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excusetowrite · 1 month ago

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Let Him In (2)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Summary: On a sweltering southern film set, our young actress discovers that the hardest part of her role isn’t the intimacy written in the script—it’s the desire building between takes. With every lingering touch and look that lasts too long, her co-star Jack pulls her deeper into a dangerous game of blurred lines and buried desires. And when the cameras roll on their most intimate scene yet, she’s left wondering if she ever really had a choice—or if the performance became something far more consuming.

Warnings: Minors DNI. This chapter contains explicit sexual thoughts, masturbation, blurred lines between acting and reality, power imbalance vibes, emotionally intense smut-adjacent scenes, possessiveness, implied breeding kink, Jack being absolutely feral in character (and kinda out of it), and general feelings of wait is this method acting or are we just unhinged? There’s also a brief moment of post-scene vulnerability and anxiety, plus a whisper that may ruin your life. Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch. Try not to scream. And yes, there will be more >:))

The Taste of Pretending

At first, I thought his normal accent would be the death of me, but I quickly learned I also have a thing for Southern men. Jack was kind, too kind sometimes. And whether he liked making me nervous or just cared too much about his craft, the effect was the same: I couldn’t breathe around him. We spent a long time that first night going over our scene for the next day and though I fought my mind from roaming Jack was nothing but respectful—and charming, and dreamy, and distracting. He fell into character in a way that shocked me and for me it was easy to pretend to be infatuated with him because it wasn’t so far from the truth.

The first scene was on the log with Mary. I didn’t have many lines, Maggie in general doesn’t have many lines after she’s turned. All I had to do was sit there, on his right, his arm possessively around my waist, then later when the scene turned more intense gripped on my thigh. Maggie stares at Mary as if in a love-sick trance, only speaking up when spoken to directly. We filmed that scene many times that day and from many different angles. Hours of close intimate contact, some takes more, some less, but always constant.

The next few weeks were more of the same. We filmed most of the outdoor scenes and fight sequences—those were tough. One night, we had to cut because of an alligator in the water, and after that, Jack kept very close. Hiding my attraction was incredibly hard especially when the work was already so intimate. I caught myself staring at him—his arms, his chest, his waist, lower. No better than a man. At least I could blame it on method acting, pretend that my lingering stares and flushed cheeks were just part of the role.

When we would wrap for the night he would walk with me to our trailers after we got out of hair and makeup, sometimes asking to come in to work on something and sometimes I think he could tell I was just too tired. The nights were long, and most of our sleep schedules were completely ruined by that point.

There came a point when I noticed that some of the times I invited him in we talked less and less about whatever we were working on the next day, around this time I also noticed his roaming eyes. I was partial to nightgowns and it wasn’t like I wasn’t already treating him like eye candy, so I didn’t mind. Our scenes were becoming dangerously easy to shoot. I wanted to believe it was just chemistry, but deep down, I knew it was something else, something harder to turn off when the cameras stopped rolling. One particular evening we were sitting across from each other sharing some drinks in my trailer, supposedly giving each other notes, when he let me go off topic. It was so easy to talk to him, and he seemed like he wanted to listen, and my drink had me feeling a little tipsy, so I talked. Rambled, really. He would interject curiously to keep the conversation moving but really I think he just wanted to hear me. That's when it came up that I used to write.

“Oh that’s wicked, a woman of many talents. What’d you write about?” he asked as his lips perked up at the corners.

“Fanfictions,” I blurted, regretting it the second the word left my mouth. “That was a long time ago though, I stopped when I was sixteen or seventeen maybe.”

His laugh was low and knowing, not mocking—more like he’d just confirmed a long-held suspicion. “Of course ya did,” he teased, eyes sparkling over the rim of his glass. “Let me guess... scandalous ones?”

There was no stopping the heat that rushed to my cheeks and my comfortable demeanor immediately fell away as flashes of my stories of him rushed through my mind. Involuntarily I crossed my legs as embarrassment, and slight arousal overtook me. He could see the shift and his eyes and smile widened in a way that reminded me so much of Cook. I tried to take the humility on the nose as I shrugged and we laughed.

“Who was lucky enough to earn the perverted attention of teenage you?” he asked as our laughs calmed.

I leaned back into the cushion, his eyes jumping for a split second to the rising hemline of my nightgown. His gaze flicked lower, and I swear I felt the path of it like a physical touch. My skin prickled under the thin fabric. I shifted, suddenly hyperaware of how every small movement seemed like a silent confession. Lifting my drink to my mouth I responded, “That—I’m not sharing,” I shot back, trying to sound confident even as my cheeks burned. “Some things are better left buried in the dark corners of the internet where I left them.” Sure, he could know I was a horny teen—I mean, who wasn’t? The rest stays a secret.

His smile turned sharp. “Dangerous to leave things buried, love. They’ve got a way of clawing their way back up.” For a beat, the air felt heavier, like the moment just before a storm breaks. He leaned back in his seat, legs stretched out, his eyes dragging over me slow and deliberate. I suddenly became acutely aware of how thin my nightgown really was. He eyed me curiously and smirked before moving back to our scripts.

That was the first night I crossed a line. An imaginary line that only I knew about, but a line nonetheless. By the time Jack retired to his own trailer it was early morning and I was just a little more than tipsy. The alcohol made it harder not to look at him, to think about him, and the time I spent sitting there became incredibly frustrating. As soon as he was gone and I was in my bed alone, I did it. Reading it was bad enough. Finding release to the stories and photos of the man in the trailer next to mine made me feel wrong, and more excited than I had been in a very long time.

—

I’m proud to say that I’ve held my own as an amateur in this cast of actors by trade. I’m also happy to have built a genuine friendship with my co-stars, especially Jack. We were always together on set of course, but I felt myself gravitating towards him off set as well. An intrusion he did not mind.

The flirty game of a friendship we had was fun, but the first time I noticed a real shift was when we filmed the scene trying to get into Club Juke. Remmick and Maggie, Joan and Bert, two white couples just trying to sing some music and have a good time. Like always Jack—Remmick’s arm was around my waist and on one particular take Michaels character Stack looked over me in a different way than the previous takes. More intently, with more intrigue. We all tried different stuff many of the takes we did and this was no different than that, just an option to pick later. Completely improvised.

What was also improvised was the flash of anger that crossed Remmick’s face, just for a split second, blink and you’ll miss it. And the charming smile was back, but not before his grip on my hip tightened to almost an uncomfortable amount. The mood shifted—subtle but sharp, like the snap of a wire pulled too tight. No one else seemed to notice, but I felt it in every nerve under his hand. Still I stayed in character. Still I looked at Jack starry eyed and tried to capture a reason on his face but the character had taken over him again. It was the way his fingers dug into my hips—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave the ghost of pressure behind. His grip said, mine, even if no one else could see it. And the way he looked at me—dark, focused, like he was memorizing every inch—made me feel owned in a way that wasn’t in the script. We finished the scene and that was the end of it, though when our characters walked away slowly I couldn’t help but notice how tense Jack was, how the arm shrugged over my shoulders was not loosely hanging but wrapped possessively.

Later that evening when I left hair and makeup he was already waiting for me. We walked in near silence this time. The air between us felt heavier than the heat hanging over the set. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his head ducked just enough to make me wonder if he was thinking as hard as I was trying not to. Every few steps, our arms would almost brush. Almost. Neither of us closed the gap. As we approached our trailers I went to ask him if he was alright but before I could he turned and asked, “You know what we’re filming tomorrow, right?”

I racked my mind for a moment before my cheeks flushed, yes, our next scene was the one where he turns me, and during a lustful act to say the least. I had been putting off mentally preparing for that day and for the separation I’d have to manage in my head between my own attraction and Maggies and in doing so the day snuck up on me. His words felt like a warning and a promise all at once. I nodded, but my throat had gone too tight to say anything clever back. And wasn’t that just the problem? I never had the right words around him—not when it mattered. He returned the nod as I began to walk up the steps to my trailer, eager to be out of the uncomfortable situation.

“Will you ever tell me?” he asked up at me. I turned to look at him, confusion furrowing my brow. “Who you wrote your smut about?”

I laughed lightly and shook my head, again turning to go into my trailer. I stopped at the top of the steps and turned, just enough to look down at him. He stood there, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or go. For once, I wasn’t the one squirming under his gaze. He was the one hesitating. Waiting.

“So, I take it you don’t want to invite me in to practice tonight?” he asked. This time when I turned to look at him he was smiling, but I could tell he was nervous.

I let my eyes drag over him slowly—deliberately. His jaw tightened. His shoulders tensed like he was bracing for a blow or something much worse: rejection.

