people like us can make things a little better for them. If you’d like to donate to the foundation, it would mean a lot to me, and to the other kids who had to grow up too fast.”

You made eye contact with Jason at that last statement, causing his heart to suddenly drum faster.

The crowd broke in a loud applause and you thanked them graciously, waving as you stepped down from the podium to take your seat.

This time, Jason didn’t take his eyes off you.

“That was great!” Tim gave you a thumbs up, “You did great!”

“Well done,” Dick grinned.

Jason took your hand and gave it a little squeeze, just smiling at you in silence. You looked at him with obvious shock, and then grinned back.

“Beautiful, Ms. Wayne,” the Mayor sitting across from you beamed, “You’ve taken after your father’s charms.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor,” you nodded, “But I’d like to think that my charms are my own.”

Jason had to bite back a laugh when he saw the man turn red.

He was somehow more relaxed now, even sparing occasional glances at you as you conversed with others. The dance floor was now open, and the guests had left their seats to mingle with others. The MC also announced that the bar was open.

“That’s my cue,” Jason winked at you, and then went straight to the bar to get himself something strong. From there, he just leaned back and watched how the disgustingly rich people made themselves feel better about themselves by donating the occasional couple of million dollars. Soon enough, he got sick of the pearls and diamond earrings, the solid gold watches.

He checked his own battered and scratched Swiss Army watch he had lifted from a drug lord many years ago. He should be going back soon. It wasn’t like he was needed there anyway. He had already wished you and made peace.

“What do you think?” he heard your voice approach him.

He turned and saw you come up next to him.

“Too fancy for my taste,” he started, “Looks like it took you a whole hour just to get into the damn thing. And those shoes? Looks like the crowbar was less painful than walking around in that.”

It took you a couple of seconds before realising that he was talking about your outfit.

“I meant the foundation, you fucknugget,” you hissed.

“Be careful there, sweetheart,” he raised an eyebrow, “Don’t want these people hearing you speak like that. You’ll lose your charm.”

“I don’t know how Bruce does it,” you shook your head, “It’s so exhausting.”

Jason hummed back at you as a comfortable silence fell. The two of you leaning back against the bar and just watching the crowd.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he finally said.

“Thanks,” you pursed your lips, “I kept on thinking of you, you know? When we were coming up with the plans. Was wondering what you would think of it.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m the only one from there.”

“Well, you’re the only one who would understand,” you explained, “The others, of course they empathized. But they wouldn’t understand. Not like how you and I do.”

And Jason realised that it was that factor that probably drew you close to him when you first came to them, the fact that Jason understood at more than just a superficial level how shit your life was before coming to the manor. It was a painful past that only the two of you shared, and only the two of you could talk about.

Silence fell again.

“I’m sorry,” you suddenly brought up.

“For what?” he frowned.

“For making you uncomfortable for so long,” you whispered, “I don’t know why I did it. I guess I liked your reactions. And I guess I just wanted your attention. And during that pool party- I- I thought-”

Jason waited for you to finish your sentence.

“Nevermind,” you looked away, “Forget it. I just wanted to say sorry. I crossed the line. After you stopped talking to me, I just. I don’t want that. So I’ll stop, okay? You don’t have to avoid me anymore.”

He turned around to face you.

“I stopped talking to you not because I was mad at you,” he told you, “I stopped talking to you because I was mad at myself.”

You faced him with curious eyes.

“I thought- well- fuck,” it was Jason’s turn to splutter. He took a deep breath and started again. “I thought that it was a real shit move for me to do what I did to you.”

“Wait, what?” you questioned, “What you did to me?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, “You know. That.”

“Jason, I was the one who practically jumped you,” you scoffed, “I basically forced it on you. Why are you blaming yourself?”

“Force me? Pfftsh, you couldn’t force me to do anything.”

“Jason.”

“I liked it, okay?” he threw his arms up, “I didn’t stop you because I liked it, and I shouldn’t have liked it. I was taking advantage of you. It was wrong of me to do so.”

