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xsapphirescrollsx · 1 year

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Sol

Written: June 22 2020

AU: Sunshine/The Martian crossover, set in Sunshine. Honestly it’s just an excuse to put these two together in a fic cause I love both of these movies. James Mace (Chris Evans) and Chris Beck (Sebastian Stan). You don’t necessarily need to have seen either of them. But it’s totally recommended

Pairing: James Mace x Black Reader x Chris Beck

Summary: Takes place during the events of the movie Sunshine. Icarus II has failed to deliver the bomb to reignite the Sun. The reader meets James Mace, and his best friend Chris Beck.

The repurposed mall, The Fire Pit, was crowded tonight. Even more so, the bar within was more of a community drinking spot than the sports tavern it was currently decorated as. In the far corner, away from more people wandering in, were two men. One sat chomping on a toothpick, laid back in the uncomfortable wooden chair with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Blue eyes honed on the television softly reciting the news for the third time today. The other, a brunette, was held up by the smooth table nursing his drink as he carefully glanced from his friend back to the television.

Another batch of crops had successfully been harvested from underground farms. Along with the possibility of feeding the masses, news rolled in about the unusual amount of snow the Sahara Desert had received. James leaned forward, elbows on the tops of his knees as his eyes drifted to the floor and his spirit commanded that the Sun wait just a few more seconds.

It had to work, he thought. James looked back up to the monitor in time to see the scroll at the bottom of the presenter. The woman’s face paused mid sentence as she received instructions through her ear piece.

“No!” a woman yelled from behind him.

James’ mind went blank as he read the scroll, this time without interruption. Chris Beck put down his drink and bumped his knuckles into James’ shoulder.

“Christ.” hissed Chris.

Icarus I had failed to deliver the package.

James felt a warmth near him. Not his half-buzzed best friend Chris, but another, closer. He pried his eyes off the monitor to see a woman slowly staring at the news as she walked. She wasn’t watching her footing, nor paying much mind to the fact she was about to drop a tray full of empty glasses on top of him.

He grabbed her wrist gently and stood. “Easy there.” he said.

She turned to him, eyes wide with her lips slightly parted in shock. He looked over this stranger and decided to help her instead of hearing her process the concerning news.

“Let me get this for you,” he softly implored. James glanced back at Chris with concern. He then turned back to you and gently took the tray. “Show me where it goes? Come on,” he added while jerking his head to the double doors at the back of the bar.

You nodded, still dazed about the news and began to walk, James followed. Passing through the silent crowd dotted with the occasional curse you didn’t bother to look, you concentrated on the exit.

You swung open the double doors, never looking back at the man who had relieved you of the burden. You strode over to the sink, hunched over and wretched into the silver basin. Quickly you grabbed at the dangling, high pressure faucet and swept away any evidence of your troubles.

“You okay?” said the man, sitting the tray down near the sink.

Deep in thoughts about the end of the world, you jumped at his voice and then leaned back against the sink. He turned his head back to the double doors still swinging slightly before he spoke again. “It’s a lot to take in.” he said, looking back at you.

“It’s over. The world..it’s over…” you started to breathe heavy. “..we’re all going to freeze to death..I-”

“Hey,” the man walked over to you, crossing the grimy kitchen floor. “It’s not over until every plan has been used.”

You grabbed at your chest praying that your heart would return to a normal pace, but it didn’t. Squeezing your eyes tight you thought of the Sun. You remembered the hottest summer, how the rays beat down upon the land and your skin. The warmth of the memory spilled into the sensation of two hands on your arms.

“I’m James,” he said under his breath. You responded by lifting your head. From under the brim of his cap your watery eyes met his. “ James Mace. And I’m the engineer for Icarus II.”

2054

James committed to being on time for once. He passed stores turned into spots for cold travelers to grab food and heat. He ignored the smells of food, roaring fires and the voices of people raised in song in a few of the old stores.

He wanted to see you. He had even dreamed of you the night before. Of course he would never tell you what it was. He kept the memory of you dressed in a wedding dress private. Besides, who gets married at a time like this anyway? He wanted the sun to shine upon your skin, see the rays play through your curls, and enjoy the heat soaking into you with his lips pressed to yours.

Chris bumped his shoulder as James stopped short of walking into the book shop turned miniature library. He was off in his thoughts again, Chris took note and pointed at you through the large window.

Your new gig, one where you felt that some good was being done, James watched you mouth the words to the book you held in your hands. Children sat gathered around, on the floor as you read in hushed tones with animated gestures.

Chris stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked a few steps forward. He too watched you, smitten with the kindness in your eyes and the ease you had when dealing with the young. He was glad there were still people on this ice cold planet still capable of warmth.

The two men made their way into the library, Chris broke off toward the old travel section he frequented often when he came here. James, lingered by the door as he gradually wound around toward the sound of your voice.

“Goldilocks ran down the stairs, opened the door, and ran away into the forest. She never returned to the home of the three bears.”

You shut the book and stared at the faces of the children. And with a kind smile, and then crinkled your nose playfully. “Was it a good one?” you asked.

Toboggans bobbed back and forth with muffled gloved clapping from the kids. Their parents came to collect them one by one as you began to pick up the blankets from the floor.

A few kids lingered, taking their pick of the slices of dehydrated apples, peaches, and each took a handful of raisins. James glanced at them before his eyes landed on you. Bundled up tight he could still see your curves, a smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he remembered the warmth of your legs around his hips.

“Finished for the day?” he asked. James stood behind, wrapped his arms around your waist as you tossed the last folded blanket on to the pile. “Ya.” you said shortly and then leaned back in his hold.

Four years in and he still had the best hugs, you thought while your fingers caressed the tops of his hands. James turned you around and held your cheeks in the palms of his warm hands. He smelled like ozone and a mix of sweat and technology that engulfed your sense of smell. You didn’t mind. It was almost a comfort by this point.

James brought his lips to yours as he smiled.

“Wanna grab a bite?” he mumbled, and pulled back.

Chris rounded the corner holding a floppy magazine with the mountains sprawled across it. “I’m taking this.” he said while waving it shortly in the air.

“I think some of the back-up crew would get a kick out of it.” he continued. He flipped through it while walking towards both you and James.

“There’s a whole article about hiking. God, I haven’t been around a tree that wasn’t covered in snow in--” he paused and looked at James. “Well, forever..”

“You’re going to make them sad with that.” you said and stepped away from James to finish picking up the small pillows. “Nobody wants to be reminded about what was..”

“Maybe,” added Chris, who joined you in helping with the pillows. “But it helps to remember why we are doing this. Right?” he asked. Chris dropped the magazine on the table near you.

“The crew will see it and they’ll think about it.” he continued.

You waved him off. “Is the grim reaper coming with us too?” you asked James with a crooked smile.

“Hell, no.” Chris laughed and scooped up the magazine. “I got a date.” He started walking slowly backwards. “Besides, I hear this one is going to cook for you.” He made a cutting motion at the base of his neck.

“Don’t eat it if it’s that re-hydrated pork roast.” he said with a chuckle. “Shit is like eating a boot.”

James’ didn’t try to excuse his cooking. He just grabbed your hand while the two of you followed Chris out of the library.

It was a given that James would be the one to initiate the inevitable. After the bust that was dinner, he pressed in toward you, across a palette of blankets to kiss you. He ignored the sliced bread, jar of peanut butter as he held you close. “You’re a terrible cook.” you giggled and struggled to finish the bit in your mouth.

James snuggled in closer next to you and pulled the half eaten sandwich out of your hand. “You ate something didn’t you?” Slick and adept, his fingers angled down the front of your leggings.

“You’re an engineer!” you yelped and then sank back into the pile of pillows. “Aren’t--” you gasped as his fingers rubbed quickly over your clit. “..you supposed to be great at figuring out how shit works?”

James’ swished the plates along with the jar and bread out of the way with his leg. He managed to shuffle off his shirt with only a few seconds of pause from swirling around your core. James’ pushed up your shirt and pulled down one side of your bra.

“I know how you work,” he whispered and sucked up one of your nipples. James’ hand left your slit as he maneuvered himself between your legs. He slid off the leggings in one motion, urgently he leaned forward and removed your sweater and shirt.

The heaters in the apartment blasted but still there was cold, seeping in from below and above, you shivered. James’ took notice and while pulling off the rest of his clothes he grabbed the thick, thermal blanket. He floated back on top of you, surrounding you and him with the heavy quilt.

“Better?” he asked with a drawl in his pitch, and without waiting for your answer he was inside of you.

Spreading your legs high and wide James settled into a thumping pace. Propped up on his elbows, he wrapped his hands around the back of your neck and pushed in deeper. Your small whimpers were swallowed and devoured by his mouth.

“I want you full of me,” he strained. “I want to see your curves filled out with what I did to you…” A little piece of me, he thought and held your neck tighter.

Your eyes blinked open and languidly stared at him. He was gazing at you, watching your reaction as you unwillingly tightened around the length of his cock. James’ hissed under his breath and kissed you again. This time harder, with his tongue tasting the rim of your lips.

Sweating the days worries away James smacked his hips rougher against your body. Something inside wanted it as much as he did, part of you hesitated and it showed. You pushed up on the sides of his ribs but he did not budge. The rubbing of him on top of your clit tipped you toward bliss and as you resisted the very thought of bringing a child into this world you let go too.

James ducked his head close to the side of your face, he sucked and kissed your ear and on your moan he came inside of you. And when he finally slacked off, giving you and him the bit of space needed to recover he smiled on a sigh.

“What was that about?” you asked breathlessly. “I’m on birth control.”

James didn’t turn his head, his eyes lids hung heavy as his breath settled. “Doesn’t hurt to imagine,” he whispered.

Nov. 2055

James slipped his finger tips to the small of your back. He pressed them in and leaned over giving you a quick peck on the head. He rushed out of the kitchen leaving you with a confused look in your eyes. That was, until you saw Chris stepping through the front door.

“Hey,” he called lightly and shut the door behind him. He removed his scarf, toboggan, and began to pull off his thick gloves.

“What’s going on?” you asked as a sudden crash came from the area of the bed room.

“Launch has been moved up.” yelled James.

You placed the knife back on the kitchen counter. You didn’t look at Chris, instead you hurriedly rushed to the bed room. James was pulling out his box, the special container with all the things he wanted to bring with him on the mission.

Tears pooled, and trickled down warm cheeks as you watched him rummage through it.

“This is it?” you asked.

James did not stop, he pulled out a folder, flipped through mumbling to himself. You strode over and put your hand over the pages and pushed it back down into the box.

“You can’t go.” you demanded softly.

“Don’t--” James said, he lifted your hand and placed a kiss on the top.

Proof, you thought, this was the confirmation that his single-minded, engineering brain was always focused on, instead of you. James’ closed the light plastic container and began to walk out of the room.

“James!” you pleaded.

You could feel the swell of heartbreak growing inside the void in your soul. James halted, he put down the container and strode back up to you.

“Don’t ask me to choose cause you know what I will pick.” said James.

You didn’t allow anymore tears after he spoke. He held your arms, bringing your body close to his. “This is our last shot.”

When you refused to hug him back he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. Ozone, smoke of the pellet stoves they used in the warehouse they trained in. That was his smell, that was what you soaked up and tried to find the words to tell him.

He leaned down and kissed your temple, the top of your cheek and squeezed you harder.

“There’s no reason to believe this mission will not end in success.” James sounded more like he was talking to himself rather than you. He rubbed down your back and pressed another loving kiss to the side of your cheek.

“We knew this was coming.” James said and pulled your face up to meet his. “Remember? It’s all set up so we can still talk to each other.”

You wanted to yell but your secret kept your nerves steady.

James kissed you long and hard before letting you go and stepped back to get his container.

Your voice puffed out to his back, “James, I’m pregnant.”

He turned around with sadness in his eyes and a steely firm stance as he stared at you.

“The birth control...something about the temperature..effectiveness was compromised.”wringing your cold clammy hands you stepped closer. “I’m not the only one…” you tried to excuse it away, that it wasn’t your fault.

James glanced down your body, he sighed.

“I’m sorry.” he said regretfully.

“Chris will be here. Anything you need, he’ll make sure you have it.”

James said nothing else, and he left you.

Feb. 2056

You come home, your apartment was tiny compared to James’ two room, government issue - but it worked. It was made even smaller by new baby stuff, Chris’s doing, still in boxes near the front door and spilling into the living room. You sat down with a large bowl of take-out to finally go through your messages for the day.

Encrypted Message: Mace. Flashed in neon green on your screen.

Before a second thought you clicked the message. The screen was flooded with his face, his eyes were highlighted to a deep blue by the teal backdrop. He was quiet for several seconds, just staring into the camera. His hair was shorter than you remembered, his face had maybe a days worth of stubble. Your eyes immediately filled with tears and sat down the container of broth.

“I hope you’re happy.” he said with a deep rumble. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He finally blinked, he sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re, what- three, four months along now?”

James cracked a grin into the camera and you couldn’t help but do the same. “I guess my little pep talk helped that along.” his smile faded and only a sultry gaze remained.

You remembered his words, his passion..his desire to see you full. You nodded anyway knowing he couldn’t see.

“Along with this message my parents have received one about you.” said James. The gaze was nearly wiped away with the seriousness that replaced it. “They will see you have everything that is intended for me. Rations, space to grow, heat will be yours. My place on this ship ensures your survival planet side regardless of the outcome of the mission.”

His eyes focused elsewhere off from the camera. He was thinking again you assumed. “Have I ever told you about the best day of my life?” he asked slower, softer. James smiled tenderly, just a thin upturn of his lips when he stared back at the camera.

“The brain doc here asked me that, not too long ago. And I couldn’t really answer him cause it’s tied to a memory and a dream.” he said and slouched down in the chair.

“You’re in it.” His eyes drifted once again. “You were in the bath and I came in.”

This time you smiled big, remembering.

“You flooded the bath-” you said mimicking his words.

“I flooded the bathroom, completely. And the water splashed up and over the top of the tub in these giant waves.” He held his hands up, gesturing a wave until he slammed on the tops of his thighs.

“I thought, wow-- I thought if we were only at a beach. The sun beating down on us, so hot and the only thing we had to cool off with was the water.” The smile receded, he grew serious once more.

“What a day that would have been.”

March 2056

James sat back in his bunk, pulled up the tablet from underneath his thigh and thanked the darkness he was alone for once. He activated it, waiting with bated breaths as he found four messages waiting for him. One of them was from his parents, another from Chris, and to his surprise the others were from you.

He listened to the one from his folks first, get the baggage out of the way, he thought as he listened. It was about how you wouldn’t listen. James smiled. They insisted you come live with them but you did not. It ended with his mother’s plea to get you into action.

“Sounds about right.” he said to the dark and clicked on the second video.

Chris seemed chipper, elated even. He spoke about you, that he was doing the best he could. But that you rarely allowed him to help. But that he still managed to squeeze in his presence from time to time. “I think you would do that, so I do too.” he said at the end of his message.

James selected your first message. Your lovely face filled the screen with a smile. But behind you he could tell it wasn’t your apartment that he remembered. He pressed play.

“Hi James.” you smiled shyly. “I accepted your Trust account. I was able to get us into the government facility close to the base. Your parents were not happy.” You bit your lip as you spoke, God, he missed watching you do that.

“I’m -” you said and stood up in front of the camera. James' smile faltered as your stomach came into view. “I’m about five months along now.” you cupped your stomach and then gently rubbed it.

Suddenly you bent over to grab something off screen long enough for him to get a shot down your shirt. Damn, he missed that too.

When you stood up, there was an image in your hand. You held it over your stomach. It was a 3D scan.

“Perfectly healthy.” you said off camera. You sat back down and stared into him. “A perfectly healthy little boy.”

June 2056

The pylon was finally repaired. Two months worth of messages filled James’ feed. He scrolled through the subject lines. More of them were from his folks and Chris than you. What started out with pleasantries soon turned urgent, with the last one reading “HE’S HERE!”

James skipped all the way down to your latest, which would be the newest. He needed the news, he craved to hear that all was okay.

Your face was there, smiling. You pulled back the tablet you were recording from and slowly a bundle laying near you in bed was revealed.

“Say hello to your Daddy, James.” you said quietly down to the infant. James’ eyes blurred with unshed tears as he stared at his son. But it was interrupted when the recording suddenly became choppy. The image spun around and Chris’ face was there, he was smiling hard.

“Good, he doesn’t look a thing like you.” he clipped off, and James huffed out a chuckle.

And as he watched Chris slide into the other side of the bed he was hit with the familiarity of your smile towards him. Insecurity punched at his gut as Chris leaned down and kissed his son’s head.

James wished he was there.

2057

James stared at his image on the screen in front of him. Unkempt wild dark blond strands covered his forehead that met the long beard he had allowed to take over the lower half of his face.

After waiting an hour for his crew-mate to finish he was glad to finally get into the booth to record. God damned Capa, thought James. This would be the last message before the final leg of their mission to reignite the Sun.

James blinked a few times, he thought carefully about what he wanted to say. He wanted it to be meaningful, something lasting.

“This is it.” he said in a commanding tone, and then promptly sighed. The energy to keep up the image of a good astronaut dwindled. He looked away from the camera. That wasn’t it, he thought. He rubbed his eyebrows, he sighed again and sat up in the chair.

“Hey. In this first part, it’s for my parents. I’m here, doing my duty in any way I can to help our world. We might not get another chance to send a message. Thank you for always believing in me.”

His eyes fell to the flashing recording dot just under the small monitor. He crossed his arms over his chest. A couple of fingers rubbed across his lips as he thought of the next words he was about to say.

“James,” he said quietly and for the first time, in a long time he heard the hum of the ship as he spoke. “I love you son. I never thought I would say that, to anyone. I have a son..”

It was so quiet, and yet the low vibration nearly shook him to his core. He looked back into the camera and he thought of you.

“I love you. Think of me every now and again...”

Before emotions could really set in, James leaned forward to cut off the recording. His eyes fixed on the pending screen as it rolled through procedure to send out his package. In big bold red letters: Failed flashed over his file.

Fuckin’ Capa.

2057

Baby James played in his pin with the little light the afternoon Sun could offer. Chris was there, you were grateful for this small comfort. You would have to be strong today. And he gave you an added source to pull from.

“They said a message would come today,” You clicked through the tablet again refreshing the application two more times. “I don’t understand, Chris.”

“Listen. They’re too close to the Sun,” Chris gently pulled the tablet out of your hands and placed it on the small dining room table.

“But today is the day..” you began but he didn’t bother to check the feed again. Chris put his hand on your shoulder as he looked back at you.

“The physics are an unknown event. There’s no telling what will happen, or what has happened.”

“But the dead zone, they’re in it. Where is his message, Chris? The agency said they would have-”

Chris forced you to turn away from the tablet. He was there, frankly because he knew the chances of James never coming back was a big possibility. He had taken care with both your mind and your spirit. Sixteen months, he had watched you grow from a scared mother to be to a capable parent. Maybe he had stayed too long some nights. Other days he was careful not to linger. But recently he hardly bothered to cover up the concern he had, or in expressing it.

And now, watching the last vestige of hope drain from your eyes it was a bittersweet moment. Chris caressed your cheek with the back of his hand and pulled you into his arms.

Your kind voice came up low, and desperately sad. “Chris?” you asked, but he just held you tighter.

“You aren’t alone. You know that.” Chris pulled you away and met your eyes. “You won’t ever be alone, okay?”

Maybe you weren’t strong. Tears rolled from your eyes as you shut them.

“Look at me.” he insisted, and you obliged. Chris thumbed away the streaks of wetness.

The conviction in his voice caused more to fall. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I love you.” his voice rasped, gently.

Chris leaned in, his warm lips touched the brininess of yours testing the possibility. A shuddered gasp trembled from your lips as you returned the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck while his hands traveled to your rib-cage. Bursts of color erupted behind shuddered lids. Your imagination?

But the colors fell away as you opened your eyes. Chris was enveloped in light, breaking the kiss you turned toward your son. Behind him the windows shone bright in a heavenly soulful glow.

The sun was reignited.

#Chris Beck x Black reader #James Mace x Black Reader #Black!reader #x black!reader #Sunshine 2007 #The Martian 2015 #Black female reader

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fairytalelover33 · 4 months

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Are Those Tears?

Thorin x Female Reader

Prompt: When Thorin stares death in the face, you both realize your feelings for each other may be a little stronger than friendship.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Some slight blood/gore, mentions of death, Thorin being a softie for once.

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Nothing could have prepared you for this journey. No amount of training would have sufficed. The whole company making it this far virtually intact was a miracle within itself. You had all survived attempt after attempt on your lives. It seemed that the odds of completing this journey were in your favor, having escaped each encounter with mere scrapes and bruises.

But this time you might not be so lucky.

The muscles in your arms and core ache, as you cling desperately to the branch of a fallen tree on the edge of a cliff, your legs dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. You can hear the grunts and bellows of your incapacitated comrades, confirming that they are in the same predicament as you. The snarls and howls of the Wargs add to the cacophony, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You realize that the only thing keeping the large predators and their riders from swooping in and slaughtering you all is the blazing fire surrounding the tree you all cling to. Azog the defiler sits astride a white Warg, pacing back and forth in front of the wall of flames separating them from you. You see Azog and his mutt pause in their pacing, the pale orc's scarred face hardening.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

"Thorin, no!" Balin exclaims quietly. You lift your head as a large boot plants onto the tree trunk next to you. The figure makes his way past, through the flames, towards the pale orc. The long dark hair, peppered with streaks of grey, the broad shoulders, the determined stride. It was unmistakably Thorin.

No.

A sudden wave of desperation crashes over you, making your stomach turn. You just want to reach out and grab him, yank him back. You want to scream, to beg, to yell at him to just turn around. Your breathing becomes ragged, and one quiet word manages to claw its way out of your throat, repeating over and over under your breath, like a prayer waiting to be answered.

"No. No. No. No." Thorin's steps do not falter, his sword glinting in the light of the blazing inferno that lines his path. It feels as though the world is moving in slow motion as Thorin charges the pale orc, armed with his sword and his shield. His Oaken Shield. How life has a funny way of coming full circle. Azog the defiler guides his pale furred Warg in a mighty leap from the boulder he had been perched upon.

The blow dealt to Thorin as the white Warg collides with him in mid-air snaps you back to reality with a rush of dread. The force of the beasts bodyweight stops Thorin in his tracks, sending him crashing to earth. Reality sets in as you hear the rest of the company fighting the pull of gravity, straining to hold on to the strand of life that is this fallen tree.

Azog wheels his pale beast around, charging at Thorin once more, and sending a bone rattling blow of his mace to the dwarf's chest, knocking him back to the ground. A pang hits you directly in your heart, and flows through your bloodstream, some desperate feeling you can't quite place seeping into your very bones. You don't understand the feeling well enough to give it a name. All you know is that it gives you enough strength to muscle yourself up with a strangled cry, huffing and gritting your teeth as you clamber up to the trunk of the tree. You can barely feel the heat that burns the palms of your hands, red and raw from clinging to the rough bark of the tree branch.

The Hobbit, Bilbo, seems to have the same rush of bravery that you do, and you see his small form scramble up to the trunk of the tree, pausing to take one deep breath to right his turbulent mind before charging into the fray, armed with his little elvish knife.

The wretched hound of hell clamps its jaws around Thorin. The sickening sound of Thorin's ribs cracking reaches your ears, making your head swim. You can feel yourself call out his name in agony, but it sounds like someone else's voice is coming from your mouth as you stumble a few steps along the fallen tree. You right yourself in time to see the mutt toss Thorin like a farm dog tosses a snake, his form crashing onto a patch of hard rock on the hillside.

"(Y/N)!" Balin shouts as you start hauling it to where Thorin lays, hot on Bilbo's heels. "No, Lass! It's too dangerous!" No response comes from your lips, your mouth set in a grimace as you have a clear view out to where one of the Defilers minions is preparing to behead Thorin. He lies pinned upon the rocky ground, his breathing ragged, teeth clenched in defiance as he grasps around desperately for his sword.

You quickly overtake Bilbo, and with a muffled grunt you stiffen your shoulders, tackling the Orc with the force of your body weight, bowling it over. You can hear Azog's roar of dissent as you stop the orcs deadly blow mid swing. A sharp pain explodes like a lightning strike in your right shoulder, making you cry out. As you and the orc tumble away from Thorin, the filthy monster rolls atop you with a snarl, pinning you down. You struggle futilely beneath it, flailing like a madman, grasping for something, anything to protect yourself, and finding nothing. The orc raises its armored fist, pulling back to deliver a skull crushing blow.

Suddenly, the orc shrieks, blood spewing from its mouth, spraying you in the face. It falls to the side, revealing a fiery eyed Bilbo, delivering continuous blows with his small, but mighty blade. You gasp for air, viciously wiping your face with the sleeve of your tunic and scrambling away.

You crawl to the barely conscious form of Thorin, not caring about the rocks and twigs scraping your skin through the thin fabric of your clothing. Ignoring the shooting pain in your shoulder, you pull yourself up to your knees, cradling his head in your lap. His half-lidded gaze holds yours for a moment, as if trying to see into your very soul. A thin sheen of sweat coats his face as he murmurs a single word, before slipping into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

"(Y/N)..." Thorin breathes out softly. If you had not been watching his lips move you would have assumed you imagined it. His eyes flicker shut, his ragged gasps slowing to shallow breaths. Tears well up in your eyes as you brush some of his sweat drenched hair from his regal face.

"Just hold on. Please." You whimper helplessly, gazing down at him. You look up to see the heart wrenching sight of Bilbo all alone, standing his ground as the monsters descend upon you, his hands shaking as he holds his sword at the ready. The hobbit plants his feet, swinging his sword wildly around in an attempt to intimidate the foes before him. Sparks fly from the burning portion of forest that surrounds you, and you feel a deep sadness, wondering if this is truly the end of your adventure.

You take another moment to gaze down at Thorin. You trace his face with your eyes, trying to memorize every feature and contour. Running your thumb over his cheekbone in a way you would have never been brave enough to do before, a sigh escapes your lips. With a shaky breath, you lean down, hesitating for a moment before pressing a feather soft kiss to his forehead, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. Wishing more than anything that you had been brave enough to tell him how you feel, you now vow to not go down a weeping, helpless mess. You hold back your tears, forcing yourself to stare defiantly back at the group of vicious carnivores that approach the three of you.

One of the Wargs snaps its head to the side, sniffing the air. A sudden battle cry makes you start, and you whip your gaze in the direction of the commotion. Your spirit lifts as the unmistakable figures of Fili and Kili come charging in from a gap in the flames, tailed closely by Dwalin. They attack the Wargs and their riders swiftly, slicing and hacking with their weapons. You try to get up to help, but your energy is sapped from wrestling the Orc. You opt to be a close-range protector to Thorin, crouching in front of him, your fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword that you spotted lying a few feet away.

A vicious noise that you didn't know you were capable of making tears its way through your throat as a Warg stalks toward Thorin with a snarl. You grip the hilt of the sword tighter, your knuckles white as you prepare to fight tooth and nail to protect Thorin. You shift on your feet as you crouch low, poised to spring up and drive the blade straight through the roof of the beasts' mouth and into its brain.

Before you get the chance, a giant flurry of wind and feathers scoops up the Warg, the beast yelping as it is hurled unceremoniously from the cliffside. You scramble back slightly, your mouth falling open as you look to the sky in disbelief and slight fear.

Eagles bigger than you have ever seen circle the cliffs edge, swooping in to snatch and dispose of the Wargs and their riders. Some of the mighty birds use the wind from their wings to fan the flames that burn the forest, singeing a group of mutts. You feel a moment of peace, but it doesn't last long. Your eyes widen slightly, terror etching your face as one of the birds makes a beeline for you.

"Wait. Wait! WAIT!" You shriek, as the giant bird envelops you in its claws. The fur of Thorin's jacket, which you had been holding on to, slips from your grasp as the creature tosses you off the edge of the cliff. You tumble through the air, screaming bloody murder, before landing with a thud on the back of another eagle, knocking the wind out of you slightly. You curse under your breath as you gasp for air, trying to regain your bearings. Your eyes scan around, realizing that every member of the company was either caged safely in the claws of one of the Avians, or sat comfortably atop one.

You hear a rage filled roar in the distance as the eagles whisk you all away. You feel a pit in your stomach, realizing that Azog is still alive, and you know that he will never stop hunting down the line of Durin. Your stomach drops as your worried mind flickers back to Thorin. You try to spot him, your eyes scanning each of the birds. The morning sun makes it nearly impossible, partially blinding you. You tuck your face into the soft feathers you sit upon, tears pricking your eyes as you pray the eagles will land soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Groggily lifting your bruised and battered head, you scan around, realizing the eagles are making their descent. They all circle slowly down, landing atop a rocky spire, where you can see for miles around. Your eagle lands last, and your heart drops as you see Thorin lying still upon the flat ground, the company standing around him. You slide down from the back of the eagle, crumpling slightly as your legs hit the ground. Fili and Kili appear at your side almost instantly, supporting you under your arms as you try to regain your balance. You wince as Kili bumps your shoulder, hissing through your teeth.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Kili asks in concern, releasing your arm slightly.

"Yes, I just... never mind me." You tear your eyes away from Thorin, finding Bilbo a few feet away. You pull away from the brothers, limping over to hug Bilbo. "Thank you." You whisper, pulling back and meeting Bilbo's gaze. He nods, and nothing else needs to be said. Bilbo is smart enough to be able to read the emotion behind your eyes. Your hand rests on his shoulder, and you both smile softly before you turn your gaze back to Thorin.