“Do you want me to?” I asked, voice light, teasing. But it was the kind of tease that knew exactly how much weight it carried. His mouth parted—no sound. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, and God, it was almost too easy now. I watched the nerves flicker across his face like he wasn’t used to being the one left standing in the heat of his own want. I asked. I don’t think he was expecting that response because his smile fell away and for the first time he was the one looking at me nervously. “Hmm,” I hummed, stepping back toward the door, letting the screen swing half-closed between us. “I think I’m better at improvising that sort of thing.” Then, with a smile just this side of wicked, I added, “Goodnight, Remmick,” and closed the door behind me, leaving him out there in the thick, humid air with nothing but his imagination to keep him company.

Later that evening in the comfort of my own bed I did it again. Masturbating to someone you know personally will always be weird, and I am not recommending doing it. But there is something about it that gets me very hot and bothered. Especially knowing he’s right next door, and especially after trying to prepare myself for the next day.

—

The next day was a closed set. Only us, the intimacy coordinator, director, and needed techs. We had already filmed the scene leading up to it days ago. Maggie, walking home from her job in town late at night, unknowing of Remmick watching her from the woods. He could smell her blood and it smelled like his own, he liked that—took that as a sign. That’s what the script says at least. Of course they stumble across each other and he offers to walk her home like a gentleman, it’s dangerous on these roads at night for a pretty lady to walk alone. Maggie isn’t used to the attention, especially not from a handsome man. Her fathers protective and the only interaction she usually gets is from customers at her job, customers who do not like her Irish born father.

It’s a long walk of course and Remmick asks for a drink of water when we reach the porch. Maggie considers for a moment, her father would not approve, but her mother and father were out of town right now. And Remmick was very, very convincing. So she does what any other girl in her position would do. She lets him in.

We ran through the rough blocking with Ryan and the intimacy coordinator a few times before we started filming for real, and that was intense enough. Starting in the small living room and moving to the kitchen, the counter, the table. I could do this. This is going to be easy. I’m a professional. Before I know it we are on our marks and someone yells action.

It’s easy to fall into Maggie especially after all this time, easy to remember my lust as I look at him standing in front of me, and equally as easy to anxiously turn and rush into the kitchen to start filling a glass of water. My back is to him but I know he’s approaching. Predator and prey.

“So, pretty girl like yourself lives out here all alone?” he asks as he enters the kitchen.

I turn to look at him, his red contacts are in but I pretend like I don’t notice. “No,” I respond as I hand him the glass of water and continue, “My Ma and Pa are usually here but they’re gone right now.”

He nods his head knowingly and drinks the water, a smile spreading across his face as he starts to approach me. My back hits the counter as he enters my space to set his glass behind me and I—Maggie—suck in a breath. He smells like Jack, like cologne and tobacco. I close my eyes at the realization and hope it fits for the scene. How many time had I imagined that scent late at night? He doesn’t move out of my space. Remmick takes space; he doesn't retreat from it.

His voice is low as he says, “Hmm, don’t they think that’s kinda dangerous? Leaving you out here all by yourself?” He shrugs a little, the distance between us nearly closed as I come to meet his eyes. I can’t tell who I’m looking at. Jack, or Remmick.

“I can take care of myself,” I say as I turn my head to the side sheepishly. I know he’s hit his cue to stare at my unknowingly exposed neck when I hear him suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh, I bet you can.” The scene moves at an agonizing pace, and I can feel the tension rising—between us, in the room, in me. It only breaks when I finally look up at him and for that split second I see him, not Remmick but Jack, before the obsession returns and he closes the distance, lips crashing into mine.

Being kissed like this feels like possession, feels like melting into him, feels like full surrender. It was hard and fast and heated. His hands grabbing and roaming my middle. Suddenly I’m lifted off the ground by strong arms and set firmly on the counter earning a gasp even though I knew it was coming. He’s standing between my legs now, just close enough to be professional and just far enough to be frustrating. Still we devour each other. His hand goes to my hair and nestles for a moment before pulling my head to the side, exposing my neck to him.

He kisses down my flesh sloppily, nibbling and sucking in all the right spots. A moan escapes me, a real one, but no one will know. I’m an actress, I’m supposed to be acting. Still at this I feel him groan into my skin before continuing his assault.

He doesn’t bite, not how Remmick is supposed to. Instead after we know they have more than enough film he pulls away and sucks in a deep breath, composing himself. His hand is still rooted in my hair and his eyes lock onto mine as he says, “I want to taste you.” It’s the closest to a question that he was going to get. I nod my head eagerly and he smiles greedily, as far as he’s concerned he already has me. And as far as I’m concerned he does as well.

He returns to kissing me, gentler this time, hands sliding up my exposed legs and under the hem of my skirt at an agonizing pace. There's lube spread across the inside of my upper thigh and as soon as I feel him run his fingers through it my eyes widen and I throw my head back in a gasp. Remmick smiles and watches me greedily, finding pleasure in knowing he already has this control over me. We act it out for a few more beats before he finally removes his hand and lifts his glistening fingers for me to see.

“All this for me?” he asks, lifting his finger to his mouth. He sucks on it slowly, eyes closing, brow furrowing like he’s savoring a delicacy. I watch him, hungrily and enthralled, then when his finger finally leaves his mouth he's dead calm as he lifts his pointer and middle to my lips. “Taste,” he orders. So I do. Slowly at first, then more greedily. The lube is strawberry flavored, but I can taste him as well. Sometimes there is no movie magic for these sort of one shot scenes. He just stands there watching me, heavy breathing and eyes blown out. When he finally removes his fingers with a pop he doesn’t hit his line immediately, for a second he just blinks, as if for just a second he forgot. But then he shakes his head. “Not enough,” is the only warning I get before he's kneeling before me and hiking my dress up, head dipping between my thighs.

Of course it went no further than that but we still had a job to do. He started miming the intimate moment, just inches away from where I wanted him the most. I threw my head back and moaned, brow furrowing, one hand bracing myself on the counter while the other flew to tangle in his hair and I gently began pulling. This earned a growl from him and he moved more feverishly. I felt him rub his lips and chin across the lube and I could have sworn I felt it, soft kisses moving along the inside of my thigh where the lube was placed, a trick of the mind—heat of the moment. It helped me perform either way, helped me be more believable. His hands held my hips firmly in place, legs hiked over his shoulders, if I wanted to move I couldn’t—I didn’t want to.

I gently squeezed his head twice—just barely. The cue we decided to use when I’d act like I was reaching climax. And boy, was I acting. I’ve never seen him move so quickly, one second on the ground before me and the next he was up again and lifting me off the counter earning a genuine gasp from me.

“Not yet,” he said, his mouth and chin glistening with more than just the lube on account of the drool-inducing mints. “Not until I say so.” My legs wrapped around his center and arms around his neck as he turned and walked me to the table, holding me with one strong arm as the other brushed everything off of it in one swift motion before setting me down and standing before me.

My hands moved hastily to grasp at the buttons of his shirt, but he stopped that with one swift motion yanking it over his head and slinging it on the ground. Chest now bared to me I made quick work of curiously roaming and kissing his newly exposed skin. His head dipped back and he let out a moan. I may have been leaving marks, but I didn’t care, and he must not have either because he didn’t stop me. Just left me to make sloppy work across him while they got their shot.

Then, more calmly than any man should have been, he grabbed either side of my shirt collar and ripped my blouse open, loosely sewn buttons flying everywhere, leaving me in just the bra. He moved fast on the newly exposed skin, kissing and sucking, nibbling and—biting. There was only one place to go from here and we were fastly approaching that cue.

His hands hiked my skirt up before fiddling with his buckle. My arms wrapped around his neck, our brows pushed together, eyes locked as we acted out passing that final precipice. We both let out groans of satisfaction before he started to move his hips, hands gripped on my waist. Of course there was fabric between us, but every few thrusts he got just a little too close, brushed up against where I wanted him the most ever so slightly, earning real moans and groans from me—but they were frustration not pleasure. I hope the camera can’t tell the difference.

I had to move or I was going to explode, so I did. I improvised, laying back on the table, arms stretched above my head, body revealed and vulnerable before him. He didn’t miss a beat, and when I opened my eyes to glance up at him, his brow was sweaty and furrowed with pleasure, mouth hanging open, letting out lewd noises I’d only dreamed of. His chest still glistened, blooming with fresh marks just how I’d left it. His eyes locked on mine, and we shared a few glorious, intimate beats holding that eye contact. It almost felt real. Almost.

Then they yelled cut.