“God, you’re so fucking stupid,” you laughed, “I’ve been pining over you since Bruce told me you were… You know who.”

You lowered your voice.

“Want to talk inside?” he offered.

“Good idea,” you agreed.

The two of you made your way past the garden and into the manor.

“Is it okay for the birthday girl to disappear from her own party?” he smirked when he closed the door to Bruce’s study, which was the nearest room that offered privacy.

“Oh, please,” you waved your hand and sat on Bruce’s desk, “The whole party was never about me. I’m just another excuse for those cuntflaps to show off their new diamonds.”

He chuckled. “Anyway, you were saying? Something about Bruce telling me I was Red Hood?”

“Yeah,” you bit your lip in nervousness, “I’ve had a crush on you since then.”

“Really?”

Jason knew that you obviously had a crush on him, especially because of the neverending teasing and seductions, but he didn’t know it stemmed from that long ago.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I remember thinking to myself, like wow. This is the guy who killed them. And you know what? You looked exactly like how I thought you would.”

“What? How so?”

“Huge,” you started, “Scars everywhere. Grouchy as hell.”

“I’m not as grouchy as Bruce,” he defended himself.

“Still,” you chuckled, “You looked exactly like how I imagined my hero to look.”

“Super hot, sexy, and good looking?” he joked.

He had expected you to roll your eyes and throw an insult at him, but you just tightened your lips and looked away.

“Look, k- sweetheart,” he stopped himself from calling you a kid. From what he saw on the stage earlier, you were already so much better than he was. “I’m going to be honest, alright? And you better damn well appreciate it, because I’m never honest.”

You giggled softly. He walked to stand in front of you at the desk.

“I think you’re great,” he stated, “And I think you’re beautiful, and sexy. And…”

He hesitated, thinking of whether or not to continue.

Fuck it. He might as well.

“And I like you,” he forced out, “More than you know. Fuck, I like you. I like you so much it fucking hurts sometimes.”

You looked up at him with hopeful, glistening eyes.

“But I’m no good for you,” he repeated what he said all those months ago, “I can never do what you just did. Start a fucking charity on your birthday and announce it to the world as if it was nothing. Fuck, I don’t think I should even be seen walking around next to you when you look like that. I’m a fucking mess, sweetie. You don’t want that.”

He saw as you digest what he had just said. Then, you looked up at him and asked, “What do you think I want?”

“What do I think?” he repeated.

You nodded.

“I think you should be with someone who’s closer to your age, for one,” he rolled his eyes, “And someone who doesn’t have scars all over their face. Someone who isn’t grouchy. Someone charming who can stand next to you on stage wearing a proper suit and tie.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, “I should be with someone like that.”

Jason felt a pang in his chest at your agreement.

“But I don’t want to be with someone like that,” you continued, “I want to be with someone who was ready to hunt down and hurt the people who terrorized me for years. I want to be with someone whose face is littered with scars as proof that they went through just as much shit as I did and survived.”

You hopped from the desk and stood up straight, stretching your hand up to cup Jason’s face. He leaned into the warmth of your caress, his breath hitching at the close contact. His hands automatically went to rest on your waist, still respectfully high.

“I want you, Jason,” you whispered, pulling him down to your lips, “I want someone who can handle my bites.”

To demonstrate, you sucked in his lower lip, eliciting a low moan from him.

And then you bit down hard.

He gasped at the stinging pain, and then sighed when you massaged his lip with yours. Heat suddenly spread throughout his body, particularly at his member which was growing hard fast. He could smell the wine on your breath that you must have snuck a few sips from, the vanilla lotion you always wore, and a new particularly enticing perfume that you must have gotten for the occasion.

“I want someone who can call me a little bitch straight to my face,” Jason felt you grin against his lips.

The two of you were kissing now, harsh and forceful, as if deprived of touch. Fuck, he loved how you were nipping at his lips and his tongue, tugging his hair lightly.

Both of you gasped for air, and just stood there foreheads against each other, his erection pressed against your stomach, your hands around his neck.