Gandalf kneels beside Thorin, his hand hovering over his face as he murmurs some spell over his unconscious form. You can feel the tears of desperation welling up in your eyes as you look on helplessly, silently begging whatever God is listening to please, let him live. You can feel yourself shaking as the company waits with bated breath. Then, his eyes finally flutter open, the dwarf drawing a deep breath.

Hot tears fall from your eyes, and you don't bother to stop them. You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. He lives. He clambers to his feet, aided by Dwalin and Kili. He shakes them off, the angry look on his face surprising you all. He locks eyes with you, before flickering his gaze to Bilbo.

"You two." Thorin says in an accusing tone, glaring at the both of you. A confused look crosses your face, the rest of the company looking on.

"What were you doing?" Thorin snaps. "You nearly got yourselves killed!" Your eyes lock onto his, and you don't bother wiping the tears from your face as you stand bewildered.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden?" Thorin hisses, stalking towards you. "That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" You hold his gaze, teary eyed as he looks between yourself and Bilbo, seemingly berating you. He pauses for a moment, the rest of the company sharing glances in disbelief.

Emotion suddenly takes over Thorin's face. "I have never been so wrong, in all my life." He steps forward, embracing Bilbo, patting him on the back. You could almost laugh at the look of shock on Bilbo's face as he tentatively returns his hug. Thorin pulls back, meeting Bilbos eyes with an apologetic look. "I am sorry I doubted you."

Thorin's eyes turn to you, his face softening as he looks at your tear-stained face. He takes the few steps to close the distance between you. The company becomes rather quiet as he silently approaches, his eyes never leaving your face. He stops in front of you, pausing, and you sniffle slightly, looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Your heart stops as his rough hand rises to your face, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wipes away a fresh tear.

"Are those tears, Amrâlimê?" Thorin murmurs, making your heart skip a beat. He brings his other hand to your face, wiping away the rest of your tears, even as your eyes well up more. "No more of those." He says quietly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours gently, before pulling back to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He murmurs, his eyes scanning your form. His hand still cupping your jaw gently. You shake your head, your eyes locked on his. Kili speaks up at your lie, knowing you are indeed hurt.

"She hurt her right shoulder." Kili says, before falling silent with an apologetic look. You glare at him, sighing in defeat as Thorin calls over Oin to take a look at your shoulder.

"What about you? You definitely need to be checked out, Thorin." You say sternly as thorin guides you to sit on a rock a few feet away. A small smile graces his face.

"I appreciate your concern. But you come first." He says softly, making you blush profusely. He gives a nod to Oin before stepping away to speak with Gandalf. Fili and Kili make their way over to you, giving each other a knowing look. You narrow your eyes at them before tugging on Kili's sleeve, making him kneel down to your level on the hard ground as Oin examines your shoulder.

"Kili, what does... Amrâlimê mean?" You ask inquisitively, as you know minimal Khuzdul. The brothers share another look, smiling at each other.

"You will find out in time." Kili says cryptically, standing up with a grin after giving you a pat on the back. You give him an exasperated look, cursing as Oin adjusts your shoulder. The brothers turn away with smirks plastering their faces, leaving you to ponder what Thorin could possibly have said.

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buggysangel17 · 1 year

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Meet The Cross Guild

Summary: You meet your husband's new 'co-workers'. Mihawk realized the worry that came with having you as his one and only weakness. Characters: Dracule Mihawk x Wife!Female Reader (Amihan). Sir Crocodile. Buggy. Word Count: 1,392 Chapter Warnings: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence. Mention of slicing someone's body part. (Buggy obviously) lol.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Send Me An Ask?

“Who is this?”

To Mihawk, it took a lot out of him to bring you here—in what would now be his new home, a place that would also serve as one of the many places where meetings would take place with the likes of one Crocodile and the annoyance of the fucking clown. But it was a risk he was willing to make knowing that you could handle your own.

After the events as what was your shared home in Kuraigana Island, how you had fought almost in the same par as him, he trusted you enough to be in the same space as two other former warlords that could possibly be a danger to not only himself but to you, his one and only weakness.

“That’s a good costume. The nose even looks so realistic too.”

He stands corrected.

He had watched Buggy take hold of your face, offended as his nose was now a topic of discussion. But somehow the fear was never once lingering on your face even as the empty threats begin to spill out of the clown’s lips for his nose being acknowledged.

“I’d be careful with my wife, she knows how to wield whatever weapon she could get her hands upon.” He had warned not his wife, but the man that had the utter audacity to hold onto his wife the way he did.

“Wife?!”

Buggy did not even finish the single word before a knife was pulled out of your palms and slicing through the man’s hand, ineffective knowing the Devil fruit the clown had with him. But the shock was all the more amusing in your eyes seeing the lack of blood as well as pain in the face of the clown.

“He isn’t affected by slashing attacks, My Love.” Mihawk had finally explained as you were still utterly confused by everything that the man in front of you was being.

Mihawk watched the arrogance in the clown as he continued to tease his wife about close to invisible because of his powers, but busy as he was with his own thoughts a ghost of a smile had laced the swordsman’s face as you instead pulled out a blunt mace from out of your palm and immediately bludgeoning the man with it knocking him down cold for a good few minutes of peace.

“Thank you.” Mihawk patted your shoulder, appreciating the lack of annoyance for now.

“It seems we have interrupted your time with your wife.” It was now Sir Crocodile that made his presence known, with the lack of an annoying figure that was Buggy, he was free to talk without much of an interruption.

“It’s fine.” You reassured with a smile on your lips, returning both your knife and mace back to your palm right in front of the man.

“It seems we have another Devil Fruit wielder then.”

“She is.” Mihawk finds himself interrupting the man’s line of questions. The less the man knows about you and your background, the better. He trusted you, but the same could not be said about the two men that was now in his home.

“It would be best to keep an eye on her then, Hawk Eye, if the World Government knew about her existence, it would be her head that’s plastered in the Bounty Posters.”

Mihawk has known as much. But he trusted not only himself, but as well as you that you would keep yourself away from much trouble as you possibly could. With this new change in both of your lives, you never resented him for it. In fact, you enjoyed yet another change in your life alongside him. That alone had reassured him that anything that may come, you took to stride.

“She can handle herself perfectly fine with or without me to help her.” Mihawk spoke.

“I’ll leave you three to it. I’ll bring the tea once it’s brewed.” You patted him on the chest and kissed him on the cheeks before leaving the two men to the impending conversation that they would be dealing with now.

“If she finds herself becoming a pirate, she might even surpass you, Hawk Eye.”

“And I don’t doubt you on your statement. But she is content to work by my side for now.”

“But until when?”

“They seem—nice. The clown is also a funny one.” You spoke the moment Mihawk had slipped out of the bath he had.

He was welcomed to the sight of you in bed in your delicate nightgown with a book in hand. You were surprisingly in good spirit even with how the entire day played out. Buggy, for all intents and purposes did not back down even after being knocked down cold by your hands. Somehow doubling down in making his entire stay focused on getting on your nerves but somehow you welcomed him with a smile and asking if he wanted any of the pastries you’ve made for the day. But his worry had been more on Crocodile, how his interest in you and your power had unnerved him—he might not have gotten under your skin, but he succeeded in getting under Mihawk’s as much as he did not want to admit it.

Instead of crawling into his side of the bed, he finds himself crawling on top of you, nestling his cheek against the flesh of your chest—this was his side of the bed now for the past few months. His arms wrapped around your waist as your hands now rested on his hair, scratching onto his scalp in the same way that he loved you doing.

“What’s on your mind, Darling?” You inquired halting in your movements.

“Keep going.” He finds himself urging you on.

“You’re so needy.” You playfully complained but obliged to his request.

“It’s not really something you need to worry about. Just a few hindrance that needs to mind their own business.” He began. “We had made an agreement with the clown that he will be the face that is plastered for the World Government to see but I’m concerned about what it would mean if they find out about you.”

“I’m not really worried.” You shrugged, smiling down at him. The softness of your gaze towards him brought him peace that he would have never thought he would deserve. “I’m married to the strongest swordsman in the world, I’m certain and I am very confident that you will not let anything happen to me.”

All his worries, it all magically vanished away at your words. How even when all was said and done, when the circumstance of your relationship was not as ideal as he would have wanted it to be, you still gave him faith that he never truly believed he deserved or earned.

He flipped the both of you until you were now under him, a surprised squeal escaping from your lips from the sudden movement. He smiled immediately pulling you in for a kiss before you could admonish him for the sudden movement.

“I care for you, so much more than I would ever care for anything else in this world. I vow to protect you, to care for you, and to love you until my last breath.”

They never had their vows, and this was the closest thing he could do for it. He will make a reality out of a once forced circumstance.

“Mihawk…” You wrapped your arms around him, drawing him closer, and for a brief moment, the world around you both disappeared. All that mattered was the two of you, your love, and the vows that he had made. It was a promise that would withstand the test of time.

As you finally parted, your forehead touched, and you looked into his eyes, your heart was full of love and gratitude. In the serene moment of peace in your own little space, this was a beginning of a new life for the two of you and Mihawk will make sure you will have the life you always wanted and what you always deserved.

“I love you, Mihawk.” You whispered, voice filled with emotion.

Mihawk smiled, his eyes glistening with love. Your lips met once more, sealing your vows and love in a kiss that would linger in your hearts for as long as you were both alive.

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witchywithwhiskey · 20 days

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slasher summer masterlist

summerween is over, and so is my slasher summer writing challenge. as promised, here's the masterlist of all entries in the challenge (if yours is missing, please DM me!)

thank you to everyone who participated, as well as all readers who liked, reblogged and commented on the fics!! i loved getting to read everyone's stories and see what y'all did with the prompts. you're all so creative and lovely—thank you again!!!

for readers, please heed the warnings on each individual post below, your media consumption is your responsibility. and please make sure to show your support of the writers by reblogging their work!!!

When He First Got Me by @buckets-and-trees

pairing: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader summary: Prequel in the Exiled Nomad Series. July 3, 2017. Steve sees you at a city festival for the Fourth of July, but he's not content with only seeing…

Dirty Little Secret by @buckys-wintersoldier

pairing: Professor!Ari Levinson x Student!Female!Reader summary: You share a dirty little secret with your professor.

In the Woods by @thezombieprostitute

pairing: James Mace x Female!Reader x Chris Beck summary: Using the prompts: Summer Camp; Sex in the Woods; You know how girls love to scream

Not A Common Storm by @nekoannie-chan

pairing: Steve Rogers x Agent of HYDRA!Reader summary: You and Steve are trapped in a storm, what would happen?

Once Upon A Friendship by @steviebbboi

pairing: Childhood Bestie!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader summary: Growing up together, you and Steve were inseparable. Where did it all go wrong?

Rosa by @perdidosbucky-yyo

pairing: Best Friend!Steve Rogers x Plus Size! Female!Reader summary: Trapped in a prison of your husband and your mother’s expectations, your only comfort is the ghost in your garden, haunted by the memory of your best friend. You thought you would never see him again but when he unexpectedly returns home from the war after 12 years, you’re not prepared for what’s to come.

A Night of Frights & Delights by @elixirfromthestars

pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader summary: It’s Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can’t stand is also there?

Sweet and Slashy Summer Saturdays by @buckets-and-trees

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Female Reader summary: A first date with your neighbor Bucky Barnes.

Fool Me Once… by @dc418writes

pairing: Ari Levinson x BlackReader, Pete Brenner x BlackReader summary: Who knew grudges could be so deadly?

Slasher by @witchywithwhiskey

pairing: DARK Horror Movie Villain!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader summary: Somehow, you end up in your favorite old horror movie, and you decide to take the opportunity to fulfill one of your fantasies—you're gonna fuck the villain, Bucky Barnes.

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whaledenwtf · 10 months

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Gale Dekarios X Sorcerer!Reader - Spin the Bottle

The Gale girlies of tiktok got their clutches in me and I want him. I already had my hands full with wanting Astarion AND Halsin but now Gale too? I can't believe I've dedicated so much time to PIXELS. Anyways, here's some wizard sex. :)

AO3 LINK: Here Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: Here

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Body Worship ( Female Receiving), Creampie, Oral (Female Receiving), Misuse of the Mage Hand Cantrip (oh yeah), Praise Kink, Spin the Bottle Trope, Angst too!!! Sorry

I try to keep Gale as close to his character as possible but the idea of even entertaining Mystra in the fic for more than half a moment fills me with anger. So I try to only bring her up during the angst.

WORD COUNT: 5325

The last few days... weeks? Have been awful. Ever since you met all your companions in the wreckage of the nautiloid ship (and evidently, the wreckage of any normalcy) you've spent every day exploring the Sword Coast looking for answers and seeking guidance on how to rid yourselves of the tadpole. During the day, the heat is cooled by the breeze of the ocean, but nothing can quell the stress of the band of misfits you find yourself surrounded by.

"We should head to the cre'che. You may be too far gone, too weak, but I need the guidance of Queen Vlaakith." A chorus of groans echo Lae'zel's words.

"All offense, but I do not want a githyanki prodding in my skull." Shadowheart tells her annoyed. You roll your eyes, bracing yourself for the oncoming fight. You've been around them long enough to know that the daily Lae'zel and Shadowheart fight will have to be broken up by you, again. Lae'zel unsheathes her sword and points it towards Shadowheart.

"Just because you are a k'chakhi, doesn't mean (Y/N) can't understand reason." You look around and see everyone look annoyed. Well, almost everyone. Astarion always watches the fights with glee, bright smiles and wicked intentions.

"Excuse me? What did you just call me? I'll make sure Shar punishes you greatly." Shadowheart pulls out her mace. You can already tell this will get bloody. You walk in between them and put your arms out.

"Enough. For gods sake, both of you need to relax. You're both acting unreasonable." You cringe the moment you say those words.

"Unreasonable?!" They both respond, aiming their weapons at you. You roll your eyes, pulling out your staff.

"Point those weapons at me again and I'll make sure to cast a Hold Person so well you'll be stuck here until you transform." Everyone's mouths drop open at your words. You were a sorcerer, usually kind tempered, or you'd like to think so. This has been the tenth time you had to break up a fight between the two in the last three days. It was sickening, and you were at your wits' end. Astarion giggles with glee, clapping his hands at your words. You point your staff at him too.

"I'll cast it on you too-" He pouts at your words, no longer finding the threat fun when it's directed towards him. "Now all of you shut the hells up so we can go find more answers on what to do. No more fighting." Everyone nods silently. You exhale loudly and smile.

"Now let's go." Lae'zel scoffs, sheathing her weapon and bumping Shadowhearts shoulder as she walks past. You turn away and lead the group forward, going towards the Goblin Camp that is holding Arch Druid Halsin captive; the druids in the grove said he may have information on your tadpoles.

"I'm afraid that I cannot heal you. These tadpoles are different, and have magic that even someone as experienced as I cannot remove them." Halsin tells you sadly. The group groans at the tall elf's words. After completely eradicating all the goblins and other beasts in the camp, Halsin is still unable to help.

"However, I was able to track that they are coming from the Shadow Cursed lands, and may be tied to the Moonrise Towers." This was news! Not as good as you were hoping, but its a lead! A start to an otherwise longer journey.

"I appreciate you trying Halsin. Thank you." You tell him quietly. He nods, his hand on your shoulder.

"I should be the one thanking you. You have freed me and explained what Kagha was planning to do to the Emerald Grove-" Astarion cuts off the Druid.

"Yes yes, we get it. We helped. Seems like we did it for no reason." Without turning your gaze away from Halsin, you wack him with your staff. After a loud thump and Astarion's "ow", you smile at the elf.

"No need to thank me, Halsin. Your information will guide us onward." He nods, frowning for a moment.

"Once I get back from ending the Rite of Thorns, I will meet you at your camp and join you on your journey. I hate to ask more of you, but I need assistance with eradicating the Shadow Curse."

"More help?!" Astarion exclaims. You turn around, ready to strike again, but Gale beats you to it. He does you a solid and wacks him upside his head with a large tome. Astarion flinches, complaining about his hair. You smile at Gale in thanks, who winks in response to you before you turn back to Halsin, blushing.

"I'm sure in ridding the curse we may find more information about the parasites." Halsin engulfs you in a hug, and you laugh patting his back.

"Thank you, little one. I will trek to the Grove now. You are more than welcome to join me." You turn to look at all your companions, some of which seem eager to go back to the Grove.

"I think we should, just incase a rampant goblin attacks you again." Halsin chuckles, before letting go of you.

"Then let us make haste."

At the Grove, you watch as Halsin berates Kagha. Afterwards you see Zevlor run up to you.

"We must thank you (Y/N)! We gathered all our gold so we can give you something for your troubles." You watch as the man pulls out a small pouch, filled with everyone's gold. You felt pity, as the need to do good outweighed any reward, especially one so small. You knew taking their gold would leave them only with the clothes on their backs, and the supplies they had.

"Oh Zevlor, I cannot take this from you. Keep it for Baldur's Gate. We are just grateful we were able to help in time." He shakes his head.

"At least let us thank you. We can celebrate at your camp and share our wine and food with you." You ponder this.

"Something to destress may be necessary, lest we hear Lae'zel and Shadowheart fight again." Gale whispers in your ear. Your breath hitches. Ever since you pulled Gale of Waterdeep from the collapsing portal, you've been smitten. Despite his very human nature, his soft brown eyes, beautiful features and prose had caught your attention. He was gorgeous, and your heart yearned for him, mind, body and soul.

"If I have to hear the word cre'che one more time I might gauge my eyes out." You whisper back. He chuckles, the sound warm and it shoots straight to your core. You make your decision.

"I think a celebration with some wine, food and good company would be a great reprise from all the stress. We'll see you at sundown." The group cheers, excited for some wine and relaxation. This seems like the first decision everyone agreed with. You smile at them as Zevlor walks away, telling the tieflings about the celebration.

You were already drunk off the vinegar-like wine, teetering on the edge of consciousness and depravity. You see all your companions scattered across the camp; some entertaining the company of the tieflings, others drinking on their lonesome. This won't do! Your drunk mind exclaims. Before you could act on it, Astarion walks up to you, smirking.

"Well, hello to you sweetheart." You blush at his forwardness. It seems everyday you spend together he gets more bold in his words and touches, but he isn't Gale.

"H-hello Astarion." You tell him, stuttering from your inebriated state. His cold hand meets your arm, and you startle, sobering up momentarily.

"Just a hello? I was hoping for a better form of greeting." You roll your eyes at his theatrics.

"And what would that form of greeting be, my beloved?" You ask him sarcastically. He grins, his fangs glistening in the lowlight of the campfire and lanterns scattered about.

"Perhaps a kiss? Maybe a night, with yours truly? I can make you feel things no man has ever made you feel before~" He grabs your waist and pulls you close.

"No things a man has made me feel before? That's cute, but won't work on me." You tell him, slapping the side of his face as though he were a child.

"Won't work? Darling, it's true! I will make you crave my touch~" He whispers to you. You laugh in his face, and he frowns at your response.

"You should go into comedy with such jokes!" He lets go of you and pouts.

"You're no fun." You smirk at his words.

"Oh I'm plenty of fun. You're just not my type." He is taken aback.

"I'm everyone's type, sweetheart. You're just lying to yourself- or your standards are quite low." You really can't entertain his theatrics any longer, your eyes already looking around for Gale.

"Alright Astarion. As lovely as this conversation was, I've got to go." You pull away from him, spotting the wizard near his tent, a glass of wine in one hand and tome in the other. You rush towards him, before your journey is cut off by Karlach.

"H-hey soldier!" You smile at the tiefling.

"Hi Karlach. Are you enjoying yourself?" She nods, her body swaying.

"Of course! Between my engine sort-of working for now, and the booze, I'm on cloud nine!" She tells you, spinning in place. You giggle at her theatrics, before stabilizing her when she gets too dizzy.

"I was thinking of playing spin the bottle! Now that I can't burn people it would be fun to play-" She gives you puppy dog eyes. You feel bad for Karlach, you really do. A victim to Zariel, and now to her infernal engine, you can tell she just wants to be hugged and loved. You hug her, grinning. She grips you back tightly, sighing into your arms.

"Let's gather the others! Can't wait for the inevitable Lae'zel and Shadowheart kiss." You both laugh. You let go of each other and rally the others. You manage to get Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Astarion to join you near the campfire. Even Halsin decides to join, after you ask him sweetly. You're all sitting in a circle, with Halsin to your left and Astarion on your right. Gale is sitting directly infront of you, and you catch his gaze more than once. You decide that if anyone asks, the blush is not from the handsome wizard, but the booze. Yeah that'll work, you think to yourself.

"Can't wait to kiss you, sweetheart." Astarion tells you. You roll your eyes, taking a sip of a new bottle of wine.

"Get in line, fangs." Karlach tells him, smirking at you. You laugh at her words.

"Alright, alright. Let's get to kissing!" You smirk at everyone. After a minute of downing the bottle in your hand, you empty it and put it in the center of the circle.

"Now that little alchy finished drinking, who wants to spin first?" Astarion speaks up, smirking at your companions. With enthusiasm, Karlach shouts.

"ME ME ME!" You chuckle at her reaction, and give her the go-ahead. You watch her buzzing in her seat as she spins the bottle. It does one, two, three spins before landing on Wyll. They look at eachother, eyes wide.

"Oh shit-" Karlach whispers. The whole circle starts chanting, and after a minute of tense stillness they kiss. You all cheer, laughing and smiling. Then they don't let go, still kissing. The cheering gets louder,

"Oh gods, split it up." Astarion says, fake gagging. They split, gasping. Both of them are blushing, and you smirk.

"Had fun?" You tease them. They look away from each other, realizing the implications of their kiss.

"Alright, now Wyll's gotta spin!" You tell them, grinning. Wyll shuffles closer to the bottle, watching it spin until it lands on Halsin. You gasp, before cheering. Their kiss was quick, but you could tell Halsin was in control. He chuckles as they part, and Wyll sits back down. Halsin spins the bottle, and it spins for a solid ten seconds until it lands on Shadowheart.

"Now this will be interesting." Astarion whispers into your ear. You giggle into your hand, nodding. Your eyes split from Halsin and Shadowheart to see Gale watching you and Astarion's closeness with a frown. Before you could give him a look, you hear cheering. Your eyes glance back at Halsin, who pulls Shadowheart onto his lap and grips her tightly as they are kissing. Your eyes widen, lips parting.

"Oh." After a minute, they split, panting. Shadowheart stands from his lap, her legs left unstable from the powerful kiss. She fans herself for a second before spinning the bottle. It barely does a full turn before it lands on Lae'zel. You start laughing loudly.

"Absolutely not." She says loudly, already reaching for the bottle.

"Hey! No respins!" Karlach says, eyebrows furrowed. Shadowheart huffs. Lae'zel hasn't spoken up, just watching Shadowheart's plight with a grin.

"Fine. But watch yourself, githyanki. I will not hesitate to end you if there's any funny business." Lae'zel rolls her eyes, before pulling Shadowheart into a passionate kiss. Everyone's jaws drop as they kiss, all their verbal fights (and some physical, mind you) seemingly have turned into sexual tension. Lae'zel pulls Shadowheart into her, before pushing her under her. After hearing someone moan, you decide to cut it out.

"Okay, stop! Holy hells, if you're gonna do that do it in the privacy of your own damn tent." You tell them, grimacing at the sounds coming from them. Without a word, Lae'zel picks up Shadowheart and walks away from the circle. You guffaw, before turning back to the other companions, eyes wide.

"Um-" Astarion cuts you off, smirking.

"Alright! Since they left its my turn!" He claps, before spinning the bottle. It lands on you, and you groan.

"Come here, sweetheart." He whispers. As he closes his eyes, you give him a quick peck and turn away before he could wonder what happened.

"That was hardly a kiss!" He shouts, crossing his arms.

"Oh, boo hoo Astarion." You tell him, laughing. You spin the bottle. It does one, two, three, four turns, before it lands on the object of your attentions. Gale's eyes widen, and he freezes up.

"Pucker up wizard, it'll be done before you know it." Astarion sulks from beside you. You crawl towards him, blush deepening. When you get into his personal space, you sit down on your haunches and get comfortable. His hand goes to the side of your face, while the other goes to your waist. Your arms wrap around his neck and you meet in the middle.

This kiss was unlike any other you had in your life. The world around you disappeared, sounds muffled. All you could feel was Gale and his magical essence. You became tuned to one another, magic flowing freely between you both. His hands move around, the one on your hip going to the small of your back and pulling you closer, as the one that was holding your face goes to the back of your neck to hold you to him. Your lips open when his tongue traces the seam of your lips. Your tongues battle for dominance, and you moan into his mouth. That seems to snap him out of the trance, and he separates from you. You can see his deep blush, and he gets up and runs off. Your eyes follow him, and you furrow your brows.

"If he ran away because of your kissing skills, maybe I should be grateful you only gave me a peck." Astarion says. Your eyes snap back to his.

"My kissing isn't the problem. I'll go check on him." You get up, dusting the dirt off your legs and walking towards his tent. When you turn around, to glance at your companions, you see Karlach and Wyll cheering on Astarion and Halsin as they kiss. You roll your eyes and look forward, going into a jog so you could reach Gale's tent sooner.

When you get to his tent, you cough outside so he can hear you. You hear him mutter a "come in" so you enter slowly. When you enter his tent, your eyes widen. Its larger on the inside, and looks homely. There are towers of tomes and books, some old and some new, and your eyes are taking in the beauty of the bigger-on-the-inside tent that reflects Gale's personality. When your eyes stop wandering, you notice Gale sitting on the edge of his large bed, hands holding his head as he sits dejected.

"I wanted to check in on you." You tell him quietly, walking closer to him. He sighs, and looks up at you.

"I'm sorry-" You reach him in two short strides, and kneel so you are below him. His eyes follow your movements, and you see the sorrow and sadness lurking in his beautiful brown eyes.

"You never need to apologize to me Gale. Are you okay?" You ask him softly. He sighs again, frowning.

"I'm not." He says quietly. You know he's upset, by the succinctness of his words.

"You can always tell me what's wrong. You know I care about you-all of you." You save yourself at the last moment. Now's probably not the time to admit your feelings, especially when he doesn't seem receptive to your advances.

"I'm just-" He exhales loudly. "You're not the issue here, (Y/N). I am. Everything I have done, everything I do, was for her. Now I feel lost, between the bomb inside my chest and the tadpole in my head, I feel as though I have no control over anything." Your hands gently takes one of his, holding him softly.

"You are the most talented wizard I have ever met, Gale of Waterdeep. You have control over everything, more than most of us." He shakes his head, eyes getting misty.

"You're wrong, you know. I have lost favour with my goddess, and have lost control over my emotions it seems. I just ran away from you and you still check in on me. Gale's Folly, I once named my demise. But it seems everything I do adds to my torment, and it affects others." You go to deny him but he cuts you off. He turns to the side, looking in the distance.

"I have always known my purpose, since I was young. Hone my powers, control the weave. Serve my goddess. The universe that was once kind to me has turned against me, against my reverence for Mystra. I was cursed, am cursed. In the deepest darkest shadows of my folly, I met you. A sorcerer who I respect and admire greatly. Now I am destined to lose that too-" You grip his hand tightly.

"You have not lost me yet, Gale." You whisper gently to him. His face snaps back to yours, his eyes searching yours for the truth. All he sees is your honesty and admiration.

"I do not deserve you." He whispers, shedding a tear. You wipe the tear away, holding his face.

"It is I who does not deserve you, Gale. You've been hurt, badly. I would never expect anything from you more than what you are ready to tell me. You must know how important you are to us, to me." He looks down at his lap, pondering.

"I've always felt the need to do anything to serve Mystra. Even sacrifice the deepest parts of myself for her, if she had asked. Many times, she had. But you; you ask nothing more from me. You give without taking, and I don't understand how you think I am deserving of your kindness." He whispers.

"Gale. You are magnificent. I care about you, more than I care for the others. Ever since I pulled you out of that portal I knew that you'd be someone I'd care for. Since then, all I've done is fallen more for you. You don't need to reciprocate any feelings, but you have to know how much someone cares for you- I care for you. You are worth much more than Mystra has ever given you credit for." His eyes snap back to yours, widening at your words.

"I did not realize-" You cut him off gently, the hand on his face squeezing slightly.

"I was afraid to say anything. I understand your trepidation regarding your situation. If I was in your position I would have given up long ago. But please, please do not think for a moment you are not worthy of love. You are kind, good of heart and deserving of more than most of us in camp." He pulls you into a hug. Your arms find themselves around him, squeezing him tightly. Your head finds itself in the crevice of his neck, inhaling his scent of old books and hazelnut; a scent you could only describe as Gale.

"I'm sorry. I do care about you, deeply. I have not felt such a way since Mystra, but sitting here with you now, I have never felt such acceptance and understanding. I'm afraid of what darkness the future holds, but it does not seem as dim if you are there with me." He tells you into your ear. You sigh, nudging your nose deeper into his neck. You leave a soft kiss on the side of his neck before pulling away.

"I'll help you rid yourself of the Netherese Orb, and then the parasite. You are not alone." His hands grip the sides of your face.

"I can never feel alone when I'm with you." He pulls you into a kiss, and the adoration he feels for you translates in the movement of his lips. You kiss him softly, before pulling away.

"I do not want to take advantage of you when you are feeling so low." You gaze at him, admiring his looks. His eyes, long dried from the tears, shine in the light of his tent.

"I want to be here with you. No advantages are being taken. Please-" He pleads, begging for you. You bite your lip, and his eyes follow the action. He rushes forward, sliding off the side of the bed and kneels in front of you. He pulls you into a kiss, desperation and need coursing through his blood. You moan against his soft lips, all worries and fears dissipating into the night air. He pulls away from you, panting.