He stopped and backed away immediately, eyes darting anywhere but me. The sudden lack of warmth felt wrong. I felt vulnerable. I sat up and pulled my blouse closed with both hands.

“Was that good?” I called out toward the lights and cameras. The response was an enthusiastic yes. They just had to put in his prosthetic teeth for the final shot. No blood this time- leave that to the viewers’ imagination. I was told to stay put while they got him ready. He didn’t look at me as he walked away. Didn’t look at me when he came back, either. Eyes red, sharp teeth now put in.

He got into position between my legs again, and we waited a minute while they reset the shot. Even this close, inches away, he avoided my gaze. Anxiety twisted low in my stomach and climbed, cold and tight, into my chest. Sitting bare and exposed in front of him, and he wouldn’t even look at me. He’d had no problem looking at me a few minutes ago when he was pretending to fuck my brains out.

“Did I do something wrong?” I whispered, the space between us so small no one else could hear.

His head snapped toward me, eyes wide. “No, no,” he said quickly, in his regular accent. “Just trying to stay in the right headspace is all.” He offered a weak smile. It didn’t make me feel any better. But it didn’t matter. They called for us to get back into position.

I laid back again, and before I knew it, Jack was gone—once again replaced with Remmick’s hungry gaze. So I tried to do the same, to put on the mask that was Maggie just as easily as he did. We picked up right where we’d left off—just a few seconds while they captured the transition. But my mind wandered, anxiety still lodged in my chest.

“Come here,” he commanded, loud enough for the boom mics to catch. I saw his eyes, his teeth, but Maggie’s lust had blinded her, or maybe made her unafraid of the man in front of her. So I rose to meet him.

His arms wrapped firmly around my bare waist, mine went around his neck once again—but that was all I could manage. I was struggling to find the rhythm again, to pull myself back into the aroused state I’d been in just minutes before.

He didn’t falter. He just gripped me tighter and whispered in my ear, low enough that no one else could hear:

“What’d you write about me?”

I gripped his neck harder, and a moan escaped my mouth as images flashed through my head. The stories I had written. The ones I had only imagined. The heat I felt each night in bed, thinking of him—him, the man in front of me.

I was back—lost in it. Moaning, head thrown back, eyes rolling. Then my brow pressed against his again as the camera moved behind him, angling for the final shot. While his face was still out of frame, he whispered:

“I knew it.”

He smiled, sinister with the teeth and contacts, and it only made me act harder.

The camera captured the shot of us, hungry, locked in each other’s gaze. We both began to speed up, reaching our fake climaxes. It was so easy to pretend. That’s when she does it—when I do it. I tilt my head to the side, baring my throat to him, offering myself without hesitation, without fear.

The last thing the cameras catch is him going in for the bite. The last part I feel is his breath—hot, deliberate—right where my pulse hammers loudest. And I don't know where Maggie starts and I begin anymore.

#remmick fic #remmick #remmick x reader #remmick smut #sinners remmick #sinners fic #sinners #jack o'connell fic #jack o'connell x reader #jack o'connell #remmick fanfic #jack o'connell smut

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syntheticsorrow · 1 month ago

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I love how I left the fandom for a few years, then returned to this nightmare. Nothing new—I went through this with the Zim fandom years ago. I actually drew this in excitement of the live action two days ago, and then I saw what became of it after it was released and my motivation just slumped again. I wanted to draw works adapted into my own versions of the movie. That's the thing about me—I get inspired so easily but I let others get under my skin too much and just tend to back off and leave my ideas on the wayside. But man, the backlash has been unreal. Screw it though, maybe I'll just do it because I want to. I'm 35 now, a stressed mother with a mortgage and I'm just so TIRED of this shit happening in the various fandoms I've been a part of. Lilo and Stitch has been the ONE thing that kept me slumping throughout the years. I looked forward to the movie for so long, even when others were just entirely negative and hating on it. Yes, I will still stand my ground as one of the few that ENJOYED the movie. Why? Because in the 2002 movie, Stitch and Jumba were originally designed to be criminals and Stitch was a gang leader, Jumba being a PART of his gang. The deleted 747 sequence with Stitch's gang is a direct reference to this. Of course that was all removed though because it was too mature for a kids movie and the themes didn't sit well with audiences. I say this though, as I believe this to be the most likely reason why Jumba was a criminal in the movie vs the empathetic father we received in the show/series/shorts. Could be wrong, but I think it's entirely plausible. I didn't exactly mind Zach Galifianakis as Jumba, it certainly was interesting to see Jumba in a different light—though yes, I prefer original Jumba at the end of the day, as well as the original Pleakley. Because of their personalities. The OG franchise is a staple to my heart and always will be.

Regardless, I'll still be drawing what I love and have loved since I was 12. The current attitude towards the live action won't change anything for me. I have my own aspects of the franchise that I enjoy focusing on, particularly Chopsuey (621) and Jumba and Stitch's relationship. That's what keeps my passion/interests strong. I have a lot of ideas, but I don't get much time to myself anymore. So when I do post, any content of Lilo and Stitch, that's what my focus will be, as well as content from my story, Error 626, which is almost completed and I am currently writing the last chapter. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12709810/1/Error-626

For now though, I might consider colouring this up if I can kick the negativity bringing me down. It's not just that though, I've had it pretty rough the past few months with a very hurtful family situation going on in the background.

#lilo and stitch #lilo and stich 2025 #disney #jumba jookiba #lilo pelekai

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hollow-writing-place · 1 month ago

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The Ghost King and The Firecracker

Chapter 2: Food is the way to a man's... - Core?

Word Count: 5939

Masterlist for this work/info about the fic

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Chapter Summary:

Dinner, Some Brotherly Bonding, realizations, and a good dose of hurt/comfort.

Warning! Short scene involving emetophobia. Starts at -+- ends at -=- Unfortunately, getting rid of the Lazarus Pits is uncomfortable. Lots of fluff to make up for it though!

Going back into work was nerve wracking. Legitimately.

He was already feeling anxious because he had dinner plans tonight, but that on top of confronting his boss?? Danny has to steel his nerves as he steps into the building.

He gives his typical friendly wave to the receptionist on duty before stepping into the elevator up. He breathes in deep just like Jazz taught him.

The second he enters the main office, he feels eyes on him. Or maybe that's his imagination, but he can't be sure.

Michael is chatting to a group of workers, handing out papers with a stern face. He must see someone glance at Danny because he looks over and sees Danny awkwardly standing by the elevator. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose before waving Danny forward. “Office. I'll be right there.”

Oh ancients, Danny is sweating.

He nods and complies though, trying not to fidget as he waits on the plush chair in Michael's office. Michael enters after a minute, shutting the door with a click. He takes his seat across from Danny, and stares him down.

Danny opens his mouth, ready to make up some bullshit excuse, but Michael beats him to it.

“You're not one to play hooky, Danny, but-” He looks away, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. He sighs a lot, huh? “I… understand some of your situation. School work on top of the work here and all…” He shakes his head. “What I'm trying to say is I'm not going to hold yesterday against you.”

Danny opens his mouth, but closes it just as quickly as Michael holds up a hand.

“I don't want any excuses. I convinced the others you were sick and took a half day. You know WE is pretty accepting of that stuff.”

“Thank you.” Danny blurts, slumped with relief.

“It's nothing, truly.” Then, Michael does something unexpected. He cracks a wry grin in Danny's direction. “You're a promising employee. Stick around after you get your degree. We've definitely got a place here for you.” Danny nods enthusiastically, eyes wide and shining with his grin. “Now get out of my office. I remember you having a project to get to.”

The sequence of letters and numbers Danny had been working on flashes through his mind and he groans but stands to leave. Still, the promise of a future in aerospace dulls the pain he already feels when thinking of his work, and that is enough for him for now.

Danny had no idea why he was so nervous. He's been feeling those nerves much more than he used to now. It was just dinner!

---

They were meeting in a public place at Jason’s request, which Danny totally understood. I mean, Danny had that instinctive trust in Jason as a person but Jason didn’t have his Halfa instincts in yet, so it was pretty one-sided.

Again, Danny wasn’t a cook, but he tried his best.

He wanted to impress Jason, for some inconceivable reason. He had spent an hour agonizing over recipes and standing in his kitchen inspecting his cabinets before reminding himself this wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. They were going to have to have multiple meals together.

Finally, he settles on a spaghetti of sorts. If he boiled the noodles in ectoplasm instead of water, it should infuse the noodles, right?

Well, it worked, but Danny failed to consider something very important.