“I want someone who is resourceful enough to enhance his home security to make sure I don’t break in and fuck myself with his weapons again,” you chuckled.

“Was it…” he started, “Was it loaded?”

“You bet it was,” you smiled.

“Fuck,” he swore and then crashed his lips against yours again. He lifted you up to sit on the desk, and then stood in between your open thighs. At the slightly elevated level, he could properly grind his erection against your pussy, still covered by your dress.

“You liked that?” you giggled, “I thought you weren’t into that. I got a bit worried.”

“Hell yeah, I liked that,” he rasped, “What kind of sane man wouldn’t?”

He started to nibble on the skin on your neck, sucking and biting and licking

“I’m pretty sure not everyone is into the thought of fucking a loaded gun into a pussy,” you laughed, “Which proves my point. You and me? We’re perfect, Jay- fuck, don’t leave any marks, dumbass.”

“Point taken, baby.”

“Mmm, call me that again,” you moaned.

He stopped nibbling on your neck, brought his eyes to yours, and with a defiant smirk, he said, “No.”

It was like Jason saw the switch in you flick on, because you suddenly pushed him away aggressively. He stumbled, not expecting it.

“Oh, you think you’re in control, Todd?” you purred, twisting your fists in his leather jacket. You were shorter than him, and your frame much smaller. But Jason just loved the authority that radiated from you.

“You think you’re the one who has power over me?” you drawled, pulling him to the side where Bruce had set up a leather sofa and a coffee table.

“When all this while, I’m the one who had you wrapped around my finger?” you snarled, and then pushed him down on the sofa.

Before Jason could even register what was happening, you were already on top of him, straddling him. He looked up at you, the pressure of your weight on his crotch making him pant with want.

“So are you going to call me baby again?” you asked sweetly, tugging at his jacket to remove it.

“Maybe in due time,” he gasped when you bit the flesh that connected his neck and shoulder hard.

Fuck, he was throbbing in his pants.

You took off his shirt and ran your hand down his body. Jason smirked when he saw you bite your lip as you took in his figure.

He still had a bit of fight left in him, and he wasn’t going to beg.

Yet.

“Why must you be so stubborn, Todd?” you breathed, teeth catching at his earlobe and biting. You were rocking your hips against his erection, and he swore that if you didn’t take it out, he was going to rip a hole in his pants with it.

“H-hey, you’ve always been the pushy one,” he stuttered.

“That’s because I like to get what I want,” you pinched his nipples hard.

“Fuck!” he yelped at the sudden pain, and then glared at you as you just grinned cheekily. “I don’t know why I never took you for a sadist before this.”

“Because you’re an idiot, Jay,” you teased, “All I did was torture you.”

“Yes, you did,” he rested his hands on your hips, motioning for you to grind on him harder, “You made me so fucking hard on purpose, and then I had to go back and jerk off to you, which made it worse because I felt so fucking guilty after.”

“That was your own fault,” you frowned. You were finally, finally unbuckling his belt. “You saw me as a kid when I wasn’t.”

“You were still underaged, you brat,” he laughed, “It didn’t matter if you were wise beyond your years- ah, fuck yeah.”

You had finally unzipped him, releasing him from the constraints of his denim.

“Take everything off for me, Jay,” you demanded, sitting up on your knees to give him room to do so.

He listened to you happily, glad to be rid of his clothes. His cock slapped against his lower abdomen, already leaking so much precum.

“Why am I the only one naked?” he voiced out his displeasure.

“Because it took me twenty minutes to get into this dress, and I’m not undressing for anyone before the night is over,” you announced.

“But, baby,” he pouted, rejoicing at how he made your breath hitch, and rested his chin between your breasts, “I want to see your tits.”

You frowned and bit your lip as you looked down at him, considering his plea. He made a mental reminder that you must like dirty talk.

“Then make sure you don’t go home so early tonight,” you managed to choke out.

Jason thought that you also must have liked to be the submissive one, as well.