"Those sounds... You're entire being... No magic can compare to your beauty." He whispers, his breath fanning against your lips. You blush under his gaze and words, unable to reply.

"I want to show you my love the way gods do, please let me." He tells you against your lips, kissing you again. Your hands cradle his neck, thumbs trailing up and down the column. You pull away again, shaking your head.

"I don't need magic, or gods. Not when I have you right here infront of me." He pulls away, a deep blush on his face. You notice that it goes down his neck, reaching his chest; as well as the tips of his ears, which are also tinged crimson at your words.

"Are you sure? I can make you feel things, see things.... experience things beyond your wildest imaginations-" You cut him off, pouting.

"You already make me feel those things, Gale. Can't I have the man in front of me? I am no goddess, and you needn't seek my approval. You already have it." He nods, before taking your hands and pushing you forward so you're laying against the floor. His fingers link with yours and pull them above your head. You're panting, breasts heaving and grazing his own chest. His gaze trails from your features down to your neck, then further down to your chest.

"Gods. Seeing you in such a state makes me reconsider if I am truly cursed. You're ambrosial." His face goes to your neck, peppering kisses and licks up and down. You moan again, your arousal climbing higher. Your hips begin to grind the air, praying for solace, pleading for his touch. He bites down on you, blunt teeth tickling your skin. You gasp out, back arching so your bodies are fully touching.

"Please, please Gale." You whimper, eyes closed and lips parted.

"What do you need, my love?" He asks you huskily, still licking and kissing your neck.

"I need you." You wail out, eyes watering from his teasing.

"Not as much as I need you, my sweet." With a wave of his hand, both your clothes dissipate. His eyes wander, admiring your body. Your hands go to his chest, caressing the hair there. For a moment, your fingers hover over the tattoo, before touching it with such gentleness. He exhales at your touch, eyes closing while your hands wander. Your hands go to his shoulders where they caress the tense muscle there. He smiles before opening his eyes, adoration shining in them.

"You are a goddess." You squirm under his words, blushing deeply. His hands start to caress the sides of your torso, going up to your breasts. His thumbs start rubbing against your peaks, the rough texture of his fingers making you whimper. Your hands squeeze his shoulders, as you look at him pleadingly.

"Gale, don't tease me." His eyes glace up to your face, as he lowers himself closer to your chest.

"Don't worry my sweet sorcerer, I'll make sure this night is magical." His lips take in one of your nipples, as he begins to suck and bite. You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. As he worships your nipple, his other hand begins to play roughly with the other one. His empty hand waves, and a mage hand appears and takes both your wrists in its mystical grasp, placing them above your head like Gale had done moments before. He moves to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

You whimper under his actions, panting and arching into him. One of his hands trails down to the apex of your thighs, and begins to caress your core. You exhale loudly through your nose as you bite your lip, groaning. He comes off of your chest with a pop! and grins at you.

"My sweet, are you this wet for me? Can't wait to spread you open and taste you for myself-" His hands spread your legs as far as you can go, as he lowers down. You feel his breathe on your core. For a moment, nothing happens, but then he summons two more mage hands to hold your thighs open as he begins to taste you.

His tongue licks the side of your thighs, as he places open mouthed kisses on your hot skin. He does this for a minute, just worshipping your skin, and then he licks up your core. He moans into you as he tastes your slick, eyes closing.

"Ambrosial, just as I suspected-" He opens his eyes and looks at you as you watch him attentively. "I can't wait to taste you until I bring you to other planes of existence." He attacks your pussy with fervor, licking and prodding at you. His ambidextrous tongue works wonders on you, he spreads you open further with his fingers, as he brings his tongue into you. You gasp at the intrusion, hands struggling against the grip of the mage hand, wishing to push him further into you. As he continues to taste you, his concentration wavers and the mage hands dissipate. Your hands latch into his dark curly locks, tugging at him as you continuously plea don't stop. He chuckles into your skin, as he pulls away.

"I won't stop worshipping you until the end of the night, my beloved. I promised you magic, and you'll take it like a good girl." You whimper at his words, slick leaving you. He licks it up from the source, moaning into your skin. As he goes to take your clit into his mouth, two of his thick fingers caress at your entrance before going in to the hilt and curling upwards. You caterwaul at the attention, hands gripping his locks tighter. He licks and sucks at your clit, fingers pistoning in and out of you. You feel your nirvana quickly approaching.

"G-Gale I'm close, so so close. Please-" You beg him, eyes closed. He hums against your clit as he curls his fingers curve upwards. You've hit your peak, back arching into the sky and thighs tightening against his head. You see explosions of colours behind your eyelids, and your body is weightless for many moments. As you come back from your high, you open your eyes to see Gale admiring your face; his fingers lazily pumping into you. You clench around his fingers as you pant, eyes still unfocused.

"O-oh-" You whisper, head hitting the floor as you close your eyes to try to get your bearings. Gale chuckles at you as he removes his fingers from you, tasting your spend on his skin. As your breathing gets back to normal, you open your eyes again to gaze at Gale.

"I want to please you-" He cuts you off, picking you up off the floor with relative ease and depositing you onto the bed.

"If you do that I know I will not be able to please you as long as I'd like." He tells you honestly as he licks his lips. You surge forward, capturing his mouth against yours. You can still taste yourself on his tongue, and it excites you further. Your legs lock around his waist and pull him into you, his cockhead bumping into your clit. You split from each other, admiring one another.

"Take what you want from me, Gale of Waterdeep." He moans at your words, and grasps his cock in his hand.

"You don't know how you affect me, (Y/N). Your words, your scent, your taste. I can't wait to take you and make you mine." As he speaks, he thrusts into you in one quick motion, bottoming out inside of you. You both gasp, the connection unlike any other you had ever experienced in your life.

"Please make me yours Gale. I'll be anything you want, do anything you want. Just make me yours." He begins to thrust into you, his pace rough and deep. He continues to hit that spot, and you feel your orgasm coming again.

"I'm s-so close." You whisper into his ear, kissing the side of his face. He turns and pulls you back into a passionate kiss. He pulls your legs over his shoulders, and you feel his tip kiss your cervix. You gasp against his lips, panting.

"That's right, sweetheart. Let go-" His words bring you to your crest, and you babble as your brain short circuits. As you reach your peak, he does as well, moaning out your name against the column of your neck. His hips stutter to a stop as he releases inside of you, the clenching of your pussy too much for him. He collapses onto you, kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings to you. After a moment, you pull him into a gentle kiss, savouring the moment with him.

"You are perfect." He whispers to you as you part. Your hand caresses the side of his face.

"You are the perfect one. I hope I can spend the rest of this journey reminding you." You tell him softly. He closes his eyes, smiling at your words.

"How can I ever consider myself less than when I am in your embrace?" You blush, pulling him into a hug. After a moment, he gets up, getting a cloth to clean your mixed spend from between your thighs. Once he deems you clean, he lays back down next to you. You spend the rest of the night cuddling, hushed words of love and appreciation to one another.

The End.

#fanfic #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #smut #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale my beloved #bg3 #angst with a happy ending #light angst #gale x sorcerer!reader #gale / reader

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rise-my-angel · 10 months

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

Scattered Memories of the Starks

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

Length: 18.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, life threanting child illnesses, references to masturbation, alcohol consumption, rigid/restrictive self imposed view of female sexual behavior, mention of character deaths, smut, explicit sexual descriptions

Notes: Just an interesting peek into four specific past events/time periods with the reader, from the various POV's of Jon, Ned, and Robb. Series Masterlist Here

Of all Robert's brothers, Eddard Stark would say he knew Stannis Baratheon the least in a personal sense. He had nothing against him, on the contrary. Robert gave no praise or a shred of thanks for it, but the middle Baratheon brother had spent the entire Rebellion with a tough resolve which few men could handle. For many, war was easy. They all knew how to fight, how to kill, but it took something else of a man to handle what he had.

It was a direct result of the only defeat their side of the rebellion ever had. The Battle of Ashford. Robert had moved his forces to the western border of the Stormlands to march on Ashford, right on the edge of the Reach and it was a risky move. Stannis had been ordered to hold Storm's End, but he warned his brother that taking his forces so far west so soon was a mistake. That he should instead march North and join Ned's own forces along with the knights of the Vale led by Jon Arryn. But he didn't listen, and Randyll Tarly defeated him.

The result however, was catastrophic yet necessary in a way that Robert never quite appreciated. His defeat meant that it left the Stormlands open to be invaded by Targaryean loyalists. Mace Tyrell commanded his men to besiege Storms End, thinking taking it would crush Robert's morale.

But what they could not crush, was the determination of Stannis Baratheon.

They surrounded the ancestral seat of House Baratheon for an entire year, and it would not end, even after Aerys Targaryean was dead. Stannis refused to yield like few would. Ned had mostly heard much of this from Renly, only a boy of six when it happened. A year they spent running out of things to resort to eating. Eventually they turned to getting creative, trying to find anyway to make something edible be it from anything before turning to the worst. Barley managing to feed his starving wife and little brother on the rare occasion Stannis could shoot whatever bird passed the beach from a bow.

Renly as Ned recalled, talked in great detail that Robert had insisted must be exaggerated, that as they would desperately be shooting seagulls down one at a time to keep from starving, while the Tyrell army of many tens of thousands, would feast in full view of the castle with the voluminous amount of food supplied by the Reach. By the time Ned had arrived with his forces, he had long since left the capitol on his own. The Mad King was dead, Kings Landing was under Roberts control, and Rhaegar Targaryean had been killed at the Trident as well.

Mace Tyrell gave no fight to the Northern army and submitted right away. It was a brutal way to spend the war, and yet Ned knew even if Robert wouldn't say it, that Stannis's ability to so determinedly hold Storms End was of vital importance to their side of the war. It tied down most of the Tyrell army for most of the war, which took such a large amount of strong numbers away from the remaining Targaryean loyalists. And he had only done so, with only five hundred men.

He knew bitter feelings were left towards him over it. But Ned knew why. He wasn't deaf to the stories boasted about the battles. What the victory on the Trident looked like, what the sack of Kings Landing was like, but there was no great battle in Storms End. But Ned more then any of them knew that if Stannis Baratheon had not held the castle the entire time, or given up at the last minute, Neds forces would have been overrun. Robert's and Jon Arryn's forces would have been overrun.

Perhaps he thought as well, if Robert had done his brother the fair thing and given him Storms End as was his right, maybe Ned wouldn't have sat there in his study that afternoon, shocked that the middle brother had even anything to say to him.

Robert had Stannis take his fleet to Dragonstone where Aery's second son, now remaining heir, Viserys, had been with his mother. Rhaella passed giving birth to a daughter and at word of their families defeat, a small few had smuggled the Targaryean children to Essos.

They had fled before Stannis was even given orders, but Robert was so enraged he blamed Stannis all the same. He gave Storms End to Renly, and gave the now unclaimed Dragonstone to Stannis. Ned would think, perhaps if he was given the seat he had all rights too, maybe he wouldn't look back on Ned lifting the siege in such a bitter light.

So, imagine Eddard Stark's surprise at a raven from the man, explaining that his only child did not have the proper resources available to them on Dragonstone, to give them the education Stannis wanted for them. He appreciated how blunt he was in his choice of words, that while he knows the two men were not anything close to well acquainted, he respects his abilities as a commander and a leader, and saw little other choice to send his firstborn heir to learn from.

Now, that wasn't unusual. Many highborns were sent to serve as wards to other noble Houses, Ned himself had spent half of his life being raised in The Eyire with Robert. Jon Arryn was to that day, a man who had always been as good as a father to him. What wasn't normal, was sending your daughters for that very same idea. Though, he wouldn't say he thought it was a bad one.

Stannis had only one child, a daughter of eight, and it seemed he was intending on giving her the education of any lord. Likely considering the implication as Maester Luwin had pointed out, it's possible he could be preparing for the case in which his wife may not be able to give him any other children. So he wanted his only child, girl or boy, to prepare to be his proper heir. Which was how they ended up going back and forth for a number of weeks going into detail as to what to expect.

If he were to think about it in retrospective, it might have struck Ned as amusing that his sons first reaction to the news was mostly indifference. Not that they didn't care, both of them did, but he imagined for the weeks leading up to that day, he knew they likely barley thought of it until the Starks begun preparing. He didn't blame them of course.

Robb and Jon both were ten, what else did boys of ten have to care about when they had as much energy as the two of them combined held. But then the day came that you arrived. A small girl even at eight years old, you stood notably shorter then his sons. And you were rather small and said very little other then your clearly practiced curtsy of greeting.

Only a number of household guard was with you, as one of them, a younger man by the name of Allard had explained in delicate manner that you might take a bit to feel comfortable. Explaining that it had been horrible coincidence that the day you were set to sail to White Harbour, was only a day away from the same night your mother, Selyse, had lost her second boy in the womb and you might be hesitant about being here after that so soon.

Ned recalled how you were deathly quiet, eyes wide and as overwhelmed as you were scared. Turning to Allard before he left as if wanting to ask him to stay. The young man had knelt down to your level, quietly telling you, “You're allowed to be scared, tiny doe. New places are always scary. First time I sailed east, my father and I almost got beheaded by a first sword of Bravvos. But now I have friends and ladies always begging for my return.” Rather then a scared look, Ned found it striking how much like your father and uncle your narrow eyed scowl became when the man added, “I'm fairly certain Northerners aren't quite as dramatic as that.”

You hadn't been there for long, when at one point when Ned's attention was needed elsewhere. He had you stay in the training yard while he went to fetch his wife to take over for him. He did however, remember turning to check on you once more time only to notice someone else instead.

And Ned had come close to a smirk right away, realizing what look a certain son of his, had on his face.

If Jon Snow had thought it would be an uneventful day, he had not a clue how wrong he was about to be. He and Robb both were aware Lord Stannis's daughter was set to arrive but they were kept busy in the training yard like usual. The brothers going back and forth between playful and competitive as Ser Rodrick would have to keep them on track sometimes when they forgot they were supposed to be having lessons, not play fighting.

His back to that part of the yard, not realizing when anyone had come through until he noticed Robb's attention getting diverted somewhere behind him. Lowering his sparring sword he nodded somewhat in that direction, “I think the Baratheon girl is here.”

Jon knew he likely was trying to distract him, so he only intended to look briefly just to see when he turned partially around. His grey eyes going from narrowed to wide and bright as he almost instantly looked again as soon as he tried to turn back to Robb. By one of the tables closer to the archery range, you stood mostly on your own next to Jory.

Hair long and dark, but he noticed your eyes right away. They were such a beautiful shade of green and they were so bright, but he could tell there was a lot of nervousness behind them. Your posture stood mostly curled in on itself, glancing around as your hands wrung together in front of you like a anxious tick. You were short and small, and despite your best efforts not to, you stood out in the yard. At least to Jon you did.

Wracking his brain trying to figure out if he could remember your name he had suddenly sensed something behind him. Barley turning with a duck in time as he glared at Robb, who looked at him incredulously. “Did you forget about not turning your back on your enemy, Snow?”

Moving quick, the two danced around the other for a few hits as Jon grunted out between swipes, “I'm not the one trying to distract his opponent, beacuse I can't hit him otherwise, Stark.”

Lucky for them, Ser Rodrick could see that the two of them were getting too distracted to focus properly. Sharing a glance with his nephew, Jory who was the one making sure you weren't left entirely alone, the two Cassel's clearly read the others intentions. “Alright you two, pack it up for the time being. Go act a couple of proper lads and greet the poor girl.”

Both of them moved quickly, Robb mostly seemed calm as usual but as Jon put his sword away he started to feel his heart race a little. Glancing back at you, still you had a nervous, lonely look in your eye but the boy too felt dizzy. As he and Robb crossed the yard, Jon felt like he wanted to throw up, he was going to have to live with you in his home for the next number of months. Which was making him nervous on his own.

Beacuse Jon was fairly sure, you were the prettiest thing he'd ever seen.

You were quiet, and oh so polite. A very small shy smile and a proper curtsy, as you introduced yourself first. His brother had it easy, introducing himself right back as Jon stood beside him, suddenly wishing he were anywhere else. Hoping if he didn't say anything, he wouldn't have to ruin everything before it started. Thinking if he remained silent, you would assume he was no one important, but of course not.

You looked at him quiet for a moment before you glanced to nothing at the side, Jon not realizing he may have been coming off as rude instead of nervous. Robb nudged him in the side, causing the spell to break and Jon whipped his head to the side to glare at him. “She asked your name.”

But he realized why Robb wanted his attention, and he has grateful beyond belief for his brother. He knew exactly what he was about to be shy over. A silent ask whether or not he wanted Robb to just introduce him as his brother alone, but Jon knew you'd figure it out eventually. He may as well get it all over with now. Meeting your now curious eyes, muttering low, “Jon Snow.”

For a moment, he was confused. Beacuse you didn't react, or do anything or even shift your expression slightly. You just glanced between him and Robb before innocently asking, “Lord Stark's other son, or am I mistaken? My father said he has two.”

Nodding his head, he didn't get a chance to hear you say anything else. Both boys attention noticing Lady Catelyn coming that way, and truthfully, Jon didn't want to deal with that in front of the pretty girl he had just met. Looking awkwardly between you and Robb, Jon turned to make his leave just as he could hear her quietly introducing herself to you.

As Jon returned his focus elsewhere, he spared one last glance as you followed Lady Catelyn so she could show you around the castle. Only briefly did you catch his eye as you looked around again, and it was the first time Jon saw that soft little smile that you for years, only ever wore for him.

It didn't really clue in for him right in that moment, but in truth Jon had spent the rest of the day thinking about you. He didn't have the words of what a crush was right away, but as it turned out he had far too much time only hours later to begin considering it.

Proper meals were hit or miss for Jon. Some days it was fine, he and Robb paid mostly attention to the other and he didn't have to worry. Other days he would feel as if Lady Catelyn was eyeing everything he did or said to find something to call him out on. Were she to have it her way, Jon wouldn't even have a place at their table during normal meals, but his father wanted him there and Robb certainly would be the most vocal about arguing against it.

He couldn't help but wonder if having another person there would make it easier or harder. By the time both boys arrived though, Jon worried that maybe you changed your mind. You barley looked at him, and didn't speak to him but it wasn't until halfway into the meal did they all notice you were particularly quiet.

Barley having touched your food at all, your eye seemed trained on the wood of the table as if you couldn't keep your focus on anything more. Lady Catelyn had spent most of her time ignoring Jon and keeping an eye on how inward you acting. Gently having to call your name twice before you blinked, coming back to the world and looking up at her, then to the others. All of them watching with some degree of curious that had you looked away, swallowing hard with nerves.

Trying to quietly get you to speak up, she had asked you “Getting used to the food in a new place can be difficult at first. Is there something else we can find for you?”

Your head shot up, shaking fervently in a no with wide eyes. “Everything is lovely, my lady.” They all doubted that if to judge by the three bites in total you had taken, but biting your lip in thought before quietly looking between her and Lord Stark in a gentle tone, “I mean no offence, I am just not hungry though.” Once more your eyes flickered away before finding Lord Starks. “Would it be alright if I lay down for a little while?”

Speaking right away, Ned had no issues. “You've had a busy day, of course it's alright.” Turning to Robb, their father nodded in your direction, “Robb if you could show her to her room.”

Robb had begun standing up, and the chatter around the table was just enough that no one noticed until it was too late. No one noticed something was wrong until you had collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Every one of them that shot up from their own seats by then, a shock on their faces but it was his father who was the quickest to move. Catelyn and the boys watching from their spots now standing as he knelt down to look you over.

“Is she-”

As soon as Catelyn had tried to ask him something, Jon knew something was very wrong. His fathers eyes were wide, mouth more agape as if unable to choose between too many emotions and far more worry then he'd ever seen personally. Interrupting his wife with just as a rough but urgent tone. “Go get Maester Luwin.”

Catelyn tried asking again out of genuine concern, but he lost patience by the second as he checked on you, raising his voice. “I need him now, Cat.” Turning to his sons with just a short but urgent instructions, “Robb go with your mother, and bring him to the room we set up for her. Jon, come with me.”

No one had any room left for questions, his father easily picking you up and holding you close as they went their separate ways. Each time he glanced at you, Jon could see you looked worse and worse by the second and that panic in him built up quickly.

Helping his father with laying you down on the bed carefully, his father ran a hand over your forehead again, the sweat accumulating as if he had sat you next to a bonfire. “Open the windows.” Even with the cold breeze of night flying in, both stood there realizing it didn't seem to do a thing.

His voice very quiet asking what was it, and his fathers answer didn't make him feel better. A low tone that was more concerned then he'd ever heard before. Shaking his head somewhat confused still as he did so, “She's burning up by the minute. Go get me water and a cloth, now.”

Everyone was quiet as Luwin looked you over. His own face twisting into a worry as the rest of them could only stand there and wait. Jon and Robb both looked at the other, neither boy liking how helpless they felt. His father had come to your side as well to help Luwin with something and the two gave the other a significant glance.

By the time anyone spoke properly, Luwin turned to both Stark parents with a morose look on his face that worried all. “I would only be able to guess she has had this fever for days without telling anyone. An illness rarely gets to be this bad in only a manner of hours.”

You had yet to wake up. Ned standing still close to your bedside with a narrowed expression asking, “How bad do you mean?”

If they initially thought keeping it between them was a better option, Luwin decided against it. A sorrow in his tone as he looked almost apologetic as he muttered quietly. “I would suggest preparing a raven to send to Lord Stannis.” Glancing back at you then Ned, “One that can be sent out at a moment's notice.”

The dread in that room was something else, this had gone to something so serious it was deadly so suddenly. Lady Catelyn was quiet but a weight in her tone that was trying to hold a lot back. “What can we do?”

Luwin looked over you again, still not even a hint of waking up as he laid a back back on your forehead to feel the same heat. “At this stage there isn't much we can do but wait and hope she wakes up.” Her repeating the word hope with a concern, Luwin nodded grimly. “Whatever illness she's caught, it is advanced passed preventing something worse. Right now we can only watch to see if she makes it through the night, and the next few if lucky.”

The boys both looked at each other once more, neither doing a good job at hiding their fear as they knew on the others face already. They were worried it was their fault for not realizing you weren't feeling well when they had met you. Not that it was, but they were two boys of ten stuck in a scary situation they couldn't control.

“Someone will need to watch her at all times, the moment something changes I will need to know about it.” In an instant, Luwin, his father, and Lady Catelyn had all begun discussing their own duties and times to work around. Jon once more looked at Robb, following then his eyeline to you laying there as the adults debated who should give what up when.

Thinking to himself, maybe it would've been more prudent to let Robb say it first. He was the eldest, the trueborn son and such a task made sense and he clearly was about to speak up, but while Jon felt the same pull, he also looked at you intently, and something he didn't understand still tugged at his heart.

Like he truly couldn't leave this room when you were like that. So before anyone made any firm decision, Jon raised his voice loud enough to break through the noise. “I'll do it.” Silence fell over the room as did the eyes that all turned to him. The nerves ran somewhat ragged in his blood, but Jon swallowed that all down and looked between his father and Maester Luwin with what he hoped was confidence. “Somebody needs to watch her, right? It's already late, I can take care of her.”

If he was trying to focus on his father, Jon regretted the quick glance his eyes took towards Lady Catelyn as she looked at him. Or glared, to be more accurate. Eyes sharp and dark and her expression twisted into a disapproving frown as if he was some criminal ready to violate you the moment Jon was alone.

His father asking, “Are you sure, Jon?”

Thankfully, he felt more confident in his nod. Another didn't. “Ned.” Her voice as as disapproving as her glare. “She should be watched by someone who knows what they are doing, leaving it to a-”

But he interrupted his wife without malice, but with an ease. “Jon is ten, Cat. Not four. We all have things to attend to, and Jon would only be missing time in the training yard for now.” Looking to Luwin without waiting for any response, he was more focused then before, beckoning Jon to step further into the room with him. “You follow everything Maester Luwin says, alright?”

Bless Robb's young heart, hadn't quite caught that it wasn't one of the boys watching you she disapproved of, it was just the boy being Jon. Coming up to her, putting a comforting arm around his mothers side as it to pull her into a partial hug, as he watched you with as much tense concern as Jon.

Maester Luwin had gently walked Jon through the things he required him to watch for, to pay attention to, and what to do for you to ensure your fever didn't burn you up too much in your sleep. “Any change in those, I need you to come tell me about right away. It's vital we monitor her closely the next number of nights.” Jon moved right near your bedside and though he could feel the cold air from the windows, he too could see the sweat dampening your hair all on your own.

His father had leaned down to him, “I'll come check on you later, alright? Take good care of her.”

Jon didn't look back at his father when he nodded, but just when he thought he was about to be alone, did he feel eyes. Slowly, turning halfway to look at the doorway was her glare. Lady Catelyn stood there looking like something sat right on the tip of her tongue that no doubt would've made Jon feel even worse, but she glanced more softly at you. Her final glare to him less hostile before she made her leave without a word.

The older both of them got, the more Catelyn stopped withholding her spiteful comments towards him in private.

Jon hadn't diverted his focus even once. The way in which Maester Luwin had implied you might not survive the night, terrified him. Every few minutes he would check everything he was told to, and then tell himself as soon as he sat back down, not to get up and check it all again right away. Part of him didn't understand why he cared so much.

He didn't know you, you had barley said six words to him. The daughter of some lord Jon didn't know, but here he sat, too scared to look away in case you would die the moment he did. Didn't even bother getting up to find something warm to wear from the night wind, focusing only on whether or not the fur atop you was too warm and moving to leave the thinner sheets on instead, hoping it would ease your temperature.

It wasn't until many hours had passed, and likely much of the castle either sleeping or trying to sleep did he think more of it. Grey eyes painting over with something disappointed at the thought. That little smile you gave him across the training yard. No one ever looked at him so sweetly. Not that many girls around cared about spending much time with the bastard boy when the heir to Winterfell was always right there, but he never interacted with a girl that way.

Many would hear his name, and stop caring. You didn't even react when he told you he was a Snow and simply asked if he was the second son of Eddard Stark you heard about. No questions or wonders, just an easy clarification before giving him that soft smile.

Something in him started to worry, if you woke up now would you be uncomfortable that he was taking care of you on his own? Or worse, think that he was trying to make up for his surname by doing something to impress you? Would you think him pathetic if you knew he was hoping you'd wake up and he could have that smile again?

By the time the moon was directly over the lands of Winterfell, it dawned on him that this must have been what a crush on a girl felt like. To constantly think about them in a way that made him feel both warm and somewhat embarrassed. He couldn't have a crush on you, you were supposed to be here for months how was he supposed to handle that? What if you never woke up and his only crush on a girl was on a dying one?

On the chair beside your bed, Jons forearms rested on his knees as he leaned as close as he could to get a better angle to make sure even if he couldn't hear your quiet breathing, he could see it. Focused enough he didn't even hear the quiet footsteps coming down the hallway or the figure peeking in watchfully at the open door.

Ned knew out of his two sons, one of them was a bit more sensitive then the other. That wasn't to say Robb was insensitive, just that Jon was the one who felt things more. He felt things more intensely, and much more raw and he wasn't yet good at hiding that on his face. He wore his heart on his sleeve, even though he knew he tried to hide that fact.

It used to scare him. A lot about Jon used to scare him. The man was sure he aged decades in Jons first few years of life. Doing what Jon was doing now, watching intently only for a vastly different reason. His third nameday passed and Ned finally had come to ease up about certain aspects. The fear of what he might look like had gone away.

Then only to be replaced by the fear of who he would take after. Jon struggled with controlling his emotions more then Robb did when they were still young. Never out of control, but clearly Jon took to negative things harder then his brother and it used to be the new thing that scared Ned.

He didn't know much about the man and he didn't want to. But what he did know, he was terrified in ever seeing in Jon. But Northerners were not men said to be weak willed, and him being the one to raise him was doing better for Jon then Ned once feared. Certain parts still worried him, and as he leaned against the door frame, watching his son never take his eyes off the poor, feverish girl, unconscious in her bed, did Ned briefly see it.

Not in a thousand lifetimes would Ned ever use love to describe anything that man had directed towards Jons mother, but perhaps obsession was. Sometimes he pushed it away so deep that he never came close to thinking about any of it. But other times like that moment, Ned watched Jon and was trying to figure out what was simply a result of the life Ned raised him in, and what was something he couldn't control.

He trusted Jon to take care of you, he loved and trusted his son with all his heart. And it was nothing but a genuine worry and affection he watched you with, but it was an intense way he refused to look away that felt like obsession. Even if the boy didn't understand that.

It was one of the few times Ned Stark wondered, just how much of his father had Jon Snow truly inherited?

It was the third morning in a row the Stark parents were alone to break their fast. Normally, it was nice. The quiet between them left Ned and Catelyn the free time to enjoy the others company the way they liked, while somewhere outside in the training yard they could hear Robb and Jon both yelling at the top of their lungs with far too much energy.

But, it was silent. Those who worked around the castle were silent, the guards of his home were silent, and so were they. Ned knew Cat was first more on the side of grateful that Jon was missing more meals then normal. He was never comfortable with his wife's attitude towards Jon, but it was safer then the alternative of truth. It had been ten years since he brought that black haired, grey eyed baby boy home from war and they had simply agreed to speak little of Cat's negative views of her husbands bastard.

It was however, odd that in the silence, Robb wasn't there either. The first few mornings, they had assumed he wasn't in the mood for it, which he wasn't. Robb's lessons for two days, were ended rather early as he could barley concentrate. But then that morning he still wasn't there.

Asking Jory where his son had snuck off too, he had responded with ease of “Went to the kitchens early, brought something over to Jon to eat while Robb watches the poor lass. Was there yesterday morning too, not sure either of them have even slept the past few nights.”