Now, he's standing over his sink holding a strainer full of green, slightly glowing noodles with a frown. Danny may be used to how ectoplasm looks in food, but even he can agree that this dish looks… unappetizing. Especially covered in the red marinara sauce. It's like some sort of Christmas monstrosity, and Danny feels the despair rise up in him.

Still, he'll be late if he doesn't leave soon, so he just tosses his dish into a Tupperware and heads out the door.

Jason can't have super high expectations, right? I mean, he does live in a sort of decrepit single room apartment. Danny thinks back to that place and recalls that Jason barely had a stove, so maybe what Danny's bringing to the table will be just fine.

Yeah, it's just fine.

Jason is stressing.

---

He's got his bag packed for their picnic thing, but he's still all over the place. He double checks his stuff again.

He doesn't know what all Danny's bringing, so he's trying to account for everything. Blankets to put on the grass, utensils, napkins, water bottles, matches, a spare Swiss Army knife, Joker toxin anti-venom, hand sanitizer…

Is this overboard? Was this bat paranoia at play? Should he bring food too? Would that be good manners?

He's half ready to call up Alfred and ask, but he can't bring himself to do it. This all feels ridiculous.

He shakes his head in frustration. If he gets started now, he has just enough time to mix, bake, and bring cookies. They weren't Alfred's recipe, but he thinks they're pretty darn close.

About an hour later, Jason's cursing and shoveling fresh baked cookies into a gallon bag before tearing out the door, backpack heavy between his shoulders. He can't be late for this!

---

Danny enters the park, thankful for the cloud coverage. It was warm out here, and he did not like it.

He roamed for a minute before spotting Jason.

He was tapping at his phone, cross legged on a blanket in the grass, a backpack open to his side. There was a furrow between his brows as he did whatever it was that he was doing, and Danny had to shake himself from staring.

Danny hadn't even thought to bring a blanket, or, now that he was thinking about it, anything at all besides the spaghetti. He blanches, but makes his way to Jason regardless.

Jason doesn't even startle when Danny plops down beside him, sighing heavily. He just grins in Danny's direction and sets his phone to the side.

“Bad news and good news, which first?” Danny sets his Tupperware to his side.

Jason thinks for a second. “Good, then bad.”

“Good news, we've got food. Bad news, I forgot to bring anything else.”

Jason's face scrunches, and he hides his small smile behind his hand, stifling chuckles.

“Don't laugh!” Danny groans, cheeks red.

“I'm not!” Jason defends, but Danny can see the smile stretching his cheeks and the way his shoulders shake a bit. “Besides,” Jason turns to dig around in his bag, “I may or may not have come prepared.”

He pulls from the backpack a handful of forks and some napkins. He sets them down and goes back to searching in the bag. It's clear after a moment of this that whatever he's searching for isn't there, and he slumps in defeat.

“Right, well, I thought I brought plates too, but-” He shrugs, and it's Danny's turn to hold back giggles. Jason glares at him playfully.

“What happened to not laughing??” He says, affronted.

“I'm sorry! I'm not laughing, I swear!” It's just as much of a lie as when Jason said it and it's obvious.

“I feel like you don't get to laugh! I at least brought silverware . That's gotta get me some points, right?”

Danny grins and nods. “Sure, silver ware.” He eyes the small pile of assorted plastic forks while Jason sputters and continues trying to make his case. Danny just shakes his head, cheeks starting to hurt from the smile stretching them. “Never mind that though, I've got the food!”

Danny brings the big Tupperware closer and clicks open the lid. “Ta-da!” He tries, weak jazz hands waving.

Jason blinks, then blinks again before he looks between Danny and the food skeptically.

“Is- is it… edible?” He murmurs, picking up a fork to poke at the slightly glowy food.

Danny winces. “Yes?”

“I really don't like how unsure that sounded.”

“Yes, it's edible.” Danny says again, firmer this time.

Jason shrugs and twirls up a bit, passing a fork to Danny as well.

“Bone appetite or whatever.” Danny murmurs, getting his own bite.

Jason chews slowly, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. Thankfully, even as starving as Jason is for ghostly food, he keeps himself more controlled than when they first met. Danny was a bit concerned about Jason going feral on the spaghetti.

He eats his own bite, but his eyes stay focused on Jason for his reaction.

“It's not… bad.” Jason says unconvincingly. Danny deadpans at him, and Jason throws his hands up in surrender. “It's just got this… aftertaste?? It's really not bad!”

Danny quietly thinks that Jason is kind of adorable when he's flustered like this. He's looking away, cheeks dusted pink, and Danny has to remind himself for the thirtieth time to not stare.

“Just eat up. You need the ectoplasm anyway.” Danny sighs, giving Jason an out that the man gratefully takes. They eat out of the same Tupperware dish in calm quiet for a moment before Jason perks up and moves to pull something from his backpack. He drops a bag on the blanket.

“My contribution to this meal.”

“Chew your food before you talk, you delinquent.” Danny says, even as he’s eyeing up the bag of cookies hungrily.

“You sound like my youngest brother.” Jason says, fishing out two cookies. Danny makes grabby hands in his direction, and Jason dutifully passes one of his over.

Munching on one happily, Danny comments, “Oh, you have got to cook the next meal. We can use my kitchen.” Jason throws his head back in a laugh.

---

Jason does cook next time.

He more or less takes over Danny's entire kitchen. The only thing he lets Danny do is add in the ectoplasm and stir the sauce. He moves like a dancer in between his multiple stations, chopping something one second and searing something in a pan the next. It’s honestly mesmerizing, and Danny just sits at the table and watches, occasionally making small talk.

He learns that Jason’s from a big family, that his job is a night shift more often than not, and his favorite color. He learns that Jason was adopted, and his dad is some rich billionaire.

He has to force himself not to talk about the rich frootloop billionaire that’s been trying to adopt him too, and it is a struggle .

Danny still shares about himself as well, explaining he has a sister in Gotham, but not saying a word about his parents. Jason seemed to just understand, and didn’t press him on anything. They continued in this back and forth manner until Jason served his dish.

Danny sang his praises for the meal, enjoying the way Jason blushed far more than he should’ve. They parted ways feeling full and happy.

Danny is so glad he convinced Jason to cook. In comparison, Danny's skills in the kitchen are nothing . The dish Jason made for them should be considered a delicacy of some sort. He could charge serious money for what he fed Danny.

Danny brings a hand up to his cheek, trying to will the red there away. He has no idea why he feels so… floaty? He glances down, and yup, both feet on the floor, but the sensation remains. Everything just seems lighter somehow.

He tries to turn his mind to something else, the tv, clean-up, or even that dreaded equation from work, but for some reason, the memory of Jason's smile won’t leave his mind. It has him grinning stupidly all the way up until he falls asleep.

---

Jason doesn't always get to cook.

Danny is dead set, (ha), on sticking to the schedule of one ectoplasmic meal every other day, but sometimes one or the other of them isn’t available. They try to get together as often as they can, but as work picks up for the both of them, those days get fewer.

Eventually, Danny realizes he won’t always be able to pop by Jason’s apartment to drop off a sandwich or something and decides to trust Jason with some ectoplasm for himself.

“-very potent, i know .” Jason stares resolutely down at Danny. “I promise I'll use it in moderation, okay? And no one comes by besides you, so it’s not like any regular people are going to get any. You can trust me.” His voice is so earnest on that last sentence that Danny can’t help but agree.

He reaches into the Ghost Zone, ignoring the expression Jason makes at the swirling green rift. Retrieving the canister, he promptly drops it into Jason's hands. He stares at it in disbelief.

“A mason jar ?? You’ve put this incredibly dangerous substance in a mason jar ??”

“It’s food safe!” Danny protests.

Jason just shakes his head, so Danny decides to move on. “That’s about four doses, so you’ll need to see me again soon, okay?”

Is it Danny’s imagination, or does Jason relax?

“Okay.”

There’s a moment's pause as they stand in Jason’s doorway, not saying much, just kind of sitting there. A siren rings out in the distance, making Danny realize maybe he’s been hovering there in Jason's door for a second too long. He clears his throat.

“Are we still on for Wednesday?” Danny’s voice is uncharacteristically meek.

“Oh yeah. I’ve found an incredible recipe for you. You’re going to love it.” Jason affirms with a nod and roguish grin. “Don’t think you get to get out of dinner with me just because you handed over a key ingredient. I still need my taste-tester.” He continues with a mock scoff. Theater kid through and through. (Danny had loved learning that little fact. This 6'2 hunk of muscles was into theatre? He read Jane Austen?? Incredible.)