You leaned into him and kissed him again, this time less rough. He moaned into your mouth, slipping his tongue in as he grabbed your hips and tried to rub his cock against your pussy, underneath your dress. He gasped when he felt that you were already bare, and leaking.

“What happened to your- your panties?” he rasped.

“Long gone,” you winked.

“Fuck, you fucking nymph,” he chuckled, and then groaned when you started to slide the head of his cock between your wet lips.

“Jason, I’ve wanted your cock so bad,” you muttered into his ear as you rubbed your slick all over his length, “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve fucked myself with- with whatever I could find, pretending it was you.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. Your dirty mouth was doing so many things to him, he was worried that he was going to come right there and then.

“After that time I sucked you off?” you continued, “All I wanted was to choke on it, Jay. I just want your dick in my throat.”

You lifted your hips and sank down onto him. Both of you groaned lowly in pleasure. Fuck, you were so tight, and warm, and wet, and oh so soft.

“Ah! Jason!” you cried out when he bottomed out, “Fuck, I’m going to feel you for fucking days.”

“Shit, baby,” he choked, “Baby, please. Please, move.”

“You want me to move?” you teased.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“How would you like me to move, Jay?” you smiled.

“Any- I don’t care-”

“Nice, and slow like this?” you lifted your hips up, and Jason could feel the torturously slow drag of your walls against his shaft, even as you sanked back down you were slow.

“Hnng- fuck-” Jason mewled, lost for words. “Please.”

It was all he could say.

“Or hard and fast like this?” you slammed your hips down, and started bouncing on his cock at a brutal pace that knocked his breath out.

“Fuck!” he yelled, “Fuck, baby, fuck!”

You weren’t being any softer as well. Through tear-filled hazy eyes, Jason saw your eyes fluttered close in pleasure, your mouth falling open as you cried out wanton moans, and gasped, and groaned for him.

“Jason! Fuck, Jay, fuck!”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He gripped your hips hard, and then started to fuck himself up into you, matching your pace, making you fucking scream.

He could feel your walls tighten around his cock, the same time you started whining, “Jason, Jason, I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

“Me too, sweetheart, me too,” he gasped.

“Come inside me, Jason, please!” you sobbed.

“But-”

“Just- just- please, please, please,” you squeezed your eyes shut and threw your head back.

Jason felt your pussy clench tight onto him, triggering his own orgasm. He released inside you while still fucking you hard, trying to prolong both of your highs.

Soon, he was oversensitive, the feeling of your walls almost painful. You calmed down, still panting above him, and he just couldn’t help but stare at you in amazement.

“Holy shit,” you giggled above him, “Holy shit, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Uh- I,” he panicked, “I came inside of you, fuck!”

“I’m on the pill, don’t worry,” you smiled, “Fuck, I just. I just wanted to walk around after this with my panties soaked in your cum.”

“How the fuck are you eighteen and already so fucking kinky,” he groaned.

You only laughed and slowly lifted yourself off of him. He hissed at the movement, feeling hypersensitive at every touch.

You went to look for your panties, which Jason noticed were a lacy black, and then put them on under your dress.

He was still sprawled out on the sofa naked, sweaty, and well spent.

“I also didn’t want any of your spunk to get on my dress,” you told him.

“S’pretty dress,” he mumbled back to you.

“You should get dressed, Jay,” you walked towards him, hands on your hips.

“Do I need to get back out there?” he complained, “Can’t I just wait in your room?”

“If you get dressed and attend the party, I’ll let you fuck me with one of your guns,” you promised.

“Really?” his eyes widen, and then he jumped back up to put on his clothes.

“I gotta tell you something, though,” you started.

“What is it?” he hummed, tucking his black shirt into his jeans.

“The safety was on,” you said, “On the gun, I mean. It was loaded, but the safety was on.”

“Oh, baby,” he looked at you seriously, “If you told me the safety was off, I would have shot you myself for being so stupid.”

You giggled.

He gave you his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes, we shall,” you took it. “By the way.”

“What?”

“Are you going to switch back to a more lax security?”

“And have you breaking in again? You wish, kid.”

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