Once more, Ned said not a word of the conflict in Catelyn's eyes as long as she didn't say it. It was the truth in the only ways that ever would matter for good, Jon was his son and he didn't appreciate her hostility being spoken behind his back as if Ned agreed. He was however, much more relieved at his plaguing thoughts of his son, knowing that clearly, his other son was as worried as Jon even if he was better at not showing it.

“Robb should take over.” Ned said his wife's name in warning, but she insisted in a more genuine tone of voice. “It's been days, if it goes on much longer someone will have to watch her instead, regardless. We should let Robb have that responsibility for a while.”

Shaking his head, Ned reached for a drink with not an unkind dismissal. “Jon is doing just fine, if he wants to take care of the girl, so be it.” His wife claiming he should be sharing his responsibilities when Ned shut the rest of the debate down, “Let him have this, Cat. He wants to do it, let him do it.”

Both unaware that Robb had been listening with a narrowed brow in frustration. Not wanting his mother to look badly on his brother, when Robb knew there was nothing wrong with what Jon was doing. Maybe if he did take over for a bit, his mother would be easier on Jon when he inevitably took back over.

“I'm not a moron, Snow.”

Jon tried and failed to not roll his eyes. He wasn't actually annoyed, but he hadn't slept for more then a few hours in three days. His eyes were dark, even beyond the dark grey inside them, and he was irritable more then usual. He had really only let himself sleep a bit when Robb was with him. Normally, it was entirely an accident. Jons head would be propped up on his palm while his elbow was leaning against something and he'd jolt back awake minutes later. Looking between his brother and you before standing up to check on everything all over again.

They were currently debating on whether or not Jon should go up to his room and sleep properly for a while, and Jon would argue that he didn't want to be away if something bad happened. Robb, who wasn't quite as well slept as he pretended to be, would throw back the insinuation asking if he was assuming Robb didn't know how to care for one sick girl. Leading to the debate right now.

Hoping he wasn't coming off as some creep the way he kept insisting he be the one to watch over you himself. And even more hopeful, that Robb had bought the story that one of the maids had done it for you, when his brother asked when your hair had been braided.

He didn't need to know, that in Jon wanting to get your now sweat dampened, messy hair from making you uncomfortable, he had spent an hour figuring out how to do a proper braid in the middle of the night. Three nights and three days had passed since you fell unconscious and Jon had fully accepted what he was feeling.

Because the feeling in his chest, matched far too close with the look of love in his fathers eyes when looking at his own wife. Jon didn't need you to wake up for that, he just wanted you to wake up so he could know you properly by now. Your fever had begun to go down, and significantly over the course of that morning did you begun to cool off enough that Jon closed the windows finally.

At some point, Maester Luwin estimated you would awake sometime in a day or two, and Jon now knew that he wanted to get to know you. Wanted to befriend you, because he needed to be sure the pretty girl he was in love with, at least liked him in a way that mattered.

Jon wondered if the old gods had been listening to him, because it was not much later when Lady Catelyn and Maester Luwin had come to check on you did you begin to wake up. The boys kicked out of the room to not overwhelm you, and he still wouldn't see you until the next morning when she led you gently down to have something to eat with them.

You were even quieter then before, wrapped up in a thick, warm shall and looked rather nervous around them all, but that didn't go away for almost a month for everyone.

He felt terribly guilty about it. He was a teenage boy, it was normal, but he felt as if he was somehow in the wrong for doing it.

It all stemmed from how your last letter had been sitting on Jon's desk in his chambers for nearly a month and he still hadn't sent anything back. That wasn't the case with Robb, he knew the two of you still wrote one another like normal. But Jon let that last letter sit there, every now and again telling himself he would finally do something about it, but he would get as far as picking it up before changing his mind. He hadn't even read it yet at that point.

You had only been gone a little over four months but a lot had happened in that time, especially for you he had known. You returned home earlier then planned in order to be there when your mother went into labor. It hurt seeing you go sooner then Jon was ready but he understood that, other then you, she had never made it this far with another pregnancy and it was looking more and more like you would finally have a sibling all of your own.

Finally, only a fortnight after you left, your mother had given birth to a baby girl. He remembered thinking it was fitting you had a sister now. His two baby sisters were still quite young, and they had both taken their fair share attaching themselves to you like their own big sister. You would be perfectly ready to take care of one.

Around the same span of weeks, the Iron Islands had declared themselves as an independent kingdom once more, and a rebellion had begun against them and the crown. Taking both of your fathers away from you and Jon, as they left to fight that war.

Short it was, lasting but two months before they were able to sail to Pyke and after a siege, forced Balon Greyjoy to surrender. His other sons had been killed in the battle, and his brothers Victarion and Euron had been utterly defeated in battle at sea by Stannis Baratheon's fleet. The terms of their surrender in exchange for peace, was in part, the agreement that Balon's last living son was to taken by the Crown. Technically as prisoner, serving by action as ward.

Which was how Theon Greyjoy came into their lives. Serving in the North under Eddard Stark was the better option, not that the Ironborn would say it. He was struggling to get used to his new circumstances, but Jon and Robb were trying to make the best of it. Hoping at least if the Greyjoy found something of a friend in either of them, maybe he'd settle down. That seemed like the worst of it was over.

Until another raven had come. And it was that, which ultimately led to the guilt Jon sat with now in his chambers, far too late at night to be awake still.

Only months after her birth, your new sister Shireen, had somehow contracted a disease known as Greyscale. The entire island of Dragonstone was suddenly closed off and sealed to the world as everyone knew how bad it was. By the time his father sat he and Robb down about it, he had to be realistic about what he told them.

Saying it was possible by now it could have spread to the entire castle. Thus nothing was to go in or out of Dragonstone. No trade, ships, ravens, nothing. They had no idea if you were alright, and it hurt one more then the rest. Robb was upset and angry but he kept calm when not in private in order not to startle his younger siblings, who as of then, didn't quite understand the gravity of the disease being said was in your home.

But Jon? It wasn't good. He had no idea what to do about his feelings as it was, but this helplessness and not even knowing if you were safe, he hated it. Jon was in a bad mood all the time, he was irritable and short in temper.

It was the first time Jon was realizing, his feelings for you had grown out of an innocent childishness between two friends. He thought of you all the time, and he only got angrier everytime he remembered he couldn't even send you a raven telling you he hoped you were alright. Spent a lot of time in the training yard for the next number of weeks, trying to spend that energy on something but at night in the quiet? There was no distracting Jon from the frustrating degree to which he was undoubtedly in love with you.

Robb would find Jon wanted to spend more and more time distracting himself with anything, and more of his days ended up being spent arguing back with Lady Catelyn then ignoring her spite. It was a rough time, and he was pretty sure she despised him once he started letting his temper out more when she was rude or hostile. He didn't feel good about it, and he was never like that with his fathers wife after it had all settled, but it stuck out in her mind and didn't let it go.

Jon didn't know what to do, but he didn't want to tell anyone about his feelings for you. Beacuse with realizing his feelings were much more grown up now, came the understanding that he could never do anything about it. You were a highborn girl, born to the brother of the King. You were part of the royal family and Jon was just a bastard from the North.

It bothered him before, sure. But it wasn't until those days did it truly hit Jon that being with you would never happen. So by the time everything simmered down? He got your first letter in months, and Jon still hadn't opened it. He didn't know what to say.

He knew Shireen's life had been saved, he knew Robert Baratheon had come to Dragonstone to implore his brother he no longer wanted him to serve from there, and that he was of far more use living in the capitol. Jon knew your father had moved you to Kings Landing with him by then. But Jon only knew those things, because of what was said in your letters with Robb.

Jon didn't know what your letter said, but if he read it, then he'd feel compelled to respond to it. Which was the problem. You had been through a lot that made you vastly more mature then girls Jon knew that were your age, but you were also slightly younger then him and thus it made your innocence a lot more important to him. If by some miracle he thought, if you ended up developing anything close to feelings for him, Jon knew his would be different then yours.

He didn't know how to deal with it. He never had a crush before you, and he's never had any eyes for anyone that wasn't you since. It was always you, and Jon had no idea what to do about it all.

You were Jon's best friend. His beautiful, sweet, smart, but incredibly innocent best friend. There was no chance you had even a slight inkling of any physical feelings like that, and Jon wasn't even sure if you really understood what sex even was by that point. It used to be funny to tease you about it, but now it wasn't funny to think about. You deserved to be thought of in a better manner by your best friend, but the way Jon both avoided you and failed at avoiding certain ways of thinking about you was not what you deserved.

By the time you had been in Kings Landing for over a month, Jon still let that letter sit on his desk. Watching Robb answer the more he got, and you wouldn't send him anything. Jon knew you didn't want to send him anything if he didn't want to reply, worrying you'd be pestering him. So he just let you think he was mad at you.

Maybe he thought in retrospective, Jon wouldn't have felt so guilty about all of this, if he could go back and just not have given in. But far too late at night, he finally found it in him to open your letter. He could hear your voice so clear in his head, see you, feel you. The ease in which you fit in his arms that night by the lake without ever thinking twice of his affection. If he asked Theon, he'd likely say it was normal and to just not care about doing it.

It wasn't something new to him, he was a teenage boy after all. But that night, it was the first time Jon got off thinking about you. It took him about another month after that night to write you a letter back, taking that long due to his sheer guilt over it. Then he got your reply so soon, as if you wrote a long letter in minutes and sent the raven off the second you read his letter, excited beyond anything to hear from him finally. And for Jon, the cycle of guilt started over again.

Jon hated having adult feelings for you. Beacuse he knew without any doubt, you were not thinking about Jon, in the same way he did you.

It was a massive risk what he was doing. He should know better, he was a man now, not a boy. Yet, he couldn't tell if it was having just enough wine in him to lower his judgment, or if you simply made him weak.

The four of you had taken advantage of being mostly alone in the castle as far as the Starks went. It wasn't often they all had time to themselves, but they always took advantage of it. Jon, Robb, Theon and you, had all been in the Greyjoy's chambers having far more to drink then they should have. Which in turn, resulted in Theon commenting that he didn't understand how you could keep up with them. “How's a child that small handle that much wine?”

Your face twisting as you threw something at him, “Since when is seventeen a child, Greyjoy? I recall hearing you in here doing an awful lot a child shouldn't when you were seventeen.”

Theon arguing back as Robb and Jon watched in a high degree of amusement between them. “I'm a Greyjoy. We leave the womb practically men already. You on the other hand, I'm amazed you even knew what I was doing in here. Aren't you as innocent as a septa at this point, surprised you even showed up tonight.”

Your answer was to move quicker then he expected, snatching his own wine and downing it in one go with not a blink or flinch. Before leaning back in your seat with a smirk of your own. “I'm a Baratheon, if we're good at two things, it's drinking, and yelling.”

That in turn as well, resulted in you and him having a competition, some sort of drinking challenge that was common amongst Ironborn. The two wolves ended up watching in great entertainment how much you and Theon tried to pretend you weren't as drunk as you both clearly had become. Robb and Jon both laughing that they were grateful they didn't put money on it, because to all three of their surprises, you had managed to put on a fairly composed face for just long enough that Theon relented.

Granting you the title of victor as Theon stumbled back into a drawer, Robb laughing as he yanked him up to at least settle him. “If you're going to pass out, least do it on your bed.”

Theon had barley laid down, eyes shut as he swore at you under his breath. You managing to get a steady laugh out at his expense before moving from the table. Only the second you stood up, clearly the world had spun you off your feet. Theon grumbling from where he lay, “Oh so they rush to save you, but let me fall on my ass.”

Jon had grabbed you before you fell to the ground, but being pulled back into him only made you laugh more. Jon being drunk enough that he found no ability or notice to the way he smiled and looked adoringly at how easily you let loose. Robb had grabbed your hands to pull you more on your own feet as Jon kept you steady. The elder wolf half turning back with a quickness to Theon, “That's because unlike you, her ass is pretty.” You grumbled telling him to shut up, as Robb nudged you back with a grin.

Eventually, the two of them had decided to split up. Robb staying to make sure Theon wasn't about to throw up in his sleep, as Jon would bring you back to your own chambers. The door behind him had only just closed when he took advantage of the empty hallway. Going from keeping you at his side, to scooping you up in his arms, your hands wrapping around the back of his neck with a laugh as you protested with his name falling from your lips to put you down.

Jon had no proper sense in the empty hall, despite who was so close behind that door. Turning to look at you, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a needing kiss before mumbling against them. “Shut up and let me enjoy you, Baratheon.” Kissing you once more before you rolled your eyes, leaning into him with a smirk but relenting.

Bringing you into your own chambers, Jon had gently laid you on your bed. “Stay there.” Moving about your room in a moment, tending to the fire in your room before closing the window still open from the day. You had pushed up on your palms to sit against the headboard up right, eyes narrow as Jon then sat on your bed, reaching for your boots to begin pulling them off.

Your voice was quiet, quieter then Jon assumed you thought you were being. “I can do this part myself, you know.”

Jon barley reacted, instead moving to gently pull off your outer layers, knowing you'd just sleep in them uncomfortable by that point if left on your own. “Just let me take care of you.” He knew you caught his playfully dismissive tone, even as light as your mind left you. Leaning back more comfortably, Jon knew he could feel your eyes on him, trying not to feel his own flustering smirk. “What?”

But it was as he looked up at you, did your eyes seek his out, painting nothing but gentle and soft as you found no will power to look away. Mumbling a bit, “Why are you so sweet to me?” Jon raised a questioning eyebrow as he slid closer on the bed more to where you sat, waiting for you to elaborate.

Hand reaching out, you grabbed one of his, gently playing and mindlessly toying with his own fingertips as you spoke, before letting it rest in your lap still holding the other. “No one's ever been as sweet or nice to me as you always are. I don't get it, even tonight I'm only being a drunk pest but here you are anyways.”

His hand reached up, cupping your cheek as his thumb ran over the soft skin, leaning forward to let you feel more of his own warmth, rasping quietly. “You're my drunk pest, only I get to put up with you like this.” Your face twisted in a jesting offence, so he moved to lean forward. Hovering just above your lips, waiting for you to be brave enough that night to kiss him first. But you exhaled shakily, and so for another day Jon closed the gap.

His hand slipping behind to cup the back of your neck to hold you closer, your hands gently found themselves resting on his shoulders, nails digging into the material, as you let him softly guide you. His own touch moving down to your waist, as you let him deepen the kiss, leaving a small bite on your bottom lip. But it was the gasp you let you, that caused him to do it again, and twice more before feeling bold and using that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, running against yours as he felt you both tense and reach a hand up to somewhat grasp at the edge of his neck where his curls sat almost instinctively.

Jon tilted your head up just enough that you had no choice but to meekly surrender control over to him, as he let his tongue brush yours. As if trying to convince you to be brave enough to explore him back, but Jon had known you were not the same as where he was about these things.

Sure his only experience was you, as yours was his. Maybe it was spending the past around five years growing from teenage boys to men with Robb and Theon, perhaps it was just the natural inclination being a man that made his mind more susceptible to thinking about you so physically. He'd been thinking about you like this since he was fourteen, and it was four years on did he even kiss you for the first time.

Jon had a lot of worked up need held in his system, but he knew the only physical things you knew much of at all, were limited. What Jon had explored with you so far, even if it was next to nothing significant. And he knew the noble girls you spent time around in Kings Landing spoke more candidly about certain things, but he didn't know what those were.

So he tried to keep you as innocent as you deserved. Only, as your other hand slipped down to run along his torso, it wound up sitting just low enough beyond his hipbone, and Jon felt that spark of need.

Losing himself for a moment, Jon surged forward. Kissing you more roughly, switching between bites that left your lips tingling and overwhelming you with how much he deepened it in between. There had been something in his mind the second he felt your palm sliding so low without realizing, something that made his cock stir. Climbing up onto the bed, you had no choice but to lay out flat as Jon hovered over you. His hand on your waist now pressed into the sheets beside you as was now the hand at the back of your head the other side. Your own now both at his waist as Jon felt more in control over top of you.

More and more he forgot to ease up. The more he kissed you, the more of your sighs and sounds, the high pitched need he would capture with his lips, the more Jon grew hard. Forgetting himself, forgetting what he would tell himself, that it was his responsibility to keep you innocent. Both a burning need to feel you more against him when so close this way, and something more instinct as Jon moved to grasp at your thigh. Holding tight he slightly shoved it wide before pulling up the skirt of your dress. Not enough he could see anything, but still you gasped.

And Jon once more let his tongue taste inside your mouth, moving enough so that he had the proper space to press more into you. He knew the very moment you felt his covered cock hard against you, as you made something akin to a needing moan of a sound deep in your throat. The wine had made you pliable to his need, and it had clouded just enough of his judgment that Jon started to grind his hard cock into you.

Thigh hoisted up onto his hip, Jon would lick and bite at your lips in the same instance he would rut into your core. Your hands reached for his shoulders and back arched up into his chest. Were he sober, Jon would've been able to tell you were far too nervous for this, but he struggled to hear that in his mind.

He rutted into you, growing harder against what he could tell was so warm between your legs, even through all the fabric. His mind was difficult to read for himself that you two were far too new for this. You hadn't been expecting this, he hadn't done anything like this to you before, and yet here he was with a low growl in his chest at how good you felt against him.

Once more a large, rough hand grasped at your jaw and side of your neck as he held your lips up his without chance of escape, as your hands found comfort in raking through his curls. He growled into your mouth as you let out a quiet whine before pulling back. Small strands of saliva breaking just as Jon rested his forehead against yours, hips moving perfectly against yours, as you looked unable to choose between peering up at him and keeping your eyes closed. The only sounds between you were heavy breathing and a restrained need in Jons low sounds of a growl.

Jon had no way of knowing, impossible for him to guess, but that burning and twisting feeling in your core, was actually something you didn't recognize. Didn't understand what you were feeling or if it was supposed to feel this way. The only understanding you had, was you were the woman, so you were supposed to just do what made the man feel good. Even though your heart raced and your mind felt confused with so much wine in your system, you tried to move against him because you wanted him to keep feeling what clearly felt this good for him.

Yet, as soon as you tried to move back against his hips in return, did Jon suddenly pull back. Kneeling up moreso between your still spread legs as you both panted to catch your breathe.

He looked down at you, the innocent confusion mixed with something overwhelmed in your eyes as you braced yourself up on your palms waiting for him to say something. But the more his gaze trailed down your body, the more he sobered up and the worse he felt. Pulling your dress back down modestly, Jon almost climbed off the bed entirely before you reached a hand out to his arm. “Wait- did I do something wrong?”

Jon's entire face twisted as he breathlessly looked at you with narrowed eyes, “What? No, of course not-” You had started to stammer asking what you did to make him stop, but suddenly the clearer Jons mind became, the more he realized how not even slightly clear yours was. You were so much more drunk then he was, and so much more willing to do only whatever he wanted.

Tentatively, his hands rested on your thighs, pausing as he went to move to position himself beside you, a gentle look in his eyes with a murmur, “I'm right here, lay down for me is all I'm asking.” You looked at him unsure before relenting. Laying down more comfortably, as Jon found himself laying on his side beside you. Tilting your head to look over at him with a hand gentle on your cheek. “You didn't do anything wrong, but it's not alright of me to take advantage of you when you're drunk.”

Your face both twisted in frustration, but also fell almost innocently confused. Your voice was even quieter, “You can't take advantage of me if you already have me in bed.” Jon could tell you had no awareness that you weren't anywhere near sober. “It doesn't matter Jon, just keep going.”

Letting his head fall somewhat into your neck, you reached up to gently run your hands through his curls as he turned your cheek better to fit your lips to his when he raised back up. Nothing deep or tense, just a chaste kiss as he mumbled against them after. “You're not a whore I've paid for, darling. You're not supposed to just lay there letting me do whatever I want to you, no matter what. You have to want it too, and not when you're this drunk.”

It was almost endearing, the way your brows furrowed. Tonight was bad time to have this discussion, you weren't sober enough to grasp his point. Evident by your very quiet plea, turning onto your side somewhat to see him better. “I don't care about any of that, you were enjoying yourself.”

“You're supposed to enjoy yourself too.”

Seven hells, did you ever break his heart as you so earnestly responded, “No, I'm not.” What on earth had those other noble girls in Kings Landing been saying to you? What could they possibly have told you that made you think you shouldn't- he had to reign his emotions in. Jon felt himself getting angry and he desperately did not want you to think it was at you.

Your green ones stared intently into his bright and tense grey eyes, until Jon sighed deeply. Running his hand along your cheek innocently again before muttering, “Get some sleep, we can discuss this tomorrow when you're feeling better.” Ignoring as you mumbled that you felt fine, as Jon pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Not a second did he get away before you switched moods, reaching out to him the second he moved to get up. “Wait- stay.” Your urgency almost surprised him as well as yourself. “Just...just for now..I don't want you to leave yet..”

Jon knew staying was a risk. If he fell asleep, someone could easily come and find you both like this in the morning. But you were so soft, and your eyes so bright and innocent looking up at Jon that he hated how quickly he gave in. Nodding before pressing one more kiss to your lips. “Only until you fall asleep.”

Turning so you were curled into his chest facing him, Jon couldn't help but decide the risk had to be worth it. Nothing was going to outweigh how perfect it felt to have you fall asleep in his arms. Or, perhaps that was only a confident thought until Jon accidentally let his eyes slip closed. And falling asleep right with you.

If the look his father gave him, when he noticed Jon sneaking into his own room so early in the morning that the sun was barley in the sky, had said anything? Jon was at least glad he stopped himself before he took the previous night any further with you. Otherwise the innocent guilt of being noticed sneaking around would have been a lot more obvious what he was sneaking away from, had Jon taken your body the way you had told him too.

Jon knew he wasn't supposed to be with you anywhere near this way, but if you were both going to keep this between you, Jon had to step up. He had to be the one to ensure he protected your innocence, even against himself.

Unbeknownst to him, Jon was lucky his father trusted him as much as he did. Ned was aware that if there was only one thing he could be sure of, is was that there was no chance Jon would so recklessly take your maidenhead, and certainly not like that. When he could tell the signs that his sneaking son so early in the morning, had clearly been drinking the night before. Meaning you had been as well.

He knew he was better then that, so he said not a word but a nod to him, despite the wide eyed, confused, and nervous look he got from Jon in return before they parted ways. But after that, Ned silently and closely paid attention. He watched yours and Jon's affection grow closer, and it became clear there were more then just feelings. There was something there that you and Jon were trying to hide from everyone but each other. But Ned knew that you made his son happy, and his son made you happy.

He had thought, maybe that would be enough.

Ned had always come to the godswood after taking a life. He would sit on the moss covered wood and stone in the still warmth of summer, taking every care of Ice as he contemplated the truth of what he always had to do. The lad, Will, he was the fourth deserter just that year. Something kept driving them to run from the Wall, and according to Benjen more rangers would disappear in increasing numbers these past years. He hadn't slept well the night before thinking over it.

What the ranger said too, it kept him up far longer then he would admit to his wife. So he had come here to think in the quiet of the old gods. The last he had seen of his children they were spending time in the kitchens, the younger ones all debating what to name their wolf pups. Another strangeness he thought not what to make of it.

His first choice was only out of survival, so young they stood not a chance in the wild alone. He didn't like hearing the innocent plea of his son, but it was cruel to leave them out to die when a quick one would spare the kind of things that ended their mother. An argument had almost started over it, Robb and Theon grating their tones at one another over the decision, Bran begging for it against Neds firm choice of their fates.

Very likely, anything else said he wouldn't have heard more of it. But it was how unusual it sounded coming from his sons mouth. It wasn't the first time Jon had chosen to be purposely formal about his position, but it never felt normal to hear “Lord Stark,” it was uncomfortable and he knew why. Had any of his other sons suggested it he might not have considered. But he knew what Jon had done.

Jon had willingly counted himself as not one of the Stark children in order to convince him that they were meant to have the wolf pups. Had that been Bran or Robb's argument he wouldn't have heard it, but it was the sacrifice Jon made on his own that stood out to him. So he let his sons bring them home, only to quickly notice that Jon had returned to the horses with a sixth. A small, but bright white one with large blood red eyes that reminded him of the colours of the Weirwood he now sat under.

It was interesting he had thought, that it was that blood red eyed wolf pup that could see perfectly, while the others were still just as young and still blind. It was odd it was only that one.

But, whatever of the wolves and words spoken of the North that found plagued his mind, was nothing against the words which followed in the air. Catelyn had come to him, she never liked the godswood of Winterfell. Born under the Light of the Seven just as all southerners were, Ned had the small sept here built for her when he finally brought her up to the North. He knew some news must have occurred to bring her in a place she little liked to disturb.

“All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here.”

Smiling at his wife, he easily dismissed such notions. “You're not an outsider, you have five Northern children.” Going back and forth about their gods, and he always found himself thankful they could speak with such ease over the differences still between them. But it didn't stay easy for long.

A raven scroll sat in her hands as she looked up with a genuine sorrow. “I am so sorry, my love.” What tragedy came with such news, ended up being nothing against the mysteries that had wrapped itself around it, prompting her to continue. “There was a raven from Kings Landing. Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him.”

If Ned's grief could go back in time, he would have wished for himself to be thankful that the man had not lived to suffer, as it felt all of them did in what became Ned's final days. The pain was shaking as he sat in the godswood, but there was little he knew what to do with it or how to feel. Trying to push it down, but his wife always saw him perfectly, gently finding her words once more, “I know he was like a father to you.”

Only, it wasn't the end. It was the beginning of an end for himself, but the start of a nightmare he had not recalled so vividly and fearfully coming soon onto twenty five years.

“The raven brought more news. The King rides for Winterfell. With the queen and all the rest of them.”

Ned said it just as it came into his mind, neither of them needed to say it out loud so specifically to understand. “If he's coming this far North, there's only one thing he's after.” More then two decades had passed, Ned knew it wasn't a reasonable worry to think Robert would find out now. But it still scared him.

That boy was his son, for every single way it mattered to Ned that was his son, but it still scared him. It sacred him despite knowing that wasn't any that might in his eyes, face, looks, nothing. He was more of a Stark then any of them in every way. It was an awful thought, but he hoped Robert by now had long forgotten what she looked like. And maybe, he'd be able to see none of her in him. Beacuse one look at his son, and he could see every part of his looks, his son had gotten entirely from her.

Had she been here, they could've stood side by side now, and looked identical.

But once more, the gods loved their cruel jokes. Catelyn now sat next to him, gave a look to the side of her. “There is one more thing.” Much to Neds surprise, your name came from her mouth. “She will be riding with them to Winterfell. Her father has left the capital for an unknown amount of time and she is to return to serve in his place on the council when they leave here.” Ned had a distinct feeling Catelyn wasn't merely making small talk. “But that isn't all. The King himself has ordered her to do one thing while she is still in Winterfell.”

As it turned out he realized, you and Jon making each other happy, wouldn't be enough any longer.

Robb Stark knew many in arranged marriages never even saw each other for the first time until their wedding day, only found out then if their betrothed was someone they could even stand to look at or talk too. So, in such a way, Robb knew he was lucky. He had known you since he was ten, and he was as close with you as any that entire time.

But neither of you thought this was coming. If Robb knew you well, the moment he was likely to be alone with you for the first time, you would begin to apologize as if it was your fault this was decided for you. He would have to shut that down and fast. You'd spiral if Robb let you.

It had been along time since he had ever thought of you in such a way, he was still a boy when he once had a crush on you. But much like many experienced, it was fleeting and he found more solace in your friendship then worrying about anything further. That further was now though. Or, if timings were correct, a fortnight from now.

Robb would retire to his chambers at night and would find it such an odd image to think only in one more fortnight passed, it would be yours to share. The room, his space, his life and his bed. Being a boy of fourteen with a crush was one thing, it was another for ten years later to be told he only had one month to prepare to share everything of his life and himself with you. Marrying you wasn't the worst part of it, it was getting over how sudden and new it was going to all be.

He had smirked to himself one night with almost a passing huff of a laugh, thinking about how nervous you inevitably would be about kissing him at the wedding. Perhaps if you didn't have to do so in front of the royal company you traveled with, it would be much easier to do so in front of the family you spent half your life around.

Though, royal company or not, there was one who it wouldn't be easy on no matter what. They only had to watch, but Robb had spent the past weeks growing increasingly guilty about becoming comfortable with marrying you, as his brother had spent growing angrier and brooding without ever telling anyone it was because of the same thing.

Jon Snow had spent the past weeks in a terrible mood, because Robb was marrying you.

He had spent a good amount of time trying to figure it out, what was going on in his brothers head but it wasn't until their father and Robb's mother had told all of them what the situation coming their way was. If two bits of news weren't enough, it was the third that caused him to realize it. Every single one of his siblings all had their own reactions to learning the King was ordering you to and Robb to marry, but it was Jon who had none.

There wasn't a single readable reaction on his face, and Robb knew too well how bad that was.

In truth, it didn't occur to Robb as a shock or even surprise. Jon never had a relationship of any sorts, and the only girl he spent any meaningful time around outside his family, was you. Robb was close with you, but he knew Jon was closer. And it only made sense eventually Jon would start seeing you in a different light.

His brother didn't really have a type, but the only one that made sense was his type being you. Robb didn't know if there was more to Jons feelings, if there was anything romantic he felt towards you, or even how long Jon had been looking at you in that way, but it was clear as day.

Jon wanted you, but Robb would now be the one to have you.

Not that he blamed him. Robb had his turn with a crush on you as a boy, and now that you were Jons best friend and had grown up to be gorgeous, at least in Robb's view, spending so much time alone with you finally had an effect on Jons brooding, stubborn heart. And yet he spent as much energy as he could, trying to ease Robbs nerves about marrying so suddenly.