Danny knows he’s smiling too wide, nodding too enthusiastically, but he doesn't care. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t worried that, by giving Jason ectoplasm, they wouldn’t see each other as much. With his fears calmed, he cheekily winks at Jason, who brings a hand to his chest in an exaggerated swoon. “I’ll see you then.”

“And I, you.” Ancients, what a nerd.

Danny turns away and starts heading home, his mind a giddy loop of Jason's words. ("-recipe for you." "-My taste-tester-")

...

He may need professional help.

---

Was that too cheesy? He feels like a goof.

Jason groans, dropping his head into his hands. Did he make a fool of himself?

It’s just so easy to be around Danny. He doesn’t hesitate to joke and laugh and talk about himself. And with each passing day, the feeling of consuming anger filling his mind gets less and less, but new feelings take up those empty spaces.

Overwhelmingly, there’s this warmth when he looks at Danny.

(Well, to be accurate, he’s been feeling more warm just in general, but he pushes that new physical oddity aside to focus on figuring out his feelings.)

Danny just has this air about him, and Jason feels himself gravitating closer like a moth to the flame.

He wants to cook and provide for Danny, wants so deeply for Danny to smile at him, laugh and be around him. He wants to learn everything he can about this enigma of a man who strutted into his life. He has this strong urge to run his hands through the man's fluffy looking hair, and it is a struggle to contain himself. Of all the stupid things, this has to be the worst.

Jason’s got a crush.

Full on schoolgirl crush. He’s kicking his feet and everything! It’s unbecoming of the Red Hood, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

He sighs and tries to shake it off.

He’s relying on Danny to rid him of the Lazarus madness, and he can’t screw up his chances at being free of the rage because of Danny’s stupidly distracting smile. Or his stupidly distracting arms, I mean God, how does he have that much muscle? He’s half ghost??

Jason can’t think about this any longer. He’s got patrol with Dick, and the golden boy is surprisingly observant. If he thinks anything is wrong at all, he’ll attack like a shark smelling blood and pester Jason to death.

Again.

---

Something is wrong with Jason. It's so obvious it hurts.

Not much gets past Dick anymore.

Jason has been slowly but surely warming up to them, and Dick tries to patrol with him at least once every two weeks or so. Little oddities add up under Dick's scrutinizing gaze.

First, Jason actually cracked a joke with Dick. He laughed and everything over a truly ridiculous pun, of all things. It startled Dick so much he stumbled and almost fell off the ledge he was perched on.

Then, he actually calls Tim by his name. Not replacement, not cuckoo bird, Tim. Tim had choked on his coffee, but managed to recover smoothly.

He even willingly patrolled with Damien! And they've got some unspoken rivalry that Dick's scared to touch. It’s absurd.

Overall, Jason’s been much less snappy. He hardly glares at Bruce anymore, which, wow. Dick would love to attribute this behavioral change to them bonding and Jason getting more comfortable with the family, but the timing is just all off. Something else must be going on, and Dick was determined to find out.

He did a little investigating of his own, and thinks he stumbled on something big . He can’t be sure, but there is no time like the present to do some fishing!

They’re staking out a warehouse, just sitting together on the roof of a nearby building and waiting.

Dick’s swinging his legs off the side and Jason’s got his eyes focused through a scope. No rifle attached, despite Jason's grumbling.

“So… You gonna tell me what's going on with you?”

“Nothing’s ‘going on' with me.” He grumbles, but Dick sees the way his shoulders tense. Hiding something, then.

“Suuuuuure…” Dick drags the word out, looking away from Jason and back out over the skyline. The wind whistles a bit louder, tousling Dick’s hair a bit. He hums softly, a mischievous sort of grin finding its way to his face. “This ‘nothing’ doesn't have anything to do with a certain someone you've been hanging out with, does it? Black hair, works at WE…” He puts a hand on his chin like he’s trying to think.

Jason fumbles the scope, drops it, but manages to snag it before it tumbles off the roof, cursing all the while.

“What the fuck, Dickhead?” He exclaims.

With his hood off to the side, Dick gets to see the full range of emotions play out over Jason’s face.

“Stay the hell away from Danny.” His voice is a growl, and Dick raises his eyebrows at the tone. There it is!

“Ha! I was mostly guessing, but you’ve just confirmed my thoughts! Danny, huh? New friend of yours?” While Dicks voice is lighthearted and joking, the frown that twists Jason's lips makes him falter.

Jason averts his eyes, won’t look at Dick. Did he overstep?

“Did I say something to upset you?”

“No.” Jason grumbles.

Dick nudges him with an elbow. “Hey! None of that! Our policy is supposed to be honesty.” He chides, still smiling softly.

Jason mutters something Dick doesn’t hear, but it's probably an insult, so Dick moves on. “Besides, I really don’t know anything. Tim just alerted me to the fact you picked someone up from the WE aerospace building. I didn’t do any digging, promise.”

Jason's shoulders slump a bit, and he sighs heavily. “You didn’t do any digging, but I bet Tim-bit’s got an entire file typed up by now.” He rubs a hand over his face exasperatedly.

Dick gives him a shrug. “That may be true. He’s always been overly paranoid." The fondness in his voice is audible.

Jason sighs, running a hand through his hair. Dick sees the new stress settling on Jason’s shoulders and shifts a bit closer. Jason doesn’t always like touch, so he telegraphs his motion to ruffle Jason’s hair, giving him plenty of time to duck away. He doesn’t, letting Dick smooth down the hair he mussed.

“Tell you what, I’ll try and keep them off your tracks, if, and only if, you tell me a bit more about your new friend.”

Jason smiles at him, genuinely smiles, and Dick knows he said the right thing. The floodgates open, and Jason talks.

---

(-+-)

Wednesday rolls around, with little fanfare. They’re halfway through dinner, laughing about an anecdote Danny’s sharing from work, when Jason chokes on the bite of food he’s chewing.

A sharp bolt of pain lances him through and through, and he coughs the bite back onto the plate.

Danny’s at his side immediately, peering anxiously at him.

Jason dimly thinks Danny must be calling his name with the way his mouth moves, but all the noise is focused into a high ringing. He can't respond, doubled over in pain and gasping for breath.

“-it, shit, shit!” Danny is frantic, hands hovering uselessly over Jason’s shoulders.

The agony comes back, racking up from his feet to his head. Somehow, it's icy and burning at the same time, reeking havoc on his nerves. He makes a strangled cry then, eyes squeezed shut.

Danny pulls his chair back, murmuring apologies before scooping him up.

If Jason were in a better state, he'd be freaking out about this. I mean, he knew Danny was strong but to be able to carry him?

Another stab of pain cuts him through and he pants around the spikes of it.

“Ancients, I didn't think it'd be so soon. I- I thought I'd have time to prepare you!! I'm sorry, Jason I'm sorry.” Jason blinks up at Danny, brow furrowing at the panicked expression on his face.

He looks on the verge of tears, and Jason doesn't know what to do. He should comfort Danny, right? He tries to reach up, opens his mouth to speak… and closes it just as quickly as a wave of nausea slams him.

Danny sets him on his couch, a little too rough but Jason's in too much pain to care, darting from the room and bringing back a bucket.

“-Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-” pouring from Danny's mouth like a mantra.

He helps Jason lean to the side, and then Jason's expelling a sour, noxiously green substance. It's almost comical how much the viscous crap looks like the cartoonish liquid you'd see in radiation barrels on a tv show. He deliriously chuckles, but regrets it immediately as he has to spit up another mouthful. He can't do anything to stop it, and barely catches breaks between heaving to gasp for another breath. It comes again, and it feels like whatever he's hacking up has thorns that scratch and tear at the inside of his throat. It feels like whatever this is should be eating through the flimsy bucket he's hunched over.

This whole episode lasts far longer than it realistically should, which cements this as something ghostly. As if the fact the crap looked like ectoplasm's fucked up cousin wasn't enough to clue him in.

The next time he heaves, he comes up dry. Nothing left to come out, he guesses. It should be over, right? Then why has the rolling pain not stopped?

Then his body's burning, roasting and on fire and in ice and under water and he wants to scream but he can't. Jason thinks he might black out then, but he's already so far past it all that he doesn't know.

---

Danny knows what's happening the second Jason doubles over, folds in half on himself, clutching his ribs.

He thought he had more time. Frostbite had assured him he'd have more time.

Ridding Jason of all that bad ectoplasm was supposed to take another month at least, so what happened?

Jason groans, low and wounded and Danny decides he needs to move, now. Even as he's scooping Jason up, he's freaking out.

He was going to explain everything about this part of the process and they were going to set up a comfortable place for it to go down and this wasn't supposed to happen.