The closer the royal company came to arriving, the worse Robb watched Jon feel. He couldn't even be sure Jon had kissed a girl before, but he certainly wanted to fuck one, wanted to fuck you. But he knew the reaction if Robb ever confronted him about it. Jon would shut down and never even come close to talking about it or you again.

So he had to act natural. Pretend as if he was none the wiser of his brothers deep want of Robbs soon to be wife. He had to act normal when Theon would turn the conversation to the coming inevitable during the wedding, and balance that act of being modest yet interested in what all of them knew was a very pretty girl. And also contrast it with not wanting it to feel like that fact was being rubbed in Jons face without giving away that he knows.

Maybe Robb thought, it would've been easier for Jon to handle if he had just taken the risk and fucked you during your last visit. Get it out of his system. He knew the opportunity was there. Their father and Robb's mother had taken the Stark children out of the castle for the day. Much of their main guard came with them, as did Theon naturally being their fathers ward.

You were moreso at that point a ward serving Winterfell as a whole, and Robb knew his father trusted that between you and Jon, things would get done without question. Their father always trusted Jon with as much in leadership, if not more then Robb himself sometimes. Considering by late night when they had arrived back, everything was in perfect order, clearly you both had spent the entire day doing just those duties.

Robb now and then, though then it was only a growing suspicion, couldn't help but think, it would have been so much easier on Jon, had he seized the opportunity of being alone in the castle, and taken you to bed. Jon was brooding, and intense and rough sometimes.

But even if no feelings were there, Jon very clearly adored you. He was brighter and smiled more when you were in Winterfell and you both always found your spare time with the other most often. It wasn't like his brother would have given you a miserable time, Jon loved doing things for you as it was.

Robb knew that was certainly the opposite between them. Jon would very likely have taken being the one to have your maidenhead very gentle and seriously, not letting you leave until he was certain you enjoyed yourself. Robb however, knew he was going to struggle to be easy and gentle come your wedding night. He also couldn't stop the thoughts of just what he wanted to do, what he wanted to explore with what was his soon to be, pretty little wife.

He hadn't been with a woman in years by then, but still. Women didn't come to Robb Stark for a gentle love making, they came to get fucked. He wouldn't have minded either. He didn't care if his wife wasn't a maiden on their wedding, certainly you. To any other husband you would have been married off, to had the Queen been given her way when you were a girl of fourteen, Robb knew you being a maiden would've mattered. But he didn't care.

If his brother of all people was the one to fuck you before Robb, that was the only one he'd trust.

But instead, Jon was a gentleman as always with you. The one opportunity he would have had to pull you into bed with him, and Jon didn't take it. Part in due because he was nothing but entirely respectable towards you and what all three men knew was your endearing innocence, but also because he was a bastard, and you were the Kings niece.

Inside the castle walls, their father wanted Jon to be treated no different then the rest of his siblings but everyone knew it wasn't like that in the outside world. Bastards were simply treated differently, and it wouldn't stand out in a good way to so blatantly show such treatment to Jon when many places in the North didn't treat their bastards as such. And he knew that too well, and never let himself get too complacent.

You had joked to Robb once that maybe he should've been born on Bear Island. It was a long standing rumor that the Lady of Bear Island, Maege Mormont, had all five of her girls from different fathers. She had never married, and her second eldest daughter Alysanne was unmarried with two children of her own as well. And they all bore the name Mormont and no one ever questioned that about them.

You had said in a quiet but what Robb knew was a very serious tone, that it would have fixed a lot of Jons personal struggles if the rest of the world outside the castle walls didn't treat him like a bastard the way most in here didn't. Though, you did also add amusingly, “Perhaps the lack of such loud, rowdy, Northern men has something to do with such tolerance amongst the Mormonts.”

Robb had been helping you with something in the storage by the stables, and he recalled Ser Harwin trying not to laugh as Robb grinned. Grabbing you by the hips and almost hauling you up and over to where a basin of fresh water sat. “If we're so rowdy, my lady, best not insult us in case we won't tolerate that little attitude.”

There wasn't any changing things now. You were about to be Robbs wife, and none of you could go back. Robb just wished Jon weren't so bloody selfless about you. But then, word had come to Winterfell that the next mid morning was when the Kings company would arrive and it was only a matter of time before Robb and Jon both would have to accept their fates.

As it stood, Catelyn had told all three of them, him, Jon and Theon that they were to at least look respectable for the King. Sending them off to Tommy to get cleaned up. Facial hair clean shaven, and hair nice and freshly cut. She said it was for the King, but all of them doubted that. Jon was the first to speak up, “Why's your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?”

Theon, who was waiting to go last had that answer. And both wolves did a good job at not letting either of them have a real reaction as your name came from his mouth. “It's for her I bet.” Gesturing towards Robb, “And if you have to look all nice fancy for your betrothed, then so do we apparently.”

“Not like she'd care.” Both eyes directed up towards Jon who was stood opposite of where Robb was being tended to first. “We spent half her life roughing her up in the training yard, looking nice for one day won't change any of that.” Jon was doing a better job at appearing neutral these days.

Theon replying, “I'll wager the Queen will spend half the morning tomorrow trying to doll her up. Might get to see what a royal girl is supposed to look like on her for once.” Robb had passively asked with jest if he'd been thinking of that a lot. Theon's face falling amusingly flat. “You assume I'm thinking of her, when we got the Queen coming our way. I hear she's a sleek bit of mink.”

Robb not bothering to entertain that conversation, “I hear the Prince is a right, royal prick.”

Theon had joked about all the southern girls he'd get though, and Robb still noticed it. Even with the change in subject, Jon was silent. But it wouldn't change. You'd arrive tomorrow morning, and in some week time, Robb would be the one to marry you before the Weirwood.

He wasn't going to make it worse for his brother, by treating him as if he knew any different. If Jon hadn't said anything by now, clearly, he didn't want Robb to know anything. And he respected that, so instead, as he stood, Robb did what he knew best. Just play normal. Smacking Jon as he shoved him passed to switch positions with a playfulness on his voice, speaking the opposite of the truth.

“Go on, Tommy, shear him good. He’s never met a girl he likes better than his own hair.”

Neither of you were sure when this idea even came about, or if either one of you had actually said it in the open air. It was just felt in the backs of your mind as you both sat there, where this day was leading ultimately. What would it's end result in and what happened from there.

It started off as a strange feeling as normal as it felt. You and Jon rarely spent time alone so freely, but both of you sat in the quiet to eat. Being able to take your time, joke and laugh freely not worrying too much about what to do or say. It wasn't often you got to see Jon smile and laugh so easily and it made you feel just a bit warmer on the inside whenever it was from something you said.

Jon also, had never looked so freely bright and adoring at you out in the open before. The workers and guard around the castle didn't pay much notice to it, not much to pay attention close too. Most of the Starks gone for the day, leaving behind Lord Stark's younger ward and his bastard son. Eyes didn't pry as much. It certainly made Jon a little more playfully bold.

You had been at that point picking mindlessly at the food in front of you, mostly taking advantage of the fantasy of having a normal meal as if you two were a normal, domestic couple. Speaking candidly through bites, “I could almost swear he did it just to make me uncomfortable.”

Jon's brows narrowed as he leaned forward across the other side of the table from you, “He never tried anything did he?”

In truth you almost laughed, shaking your head instead. “Petyr Baelish is a smarmy little weasel, but isn't stupid. He doesn't just do whatever he wants, he had to be clever about it. And for me, what he wants is just to enjoy making me stand there and discuss budgetary matters, while he moonlights as the capitals favourite whoremonger.” Your eye roll came with a sigh, and Jons shoulders relaxed noticeably.

Tilting his head a bit, you knew the look in his eye was genuine as was the softness in his tone. Perhaps if you were speaking of here in Winterfell, that advice would work. “You should tell someone, you sit on the council like him. He shouldn't get to treat you like that.”

But the doubt in your eyes came as strong as your tone was flat. “And say what? That I'm being forced to sit in a building full of naked women for free? I'd be laughed out of the small council chamber before I even finish that sentence.” Jon shook his head almost too himself, when you let your forearms rest crossed on the wooden table as your voice softened. “It's only annoying. Not upsetting, you don't have to get protective about everything,”

Your foot moved to gently nudge what of his leg you could reach when Jon sent his hand down to grab at your foot, pulling you closer to the table as he let your foot rest on his lap. Your boots just short enough that with one of his hands resting visibly on the table, the other gently pushed just enough of the skirt of your dress up, that he could run his hand mindlessly over your shin and calf.

Jon said nothing about how flustered his touch was making you, speaking to you like normal save for the mischievous glint in his eye. “You look like you want to say something.” He knew you too well, as soon as you went to lightly kick him, Jon grabbed your shin firmly and tugged you back into place, his grin growing easy as your face twisted in an exaggerated offence.

Your voice a accusing jest with narrowed eyes, “Aren't you just the funniest man to ever walk these halls, Snow.”

Jon only smirked, nodded at your plate with as much mocking disapproval of your tone. “Finish your food, Baratheon. We have work to do.”

Nothing about the average course of the day stood out, it was easy to get things done in between Jon being able to more freely enjoy your company with whatever you both had to do. You laughed a little more easily, Jon teased you a little more purposely, and yet you both were ignoring the inevitable of what was being led too.

For six years this little romance had been brewing in secret, and in those six years it had taken a long time to get to here. Sure, technically you were gone for months in between but for many couples Jon would have assumed that distance would've made both parties even more eager to push things faster and quicker. Not to say the pair of you were terribly slow, no, you both went at the same pace.

Jon had no more experience then you did, and you knew a lot less about a physical relationship then even he did. He was certain there was very little you were likely even aware that there was to try, and the only thing you came to him with on your own wasn't your idea. Just what you heard the girls who hung around the Winter Town brothel would speak of, and assumed it was something you were supposed to be doing.

It had taken perhaps, a little bit longer to get to this point because Jon didn't want to rush you into anything. You clearly had a not very fair view of what was expected of you as a woman in terms of sex, and it took those first couple of years with the other to gently teach you that you were supposed to enjoy each other, and nothing more. You always did things for others, and Jon knew you assumed that this was just another one of those things.

Neither of you had even done very much in reality, not compared to what you could have been doing with the other. But somehow, you both landed on this. That maybe this opportunity was for the act that mattered the most. You were returning to Kings Landing not long after that day, and you both had decided it was the right time.

Jon had spent a lot of time thinking about it, how to do it, what would be the most comfortable for you and by that late afternoon he had gone through the plans in his head more times then he could count as he made his way to his own chambers. First plan being to make sure everything was as organized as possible, make sure it was warm enough before going to go get you.

But you instead, had apparently decided to make that step for him. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you sitting at the edge of his bed. Your hands wrung together in your lap clearly trying to not appear as nervous as Jon could tell you were. Realistically he knew no one else was around, but he found himself checking the hall behind him regardless before closing the door.

Something a little more easily playful on his tongue couldn't get spoken faster then your rigid explanation, trying to appear as calm with a little shrug. “I figured it would be more simple if I were already here, rather then you having to come fetch me and we then would have to walk over and pretend as it everything was normal.”

Nodding gently, Jon paced in slowly as if not wanting to startle you. His eyes narrowing a bit in thought as he tried to gauge just what your nerves were settled at. “How long have you been waiting?”

You shrugged, trying to appear normal as if Jon couldn't read you like a book. Glancing away as you glanced around his room to nothing, “Long enough I almost talked myself out of it again.” Jon repeated the word again as the came to stand somewhat in front of you, a good few feet away to give you space to think. “I only meant, I won't particularly know what I'm doing so maybe you wouldn't..”

Only a few paces of footsteps rung out before Jon stood in front of you. One hand held out, your head tilting up to the bright, genuine shine in his eyes. As soon as you grabbed one, he pulled you up with the other, letting you rest your hands where you were comfortable, as he gently held you by your upper arms. Leaning down to softly rasp, “I don't need you to know what you're doing, I want you to enjoy yourself.”

Jon waited for you to nod, normally he'd want to hear you say it, but he could feel the nerves flooding your veins from where he stood. Letting a hand run over your hair before tilting you head back up to his eyes when it dropped, your voice was low when you finally spoke. If you weren't so nervous, Jon would have smiled at how formally you tried to approach it. “How do we start?”

The smile slipped in just as he leaned down to brush against your lips, one chaste kiss before mumbling against them. “However we like.” Slowly, as he captured your lips again, Jon felt your hands slowly follow up his chest to wrap gently around the back of his neck as he held you close at your waist.

His kiss was gentle, coaxing you to ease into things without rushing how deep he pushed you, if anything going slower then he normally would. One hand leaving your waist, he raked it tenderly through your hair before cupping the back of your head to keep your lips close against his strength over you. Your fingers slowly making their way through his curls in return.

Leaving you with little breathe left, Jon barley pulled from your lips. Almost moving in closer to you if you tried pulling back for air, making your hands tighten in his hair that much more. Gently running his tongue along your bottom lip, did you part ways for him to slip in, brush against yours as something like a moan tried getting pushed down in your chest.

Guiding you to move along with him, you started to relax in his touch. Just what he wanted, make you nice and calm for anything else. None of this would be good if you were tense, and Jon lived for the high pitch sounds you would gasp into his mouth. Deepening and licking into your mouth Jon let the hand on your waist move, grasping the light shall still partially around you, pulling it to the side and letting it drop to the ground.

Grinning into the kiss at your slight shiver in the cold air of his room, you wrapped your arms around him even more to seek his natural warmth. Once more now both his hands moving to slide along your waist down to your hips, running flat up and down at the soft material without ever committing to grasping it.

Just as your hands tightened again, it almost was enough to pull at his curls, causing a sound akin to a growl to leave Jon. Pulling from your lips, he kissed down to your jaw and along your neck. His cock stired at both that feeling and the high pitched gasp you were barley able to hide leaving you. His teeth scraping against the skin without breaking it, as his greed grew stronger.

Moving down and down your neck he reached your collarbones before he looked up, standing back at full height to tilt your head up to him while the other hand traced along just the very side of your breasts. “We can keep most of it on if you want, but I'd like to see you. All of you.” Swallowing nervously, he kissed you once before running his nose along yours. “It's up to you, we're not doing anything you don't want.”

Your hands dropped to his shoulders, digging into the leather as you thought for a moment before letting a bit of bravery through. “Could we..” Glancing down at him, Jon kissed you once more.

“I'll take some of it off, but I want you to do the rest of it, when you're ready.” Nodding a bit more eagerly, Jon stepped back. Pulling off his tunic, outer layers until just the soft material was left, easy to take off when you wanted to. As he took a step forward once more, his hands ran up your arms and to your shoulders. Toying with the fabric with a question in his eye, waiting for you to nod.

Ever so slowly, he started to run them down to your front. Waiting for one more nod when he stopped at the clasps of your dress before undoing them. Letting each go slow, your breathing increased despite trying to hide it. As it fell open, the dark shift sat underneath short on your legs. Restraining himself despite the way he inhaled deeply through his nose. He had seen parts of you, not all of you, not like you were about to let him.

Finally, he pushed the rest of the dress off as it landed on the ground by your feet. Both your gazes looking down, Jon smiled once more. “Sit for me,” Your eyebrow raised but he gave a playful shove to make you move back.

Innocent as he took your boots off, hand sliding up from your ankle to your calf as he looked up at you with bright eyes. He didn't move any further from there, just massaging the muscle almost until he felt you relaxing again and then guiding you to stand, now a bit shorter against him. Rasping lowly, “Can we take the rest of this off you now, or do you want to wait?”

Your face twisted in thought for a moment, before much more confidently shaking your head. Hands no longer tense on him, and a trust shining in your eyes as you leaned up to kiss him. Your touch now running across his facial hair at his jaw until Jon nibbled at your lips again to pull away. That time, there was no hesitation as he pulled the thin straps of your shift down your shoulders before pushing the material enough it fell off you entirely.

Eyes growing more needing and black as he looked down at you, Jon told himself to wait. One last thing, stepping forward he grasped your underwear with a hand on each side grasping as he kissed you a little bit rougher, a little more greedy as he just pulled them right down your legs. Grabbing your hips to prompt you to step out of them before Jon blindly kicked at everything by your feet.

Instead though, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his front as you dug your nails into his shoulders. Letting him deepen and bite at your lips while his other hand felt along your bare waist and hip. Other then the crackle of the fire, all that could be heard was how desperately he kissed you. Taking every sound you gifted him before tearing himself away from your lips, hands at your hips as you both gasped for air did he finally look you over.

There was no denying how unbelievably hard he was. Jon thought to himself, he was a fool for ever thinking you'd look like anything but exactly this. You were perfect to him, soft and plush in all the most unbearable ways that made his blood run hot. He was so glad he hadn't seen you like this before, he might not have been so noble about keeping you innocent if he knew you looked like that under those beautiful dresses.

Not a thing about the lustful awe Jon's eyes gazed over you was honorable. Part of him wanted to pick you up and throw you onto his bed then and there, but he knew you felt self conscious at how long he'd been so silent for. Finding your eyes, his own lips a bit parted as he struggled to find a more innocent compliment, instead he chose to pull your chin up, and press his lips back to yours for something much more slow and deep. “You...you are..”

Still struggling to find words, Jon did better with action. But you tried filling in the blanks with nothing even close to how worked up he was feeling. “Am- is it alright?” Brows narrowing he looked at you a bit confused and you shrugged. Your hands sat uselessly at at his shoulders. “I know it's..other girls are more impressive then this..especially when I'm, you know..standing here having to compare to you.”

Shaking his head, he pulled you into his front a little more, hands addicted to running along your bare frame. “And what's that supposed to mean exactly?”

Drifting down to his chest and down along his stomach, your fingertips pressed into the defined muscle there with a mumble. “I mean, I have eyes Jon. You're all muscle and I'm...not...”

Eyes finding yours, he barley managed to rasp out, “Your softness is everything I dream about, I promise.” Before cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a firmer kiss. That time his restraint snapped just a bit as he finally crowded you enough before pressed you against the furs of his bed. Hands guiding you to the middle as he climbed over you as he ran his tongue along yours with nowhere now for you to go but to be at his kiss's mercy.

You moaned deeply against him, causing Jon to pull up and off you, kneeling in between your slightly spread legs for him. He wanted to control himself, but gods be good you made it so difficult. Hands grasping at your thighs as he almost closed his eyes to will his heart to calm down but you knew where his eyes black now, were staring.

Everything Jon found got better and better, and as he could see what you willingly let him look at between your legs, his cock ached. He had wanted to know what being inside you felt like for so long, he dreamt about it on his worst nights. But here, able to see too the wetness, where he'd so easily be able to slide inside you, he inhaled deeply as he closed his eyes. He wanted to take care of you, not rough you up because of his own cock.

One step at a time. Looking back, he focused on your face. Nervous but desperate to hide it. Slowly he took your hands into his, putting them right at the edge of his shirt. “Just start with this.” But even though your hands curled against the fabric, you looked down to them but didn't move. Your own heart raced enough you felt a bit dizzy.

Murmuring your name, you shook your head as if you'd push forward and do it. Reaching over, he cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead as you whispered with a very quiet but honest vulnerability, “Could we both...”

He'd never seen you so nervous and uncomposed before. Covering your hands with his, only then had Jon noticed they were almost shaking. Steady under his warm touch, he never left your eyes as he helped you pull the fabric of his shirt up and off him. On tossing it nowhere to care as he cupped the back of your neck.

Both of you leaned in that time, and somehow as soon as your hands ran along his bare chest did Jon feel that rush of need. Pushing you down against the furs on his bed, his kiss grew demanding and greedy as you responded eagerly. One thing, only one thing was keeping you from him.

And yet, the second his covered cock ground into your bare, wet core, he felt that feeling. Kissing you rougher he tried to shove it down. Not now. Jon willed himself to not do this, he said he wasn't going to worry about this right now. The more he rutted into you, the more he bit and licked into your mouth and the more sounds you made, the more Jons cock twitched begging to be freed.

But the more he felt that, the more those thoughts returned. His own hands currently groping at your breasts, twisting and pulling at the small buds as he loved and yet his mind wouldn't stop. As soon as the thought hit him, Jon tensed in his whole body.

What if he got you pregnant?

Brows furrowed into the kiss, he tried to ignore it but his mind repeated it and repeated it, and suddenly he had stopped kissing you. Your hand gently pushing against his chest to look up at him, his name so gentle on your lips with worry. “Jon? Are you alright?” He swallowed and tried to regain his breathe, but the thought spoke again.

What if he got you pregnant?

Your hand cupped his cheek as you tried to sit up a bit. “Do you want to stop?”

No, he wanted this so badly. He had planned this for almost a month, he wanted to be ready. He had to be, you were leaving for Kings Landing soon. He never had wanted anything more then sharing himself with you, sharing both of your first times together. So he shook his head, leaning back into your sweet tasting lips, “No. No, I don't want to stop.” Pushing you back into the fur he was a little less desperate this time.

Get over it, he told himself. Just shut up and get over it.

Your body was so soft and so perfect, you fit against him like you had been made for him. Your lips were so sweet, your sounds so beautiful but then he'd think more. Everyone would hate him. They'd know it was Jon, who else would it be? A beautiful little black haired baby with your eyes but they'd all call your child a Snow and it would be his fault.

Jon wanted to share this with you, he always had. Jon wanted to bed you so badly and yet as he had you bare under him, he struggled to see past how much he'd be ruining your life. Ruining his own child's life. He could be cocky and say it's a rare chance just this once could get you pregnant, but he had no reason to think it wouldn't.

You'd return to Kings Landing and be shamed as soon as everyone found out. They'd call your child a Snow and Jon couldn't handle that. He never wanted that for whatever child he had.

Being a bastard was lonely and miserable, the only reason he could stand it was because of you, but he would be horrible and selfish to force his child to live that way all because Jon was in love with you.

Just maybe, as Jon's hand trailed up your thigh enough he could feel the heat between your legs, it was a blessing in disguise when you pulled from his lips almost in a jolting panic. Stammering with wide eyes when Jon sat up, you clearly started to panic. “I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..”

Brows furrowing, Jon gently ran hands along your hair at the back of your head cupping you gently to stay in place. “Don't be sorry, it's alright.” You shook your head trying to deny that, but Jon leaned in more gentle in his gaze and softness. “Look at me,” Finding his gaze, he could see the slight bit of nerves tinged with the fear of the unknown. “We don't have to to this. We can stop right here.”

You looked away frustrated, no doubt at yourself. “I'm sorry..” Jon went to tell you again to stop apologizing but you continued, clearly trying not to let your eyes water at how much was running through your head. “It's not you or anything..I...” Sighing out you looked back up at him, Jon letting his thumb run along your cheek. “I don't know if I'm ready..for..this part..”

He didn't say it, but in truth, Jon was relived. He couldn't do this with you, when all he was worried about was ruining everything your life could be by getting you pregnant. You and what children you had shouldn't start here, with a bastard. No matter how in love with you he was, how much he always will be.

Murmuring your name, he leaned in no run his nose along yours. “Do you want to know something?” You nodded, as your hands gently ran through his curls almost soothingly. “I don't think I'm ready either.”

It was strange to laugh at that, but you did, and so did Jon. Laughing gently into the other before he pulled you in for a much more innocent, but eager kiss. “We are a mess, aren't we?” Jon laughed a lot more freely at that, his heart growing in his chest at the giggle on your own lips before he captured the sound with a kiss. Running a hand again along your hair, you moved yours at the same time to shift the both of you.

After a little moving, Jon had you laying mostly on your side as he did facing you, his hand running now freely but without greedy intention along your bare side. Your own hands sat at his chest and collarbones, sharing just an innocent kiss for the way you both looked. Your voice was quiet, but a lot less nervous as the minutes passed between you. “You don't have to, but I was wondering..I want to wait for you..and was hoping maybe you would wait for me too?”

Jon just grinned. “I'm not here to rush you, darling. I'll always wait for you.”

You'd both have to get up eventually, but for now, Jon pulled you into his chest. Keeping your bare frame tucked into his warmth. If only for a little while, you both could spare a nap at least. Wrapped up in the others touch and safety.

As Jon kept your head tucked into his chest, he buried his face happily in your hair. Thinking to himself, that he's never wanted anything as much as he wants to just be with you.

He would take all the time in the world to wait until you both were ready, there wasn't and couldn't be a single soul in the world Jon would ever want to give himself too other then you. You were the woman he loved, you were his heart, something that made his lonely, miserable life worth it. Jon was utterly in love with you, and as long as you both had that together?

The rest would come easy, in time.

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

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year

Text

I Come With Knives Pt4

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I finished and checked the word count and was like WHAT DO YOU MEAN THIS IS ONLY LIKE 2K WORDS??? But anyway I was just going through youtube and became inspired. Because how else am I going to move the plot forward without torturing these funky little guys?

Warnings: torture, blood, injury, self-destructive coping mechanisms

Word Count: 2,140

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Your face blanches when you find the man, Abdirak, injuring himself willingly for his goddess. It makes you sick. But the moment he’s offering his goddess’s blessing in exchange for the blessed pain she desires, you’re tugging your armor off. Astarion tries stopping you - of course he does. He’s seen what you’ve suffered, even felt it through your tadpoles. But when he grabbed your arm, trying to keep you from pulling your shirt off, you looked at him with the most pleading eyes.

“Please. Please let me do this,” they beg. The words die in his throat.

All too soon, you’re facing the wall, standing in the pool of blood. You brace yourself, hands against the stone. It’s cool and rough beneath your calloused hands. But callouses weren’t enough to make you feel free. Scratches and bruises from combat weren’t enough. You needed this. Your mind screamed at you. You don’t want this. But the thought of stepping away now made your skin itch.

“How wonderful!” The man’s voice sent chills through your spine. He enjoyed this way too much.

White hot pain split the skin of your back. His mace created a perfect lash across. Your teeth ached from trying not to scream. It wasn’t for his sake - he’d probably relish the cries even more. It was years of built-in training from your master.

Astarion’s face was tense. His brow was furrowed, his jaw was taught. His eyes never left you. His tadpole squirmed and he accepted instantly, letting himself fall away into your memories.

It was remarkably similar to your current situation, but you were where he stood. A scrawny, shivering form stood against the wall - he couldn’t tell if they were male or female, just that they were starved. A spawn, no doubt.

A whip cracked and several new lashes crossed their back as they screamed. The cat o’ nine tails was slicked with blood already. Their blood, but also the blood of those that came before.

He couldn’t look away. Long fingers wrapped around his jaw, nails digging into his cheeks. Cool air surrounded his skin, but the coldest came from the form pressed up behind him. He could feel the pinch of nails in his hip, too. Not enough to break skin; hardly enough to even leave bruises. But it was a silent threat. A disgusting display of power.

“You did this, sweet thing,” Kir Parthene purrs into his ear. She’s smiling - he can hear it in the tinge of enjoyment that edges her words. “Its pain is your pain.”

The torturer reels back and hits the spawn again. His heart jumps into his throat at their scream. He can feel the burn of tears; the pounding of empathy in his chest that aches and screams for this to end.

Her hand slides over his belly and he feels sick. “What did you do wrong, hm?”

“I screamed.”

“Good, pet.” She presses a kiss to his cheek. “And why did you scream?” He opened his mouth but she squeezed his jaw, silencing him. “And speak up, sweet thing. Make sure it knows why it’s being punished.”

The pressure eased. He took a breath to gather himself. “Because it hurt.”

Nails pressed just below his sternum. She could dig in. Rip out his heart. Kill him without even flinching. She could feel the terror running through him. Through you. “Will it happen again?”

The spawn turns their head slightly. Enough to look at him. Their eyes are bloodshot and watery, begging. His heart drops a mile into his gut. Guilt floods through him. He wants nothing more than to run over and cover them with his body, shield them from all the pain and torture. But he can’t.

“No.”

She slides her hand from his jaw to rest at the base of his throat. Her mouth leaves messy kisses over the scar, still torn and healing and sensitive. “Good pet.”

When he’s returned to his body, you had two lashes across your back. Your nails dug into the stone. Your body shook. But you remained silent.

Abdirak’s smile is wide and wild. “That’s it! Welcome the pain. Let it become part of you!” He reels back again, preparing for a hard hit. Astarion wants to step in now that he knows why you’re doing this. He wants to cover your body, take the hit, save you from the pain.

You press your forehead to the wall and take slow breaths through your nose. Just one more and you would be blessed. How ironic, to seek penance with a goddess of pain.

The mace comes down hard, scraping against your shoulder blades and crossing over, combining with the other gashes. Astarion can see your exposed muscle. Blood drips down your back, but it is unappetizing to him now. You wobble from the pain, using the wall as support. You’re going to fall into the puddle of blood.

He rushes over, shouldering past Abdirak and wrapping his arms around you - around your shoulders and lower back, where you weren’t hit - and keeping you on your feet. You lean heavily into him, even as you try to keep a facade of strength and indifference. You’re even paler than before. Blood drips out your mouth, so much you have to turn and spit it out with a wince. You bit your tongue just to stay quiet.

“Loviatar herself found your performance… inspiring.” You look over your shoulder at the man. So much wicked elation pours from him, radiating in a sickening display. “She has deemed you worthy of her blessing.”

Astarion helps you turn to face your torturer - though, he thinks, you might see Abdirak as your salvation. Once he’s sure you can support your own weight, he cautiously steps away. Abdirak tosses a pinch of salt to either side of you and makes motions with his hands. A red glow briefly surrounds you, reaching up from the floor, from the blood, to bless you.

Abdirak smiles sickeningly sweet and leans in, too close to your face for Astarion’s liking. “And on a personal note, thank you. That was positively divine.”