Jason shudders in his arms, body contorted and spasming. Danny just continues to hiss apologies.

Carting him to the living room couch, Jason looks up, meeting his eyes. That adorable, infuriating furrow twists his brow, and Danny wants to sob.

A hand comes up, and just as quickly back down as Jason squeezes his eyes closed.

Just as Danny gets him on the couch and fetches a bucket, he's leaned over and heaving . Neon green filth pours from Jason, and Danny knows.

This has to be the Lazarus pits.

Jason chokes and gasps, shoulders trembling, but there's nothing Danny can do but watch. When Jason's eyes roll back and he slumps, Danny darts forward to catch him, ensuring he stays on his side over the bucket.

There's tears on Jason’s cheeks, and Danny smooths them away with his thumbs, ignoring the tears on his own cheeks. Danny knew that all the bad ectoplasm had to come out, but Frostbite never said it'd be so violent .

He needs to make a phone call.

(-=-)

---

He floats in a dreamy sort of dark void for a long while. The pain is distant here, but it's lonely and achingly cold.

The feeling of a hand running through his hair is what drags him to awareness. The hand is warm, blessedly warm against his forehead as the person tucks back sweat soaked strands from his face. There's the low murmur of words nearby, but Jason’s ears aren't online yet, so he can't make out what's being said.

Everything hurts less; the pain is spread out evenly in him and has been reduced to a dull aching sensation. It's still incredibly unpleasant, but he doesn't feel like being sick anymore.

He wants to open his eyes, see who's with him and where he is, but before he can, a feeling washes over him. It's like a warm blanket over his body, comforting and covering and Jason somehow just understands he's safe. He inexplicably knows it's Danny at his side, and that he'll be okay.

He wonders if this is a ghost thing.

He doesn't open his mouth to try and ask. He does relax though, and uses what little strength is left in his muscles to push himself a little closer to that hand resting in his hair. He can be mortified later when his ability to care comes back, but at the moment, he's lost his inhibitions.

Danny stiffens, relaxes, stiffens again and removes his hand from Jason. “Sorry.” Comes the awkward mutter near his head.

Jason does blink open an eye then, sluggishly peering up at Danny.

He looks a mess, bags under his eyes, clothes wrinkled, hair mussed, and his mouth is down turned. Those gorgeous eyes are sad and tired, and Jason’s not having any of that.

“For wha’?” He manages to croak out around his raw throat, noting Danny's wince. There's a glass of water and straw in his face after a second of fumbling, and Jason leans himself over to gulp down what he can.

I wanted to explain, you know, this,” He gestures at Jason and the bucket, “-before it happened. I- I don't know what-”

“You knew?” Jason cuts in, hating how his voice shakes.

Danny won’t meet his eyes. He nods.

“Why didn’t you-” more coughing, more water, “Why wouldn’t you say-”

“I thought I had more time. Frostbite said you had another month before it started and-” Danny runs a trembling hand over his face, voice rising in volume. “-I would have had plenty of time to explain, but something must have sped up the process of forming your core and it forced out the Lazarus juice early or something.” He’s waving a hand frantically now, and Jason tracks the way Danny’s breathing speeds up.

He brings a hand up and grabs the hand waving in the air near his head. Danny stills, stops speaking entirely as Jason clutches his hand, bringing it close to his chest.

“Just- Just tell me what’s going on. I- am I… dying again?” Jason has been pushing those thoughts back, but now that he’s said it aloud, his mind is a loop of ‘what went wrong?’ and ‘god, what's happening??’

“No!” Danny’s voice is shrill, and Jason winces at the pitch. “No, no , no you are not dying. It’s-” He gives Jason a weak smile. “It’s actually really hard to explain, but I'll try.”

Deep breath from Danny. Jason finds himself unconsciously copying the other Halfa.

“You know this much. Every ghost has a core. It’s a massive part of what makes them a ghost. Yours, of course, wasn't fully formed because it was being choked up by that Lazarus stuff.” Jason nods, still holding one of Danny’s hands tight.

Again, he’ll have plenty of time to be embarrassed later. (Given he survives this, of course.)

“Right, So, the fresh ectoplasm was supposed to take the place of the bad crap, but the bad crap has to go somewhere . Your core doesn’t grow very fast, so expelling that bad stuff was supposed to be gradual. Frostbite said we’d know when it was starting up, and it’d only take a few days.”

That unfamiliar name again. Frostbite. Danny must see the question in his eyes because he quickly explains that Frostbite is his ghost doctor of sorts, to which Jason nods.

“Anyways, something sped up your core's growth, and I guess I wasn't noticing or looking in the right place, so this all sprung up on us.”

Like always, Danny referring to the two of them as an ‘us’ makes Jason want to give him a goofy grin. He holds back. He was supposed to be upset at Danny for hiding this important medical information from him.

Danny’s mumbling something to himself, so fast and low Jason can’t hear when his face changes. Realization dawns over Danny, and he turns to face Jason head on, looking cowed.

“...I never explained ghostly obsessions, did i?”

When Jason shakes his head, Danny groans. “That has got to be it. Ancients, I am an idiot .”

Jason does chuckle then, weak and ragged as it is. Danny seems to appreciate it nonetheless. “This is going to be a tough topic.”

He launches into the explanation anyway. By the end of it, Jason thinks he understands.

“So, obsessions are what keep ghosts going? Like, what tethers them to the world?”

Danny nods. “Got it in one. They’re the drive behind why ghosts stick around, and usually stem from… uhm… from how the ghost died.” Danny looks uncomfortable then. “I’m not asking you to share. That’s a very personal thing for people like us. I’m going to be vague here, and tell me to stop if you don’t want to hear but I think it’ll help you understand, but I died young.” Danny turns his face, gazing out towards the window to the side.

“And when I died, all I was thinking was that I wanted someone to make it stop.” Jason hears Danny's shaky, wet sort of inhale and knows that he won’t make eye contact because he’s crying.

He rubs comforting circles with his thumb into the hand he’s holding captive, and Danny continues.

“I wanted someone to save me. And then- then that was all I thought about as a ghost. How I could save people. How I could- could prevent what happened to me from happening to anyone else.” His voice is raw when he says this, and Jason hears the pain there, the anger.

He understands. He gets it and he has the overwhelming need to tell Danny this.

“Mine was like that too.” He blurts.

When Danny whirls to face him, Jason isn’t ready for the sorrow in his eyes.

“Mine- my death… It was like that.” He repeats dumbly. “I was stupid. I- I trusted someone I shouldn't have and I paid for it.”

This time its Danny squeezing his hand in support.

Jason finds the strength to keep going.

“-And I just remember calling out for my dad, begging and pleading for him to come pick me up.” Jason chokes up, pressure building behind his eyes that signals oncoming tears. He’s never been afraid to cry, but in front of someone else? Different. Wrong and pathetic. Words just keep coming, and Jason is powerless to stop them. “But he didn’t come for me. Because he didn’t know I was even there. And I bled out and burned and-”

Danny hushes him softly, crowding close to the edge of the couch. “That’s enough. You don’t have to say anymore, I get it. It's okay.”

Jason hiccups and tilts forward enough to lean against Danny. They’re already holding hands, what more can Jason lose?

Danny stills, and Jason wonders if he screwed it all up. They’d only known each other for a month or two, only interacted over meals. Granted, Jason feels like he’s known Danny a lifetime, and enjoys his company greatly, but still. In terms of friendships, this is a short one. And now Jason's crying all over the guy after puking up toxic neon sludge and dropping a piece of his traumatic backstory™ into the other man's lap.

But Danny’s hand is in his hair again, smoothing it back and carefully untangling strands from one another, and Jason is just so beyond caring about his appearances.

Danny looks like he wants to say something, but he’s holding it back for Jason's sake. He appreciates that thoughtfulness as much as he wishes Danny would just talk.

Jason follows Danny's breathing pattern again, and tries to calm himself down. Danny’s apartment is dimly lit, but his eyes are adjusted to the light level, so he tries to focus on some of the knick knacks scattered about. Alfred taught him that trick for calming down. He picks three and scans them over, noting color and shape and any wear and tear. He tries to picture a story behind each one, and in a matter of minutes, he feels better.

He pushes the memories of the warehouse to the back of his mind where they live and sighs.

He groans and sits up a touch. “Ghost obsessions. What does that have to do with me feeling like I got run over by a semi truck with snow spiked wheels?”

Danny startles, probably not ready for Jason to break the silence so loudly. “Oh, uh, when you do something to… fuel… your obsession, it can grow and charge your core up. Again, obsessions keep ghosts going.”

Understanding hits Jason like a brick to the face. He can say that because he knows exactly what being hit in the face by a brick feels like.

“Oh. That checks out.” He notes Danny's confusion even as he twists his body so he can make direct eye contact with Danny.

“So if my obsession was protecting people, and I regularly protect people, that would have sped this whole thing up?”

Danny nods at his recap, one eyebrow cocked in his confusion. Jason just gives him a smile, though it’s still shaky from the whole of the last hour or so.

“Alright. Danny,” He makes sure that he looks as serious as possible, because he needs Danny to know he’s not joking. Danny leans forward to match Jason’s intent eye contact.

“I am the Red Hood.”

The silence stretches between them for a heartbeat too long before,

...

“ ...Holy shit .” Danny whispers reverently.

-OUTTAKE-

Not seen: the rest of Dick and Jason’s stakeout

Jason: “-and his eyes. Oh my god his eyes-”

Dick: *nodding encouragingly while Jason pours out his heart, already considering going back on his word because Jason *clearly* like-likes this guy and it's his brotherly duty to be nosy*

Oracle: …

Oracle: “Guys… The warehouse…”

Dick and Jason: “Shit.”

#dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dead on main #jason todd x danny fenton #danny fenton #jason todd x danny phantom

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legendofmorons · 4 months ago

Text

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter three - War of hearts

Pairing: pre poly! Chain x reader

Rating: T

Summary: While you and the boys are traveling, you're ambushed. Dealing with the fallout of that shakes lose a dream (?) And leaves the boys with too many emotions. Wind and Epona are done with this, though.

Warnings: HI! The dream sequence in this includes implied character death. You can skip it and get a summary at the end. (Dream is all in bold italics.) Cursing, Canon typical violence

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know.

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Wind dosen’t know what is going on with the others, but he does know that they're treating you weird.

Which is such bullshit.

You are pretty cool so far!

Here you all are, though, walking to try to find the shadow, and the group is being super weird.

So far, you have been here two days total, and you don't seem inclined to speak to any of the others but him and maybe Sky.

Wind dosen’t even blame you.

He watches the others and can't make sense of any of it. The glares, awkward silences, distrustful eyes, and general tenseness the others display are off-putting even to the sailor.

Wind walks beside you, trying to keep your spirits up.

It's pretty obvious you aren't used to so much walking. He gets it. He struggles sometimes, too. He grew op on a small island.

"Hey," Wind says as he nudges you, "I think I'm on first watch tonight if you want to stay up and trade stories?"

You look to him with a relief he hates that you feel. You shouldn't have to feel relief at basic interaction.

The thought of his friend who shares your name and face being treated like this is heart-wrenching. His heart clenches, and he has to take a slow breath.

"I'd love that." You say with a soft smile.

Wind gives you a smile back."You'll have to tell me more about your home too."

"I can do that. You have to tell me more about sailing."

He laughs, elbowing you. "Obviously!"

"Keep it down." Warriors hisses as he turns around with a pointed glare, "You'll draw the monsters to us for an ambish."

"Sorry." You mutter, looking away from the captain and the sailor both.

Wind wants to kick Warriors. You two aren't being that loud, and no one else can be bothered to make you feel welcome besides him and Sky. Sky is in the back today, something about needing to think.

Wind just wants to make you feel welcome.

Warriors is throwing a wrench in his plans, though.

In fact, the look Warriors gives you is going to do the opposite.

Warriors shoots you a dirty look for your apology before turning back to face forward.

You shrink in on yourself visibly, shoulders hitching.

Wind huffs, sticking his tongue out at the captain's turned back.

You see it, though, and you crack a shaky smile.

Wind will take it.

He walks with you in silence, occasionally pointing to a cool bird.

You don't seem inclined to speak again, but you smile at the birds.

Wind just focuses on trying to be friendly. He thinks you're fun to be around, and he wants you to feel wanted.

The day wears on in tedious waltzes of time.

Wind catches the dirty and suspicious glares Legend gives you.

He watches Four and Wild share glances over your head before eyeing distrustful and then looking ashamed.

Wind sees Time stare at you with heavy gazes.

He sees Twilight hover around you with heavy silence. Although Epona seems unaffected by the man's hesitancy and is happy to walk near you.

He sees Sky flinch from your voice when you aren't looking.

Wind sees a group of his brothers, of his previous and later lives, and he sees them and cruel in this matter. As callous. As cowards even. In this one thing for sure.

His brothers are failing you in every way, and Wind feels something thick and heavy in his throat about the debacle.

He catches you quietly, slipping Epona an apple you found earlier. His lips tug upwards at the sight. (He's left curious about if Twilight is aware yet. If the rancher knows how taken with the horse you are?)

How can the others be so callous? You're the shit!

He turns when you nudge his side while pointing into the trees, looking over quickly with wide eyes. He follows your arm and finger up to the seagull that's perched in a large oak tree.

"That's so weird!" Wind gasps, "What is that doing here?"

You give a shrug. "Dunno."

"Think I could call it over?" Wind asks with a crooked grin.

You snort, the sound making his heart loosen a little.

"How? Do you call it like a cat?" You ask wryly.

"No, you mimic their bird call." He laughs.

You crack a soft smile. "So... you just say 'mine' a lot? Or do you call 'seagull seagull'?"

Warriors shoots the two of you another yet dirty look.

Wind opens his mouth to retort, but he falls silent when you grab his arm sharply, pointing to something else in the trees.

He turns, startling at the tight grip you have on his upper arm, following your finger again and seeing a lizafos.

Warriors hisses, having also looked where you were pointing.

Arrows start raining down as you push him behind you. Your frame serving as a shield between him and danger.

Sky is pulling the sailor under his shield next, and Wind is left wondering why in the name of Hyrule you were seemingly ready to use yourself as a shield.

He watches Warriors pull you under the captain's shield. The man pulling you to safety has a neutral look, except his eyes are desperate and wide.

-------

You knew you were all being followed, but the moment the arrows start raining, it seems like a bad time to say it.

You shove Wind behind you on instinct, something in you saying that you just need a shield. You don't have one.

You watch Sky grab Wind, putting his shield up.

You gasp as an arm wraps around you, jerking you close to a body as the person holding you puts their own shield up. Your hands fly up to rest on the person's chest.

You are saved just in time. Arrows are raining against the shield above you.

The arm around you holds you close and tight.

Warriors is the one holding you, silent as he waits for the arrows to let up. He looks down at you, brows knitting.

"Fucking lizafos." You grumble, a dislike of the monsters ingrained in you since you first saw them on a screen.

Apparently, they aren't better in person.

The man holds you close, arm firm around you as he looks down with an unreadable expression. His lips are pinched as he searches your form for any injury.

"When I say run, you're going to run." Warriors tells you with a sharp tone.

"Sounds great." You say quickly.

It's distinctly apparent in your mind now that you have no weapon. The idea seemed strange to need until now. (Your fingers itch to closer around the hilt of a sword that you have never weilded.)

You were traveling with nine heroes but being ambushed without a weapon has definitely changed your thoughts on the matter.

You're going to have to find a sword or something at the first chance you get.

The arrows cease while they reload.

"Run! Go hide, we'll find you." Warriors commands as he grabs his sword. His voice is stern, unyielding.

Following directions is easy. Running into the opposite tree line and away from the monsters seems smart.

You push yourself forward and into the forest as fast as you can, focusing on longer strides to go further.

You break the tree line and keep going, trying to block out the sound of fighting behind you.

Today is officially not great.

You rush through the trees, weaving until you see a branch low enough to climb up a tree with.

It's not a well thought out plan. It's more of a spur of the moment thought. Something about wanting the high ground.

You scramble up the tree quickly, lack of regard for caution in the moment. Yay, adrenaline!

You see the way the trees interlock and have branches that would be easy to get across...

Wouldn't it be harder to track footprints on the trees?

You start making your way across different branches, making sure not to look down or think beyond picking your next destination.

You don't bother wondering why traversing like this seems so easy.

You settle by the trunk of a tree a good fifty feet from the first one you climbed up. You're not too high up, but far enough up and with enough foliage around you, someone would have to really be looking to find you.

You try to catch your breath and slow your heart now. Blood is pounding in your ears.

You can hear everything.

The clash of weapons, the wind in the leaves, the shift of dirt on the ground.

If this is even half of what fighting is like... you can see why people sometimes like it.

The alertness, the heady high that adrenaline provides - it makes sense.

It dosen’t take away the fear, but it makes it matter less now that you're safe.

For a moment, you swear you hear familiar laughter in your mind, the sound of a man laughing in victory - it must be something you saw in a movie.