You give a small nod, not meeting his eyes. You walk over to your gear and start pulling on your shirt. Your movements are slow and achy, and you keep your gaze fixed on the stone floor.

Astarion steps in front of you, hands stopping you when you try putting your shirt over your head. You start to pull away. You wanted this. You needed this. You were using this as punishment. But he couldn’t find anything you needed to be punished for.

He grabs your arms, keeping you where you are. “Stop being stubborn,” he chides softly. “You’ve had your atonement - you don’t need to keep torturing yourself.”

You hesitantly lift your eyes, just high enough to see his chin. Meeting his eyes feels too overwhelming. You nod slightly. He almost sighs with relief when you let him gently coax your shirt over your head and shift it to hang loosely over your back. You let him clasp your armor back over you, lift your arms and tie leather strands together, protecting you from any more damage. You can feel annoyance radiating from him, despite how careful he’s being.

Once you’re fully armored, you turn and lead your group away from the sickening man, from the fresh blood on the floor. Astarion follows close behind. He can see every wince, hear every sharp inhale, and taste the iron in the air.

Those who didn’t go with you are surprised when you immediately retreat to your tent. Usually, you linger around a while to help with any issues until dinner. Your companions tell the events of the day with hushed tones and worried glances to your tent. Astarion doesn’t hang around to listen. He finds a bowl and has Gale conjure some water to fill it, and a clean cloth. He barges through the door to your tent without asking. The flap closes behind him, and the rest of camp is shut out.

You startle, glaring half-heartedly at him. “Go away, Astarion.”

He barks a dry laugh. “I would rather our intrepid leader not get an infection because they were too careless with themselves.”

“If I get an infection, then it’s my problem to deal with and mine alone.”

“Funny. I thought you were the one prancing around handing aid to any Sally-sob-story, preaching companionship and togetherness. Don’t tell me you’re a hypocrite, too?”

You huffed, irritated. He could see your hands shaking. “I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, I’m sure you can. Now show me your back before I get Shadowheart in here. I don’t think you want a lecture from her after all that.”

You weighed your options. Get scolded by your healer who could so easily refuse to help since you willingly put yourself in harm’s way, or get scolded by the only other person here who knew exactly what you were doing to yourself? There was no competition, really.

You sigh and turn your back to him, reaching over your head to tug your shirt off once more. You audibly hiss. At least you weren’t trying to hide the pain anymore.

Blood stains the cloth in your lap. You don’t look forward to washing it. Perhaps you could just dye it red.

Astarion settles in behind you, close enough his knees almost touch your hips. You listen attentively as he soaks the cloth in the water and wrings it out. He doesn’t warn you before he starts dabbing at the wounds. You hiss and jerk away. He sighs and presses a hand to your bare shoulder. This time, he dabs more delicately at the wounds.

“So, are we going to address the tarrasque in the room?” He can’t see your face in this position. Your body language can only tell him so much; he wishes he could even have a glimpse of your face to read your emotions. “I know you didn’t do it simply for the blessing.”

He can see your back shake as you let out an unsteady stream of air. “Did you see…?”

He hums. He dunks the cloth back into the water, tinting the water pink.

“Every time I did something wrong, she’d force me to watch as another spawn was whipped. Tortured for my mistakes.” You scoff. It’s watery. “I would never be put in their place. No matter how bad I was, I was always too precious. She wanted me to look utterly pristine, only marred by her teeth digging into me every night.

“I just thought- If I ruin that perfect image she’s made of me. If I destroy the thing she holds so dearly, I…”

He wipes away long trails of blood that’d fallen from the lashes, now dried to your skin. “You wanted to know you could disobey her.”

You nod slowly.

“The night I came to you… When I was hungry... I had a nightmare. Of Cazador.” He spits the name like it burns his tongue. “He had rules we had to follow. He beat them into us, made sure we learned our lesson when we stepped out of line. First and foremost, we weren’t allowed to drink from thinking creatures. No humans, or tieflings - even gnomes were off the table.”

He sighed and refreshed the cloth once more. Your injuries were deep, definitely in need of stitches, but he didn’t want to leave to fetch his needle and thread quite yet.

“After that nightmare, I was… scared. I feared, even in my newfound freedom, I wouldn’t be able to disobey. I needed to know that I could. That he can’t control me all the way out here.” He runs a hand soothingly down your arm. “She can’t control you out here.”

“I’m just so tired of being this porcelain doll. This fragile thing with pristine skin. Played with and used. I can’t be that anymore.” You shake your head as emotion chokes you. “I can’t. And if she does find me, I can only hope I’m no longer good enough. Because if I have to go back to that?” You turn to look at him over your shoulder. Your eyes are bloodshot and watery. Silent tears trail your cheeks in the same way your blood had trailed down your back. “Astarion, I…”

He hushes you with a quiet, “I know.” He squeezes your arm before he stands and grabs the bowl. “You need stitches. You’re lucky you have such a skilled needleworker around to help.”

You laugh weakly. You turn away from him again as you wipe the tears from your face. “Thanks.”

“Just, please try to find a better coping mechanism. I can only be so nice before the others suspect I really do have a heart.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog

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krirebr · 7 months

Text

We're All Monsters AU Masterlist

The Vampire side of my and @paperweight91 's giant supernatural AU. Check out her werewolf side here!

See each story for warnings.

Psycho Killer - Ransom Drysdale x Little Rabbit

A drunken dare and chance encounter jump-starts a whole new life.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Steve Rogers x Sunshine

Your vacation comes to an end when a powerful and mysterious man gets his first taste.

Coming Soon

Heads Will Roll - Curtis Everett x Angel x Jake Jensen

Training to be a slayer becomes even more difficult when you must hit the road with two hunters for your own safety.

Killing Moon - James Mace x Sneak

When you and your boyfriend steal something without fully realizing who you are stealing from, you're sent on a cross-country adventure by an ally you're pretty sure you shouldn't trust.

Dance Hall Days - Steve Rogers x Ransom Drysdale

Ransom meets a man in a bar who seems like he'll be fun for a night or two... A prequel series to I Can't Sleep Cause My Bed's On Fire

Head Over Heels

All Cole wants is someone to share eternity with. He won't stop looking until he finds them.

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thezombieprostitute · 4 months

Note

Mace + 38?

...because they're running out of time.

Ask is based on this post.

A/N: My brain went a little weird on this one. I've never written this kind of fantasy setting before. Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Word Count: < 1k

Warnings: Mild violence. Please let me know if I missed any!

Mace was always a bit of an oddball in his village. While his people were naturally afraid of the rough seas and violent tides, he found them calming. When others had the sense of mind to stay away from the shores and piers, he was walking along them, breathing deep and enjoying sounds, smells, feel of the wind and sea creating their chaos.

He couldn't explain why enjoyed it so he never bothered to try. Some people would whisper that there was selkie blood in his family history. That his great-grandfather had caught himself a selkie and Mace had inherited some of her wild nature. Mace never cared for those rumors. Every selkie story he'd ever heard involved a poor soul being trapped by a human and never allowed freedom. His memories of his great-grandparents were scarce but by all accounts they had a happy marriage.

So he refused to give them credence, refused to let the rumors get to him, and just let himself enjoy the things he enjoyed. No need to overthink it or let others affect the calm he felt during these times.

One evening Mace went walking further than usual. He'd gotten into an argument with the town elders, trying to convince them of the need to incorporate greenhouses to keep a steady food supply for their growing village. They kept arguing that current preparation and reliance on fishing was enough. When they refused to listen to the data he'd collected he lost his temper and ended up punching one of them.

Thankfully the walk and the waves were helping. And then he heard the giggling, laughing screams. Mace knew there were no other villages nearby and no one else in his own village would be out here. Curious, he walked carefully towards the sounds.

That's how he found the three women, naked, swimming in the rough waters and laughing. As his shock fades, he finds himself smiling, mesmerized by the women and their laughter. It takes a while for him to realize his presence might scare them so he turns to walk away but trips over something.

He looks at his feet and is dumbfounded to see three sealskins. Certain that it couldn't be what he thought, Mace ran and hid. He needed to make sure. He watched and waited for the women to leave, to not grab the sealskins. So as not to be caught, he hid himself behind the trees so he would only be able to hear them. Occasionally peeking out to see confirm they were still swimming.

As the sun was reaching the horizon, he heard footsteps approaching. Carefully peering out from behind the tree he saw Harvey, another man from his village who was a strong candidate for leadership in the village. Thinking he was looking for him, Mace headed towards Harvey but stopped short when he saw Harvey pick up one of the sealskins and grin.

“Harvey? What are you doing?”

The other man turned in surprise and tried to run but Mace was too fast. He caught him and pulled him into a hold.

“Again, what are you doing, Harvey?”

“They're selkies,” Harvey confessed. “My grandfather told me about this beach. Said it's how he got himself a wife. Figured I'd do the same.”

“You can't be serious,” Mace scoffed.

“It's true! I know it sounds crazy but they're actually selkies!”

“No,” Mace scolded. “You can't seriously expect me to believe this is how you want to get yourself a wife!”

“What? It's not like they're real people,” Harvey scoffed. “Are you upset because you're one of them? Well guess what, I'm descended from them, too! It's okay!”

Mace adjusts his hold so that he's choking Harvey. “Drop the sealskin. Go home. And never come to this beach again.”

“You don't have the right! I've got the pull of the entire village. If I tell them you've threatened me, you'll be kicked out.”

“At least I won't be a monster,” Mace growled. He tightened his grip until Harvey finally dropped the skin. When he did, Mace practically threw the man in the direction of the village. “I'll be watching you,” he vowed, his voice tight with menace. Harvey gave him a sneer but ran back to the village.

Behind him he hears, “well that was very brave of you.” He turns around and sees one of the women he'd been watching. As a show of good faith he steps away from the sealskin. She quickly grabs it up, “I only have a minute to get this on before the sun goes down.” Grabbing the front of Mace's shirt she pulls him towards her and gives him a deep kiss. “Next time we'll talk.”

She turns and runs back to the water, joining the other two and quickly putting on her sealskin. The three seals swim away from the beach as the sun sets and Mace knows his life has changed forever.

Tagging @alicedopey; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

#zombie asks #james mace #james mace x female!reader #james mace x selkie!reader #mace x female!reader

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thesandsofelsweyr · 2 years

Text

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 1/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 2,809 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

This is my first attempt at a reader-insert fic 🙃

Yes this is a repost. My blog is still new so Tumblr didn't allow my original post to appear in the tags. (Shout out to the 10 of you who still managed to find & like the original 🥰)

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You climb the last flight of steps up to the fourth floor of your apartment building, stomping each stair into submission as you go. You’re still fuming from the blind date you just escaped. That is the absolute last time you ever let Erin set you up with one of her stock broker bro coworkers. You don’t care how hot or rich they are; you are done. Done, done, stick a fork in you. You love your bestie but by God does the woman have terrible taste in men or what.

Both of the pricks she handpicked for you were narcissistic know-it-alls with egos the size of Texas; a pair of swine in designer suits (who, to Erin’s credit, were smoking hot but that’s beside the point.) Once the pig from tonight decided that you weren’t trophy wife material he became far more interested in his phone than he was in you. And the last pig coddled you like you were a delicate, empty-headed damsel in distress who was lucky to be granted the honor of his company and conversation. You should’ve learned your lesson after that first failed date with Dalton Rockefeller-Vanderbilt (or whatever old money asshole last name he had) but you’ve been feeling lonely lately, especially after Ash introduced you to the fab guy she’s dating (an accountant with a perfectly plebeian name of Abe).

You glare down the hallway as you ascend enough to peek over the top of the stairs. Oh great, you think sourly, pursing your lips, your face hardening into a study in once I step inside that door I’m downing a shot of whiskey before turning up an overflowing glass of wine. You stare molten daggers at the tall, brawny guy in your sights. It’s the hot asshole who lives beside you; the last person you want to see tonight. He’s standing, hunched as ever, in front of his door, key poised for the deadbolt, wearing that same teal baseball cap and red hoodie that he never seems to take off. Your jaw tightens. You’ve tried to be nice to the brute—flashing him a smile, saying hello—but all you’ve ever gotten in return was a scowl, if he deigned to acknowledge you at all. Well, you’re fresh out of smiles tonight, jerk.

A flutter of unease tickles your tummy as you step onto the landing, into the narrow hallway with him, your back turned to the only exit, a six foot tall sus man between you and your apartment. You stand up straighter, squaring your shoulders, trying to make yourself look and feel taller. It’s late, and your building is eerily quiet while the city is abuzz with incessant sirens. The usual ensemble of notorious nutjobs are fighting yet another battle in their never-ending war with their rival nutjob who dresses up like a Bat.

Nutjobs like this guy…

You reach into your handbag and grab your keys in your fist, sliding the sharp ends between your fingers, ready to stab at some eyeballs. (You regrettably didn’t have room for your taser or mace in this bag so you have to improvise.) It’s your own fault that you suspect the guy’s a sociopath lying in wait to jump you. You made up a serial killer backstory for him—the result of one too many true crime podcast binges—despite not even knowing the guy’s name. You can’t help it. He gives off serious Ted Bundy vibes. Well, maybe that’s unfair to Ted. Ted would’ve at least smiled at you before bludgeoning you with a crowbar. This guy though…

This guy doesn’t have a scowl for you tonight. Actually, he seems startled by your sudden appearance in the hallway, dropping his keyring to the floor with a clatter that shatters the uneasy silence, causing you to jump. He ducks his red-hooded head between his hunched shoulders as you pass by, warily eying him, ready to stab those icy blue eyeballs of his if he tries anything.

You arrive at your door and take out your keyring, sighing with likely unnecessary relief as you slide the key into the lock. The guy’s probably a harmless weirdo incel who never learned how to talk to a woman. You steal one last peek over your shoulder at him, and watch as he stabs at his deadbolt with his key, hitting everywhere but the keyhole because, you realize with surprise, his hand is shaking too much to hit the target. This dude’s a disaster, you say to yourself as you turn the key in your own deadbolt. Then, as he misses the keyhole yet again, you hear yourself ask, “Do you need help?” in an annoyed tone. You didn’t mean to sound so bitchy but whatever. He shouldn’t be such a bitch to you.

He seems to jump at the sound of your voice, and his keyring clatters to the scuffed wood floor again. You stare back at him incredulously. Is he wasted or something? You wonder as that unsettling feeling creeps back in, prickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Your grip tightens around your doorknob as your pulse picks up speed.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles in response without sparing a glance in your direction.

“You don’t look fine,” you grumble back at him, the flames of irritation rekindled by his rudeness. Why should you care if the jerk’s too drunk or stoned to get in his apartment. Let his rude ass sleep on his doorstep. You shove open your door and take a stomped step across the threshold—you really need that glass of wine. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bend down to pick up his keys, then hear him groan like he’s in pain. You poke your head back around the doorframe, curious, and notice he’s doubled over now, clutching at his heaving chest, breathing hard and fast like he just ran a 5k or—your heart leaps inside your own chest—like he’s having a fucking heart attack. You watch, mouth agape, brows furrowed, as he sinks to his knees, a handful of red fabric still clenched in his trembling fist, then falls forward onto his free hand while he struggles to get control of his labored breathing. Crumpled on the floor like this, fighting for a breath, makes him seem so small, vulnerable, and not the least bit threatening; more like a boy who needs your help and less like an NFL quarterback who murders women on the side for fun.

Just go into your apartment, pour that extra large glass of merlot you’ve been fantasizing about since John Preston Anderson III introduced himself with his full name. Curl up on the sofa with In Cold Blood or a horde of shirtless, oiled, bronzed, and heartily-muscled Dothraki in your Game of Thrones rewatch. Who cares if the hot asshole serial killer next door has a heart attack? But you care apparently because you rush over to him instead, ignoring The Stranger Beside Me audiobook narrator inside your head warning you that this is a textbook Ted Bundy ploy, you idiot. You bend to help him, to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and when your fingertips brush against him his entire body jerks away from you, like you zapped him with your taser. He throws up an arm to warn you off. “Don’t,” he snaps breathlessly before gulping down a lungful of air, then rasps: “Please don’t touch me.”

You bristle at his harsh rebuff but keep your temper in check since the guy’s clearly in crisis mode. “Should I call an ambulance? You look like you’re having a heart attack.”

“It’s… it’s not a heart attack… it just… feels like one.” He bites off each word, every breath precious. The fingers of his free hand dig into the hardwood floor.

“At least let me unlock your door for you,” you suggest shortly, biting your tongue before you can add: since you weren’t able to manage that yourself, then feeling guilty for even thinking that. What had the poor guy done to you tonight except happen to be standing in your shared hallway after some other asshole pissed you off?

He gives you a small, grudging nod so you retrieve his fallen keyring, wondering why a man needs so many damn keys. “The bronze one,” he grunts, as if he read your mind.

You unlock his door with the bronze key then push the door open while he drags himself to his feet behind you, huffing and groaning. The dimly lit apartment that greets you is sterile, spartan; that doesn’t help the serial killer vibes at all. One of the furnished units, you presume, since the furniture looks like it was plucked from the lobby of your building. The walls are white and bare; no art or posters or photos of him scowling beside a lover. And the place is spotless—you’d assume it was vacant if you didn’t know otherwise. A vision suddenly fills your mind, a vision of him on his knees, bright yellow dishwashing gloves pulled halfway up his muscular arms, an uncapped bottle of industrial bleach at his side as he scrubs at a puddle of blood while the lifeless corpse of the last girl who wandered in here lies wrapped up in blood-stained plastic behind him. Oh God, you even smell the bleach. But then you notice the stacks of paperback books here and there, the open sketch pad on the sofa with pencil-scribbled notes and drawings, some charging AirPods beside an iPad, another red hoodie—one that zips up the front—hanging from the back of a dining room chair, a gym bag, and atop the kitchen island, a rather happy-looking houseplant which, you have to admit, is kinda cute.

Before you can take in the rest of his place he staggers past you, bumping into your shoulder with a bruising force that knocks you sideways and nearly off your feet. Then with one last little wheeze, he topples over like an uprooted oak tree in a windstorm, smacking face first into the hardwood with a meaty thud that rattles the floor beneath you.

“Oh my God!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands.

A shot of adrenaline pumps through your veins, spurring you into action. You snatch your phone from your bag with rubber fingers, nearly flinging it aside in your panic, and frantically dial 9-1-1, forgetting all about the emergency shortcuts created for just such an occasion. Your stomach dips at the sight of the bulky body lying prone at your feet, still and silent as the grave. As the phone rings—the long-familiar trilling sound now seemingly drawn out as if it will stretch into eternity—you kneel beside him to check his pulse and see if he’s still breathing, praying he isn’t a corpse, when you spot something that knocks the breath from your lungs and stops your heart dead in its tracks. With a cold, trembling hand you push up the tail of his hoodie…

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The operator asks by rote, voice booming through your phone’s speaker, but you barely hear it over the alarm bells clanging inside your head. You’re gaping at the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, unable to form any sort of response around your heart lodged in your throat.

“Hello?” the operator asks irritably.

“Hi, uh,” you start with a squeak, eyes still fixed on the textured grip of that deadly weapon, but then smack your lips shut. What are the cops gonna think when they see that gun? And what if he’s wanted for a crime or something and you get him arrested? He said it wasn’t a heart attack, acted like this had happened to him before. You can always call back if he’s actually dead or dying…

Why the hell does it matter if he gets arrested?? Your brain shouts back at you. Why are you even here in the first place when there’s an unopened bottle of merlot waiting for you in the safety of your apartment only a few footsteps away, where there’s not an unresponsive armed man who’s built like a tank, who doesn’t even need the gun when he could snap your tiny neck with those massive hands of his? Could the universe give you any clearer signals that “you in danger, girl”? Have you learned absolutely nothing from hours upon hours of Karen and Georgia? “Stay sexy and don’t get murdered”—this guy isn’t even nice to you! Don’t you dare hang up that phone…

“Um, I’m so sorry. I thought my neighbor was having a heart attack but-but he’s fine actually. False alarm. Sorry to bother you!” Your words tumble out in a rush then you smash the “End Call” button before you can get questioned further or chewed out for wasting their time. In the back of your mind you hear the recording of this 9-1-1 call replaying on the My Favorite Murder episode starring you, before the hostess pair warns their listeners not to make the same foolish mistake you just made.

You sit back on your heels, clammy hands kneading your knees while that chunk of baleful metal glares back at you from his waistband, like a coiled rattlesnake peeking out from beneath a rock. Your mind is racing as fast as your heart through scenarios that all end with you getting shot. Then your hands are moving with minds of their own, fingers curling around the textured grip, getting your dainty fingerprints all over the murder weapon as you slip it free. It’s heavier than you expected, you note as you grip it tighter, careful not to get your finger anywhere near that trigger. Heavy, but not heavy enough for something that can end a life in an instant. The thought makes you shudder. You place the gun on the floor then give it a shove, eager to be rid of it, praying that the damn thing won’t go off automatically as it slides across the hardwood floor out of reach. You’ve never touched a gun before this moment and have zero interest in shooting yourself in the face.

Now your attention shifts back to the poor guy who's still out cold. You lay your hand on his back and feel its steady rise and fall. Still breathing, thank God. Then with a grunt of effort and a mighty heave you manage to flip him over on his back. Immediately your hand shoots back to cover your mouth and you suck in a horrified breath as his pale face, previously hidden beneath the shadow of his hat and hood, becomes visible in the lamplight.

You were expecting the weals on his chin and forehead, the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip swelling from where it busted when he fell flat on his face. What you weren’t expecting to find was dried blood smeared across his cheek up to his ear, or the J-shaped scar beneath his eye that you’d noticed before (it’s unfortunately hard to miss, despite his best efforts to hide it) weeping beads of fresh blood from where someone traced over it with a knife you assume, carving deep into his skin. But it wasn’t the sight of the blood or the crimson J that pulled the gasp from your throat and made your stomach nosedive like you were on a rollercoaster. Nope, that was your reaction to the angry red furrows encircling his throat around his Adam's apple, deep indentations where someone wrapped rope or wire or cable around his neck so tight that it embedded in his skin; ligature marks from where someone fucking strangled him.

You grab your phone then pause, biting at your lip. Maybe you should call 9-1-1 again. What if his windpipe is crushed? What if that’s why he was breathing so hard, why he fainted? Those marks are so deep… he could be seriously injured. But if he was seriously injured, why had he returned to his apartment instead of going to the ER? It seems like he made the choice for you.

You open your phone’s browser and type: how to treat strangulation injuries, then quickly skim over the top result. Ice. That seems simple enough, you tell yourself, noting that you can clean his J cuts with soap and water, at least until he wakes up. And if he doesn’t wake up soon? Well, then you’ll call the cops. After all, he’s probably a law abiding citizen who’s licensed to carry that gun; a guy that you just pinned as another one of the nutjobs because you always get paranoid about every stranger you see after your true crime binges. In your defense, this is Gotham-fucking-City and you’re a young single lady who lives alone. You’d be a fool not to be paranoid.

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lolahauri · 8 months

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✎ Introduction ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Requests are always open, and you can send as many as you want, as detailed as you want! I just get to them whenever i can/feel like it.

Anon's: 🌹-🕯️-🍁-❤️-

Other Accounts: @lolas-favfics @lolamultifandom @lolahaurisfw

AO3: Here

-> MASTERLIST <-

-> EVENT MASTERLIST <-

DNI: MAP, ZOO, Pro-Para, Pro-Ana, TERF, Zionist, Bigots, Minors!!!, Discourse Blogs. ❤️🖤🤍💚

Things I Won't Write:

Sex Crimes of ANY KIND, Super Violent/Xtreme Kinks, Inflation, Feederism, Abuse, Puke, Shit, DDLG, Age Play, Raceplay, Wound Fucking, Gore, Vore, Misgendering, Lesbian x Male, Gay Man x Female, Stepcest etc... no exceptions!

Fluff, Angst, Platonic. (Go to my other fanfic blog for that.)

Things I Will Write:

Genderbent Characters, Mild Yandere, Daddy/Mommy Kink, Cheating, Mild BDSM, CNC, Dubcon, Monsters, Hybrids, Sex Pollen, Legal Age Gap, Power Imbalance (Prof/Student, Boss/Employee), Feet, Armpits, Piss, Breeding, Mild Bloodplay & Knifeplay, Cock Warming, Dry Humping, Voyeur, Public Sex, Orgy, 3somes, Sex Toys, Overstim, Edging, etc... etc... :P

Trans Reader, Chubby/Tall/Short/Curvy/Fat/Buff Reader, Other Specific Characteristics.✔️

*if you aren't sure, just ask!* :)

HC's, One Shots, Multi-Chapter, Drabbles, F/O Imagines.

Canon-friendly, AU's, Canon Divergence, Out of Character.

Ch x Ch / Ch x Reader / Ch x OC / OC x Reader / Poly Ships of any kind.

F/F, M/M, F/M, GN/F, GN/M, Poly Ships of any kind.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the list of fandoms and characters i'm familiar with and will happily take requests on! (you can request other characters from these fandoms, but it might take me longer!)

Adventure Time/Fiona & Cake: PB, Marceline, Marshall Lee, Winter King, Candy Queen, Simon, Ice King, Fiona.

Attack On Titan: Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Levi, Hanji, Annie, Historia, Reiner, Erwin, Ymir.

Avatar: Jake, Neytiri.

Batman Begins Triology: Batman, Catwoman, Bane, Joker, Scarecrow.

Bee & Puppycat: Bee, Deckard, Cass, Toast.

BigBang Theory: Raj, Leonard, Penny, Amy.

Black Dynamite: Honeybee, Black Dynamite.

BNA: Michiru, Shirou.

Bob’s Burgers: Bob, Linda.

Breaking Bad: Jesse, Skylar.

Call of Duty: Konig, Ghost, Mace, Keegan, Krueger, Valeria, Farah.

Creepypasta: Jeff, Jane, Ben, Toby, EJ, LJ, Slenderman, Splendorman, Clockwork, Kate, Masky, Hoodie,

Desperate Housewives: Bree, Gabi, Edie, Lynette, Carlos, John.

Dirty Dancing: Johnny, Baby.

Earth Girls Are Easy: Mac, Zeebo, Wiploc, Valerie.

Elemental: Wade, Ember.

Encanto: Isabela, Bruno, Dolores, Julieta.

FNAF Movie: Vanessa, Mike, William/Steve.

Frozen: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff.

Futurama: Leela, Fry, Amy, Bender.

Gravity Falls: Ford, Stan, Soos, Melody, Giffany, Bill.

Jane The Virgin: Jane, Michael, Petra, Luisa, Rose, Rogelio, Xiomara.

Jurassic Park (1993): Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler.

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna.

King of the Hill: Hank, Peggy, Luane, Nancy, Dale, Khan, Min, John Redcorn.

Lisa Frankenstein: Lisa, Creature, Taffy.

Little Mermaid (2022): Ariel, Eric.

MHA: Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa.

Moon Knight: Moon System, Layla, Khonshu.

National Treasure: Benjamin, Riley.

Nintendo: Link, Zelda, Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, Luigi, Bowser, Waluigi.

Norbit: Rasputia, Norbit.

Princess & The Frog: Tiana, Lottie, Naveen, Shadow Man.

Ratatouille: Colette, Linguini.

Regular Show: Mordecai, Margret, Eileen, CJ, Benson.

Resident Evil: Karl Heisenberg, Carlos Oiliveria, Lady Dimitrescu.

Rick and Morty: Rick, Jerry, Beth, Doofus Rick.

Riverdale: FP Jones, Hiram.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World: Kim, Ramona, Gideon, Wallace.

Serial Mom: Chip, Beverly.

Silverado: Slick, Rae, Mal, Paden.

Shallow Hal: Rosemary, Hal.

Shameless: Lip, Fiona, Kev, V.

SheRa (2018): All Adults.

Sherlock (2010): Sherlock, John Watson.

Slashers & DBD: Brahms, Ghostface, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, Pyramid Head, The Spirit, Huntress, Trapper, Wraith, Trickster, Pearl, Jennifer Check, Stu Matcher, Billy Loomis, Tiffany Valentine, Patrick Bateman, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair, Eric Draven, The Artist, Amanda Young.

Spiderverse: Miguel, Jessica Drew.

Spongebob: Dennis, Man Ray.

Squid Games: Gi-Hun, Sae-Byeok, Ali, Sang Woo.

Steven Universe: Garnet, Amethyst, Peridot, Lapis, Jasper, Blue Diamond, Rose, Greg.

Stranger Things: Robin, Billy Eddie, Chrissy, Hopper.

Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Castiel.

Super Store: Amy, Jonah, Dina, Garrett, Cheyenne.

Tangled: Flynn, Rapunzel, Mother Gothell.

The Batman (2022): Batman, Riddler.

The Breakfast Club: John Bender, Allison Reynolds.

The Nanny: C.C, Fran, Maxwell.

Total Drama Island: S1 Contestants, Chris, Chef, Blainley.

Triple Frontier: Frankie, Santiago.

Turning Red: Ming Lee, Jin Lee.

Twilight: Edward, Carlisle, Alice, Charlie.

WWE: Rhea Ripley, Roman Reigns.

YOU: Beck, Joe, Peach, Love.

Young Sheldon: Mary, Connie.

Abel Morales (A Most Violent Year)

Astarion (Baulder’s Gate 3)

Babbo Natale (Violent Night)

Barbie (Barbie 2023)

Basil Stitt (Lightning Face)

Beverly Goldberg (The Goldbergs)

Bruce (Beyond Therapy)

Charles Ingalls (Little House on the Praire)

Charlie Dompler (Smiling Friends)

Chel (Road to El Dorado)

Dale Kobble (Longlegs)

Dan Conner (Rosanne)

David Levinson (Independence Day)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Doug Remer (Baseketball)

Duke Leto Atreides (Dune)

Fezzik (Princess Bride)

Francine (American Dad)

Fujimoto (Ponyo)

Georgia Miller (Ginny & Georgia)

Jack Harrison (Translyvania 6-5000)

Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)

Jon Arbuckle (Garfield 2024)

John Doe (John Doe Game)

Jonathan Levy (Scenes from a Marriage)

John Wick (John Wick 4)

King Baldwin (Kingdom of Heaven)

Kitten (Breakfast on Pluto)

Laurent LeClaire (In Secret)

Linda Gunderson (Rio)

Llewyn Davis (Inside Lleywn Davis)

Master Chief (Halo)

Mike (5lbs of Pressure)

Moe Doodle (Doodle Bops)

Nani Palekai (Lilo & Stitch)

Nathan Bateman (Ex Machina)

Outcome-3 (The Bourne Legacy)

Orestes (Agora)

Paul Blart (Paul Blart: Mall Cop)

Paul Cable (Last Stand at Saber River)

Peggy Bundy (Married With Children)

Peter Mitchell (3 Men & A Baby)

Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Prince John (Robin Hood 2010)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)

Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Shiv (Pu-239)

Stanley Ipkiss (The Mask)

Star-Lord (Gaurdians of the Galaxy)

Tate Langdon (AHS: Murder House)

The Janitor (Willy’s Wonderland)

Thomas Magnum (Magnum, P.I 1980)

William Tell (The Card Counter)

#x reader #self ship #shipping #ao3 writer #fandom #minors dni #intro post #pinned post

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

The Viper's Bride - ch 14

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* Threats, anger, threats of violence (specifically), classism, degrading language. FFM threesome, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pregnant sex, rough sex, cum eating. Summary: An announcement, a decision, a reaction, and a development. After the events of this day, none of your lives will be the same. Notes: This is, of course, an au. So we have adapted the events of season four to be as true to the plot as possible while also working for the story we want to tell. I hope you enjoy!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13

Each step forward this morning feels heavy to Raeden, who is amused at his own surprise over how much he wishes he was still in bed with his bride. He and Margaery had almost fallen into bed upon the group's return to the keep last night, taken aback by the shock of the charge in their first kiss as man and wife. This morning Leyth had woken them last and left the room with an expression made of pure amusement, finding the couple wrapped in each other instead of the blankets had been a boon of practicality. Any question of the marriage's consummation could be answered by the first-hand witness account of your maid.

"Mace Tyrell will be angry, shouting." Oberyn reminds him, smirking slightly at the expression on the other man's face. Margaery Tyrell – Sunstone's – cunt must be magical to make the man forego his duty with such a woeful expression on his face. Although the idea of having everyone together had been sweet, it was necessary to establish the legality of the marriage without any dispute first. A night with all five of their group in bed would come soon enough. "However, in his heart, he is a coward." He snorts. "Grasping at favors like a rat and scampering away when heavy boots thud around the table."

“It is not Mace Tyrell I worry about,” Raeden admits. Though he is not precisely keen to inform his unwitting father-in-law of the elopement, Raeden has enough wits to understand that Olenna Tyrell is the true head of his wife’s family. “Tywin will not be pleased to lose out on the Tyrell fortune.”

"Tywin thinks that you are my little pet," Oberyn grunts in amusement. "Perhaps a lover I have taken out of boredom and bestow favors upon." He shakes his head. "It is why you have been allowed in the Small Council sessions, he believes that you are soon gone and will no longer be of consequence." Oberyn knows his reputation and what the elder Lannister would think, using it and him for his own ends. Now there is no question of Raeden's position and it is another stab at the Lannisters. This time in their pockets.

“Yet, I am the only one you have not fucked yet.” Chuckling ruefully at that fact, Raeden walks steadily beside Oberyn and shakes his head as he goes. It is only a matter of time for them, and Oberyn has been respectful of Raeden’s past troubles with male lovers.

"I have not fucked your pretty wife." He points out, smirking slightly as they walk shoulder to shoulder. "Tell me, how was her cunt last night? Was it tight and wet for you?"

“All the stable boys and knights and soldiers all moaning for their queen at night would not have been disappointed.” Despite chuckling, though, Raeden puts one hand into his pocket as they walk and fiddles with his wife’s favourite handkerchief. She had given it to him this morning as a token of proof if her father did not believe what they had done. He has a wife. That truth still sits foreign on Raeden’s tongue.

"Then I do not feel guilty for having both of your soulmates on my face and cock last night." Oberyn teases, knowing full well both men wear the marks and in a strange way are also bound to each other. He catches the tender expression that flashes across Raeden's face and understands it. How that he has made his own vows and discovers that he does not dread it as much as he thought he would. "It will be a good union, perhaps a loving one in time." He predicts, wrapping his arm around the new husband's broad shoulders. "I have a good feeling about this."

Down the hall and around a corner, the other two judges, such as they are, are already waiting in the throne room when Oberyn and Raeden stroll in with broad smiles and good humor. “Oberyn.” Tywin Lannister raises one eyebrow in surprise. “You are early.”

“Early because there is a matter that needs to be discussed before the meeting and trial.” He announces before he looks to Raeden. “Lord Sunstone has taken a wife.”

“How…fortunate.” Tywin cannot see immediately why this matter is of any concern to him, but he forces his expression into a thin-lipped smile and nods to the elevated bastard. “You are to be congratulated, then?”

“Many thanks.” Raeden knows that sentiment will be soured when they find out who he married. He turns towards Mace and reaches into his pocket. “I hope there will be no harsh feelings for the quickness of the marriage, but your daughter is safe and content in my chambers.” He tells the man as he pulls out the handkerchief.

“My daughter?” Mace huffs out a condescending laugh of ridicule without so much as glancing at the fabric in the bastard noble’s hand. “You must be a greater dullard than I thought, boy.” Bolstered by Tywin standing just over his shoulder, Mace Tyrell knows no fear. “Margaery is a queen, not a bed-warming whore. Some girl has tricked you into a fool’s vow claiming to be a Tyrell.”

“It is true.” Oberyn bristles at the insult, far more than even Raeden does, since he was the one to appoint him as a lord. “I witnessed their vows myself and the former queen eagerly spoke her vows before the maester and the Seven.”

“It is not possible.” The man’s round eyes widen before instantly squinting, and he bolts forward to snatch at the token that Raeden keeps just out of his reach. Margaery’s monogram is unmistakable in the corner, done up in green thread by her own mother’s hand. “It is not possible!” Mace howls, his face turning deep pink and then red as confusion turns to fury. If his daughter has actually eloped, he is ruined. “This is a trick!”

“Miracles abound.” The prince snorts, amused by the older man’s tantrum. “If it is a trick, then it was a vivid one, considering my servant saw your daughter using Lord Raeden as her personal pillow this morning, still perched on his cock in sleep.” He smirks as he looks towards Lord Tywin. “Tired herself out on her husband’s cock it seems.”

Lannister, who has pursed his lips once so far but said nothing, watches with careful eyes as Mace storms around the room in circles for a moment before doubling back to him with drawn terror on his greasy little face. “It cannot have been allowed.” He insists, staring up at the much taller Tywin in horror. “I did not allow it! I would never allow it! She will be brought to heel and returned to you, Tywin. As promised.”

“And break the laws of the kingdom?” Instead of Oberyn speaking up, it is Raeden. “Once a marriage is blessed by the maesters and consummated, it negates any contracts or agreements made prior.” He reminds the Small Council members. “You no longer have the power to do so, Lord Tyrell.”

“You are a flea.” Mace Tyrell may be half of Raeden Sunstone’s height, but he points a finger up at him like he’s scolding a street urchin. “You are a boil on my ass and I will see you in a cell right next to Tyrion’s for this!” With a face redder than a ripe cherry, Mace Tyrell storms from the chamber headed for the gods-only-know-where, muttering and flailing his hands all the way.

“That went very well.” Oberyn chuckles. “Don’t you think?” He asks Raeden, knowing the man is slightly flustered at the ire of his new father-in-law.

“It certainly went differently than expected,” admits Raeden, who had prepared himself to be attacked bodily if Mace reacted poorly.

“It was unwise, Oberyn.” Tywin warns him in a grave voice. “Most unwise.”

“What? Only the Lannisters can make deals that benefit them?” Oberyn asks, lifting a brow haughtily. “I think that you are upset your golden goose has been plucked.”

Tywin’s thin lips become a nearly flat line and he narrows his eyes at Oberyn. “It goes without saying that your place on the Small Council has been rescinded for this stunt.”

The response is not what Tywin must have expected. With a causal shrug, Oberyn smirks. “That is agreeable with me.” He hums and narrows his eyes slightly. “You meet too early for me.”

“You have stuck your nose and your pet mongrel in where they do not belong.” Heat rises in Lannister’s voice, a low rumble that would have most others trembling instantly. “What good do you think the throne will ever do for Dorne now?”

“Why do you think Dorne needs the throne?” His amused demeanor drops and his eyes darken dangerously. “We have not bent the knee. Do not forget, Lannister, that you need us to be the Seven Kingdoms.” He growls, the threat clear in his voice.

“What invasion could be withstood? What negotiations will end in your favour? What mercy will your people find when they are left without the resources they rely on from the North?” The steady rolling rumble of Tywin Lannister’s voice echoes through the room, bouncing off each wall and making it sound as though he were everywhere. “Whatever you promised Margaery, rescind it now. Your bastard’s bride-napping may yet go unnoticed.”

“You wouldn’t.” Oberyn counters. “Because it would be admitting that your Lords are not capable of being managed.” He tells him. “That your hold on the throne is not as iron fisted as you would have it believed.” His own blood is starting to boil now, the insults to Dorne, the threats, pissing him off. “We will simply turn our trade to Bravos,” he counters. “Our spices and silks will be sent across the Narrow Sea. Dorne is not threatened by you, or your armies.”

******

The rising voices, the tension, the anxieties in the air, the building anger means more things than just another spat between the Martells and Lannisters. It means tensions rising for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. It could go as far as war, if things turn violent. But more immediately, for the man awaiting yet another day of his trial in a cell several yards down the hallway, it means a heighten possibility of certain death very soon. If his father is angry and the opinion of his trial’s only reasonable judge is moot? Then Tyrion Lannister is headed for the executioner’s block. Tyrion stretches as close as his chains will allow, trying to hear as much of the conversation as possible.

“That don’t sound good for you.” The portly, slovenly jailer had been another insult for Tyrion. Someone who could barely see his dick over his fat belly couldn’t possibly chase down a healthy, whole man. But Tyrion wasn’t a normal sized man. And the guard set to escort him to and from the trail reminded him of that.

Tyrion’s eyes roll so far back in his head that they almost disappear, and he huffs. No, it does not sound good for him at all. “Hardly anything involving my father is ever good for me,” he says instead.

“Fighting with that Dornish pig.” He grunts. “Nothing good comes out of Dorne but the whores.”

“I would advise you not to say that within earshot of the Red Viper,” Tyrion advises rather drolly.

“What’s he gonna do? Fuck me to death?” The jailer snorts, his amusement making him cough until he hacks up a thick wad of phlegm that he spits at Tyrion’s feet. “I ain’t a goat.”

Grimacing animatedly only to end up rolling his eyes at himself this time, Tyrion gains a half-inch more toward the bars of his cell and leans over. His father’s threats are clear and the prince’s replies are steadily hushed, although his tone is clear enough. “It is time,” he lies, turning to the guard and gesturing. “Bring me in.”

“I didn’t hear nothing.” The guard protests but Tyrion snorts.

“My father will have your head removed if you fail to do your duty.” He reminds him, making the man grimace. He has no love for Tywin Lannister, but he doesn’t want to die because of him.

“On your feet!” He barks, grinning as Tyrion struggles to his feet in the heavy chains.

The usual ruckus and chaos of onlookers is absent when the guard lumbers past the end of the hallway and into the throne room and he grunts as he shoves Tyrion forward. “What is this?” Tywin barks out, barely even glancing down at his youngest child.

Oberyn hums in amusement, settling back in his chair. While Tywin may have kicked him off the Small Council, he cannot kick him off the trial now, and he knows it. “It is your son.” He muses. “You do not recognize him? Perhaps because he is covered in filth and shit from where you threw him in the dungeon.”

"And a good morning to you, too, your Grace." As much of a farce as this entire trial may be, Tyrion is still glad of Prince Oberyn's presence in the proceedings. The trouble will be if his father decides to bring a swift end to things and ignore the prince's opinions in the verdict.

"What is this?" Tywin repeats, annoyance building on top of anger in his tone. "What is it you want, Tyrion? Unless you have come to confess, I will not hear anything from you."

"Yes, Father. I'm guilty." Tyrion's tone is not one of dismissal or of anger, but one of a measured response, and that catches Oberyn's attention. "Guilty. Is that what you want to hear?"

Startled, Tywin's eyebrows knit together. "You admit you poisoned the king?"

"No, of that I'm innocent." Tyrion may be many things, but the least of them all is a fool. "I'm guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being a dwarf."

Wholly annoyed with his son's dramatics, Tywin huffs so deeply that he nearly implodes. "You are not on trial for being a dwarf."

"Oh, yes, I am. I've been on trial for that my entire life." Tyrion contends seriously.

Tywin pinches the bridge of his nose. "If you have nothing to say in your defense, you will go back to your cell until it is time for the trial to begin."

"I did not kill Joffrey." Tyrion holds up both hands in a sort of show of innocence, but also defense. He is headed toward a point, and he will make it sooner rather than later. "I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had the stark fortitude of will to do away so decisively with my enemies. I would gladly give my life to see that justice done. But I will not give my life for Joffrey's murder, and I know I'll get no justice here." Studying his father's face intently and seeing the intrigue there, Tyrion is sure there is a chance this may work. "So I will let the Gods decide my fate." A sure, steady breath enters his body and he squares his shoulders. "I demand a trial by combat."

Oberyn leans forward, intrigued by the notion and it is obvious from the ridged disapproval on his face, that another of Tywin’s schemes that has not gone his way, his careful plotting unraveled by the son he had always secretly despised.

"You know who Cersei will appoint her Champion." Tywin nearly twitches as the idea settles into his bones, disliking every moment of his cursed imp son's clever mind. Why could that cleverness not have gone to Jamie where it could be useful?

“And I will have my own champion.” Tyrion answers dismissively, even though his list of allies dwindles as the days pass and his lack of gold backing him is made obvious.

"Who?" Tywin chortles with unfettered glee. "That useless squire of yours? I thought you finally set him free."

“There is someone who will fight for me.” Tyrion insists, though he knows that Bron would not. He does not have enough coin to pay him.

"How much time will you give him to find someone?" Raeden asks, aghast at everything that has happened in a mere five minute span.

Tywin seems to consider this, frowning down at his son for a long moment before speaking again. "Whatever the length of time is that it will take Clegane to arrive in King's Landing."

“Gregor Clegane?” Oberyn’s voice is soft, piercing through the tension like a whip.

"Who else would my sister appoint to be her Champion?" Tyrion asks, mostly rhetorically. "She cannot appoint our brother, can she?" After all, Jamie's missing hand is a damper on his swordplay. Otherwise Tyrion would have appointed his brother himself. Still, Tyrion looks to Jamie standing silently in the corner with sympathy. He knows what it is to be unwanted and wishes that Jamie never had to learn.

Oberyn hums, a vicious little growl in the back of his throat. Thrilled that the opportunity has finally presented itself. “I will be your champion.” He tells Tyrion, his voice clear and firm.

"You— what?" Both Lannisters ask together, heads snapping up toward the Dornish prince. Even Raeden is staring, although he is imagining the terror on your and Ellaria's faces rather than expressing surprise at Oberyn's choice. He understands perfectly why the choice is being made.

"I will fight for Tyrion Lannister." He repeats, settling back into his chair with an air of supreme victory. "And kill your Mountain." He warns Tywin. "It is fortunate that you have been so accommodating in arranging our conversation. I was starting to think that you had deceived me." He offers with a small pout.

A man does not get a nickname like the Red Viper of Dorne without earning it, and although Tyrion has never seen Oberyn Martell fight, he knows his reputation. The man is as likely to win a fight as he is to be successful in a seduction – and he has fucked half of Westeros.

For his part, Tywin is seething, but the only way to tell is his eyes. If looks could kill there would be no need for champions at all — Tywin would simply strike his son down here and now. “Take him away,” he growls to the jailer, striking out one bony finger to indicate that he wants Tyrion as far away from him as possible.

Jamie Lannister is perhaps the only person in the entire room that seems genuinely upset, his eyes filled with genuine worry for the brother he has always tried to protect from the wrath of his sister and father. His deal with his father now useless, he turns and strides out of the room with a swish of his white cloak.

******

“You are sure you can win?” Raeden is at Oberyn’s side with worry painted over his every feature in the swift walk to your chambers. If anything happens to Oberyn, he cannot think of how profoundly it will devastate you and Ellaria.

"Extremely." Oberyn boasts confidently. "I have been in the fighting pits in Mereen, against much better opponents than Gregor Clegane." He spits the name out like a curse. "His size is what wins him his battles but I have the agility he does not."

“Size can often be enough.” Raeden himself is not a small man, but nowhere near the size of the legendary Mountain. “They say he can crush a man’s skull in with his bare hands, Oberyn. That is not to be taken lightly.”

"I do not intend to make light of it." He reassures him. "I intend to make him confess his crimes in front of all of King's Landing before I kill him."

“Revenge for your sister and a swift trip back to Sunspear.” Even when Raeden nods, it is with a heavy heart.

"Tywin Lannister ordered the murder of my sister, a crowned Princess of Dorne." He reminds Raeden. "Would you not do the same if it had been Star's fate?" He asks quietly.

Raeden’s eyes darken, the gruffness in his voice obvious. “I would burn the world down if it took her from us.”

“Then you understand.” Oberyn grunts. “I must do this. But I will not fail.” He smirks. “My bite is much worse than his.”

When Raeden pushes open the door to the chambers now shared by seven people, they are considerably fuller than they were even last night. Trunks piled in the corner that he has never seen before say that you and Ellaria must have taken Margaery to retrieve her things from her grandmother while he was speaking to Mace Tyrell with Oberyn. A very clever decision on your part – you will only have dealt with Olenna Tyrell this way.

"How did my father take the news?" Her grandmother had been surprised, but she had smirked and patted her hand in a way that let Margaery know that she approved of her granddaughter's rash decision.

"Apparently..." Raeden sighs, but happily puts his arms around his wife when she steps closer to him. "I am a flea for stealing you away from him." He shrugs, his mind having moved on to other things since being shouted at by the red-faced little man. "How did your grandmother take it?"

"She did not say much, but—" her smile is bright and conspiratorial. "She is pleased. I am out of my father's and the Lannister's clutches." Her hands brace on his chest and while she would sink into his arms, she pushes him back slightly so she can take his hand and drag him over to one of the larger chest. "She has sent this with me, promising that the rest will be ready for when we sail to Dorne."

Curiosity is a powerful thing, and Raeden raises one eyebrow at Margaery before lifting the heavy lid of the trunk she has indicated. Jewelry, coin, silver and gold trinkets, luxurious fabrics, and assorted pieces of armor fill the large wooden vessel and he sucks in a sharp breath. “She—she gave you your dowry?” In truth, he had not expected to see it. Having eloped with Margaery, he had assumed that her family would deny him the fortune that had been offered to the Lannisters along with her hand. But it appears he was wrong.

"A portion of it." She clarifies. "There are six other trunks that are bigger than this one." She snorts. "Seven trunks of gold for the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms." She had scoffed at the irony. "Along with another seven trunks of silks, seven of weapons, and seven of silver."

"So this is...a sampling?" His eyes widen at the implications of that – of all the riches that she has brought to the infancy of their House. He knew it would be a great deal, but clearly he had underestimated the wealth of House Tyrell.

"My grandmother has a gift for keeping our wealth quiet, especially when my father wishes to flaunt it." She purses her lips. "But over the course of the years, House Tyrell has accumulated more wealth than the Lannisters have in their coffers." She admits. "Robert Baratheon was a wasteful man."

"Kings have that habit." You murmur from behind them, surprising even yourself with how much you enjoy the sight of them side by side. "Forgive me for interrupting, but would someone like to tell me why my husband breezed through the room and shut himself away without a word to any of us?" Oberyn's face had held determination and an utter expression of being pleased with himself, but he had walked straight through your quarters and shut himself out on the balcony and is now pacing the length of it with determination.

Guilt at forgetting the most important part of today floods Raeden and he drops Margaery's hand to rush towards you and gasps your shoulders. "My love, I—" He starts and chokes up for a moment before he clears his throat. "The trial is over." He tells you quietly. "Tyrion invoked trial by combat when it became clear that he would not get a fair judgement."

"And trial by combat will be more fair?" The deep concern etched into his face brings your heartbeat to a near panic almost immediately. "But why should that upset Oberyn so? It means we can go home."

"The Lannister's champion is Gregor Clegane." He murmurs softly. "The Mountain." His hands drop to yours and he squeezes gently, bracing for you to understand. "We are not going home."

"Oh no." Turning away from him immediately, you push through to the other chamber of your quarters and practically shout Ellaria's name to get her attention before moving through to the door of the balcony. The wooden doors have glass panels where you can see Oberyn moving with grace and determination – as though he were prowling out there instead of walking back and forth. "Oberyn, unlock the doors," you insist, knocking on them loudly after you find that they will not pull open. The latch on the outside of the doors never made sense to you until this moment, and now you curse it.

Ellaria's graceful pose on the settee abandoned when she hears the distress in your voice, she rises and quickly crosses the room to where you are rattling the costly glass as you bang on it. "What is wrong?" She demands, her breath catching when she sees the stiffness in her lover's back, the determination in his gain. "What did he do?" She gasps.

"He's going to get himself killed," you gasp, feeling a little like you cannot fill your lungs properly. "Oberyn, open the door!"

Oberyn pauses, looking towards the door and his eyes flash, conveying that he knows that you are aware of his plan. He turns and continues his pacing as he plots, thinks about his next moves. About the confrontation to come.

"Tyrion demanded a trial by combat," you tell Ellaria, already feeling the tears fill your eyes as true terror and worry set in one wave at a time. "And the Lannisters have The Mountain."

"Gods be damned." Ellaria whispers, her own dread crashing through her like a wave and for a moment, she sways on her feet. She's aware of Raeden and Margaery out of the corner of her eye, but she cannot muster any thought but of what will come. "He is fighting for Tyrion."

"He is fighting for Elia." There is no need to state the obvious, but you cannot help yourself. The tears are flowing freely even if they are silent, and you can feel yourself shaking with nerves.

Ellaria sighs softly, her own fears pushed aside as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. You need to be calm, for the baby. “Come my love.” She murmurs softly. “He will not talk until he is ready.” She knows his habits and of this, she is certain. “Let me get you some tea and we can sit.”

"Oberyn!" They will have to forcibly remove you from the other side of this door and there is hardly any chance of calm finding you soon. Of course you understand the need to avenge his sister's murder, but if attempting it will leave nine children fatherless then is that worthwhile?

Margaery moves to your other side. “Come.” She urges softly. “It cannot be good for the baby.” Her hand wraps around your arm and she tugs you gently.

It is a broken half-sob that cracks through you, making you fold in half at the door. Everything has come to such a measure of happiness and now it stands on the brink of ruin. It is only because of Ellaria and Margaery that you do not collapse into a heap on the floor. The older woman bearing most of your weight as she carries you away from the glass, Raeden rushing over to take you from her and cradle you in his arms.

Raeden all but carries you to the bed, laying you down to cry on the pillow instead. Fear – pure, unadulterated fear – courses through every inch of your body as you lay there, unable to think of anything but the possibility of losing him. Your husband. The father of your unborn child. Your soulmate. What will become of all of you and the promises that have been made if Oberyn dies reaping his revenge from his sister's killer?

Margaery is the first to lay down. Knowing how upset you are and wishing to offer you some small comfort. “He must have a plan.” She coos, stroking her hand over your hair while you cry.

"What can one plan against a Mountain?" Overwhelmed with fear, you barely shake your head. For someone who has grown up with great violence in your life, the idea of it now is terrifying. When the people in your life have been in danger – your brothers, or Brynna, Raeden, or even Margaery? You have done everything in your power to help them. You cannot be of help to Oberyn in a fight to the death.

“Our lover, our soulmate would not champion this fight if he didn’t not know he could win.” Ellaria is angry at Oberyn as well, but she knows he will not yield in this. The best thing she can do is support him and encourage you to do the same. “He is clever and quick, fierce. He would not fight if he thought he would leave our children without a father.”

"I cannot control the tears." Begging her to understand, desperately hoping that the one other woman in the room to have experienced pregnancy will know this feeling, you cling to Ellaria's hand. "Or the fear in my heart."

“I have fear too.” She confesses quietly, wrapping her lithe body around your back. “Do not doubt it, but I know he will do this, even if we do not approve.”

It is not for you to approve or disapprove of. You know that. This is something that he must do, for himself and for Elia. In his shoes you know you would do the same. But that does not keep you from weeping at the possibility of losing him.

Raeden watches, feeling helpless as you cry so he turns to the doors out onto the ledge, hoping Oberyn might talk to him. It is not likely the prince will entertain any argument whatsoever against his choice, but it is not Raeden’s intent to talk him out of his vow. Just to simply get him to talk.

The knock on the door makes Oberyn pause again, seeing Raeden on the other side, and his eyes slide past him to the bed where Ellaria and Margaery are laying with you. Clenching his jaw as he strides to the door, he wonders if you have sent your other soulmate to talk him out of his duty to his family. Talk to me. Raeden mouths through the window, not wanting to shout and startle you more. He has seen how screaming can panic you after incidents with your mother.

For a moment, he considers ignoring the man, to continue to plot by himself, but the concern in his eyes makes him flip the bar to allow the doors to be pushed open. “You will not change my mind.” He warns the younger lord.

“It is not my intent to try.” Raeden steps out onto the balcony and lets the door shut again behind him. “But tell me you have a plan.”

“I do.” Oberyn nods as he looks out over the city below the keep. “They will make it very public, an event.” He muses, a trace of a chuckle in his tone. “They will wish to make an example of him, and me.”

“And you will make them wish they had not?” He guesses, seeing the fire in Oberyn’s eyes.

“I will get my confession if it must force it from him one slice at a time.” He growls with satisfaction. “For all of King’s Landing to hear. Tywin Lannister’s sins will be laid bare.”

“I know you are determined. With good reason.” Raeden’s hand twitches but he does not reach out. Oberyn is pacing like a caged animal and may bite. “And we are not of a mind to change that.” He swallows a plaintive sound. “But you have two soulmates afraid of losing you,” he tells Oberyn plainly. “Your wife is inconsolable at the idea.”

Your words burn into his brain and he sighs after a moment, looking back towards the door. “I—” he pauses and he knows that you are different from Ellaria, you have not seen him fight before. “I will talk to her.” He tells Raeden, stepping closer and reaching out to cup the man’s neck to drag him closer for a kiss.

It is fierce, and a little surprising, but Raeden does not fight the moment of intimacy. Instead he presses into it and nips at Oberyn’s bottom lip before letting him go. Oberyn growls, the urge to strip Raeden down right here and burn off the extra energy fucking him nearly makes him reach for his belt, but he has a soulmate, two soulmates to reassure. He doesn’t hesitate to reach down and cup the other man’s cock, feeling it twitch in his hands. “Soon.” He promises.

Ellaria is the only one of the three of you facing the door, and she sighs in relief to see Oberyn striding back into the room even as your tears have started to calm. They seem to come in waves and right now the flow is ebbing.

He doesn’t urge Margaery to move, but he reaches over her for you. Pulling you up and into his arms. Upset at himself now that he’s not solely focused on his revenge at how distressed you are. “My moon and stars.” He coos softly, cupping your chin. “Why are you crying like you are mourning me?”

"Practice." You sniff, curling against his chest and clutching his robe.

“You will be practicing for a long time.” He warns you, a chuckle at your pouting tone threatening to bubble out of him. His lips press into your hair and he cradles you close. “Why do you insult me by believing it is my time to die?”

"I do not—" Sucking in a breath makes you shudder, and you shake your head against his chest. "Mean to insult you, love. It is—I—I am afraid for you."

“I am not going to die at the hands of Gregor Clegane.” He promises you. “I will die old and decrepit in our bed, after many more children and years together.” He hums. “I will hold our child in my arms as she slips from your womb.”

"They say he cannot be beaten." You have heard the tales of The Mountain as well as everyone else in Westeros, and despite having also heard tales of Oberyn's prowess as a fighter, you cannot help the way you have reacted. "And they say you cannot be beaten. Surely one of those is wrong."

“He is large and lumbering. I have the advantage of speed and skill because I do not rely on brute strength alone.” He tells you, rubbing your back gently. He is trying to reassure all of you.

“I—I am— forgive me.” Logic and reason dictate that he is correct. That speed and agility may be enough to work against an enormous foe in one-to-one battle. And even though logic and reason are not your ruling bodies right now, you can see the merit in that argument. “I do not mean to doubt you. I only— I cannot bear the thought of being without you.”

“It is okay to be worried.” He will not make light of your fears, but he will remind you that he has no intention of dying. He nuzzles against your jaw and presses a soft kiss to your skin. “I have every intention of poisoning the bastard as well.” He admits quietly.

That makes your head snap up, eyebrows furrowed, and lips parted in surprise, though you are not sure why. It is a good plan. A very clever plan, in fact. To be as qualified with and knowledgeable of poisons as he is, it would almost be folly not to use them. “You—you will?”

“They do not call me the Red Viper for naught, my love.” He reminds you quietly. “From the first strike, Gregor Clegane will die. Every time he will swing his sword or axe, he will work the poison closer to his heart.” He smirks. “That is where being quick and agile works in my favor.”

Foggy from tears and fear, your mind is slow to grasp the concept but once you arrive at it, you gasp. “All you have to do is wear him out. The poison will do the rest?”

“Exactly, my love.” He hums, happy that you have worked it out. “While I trick him into confessing his part in my sister’s murder and who gave the order.”

Though the realization does not instantly dry your tears, it does have you sniffling and burying your face against his chest all over again. “When, my love? When is all this meant to happen?”

“It will be within the next week.” He doesn’t know exactly when, but he can’t imagine Tywin delaying it longer than necessary. “As soon as the Mountain arrives to King’s Landing.”

Both of your arms creep around him, holding tight to the man who has changed your life irrevocably and so much for the better. “Once it is over, I hope we never have to return to King’s Landing again.”

“That would be my fondest wish.” Oberyn chuckles, allowing you to hold tight to him as he looks over at his other soulmate and reaches for her. “Come.”

Ellaria is better at hiding her fear. She has more practice and has seen him through many more battles than you – both big and small. But even she sighs with relief to sit up from the bed and press a kiss to his palm. “If you do not return with us I will find a way to make sure your baby is a boy and convince your princess to name him Oberyn,” she threatens half-heartedly, knowing from conversations many years past that he hates the idea of naming a child after himself.

“You would not dare.” He groans, sending her a narrowed eyed gaze, playful in nature.

“I will.” She promises, wrapping her arms around both of you in turn. “As sure as the sun rises each morning.”

“Then it is settled.” He huffs, leaning in to press his lips to hers. “I will not die; I will make sure that my newest child is not be named after me.”

“Is that all it takes?” You huff, playfulness edging your still-worried voice as you kiss both of them easily. “A threat?”

“I am simple man.” He teases, winking at you before he squeezes you gently. “Do not worry yourself sick, my love.”

“I promise I will not show my fear out there.” Glancing to the windows and at King’s Landing below, you bite back a sigh. It will be imperative to present yourselves as united, strong, and confident when the time comes.

“A little fear is not unrealistic.” He reminds you. “I just do not want you to make yourself ill. You have the baby to think of.”

“And so do you.” The tears, thankfully, are beginning to dry. And as with all other times in this pregnancy, it seems, you have become rather exhausted from the efforts of shedding them.

“I know, Star.” He rocks you slightly against his body and despite the earliness of the day, you are already starting to wilt from the exertion of your tears. “Do you wish to nap, my love?”

Pursing your lips at him, you wrinkle your nose for good measure and sigh in defeat. “Only if you promise not to make any more life or death decisions while I am tucked in.”

“I promise that I will run any other decisions by you before they are made.” He promises. “Do you want to lay down by yourself, or would you like one of us to stay with you?”

“It would be selfish to ask someone to stay.” And with the display you just made, the last thing you want is to show more selfishness. “I am sure you all have more entertaining things to do than lay with me in the dark.”

“I am feeling exhausted.” Margaery is not tired, but you have been such a rock for her, that if she can lay down with you to be some small comfort, she will. “Would you mind if I shared your nap with you? I know that we are not intimate yet, but maybe you would not mind?”

“Fifteen minutes ago you were practically giddy for Raeden to return.” Skepticism aside, you do offer her a half smile when Oberyn puts you back in bed beside your other soulmate’s wife. “But all the same…I would dearly appreciate the company.”

“Good.” She sends you a small smile and settles against the cushions. “We will have a nice rest and then we can settle on what we will do for the rest of the day.”

“Nothing too public, I should think.” As word gets out that Margaery has married again – and that it was not to Tommen Baratheon – you expect there will be a few days at least where she ought to lay low.

“No, nothing public. But perhaps we can go through my clothes to see what I will need to discard before we get to Dorne?” She asks, look at you as you both lie down.

“That would be a good idea,” Ellaria agrees with an encouraging nod. “Both of you can surely donate your heavier gowns to some less fortunate ladies and it will be less to travel with.”

“Yes, will we have the noon meal delivered to the rooms.” Oberyn promises. “Now, both of you rest and when you are ready, come out to the main area.” He leans down and kisses your lips and hesitates but then does kiss Margaery’s forehead. She has not indicated wanted to touch him yet, but it seemed rude to kiss his wife and leave her out.

“We will, my love.” You promise him, watching as your three lovers file from the room and close the door gently behind them. Though you truly are tired, you turn back to face Margaery and offer her a smile. “You are very kind to offer to stay with me.”

“If it was me in your place, you would offer the same.” She murmurs quietly. “I meant what I said, I consider you my dearest friend and now? Perhaps more.”

“Have you been hiding affection for me, Margaery?” Waving away the joke teasingly, you nevertheless curl up on the pillow beside her and offer her a place in your arms if she wants it. “That would quite set tongues to wagging.”

“You are beautiful.” She huffs and slides closer to you until her own arms wrap around you. “You know that. You and Ellaria are breathtaking. More stunning at my wedding than I was.”

“Impossible.” The wedding may have been a tense, overdramatic thing, but Margaery was mesmerizing. “You looked like a goddess that day.” Cheeks warming slightly at how easily she comes to you, you let one of your hands settle on her back. “You are one of the most stunning women I have ever seen, no matter what the day is.”

“You must not have looked in a mirror too often, my Princess.” She hums, smiling at you and leaning in. “It is high praise if you feel that way.”

“Margaery…” Before you can let the moment progress, you take a breath and put your other hand to her cheek. “If you change your mind, simply say the word and we will go on as if nothing ever happened.”

“I understand.” She hums softly, aware that she is in a unique situation, and this is something she could have never foreseen, but she is not upset by it.

First Brynna, then Ellaria, and now Margaery. There seems no rhyme or reason to it beside them all being beautiful women who treat you with singular kindness, but when you lean forward to press your lips to Margaery’s for the first time and let your eyes flutter shut, there is that same feeling of rightness that there had been with both women who came before. Unforeseen and unplanned, it is not unwelcome at all.

Margaery’s hum is almost surprised, mixed with delight as she melts into the kiss, and pulls you closer. It will be the first kiss she has had with another woman since she was a young girl, since before she had bled, but instead of giggling and teasing, she wants more.

Somehow, she tastes the way fresh air and sunshine feel in spring. Like promise and good things to come. Like the crisp cleanness of spring rain. It’s intoxicating in a way you have never experienced before, making you linger and try to claim more of the taste with small kisses from her lips.

“Does everyone in your party know how to kiss?” She asks breathlessly, grinning as she indulges in the quick kisses and her fingers reach up to undo your hairstyle.

“They all have far more experience than me,” you admit, warm cheeks disguised in the semi-darkness of the room. “But they are wonderful teachers, if there is a pleasure you wish to learn.”

“I am certain I will learn it all.” She admits, almost shyly. “Unless you think it strange that I join your obviously close foursome?”

“If it were strange to us, we would not have offered.” After a few months of knowing Oberyn and Ellaria, you are now very certain that they choose their lovers in different ways. And the ones that entered into this arrangement — this family you have created — were chosen for more than just looks or sport. “We would never have even mentioned it.”

“I am worried.” She confesses quietly. “You are Ellaria are his soulmates, Oberyn is his lover, and I— I am just his wife.” It sounds ridiculous, but she is used to many wives not being of any use or consequence once an heir was secured. “I was slightly worried my father would have offered him coin to return me to him.”

“Just his wife?” Your fingers graze through her hair and tuck the strands behind her ear. “Raeden is not in the habit of dismissing the people he cares for, my darling. And he would not have proposed – the marriage or indeed any sort of solution – if he did not care for you.”

“I guess that I just need to believe that.” She chuckles quietly. “With my luck though, you can see why that is hard.”

“Just because you have not been lucky yet, does not mean you are never going to be lucky at all.” It is a small offer of comfort, but an honest one. Your thumb strokes her cheek and you smile, feeling a bit more awake with the sensation of arousal coursing through your veins. “Perhaps it is time to balance the scales.”

“What do you suggest?” She asks, arching a brow and humming quietly. Her head tilts, leaning into your touch and her bright blue eyes are fixed on yours.

“How much are you keen to experience?” She is looking to you for guidance and you want very dearly to provide it.

“What do you have in mind?” She asks curiously. Last night with Raeden was wonderful and satisfying, but she craves more, wishing to learn everything she can and experience it all.

“Have you ever had a woman give you pleasure before?” It is a careful question, one that could go wrong if Margaery decides she does not want to explore this with you, but you find yourself craving to know if her slit tastes as divine as her lips do.

“No.” She confesses quietly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. For all her worldliness, she had never ventured into pleasure with another woman. “Is it— what is it like?” She asks breathlessly.

“Much the same as when a man has his head between your legs.” It makes you laugh softly to admit it, but it is the truth. “But slender fingers can sometimes wring sensations from you that thicker ones could not. And while these men know of that hidden nub above your folds, not all men do.”

“Raeden was the first.” She tells you quietly. “No man had ever used his mouth on me before.”

“Then your lovers have been neglecting you.” This time when you offer her a smile, it is smaller, warmer, and more confident. “If you would like to experience it from a woman, I can show you. Or Ellaria, if you would rather.”

“Do you…want to?” She asks, unsure if you are interested in her or if you are just being kind. Both you and Ellaria make her cunt clench and bottom out when you both look at her as if she is a tasty morsel.

“I would not offer if I did not want to.” Once more, your fingers smooth the stray hairs from her face. “But if you are not ready yet, or if you would prefer Ellaria, it is entirely your choice.”

“I confess I find both of you extremely intoxicating.” She tells you, slightly flustered. “I would like to touch and be touched by both of you.”

“Then that can easily be managed.” With five of you, there would never be a moment that one of you could not have someone between your legs if you wished it. “Very easily indeed.”

“Is it— similar to touching a man?” She asks, biting her lip.

“It can be.” After all, some men are soft and some women are muscled. “But women are shaped so beautifully. And the scent and taste? Worth drowning in.”

“You do not find men pleasing?” She tilts her head in surprise, sure that you had true affection for Oberyn. And to have two soulmate who were men? She cannot believe that you prefer women to men.

“Of course I do.” You shrug, though. “Some men. Not most. But women are—they are otherworldly, are they not? Inspirations. Walking goddesses.” In the half-light, you laugh softly at yourself. “I did not mean to surprise you. But surely you must know how stunning you are?”

“I have been told I am beautiful for my entire life. Flattered and had my hand kissed.” She shrugs one dainty shoulder. “Men who wished to align with my family, to access my dowry. Never me that they wanted, they wanted my name.”

“Their motives may have been wrong, but they were telling the truth about your beauty.” Your own experience as a noble daughter was nothing like hers but you still frown. “I am sorry if you learned not to believe it because of them.”

“My faults are nothing you need to apologize for.” She promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek.

“They were wrong,” you repeat again, more steadily this time. “Not you. You are not at fault.” Softly, slowly, you rise up on one elbow and nudge Margaery over onto her back. “Will you let me show you how wonderful you truly are?”

There is a soft grin on her face as she looks up at you. “I thought you were tired?”

"I was." There is no lie in that, but you cannot help the way your smile turns sly. "But then the beauty in bed with me confessed she wanted to know what it would feel like for me to touch her."

“Then touch me.” Margaery begs. “Make me cry out so loud our husbands come to see what is happening.”

"They will only be upset that they did not get to witness the first moments." Grinning, you bowl Margaery over entirely and let the next press of your lips to hers be eager. Wanting. This time your hands have permission to wander, and you work at the ties on the front of her dress methodically. Suddenly you understand every complaint Oberyn has ever had about Northern dresses.

Margaery moans when your fingers brush her skin, eager to feel your touch and her legs restlessly spread underneath you. Unable to control herself and for the first time, she doesn’t have to. She is allowed to have what she wants with no shame.

"Oberyn is right," you huff, a small laugh escaping you as your fingers ghost over her skin and spread apart the two sides of her dress. "No more of these heavy dresses in Dorne. Far too much fabric."

She giggles quietly and reaches out to pull at your own laces. “Your husband grumbles about your clothing?” She asks coyly.

"If Oberyn had his way, none of his lovers would wear anything but cock-drunk smiles." It is only half a joke, but the two of you are far more focused with pulling off your dresses. "But now that my goal lies under all of these layers, I am bound to agree with him."

“Perhaps the world would be simpler if everyone where nude.” She bites her lip and crows in triumph when your stays loosen. Your enthusiastic anticipation is catching and she swears she has soaked her undergarments.

"Oberyn will celebrate to hear you say such a thing." Laces, layers, stays, and petticoats are tossed off the bed from every angle until Margaery is finally bare under you. "Gods above..." Not so long ago, you would have been embarrassed the way the sight of her breasts makes your mouth water. But now? There is no shame in your attraction. "You are...stunning, my darling."

Your own body is still covered in a chemise and she whimpers, squirming slightly. “I— I wish to see you.” She pants slightly. “All of you.”

On your knees above her, you pick up the hem of your final layer and toy with it for a second just to see if she rolls her hips again with need. When Margaery squirms again almost instantly, you bite back a smirk. "There is no need to beg," you assure her, pulling the fabric over your head at last.

She has seen nude women before, but none that take her breath away like this. Drinking in the sight of your tits, the thatch of curls between your thighs, she reaches out to caress your hip. “Beautiful.” She whispers. “I want to see this every day.”

"I was promised an extremely large bed as a wedding present," you tell her with a grin, reaching down to caress her cheek and letting your hand wander to the peak of one breast lightly. "It will have to be large enough for five, I think."

“And if I wanted to fuck your husband?” She asks softly, wanting to make sure that she doesn’t cross any boundaries that would hurt or offend you.

"Then I might ask to watch." Your other hand grazes her thigh as your eyes roam back and forth over every inch of his body. The reddish tone of her hair is darker in the curls at the apex of her thighs, and somehow knowing that is more alluring than you ever could have believed. "Or I might fuck your husband in turn."

“You must look gorgeous on his cock.” She whimpers when your fingers brush through her curls and she spreads her legs wider. Her cunt is throbbing and unlike a man, you don’t just jump into things. Heightening the sensations. “Have you – have you fucked them together before?”

"I did not know my pussy could stretch to take both of them like that." The memory of that particular day will be burned into your mind's eye forever, and you shiver as you lay yourself down between Margaery's legs. "You can have them both too, if you want."

“And you and Ellaria?” You look breathtaking between her thighs and a shiver rubs through her body when your breath washes over her sensitive folds.

Lifting your head, the plains and dips of her body are even more dramatic from the place you are now occupying and your smile tugs into a smirk. "You can have us, too. If that is your desire."

“I have done what I have been expected to my entire life.” Margaery pants, her chest heaving as she looks down at you. “I wish to be greedy.” The sentiment earns an approving nod of your head, and a flash of your own greed has you lunging upward to wrap your lips around one pert nipple while your thumb easily finds her swollen clit. Margaery’s cry is strained, gasping when she realizes that you are just as talented as her husband, maybe even more so. Overwhelmed by the fact that you are touching her, her eyes close and then pop open again so she can watch.

Your free hand kneads her other breast, rolling the nipple between your fingers experimentally to find the amount of tension she likes even as your fingers dance at her entrance. If you had been worried about the transition from friends to lovers, the ease of this moment is proof that you need not have given it a second thought at all. After all — when you had told Oberyn that you would likely only go to bed with people you cared for, you had been telling the truth.

“Oh, oh gods.” She moans out, panting your name when you give her the exact amount of pressure on her nipples that she likes. It is like being with a man, but the touch is more gentle, localized, and she can tell that you have touched a woman before.

The pleased hun from your throat vibrates through her skin when you find just the right tension, continuing your ministrations at her gorgeous tits but slipping the tips of two fingers through her slick folds. A little deeper with each pass, it will take no time for your digits to disappear inside her body, but you want to give her time to adjust to the sensation.

“I— I did— I never—” Her cunt is pleasantly sore, thoroughly used by your soulmate last night and her hips still chase the feeling of your fingers. “Please, Princess.” She begs, the knowledge that you are higher than her socially making her clench again.

“Never what, Margaery?” Removing your mouth from her temporarily, you find her eyes already glazed over with lust and cannot help but feel a little proud. You felt the way her cunt clenched your fingers when she used your title and you wonder if she might find it alluring to be ‘under your power’ like some others have you heard about.

“Never felt so good.” She whines and shakes her head. “Please.” She needs you to keep touching her. She’s orgasmed before but this sensation is sweeter, sharper.

"Raeden will take that as a challenge," you inform her with a smirk, but her pleading is too dear. You wrap your lips around her other breast, switching your hand to its twin and sinking your fingers into her dripping wet heat just a touch faster. The way she is pulling you in, you could not go slower if you tried. It is as though her body itself is begging for you.

It is too much and not enough all at the same time. Margaery knows her voice it pitching up every time she makes a sound but she can’t even try to muffle herself, not when she knows that no one will judge her. The sharp cries of pleasure tighten when you move down her body, laying kisses along her skin and inhaling her scent with your own blissed out groan before you open your mouth entirely and envelope her cunt entirely. Languid open mouth kisses come with kitten licks from your probing tongue, and Margaery lets loose a moan so loud that it breaks past the walls and the door opens abruptly.

“Star?” At the sight in front of him, Raeden’s eyes widen. Letting loose a moan of his own at the sight of his soulmate’s face between his new wife’s thighs, licking and sucking like you have always pleasured her. “Gods be praised.” His cock jolts and immediately starts to harden as he steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him.

Your hum vibrates through Margaery's lips and you barely turn your head before you get a glimpse of Raeden crowding into the room. "I had a sudden burst of energy," you hum, smirking in a very self-satisfied way.

“I see.” He grunts, his hand moving to his belt to start untying it as he moves closer. “I had some thought to take my new wife to bed, but it seems as if you have beaten me to it.” He tells you, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches her body writhe under your attention.

"And yet I think you are not upset about it." Not at all, if his instantly hard cock is anything to judge by.

Margaery waits for her husband to answer but he doesn’t. Instead he strides over to the bed and leans in, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a hot moan as he caresses your head between her thighs.

That is all the encouragement you need, turning again to give your devoted attention to Margaery's weeping pussy. Every lick is divine, but you push your fingers deep inside her and suck her clit into your mouth all at once, wanting her to moan into Raeden's kiss so he can swallow the sound.

Margaery reaches up, desperately grasping Raeden’s head as she kisses him back, feeling like her entire world is spinning and she doesn’t want it to stop. Her husband is turned on by this, and if he and Oberyn together is anything near this intoxicating, she would want to witness it every day.

Your own moan follows, loud but muffled by Margaery’s folds, as you feel Raeden’s fingers sliding along your own throbbing cunt. He loves to explore your body while you use your mouth on someone else – something you discovered quickly the first time you gave Ellaria pleasure – and this morning with his wife is no exception.

“I want to see you with her.” Margaery moans. “Would you fuck your soulmate in front of your wife?”

The question makes both you and Raeden pause, but with him naked beside you there is no question of the affect her request has on him. A spurt of precum drips from his cock into your shoulder and you grin wickedly. “I think he would enjoy that.”

She bites her lip and looks from you to her husband. The weight of the ring on her finger feels right and she spreads her legs wider. “Make me shake while my husband fills you with his cock.” She begs. “I want to see his seed drip from your cunt and taste it to see if it is sweet inside you.”

If any of you were ever unsure as to whether or not Margaery would fit into the dynamic you have established amongst yourselves – all of those concerns are dispelled in this moment. Raeden groans deeply and surges down again, plunging his tongue deep as his kisses her and sliding his fingers as far into your cunt as they will go to make you buck against his hand at the same time you moan into his wife’s pussy. It is a symphony of sin but it is so earnestly wanted by all of you. It could only be more perfect if Oberyn and Ellaria were here, the two of them disappearing into the other bedroom, and while they had invited him, he had wanted to stay in the main area in case you or Margaery needed him.

Your hips rock against his hand, impaling you on his thick fingers even as your own slide in and out of his wife. The squelching sounds are like music to your ears, and the hand that was previous at Margaery’s tits now plays with your own as Raeden lavishes hers with attention.

“Oh fuck.” She moans, enjoying the difference between the two sets of hands on her body. “Do you— is this what you do every day?”

“As often as we like,” Raeden rumbles, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “And you are welcome whenever you choose.”

“Ohhhhh oh gods.” The moans come out louder now, both the idea of having this anytime she wishes and the pure pleasure of your mouth on her sensitive cunt. “Yes.”

He seems as blissed out as she is even without having more than his hands involved, and you reluctantly pull away from Margaery’s glistening cunt to look up at him. “My love, your wife wishes to watch you fuck me,” you remind him, chest heaving at even the formation of the words on your tongue.

“Yes.” Raeden nods, aware that this is something special. The first time that the three of you are together like this. Hopefully not the last. He kisses her once more before he is shuffling behind you and wrapping his fingers around his cock. “Watch wife.” He orders Margaery.

His fingers are slick from being inside you and you moan from deep in your chest when he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and starts to push inside. Raeden’s tendency to be overly gentle with you has eased over the last few weeks, and especially in moments like this when you are so pliant and wet that you are literally dripping on the sheets.

“Fuuuuuuck.” Raeden grunts, rocking his hips until he is buried to be hilt inside you, his dark eyes fixed on his wife as she watches.

“Gods above.” Your groan echoes through Margaery’s body and vibrates deliciously through her wetness, but you have to tear your mouth away temporarily to catch your breath. “How will you take me for your wife, love? Will you be soft and sweet, or will you show her how I like to be made breathless?”

“I think I will show her how the princess likes to take her cocks.” Raeden decides with a grin and a wink to his wife before he leans over and kisses your spine.

That promise is immediately followed by the pulling back of his hips and having them slam forward again, emptying and filling your quivering cunt all in an instant and making you cry out into Margaery’s folds. Your fingers pick up speed with the determination of having Raeden fuck you, and you suck her clit into your mouth again with such enthusiasm that her cry echoes your own.

“Oh gods.” Margaery can feel the strength behind the thrust when your face pushes into her cunt harder than the normal pressure. Rocked forwards by his cock. “That cock is so good. I will need it harsh too, husband.”

“Whatever happened to ladies being delicate?” Raeden huffs, groaning as his hips connect with your ass again.

“None of us really are.” Margaery giggles and then moans when your tongue flutters around her clit. Making her grind down on your tongue.

“Men have been fed a lie,” he grouses good-naturedly, and he reaches out with one hand to grip your braid that Margaery has unpinned.

“Do you like to have your hair pulled?” Margaery asks you breathlessly.

Nodding makes the grip that Raeden has on your hair that much tighter, and your eyes flutter shut at the sensation before you open them again to look up at Margaery. "I cannot explain it, but I always enjoy pain with my pleasure."

“I want to try that.” Margaery moans and reaches up to twist her hand around her own braid.

The amused smile on your lips is mirrored by Raeden, and you shake your head at her. "You cannot do it yourself, lover," you tell her, reaching up and tangling your fingers tightly as high up in her braid as you can manage. "If you do not like it, tell me 'no' and I will stop."

“Yes.” She nods and moans as she moves her head and makes her scalp tug.

Seeing the way her eyes roll back at the slight pressure of the tug, you pull harder and more sharply, elated when the sounded you are gifted with is an ecstatic moan. "Yes?" You ask, letting her braid go slack so you can tug again, just as sharply.

“Yes!” She cries out and her cunt clenches around your fingers. She can’t believe that it feels so good and makes her entire body shake with pleasure.

"My wife and my soulmate may be more alike than they know." Raeden rasps out, grunting out another thrust and tugging at your braid as you pull on Margaery's. "Make her cum, my love. I want to see the moment she falls apart for you."

“Ohhhhh fuck.” The curse falls from Margaery’s lips easily as she shamelessly grinds down on your fingers. “Would— would that be so bad?” She manages.

"Not at all." As Raeden pounds you deeper and harder into Margaery's pussy he bends over to bite your shoulder and groans at the sight in front of him. "You will both be fucked into the mattress at every opportunity."

“That sounds perfect.” She moans, one hand drifting to her own breast. She wonders if she could have whomever she wanted at any time, or if there was some unspoken rule. She doesn’t doubt that she would need to give Raeden his heir before she sleeps with another man, but she is eager to experience the legendary Red Viper between her thighs.

Any kind of conversation dissolves again when Raeden pulls your hair sharply and you pull Margaery's in response, and the room becomes a renewed symphony of moans. There is nothing you want more in this moment that to hear the ecstasy that will come from your friend's lips when she cums for you, so you curl your fingers against the place inside her that will make her scream and redouble your efforts.

Now her breath comes out in ragged gasps, watching as her breathtaking husband slams into you eagerly, his own groans making her cunt clench around your fingers. The scene is enough to make her keen and the quick, cleverness of your fingers quickly pushes Margaery over the edge with a very unladylike yell.

There is something truly intoxicating in being the middle of this encounter. Knowing that it was not only your skill but Raeden’s passion which sends Margaery over the edge and has her clenching down in your fingers with such eagerness that her body might try to envelop your entire hand. It leaves you wishing under Raeden’s Powerful thrusts, moaning and grinding back against him as you lap up every drop of cum from her slit.

It is hard for Margaery to keep her eyes open, but she is determined to watch him cum. Seeing if he makes you squeal like she had last night with his gentler touch. His fingertips dig into your hips, sure to leave marks that last days, and it is the powerful need behind them along with one more well-timed thrust that has you tearing away from Margaery’s body to cry his name for all to hear. The insistent throbbing of your body between his and hers is unending, rolling through you so you can neither seem to stop the continuous feeling of peak pleasure or even catch your breath. It is magnificently exhausting, and Raeden is still fucking into you with erratic force.

He gets to have you. It is still a wonder to him, made even more precious by the fact that his wife is watching him fuck you, her hands still cupping and massaging her tits while she catches her breath. He gets to have it all, and it’s making his thrusts slap even harder than he’s ever fucked you.

A half dozen more pumps of his hips against your ass and Raeden is choking on his own groans, trying to call both of your names at once and ending up alternating between them as he pulls you tight against him and nearly collapses onto your back.

Margaery hums. A little chuckle in her throat as Raeden rolls you onto your side, protective of the babe in your belly. She had been told about the child and is very happy for you, actually eager for her own time. Now, she pushes to her knees and leans over to kiss you both.

“You do not mind your own taste?” Your thumb swipes under her bottom lip, wiping away a smudge of her own slick that came from your mouth. Some do and some do not. It would be another delightful development if Margaery did not, as you find it quite indulgent.

“No, I want to drink it from your lips.” She coos, kissing you again and then Raeden before she smirks. Slowly sliding down to drag her tongue over your nipple and biting down on it gently. “Right now, I want to taste my husband’s cock still inside your cunt. Lick you both up.”

There is a voice in the back of your head that knows Oberyn is going to be thrilled with Margaery’s curiosity and desire to explore her own sexuality, and that Ellaria’s approval will be near instant as well. “Enjoy yourself, my darling,” you hum, snuggles up in Raeden’s arms and spread for her to enjoy.

Raeden’s eyes widen when his wife, the wicked smirk pleasantly plastered on her face, starts to move down your body. Fixed on the sight, his spent cock twitches inside you. “Wife, you fit this group more than you know.” He rasps out.

“Better than I did, at the beginning,” you admit with a soft sigh when one of Margaery’s long fingers strokes your folds.

“I cannot imagine that to be true.” She scoffs. “I am lucky you are so accommodating.” She looks back up at you as she scoops some of the thick, creamy cum up from the base of her husband’s cock.

“You are a wonder,” you correct, relaxing even more under her touch.

She hums, accepting the compliment, although she knows she is receiving much more from this arrangement than you are. Her fingers slide into her mouth and she moans at the musky, salty taste. “Delightful.”

“He is even better when you taste him from the source.” The encouragement is met with a groan from your soulmate, and he kisses along your shoulder as Margaery lowers her mouth to the place you are still connected. It is her first time being with another woman, tasting another woman and it seems like she is diving into it. Luxuriating in the freedom and encouragement she is getting, her tongue flutters around your clit like she had felt you do to her and then down to her husband’s cock.

“Fuck.” The appreciative groan from Raeden makes you grin in his arms when you turn to kiss him. “Your wife is a fast learner,” you hum, breath hitching when her tongue flicks over your clit again.

“She is.” Raeden hums with pride, “Very good. The gods blessed us when they brought us together.”

"Such praise, my darling." Looking down your body to where Margaery is indulging her seemingly endless curiosities in your bodies, you grip her hair in your fingers again and tug just sharply enough to make her moan. "You deserve every word of it."

She hums and preens under the praise. Feeling her cheeks heat up at the words when she should be shocked at what she is doing. There is no embarrassment. Nothing but pleasure and curiosity.

"How does your husband taste from my cunt?" As filthy as the words are, they're languid. Relaxed and indulgent. You are as curious for the answer as she is for the taste, if you are honest with yourself.

“Like ambrosia.” Margaery moans, flicking up another taste of the two of you so she can come to let you taste for yourself.

When she unfurls her tongue into your kiss it is an extension of that gorgeous indulgence, and you hum deeply as you wrap her up in your arms. "I think you might be far more eager for this arrangement than you first thought," you grin knowingly.

“I think I am.” She grins as she slides her finger down your cheek. “I am very proud to be Lady Sunstone.”

______

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#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell x reader #Oberyn Martell x you #Oberyn Martell x female reader #Oberyn Martell x f!reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Margaery Tyrell #Margaery Tyrell x reader #Margaery Tyrell x male OC #Game of Thrones #soulmate au #arranged marriage #polyamory #poly

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