(Why can you imagine the flutter of blue fabric with the laugh?)

You can't say how long it is before you hear footsteps coming towards you.

You choke down a gasp, peering down to try to see who's down there.

There's a call of your name in a thick drawl.

Twilight then.

You wait to be sure, though. Could it be a trap or something? Who knows.

Twilight calls for you again.

Oh!

You see Epona walking under the tree.

"Sweetheart!" You call excitedly to the horse.

You can hear someone choke a little on the ground, but that seems irrelevant.

You start climbing down the tree.

Once you hit the ground, Epona is nudging you with her nose with a snort.

You smile, petting her neck. "It's so good to see you, pretty girl!"

"Ya really like her, don't ya?" Twilight asks as he eyes you.

He looks guarded, brows furowing, and mouth tense.

"Who wouldn't? Epona is a sweetheart." You smile, happily lavishing the horse with attention.

Epona gives a happy little whicker, nosing your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Wild asks, eyeing your form with a care you don't recognize.

You aren't sure why he's looking at you like that.

"I'm okay. Are you two okay?"

"Jus' fine." Twilight says, looking away.

"Is... something on my face?" You ask.

"No." Wild says, "Just- a few tears in your clothes and a couple scratches."

You sigh, "That's going to suck later."

Epona nudges you again, demanding that you go back to petting her.

You snort, reaching out to scatch her ears gently as you coo, "Aw, sweetheart, it's okay. You're such a good girl, I'm sure everyone agrees."

"We should... head back." Wild says. "We want to try to cover more ground before stopping for the day."

You nod, "Okay."

Twilight leads the way, Epona's reins loose in his hand.

Wild takes the rear.

Walking between the two men is tense and silent. The air is thick.

Epona is happy to walk at your side though, occasional nudging you for more pets.

You oblige the mare easily, whispering to her sweetly every so often.

Once you break the tree line, you see the others clustered together.

The moment Wind sees you, he's running over while yelling your name. He's got wide eyes again.

He skids to a stop at your side, "Are you okay?!"

"Yeah, I'm okay." You smile, "Are you okay, sailor?"

"Those monsters couldn't take me!" He grins up at you impishly.

You smile, "Good. I'm glad. I was worried about you."

"Your warning was helpful. You don't need to worry about me."

"If you say so."

Wind just hums. "How'd you know to look in the trees for them anyway?"

"I felt like something was following us." You shrug half heartedly.

"Well, you were right." Wind says.

Wind, Twilight, Wild, and you make your way the fifteen feet or so to get back to the rest of the group.

"You found them." Time notes.

"We did." Twilight agrees. "They hid pretty well."

You snort, "No one ever thinks to look up."

Wind laughs.

Sky steps over to you, looking you over carefully. "Are you okay?"

He has wide eyes and his lips pinch. He looks a little desperate, but you chalk that up to whatever has him so upset at noght.

"I'm good. I'll probably crash later, but that's adrenaline for you." You wave off.

Epona is nudging your shoulders again. She apparently is feeling affectionate today.

"What do you mean crash?" Sky asks with wide eyes.

"Be super tired? Maybe slow?" You pat Epona's neck as you try to figure out how to explain it.

"Okay." Sky says with a dubious look over your form as if trying to once again assure himself that you're okay.

You look around the group, taking stock of their states and immediately frowning when you see Four with a bandage around his hand.

Everyone seems fairly okay otherwise, though, which is reassuring.

Hyrule and Legend are side by side, talking about something or other. When they look at you, Hyrule gives a strained smile while Legend just glares.

Warriors is with Four, examining a dagger in his hands. Although the Captain does glance your way and give you a nod. (He also looks like he might like to yell, but that's not your focus.)

Getting back on the road is easy enough, although you have been temporarily separated from Wind. (It's like when you talk to your best friend and the teacher makes you go sit in timeout or something.)

Now you are walking beside Time, who is not nearly as excitable. But he isn't horrible. He is, however, doing that thing where he stares, and you just can't prove it.

The eldest dosen’t talk, not now, at least, though he does catch you when you trip over something.

You offer a soft thanks only to get a sharp nod.

-------

Time sits by the fire with Warriors and Wild, unable to look over to where you sit. He can't stand the similarities you share with his lost love.

It isn't your fault but it's erie.

Seeing you come back with all the little scratches shouldn't have upset him so much. You were safe. He dosen’t even really know you.

"Where were they when you found them, anyway?" Warriors asks as he stares into the fire

Wild looks over, face twisting a little. His brows drawn but voice warm. "They were in the trees."

"What?"

"They said no one ever thinks to look up." Wild says with a weak laugh.

Time nods. "It's good you and Twilight found them."

"Epona found them." Wild corrects. "They saw her and came down."

"They seem fond of her." Warriors muses. "Perhaps they have a horse back home."

"Epona loves them." Wild says.

"She seems to." Time says.

"You know... they loved horses too." Wild says, the change of subject is obvious if only to those who also lost them.

Time smiles sadly, the memory of his own steed with their ever tragic soulmate. His dearest.

They left him too soon.

He got longer with them than many. (But not enough. Time is selfish, and no amount of time will ever be enough.)

"I know." Time says. "They were always helping at Lon Lon ranch."

Warriors just hums noncommittal. "They saw the lizafos before the attack."

"You said so." Time says.

Warriors sighs. "How did they know? They said they felt it but... they aren't a fighter like us."

Wild shakes his head. "(Y/n) might just have good intuition."

"Maybe." Warriors says, a bitter tone in his voice that all but screams that he's biting back emotions again.

Time finally looks over to where you are.

You're sitting with Wind, examining a wooden sword the teen holds up. You're grinning, then you laugh.

For as often as Time wishes to hear that sound again... hearing it from you instead of his beloved is wrong.

It's unfair to wish you didn't laugh.

Time wishes that anyways. He wishes you didn't sound and act like his beloved.

"I don't understand why they're here." Wild admits.

"They aren't a hero." Warriors snorts. "They've never fought a war."

"How do you know?" Time frowns.

"I asked. But also, look at them. They aren't like us." Warriors says.

"That's not bad." Wild says softer, a weight in his words only his soul brothers truly understood.

"No." Time agrees. "But it dosen’t explain why they're here."

"Because Hylia hates us?" Wild suggests

Warriors huffs a laugh.

Time supposes that makes as much sense as anything else.

He looks back to you, watching as you swat playfully at Wind's hands as the teen tries to swipe some apple slices from you. It's... nice.

You are not his beloved, but you look like them. Seeing their joyful face on you is- strange and awful, but it's nice too.

He was forgetting what they looked like. What they sounded like.

How they laughed.

You laugh with Wind quite a bit. It's awful. (He's missed the sound.)

The next time Time looks over, you are holding a wooden sword, and Wind is laughing at the bad grip you have.

"We have got to teach you to fight!" Wind laughs.

You snort. "Are you volunteering?"

"Sure, why not." Wind shrugs.

Warriors sighs. "That's going to end badly."

"Maybe." Wild says.

Time has to resist the urge to smack the wooden sword from your hands. (You shouldn't have to fight!)

He dosen’t get to make that choice. In all reality, if you are to travel with them, learning to fight will be good.

The eldest of the group falls back into memories of his beloved.

Memories of mornings spent ignoring the call of responsibilities.

Memories of a timeline that will never be (not for him).

Memories of late nights slow dancing in the kitchen to the hum of his lover.

Time can't help but wonder... how long did the others have with them?

Did their soulmate have a favorite version of them?

Time has a favorite version of their soulmate. His version.

-------

Epona is more than happy to let Twilight brush her coat out after today. It's been such a good day for her.

She has you back!

Epona isn't too sure where you went or why you wear such strange fabrics, but you're back and that's all she cares about.

She watches you with the youngest hero, wondering if you have any more apples for her. She's missed you and your penchant for spoiling her.

Mostly you though.

"Don't get yer hopes up, girl, that's not who ya want it t' be." Twilight says as he brushes out her mane.

Epona looks at him, chuffing her disagreement.

She knows you. She can tell it's you. She's lived too many lives at your side to not know you.

"It's not yet fault." Twilight sighs.

Epona nips at his arm as a chiding measure. He's being so silly!

She hears you laugh again, looking over to see the youngest helping you with a wooden sword.

It's so good to have you back. It's good to hear you laugh.

Twilight sighs heavily beside her. "Oh, Epona, we're in it now. They look just like 'em an' I don't know how I'm s'posed ta go on like this."

Epona neighs.

She is going to have to buck some sense into her master. Silly man.

They're always so silly when it comes to you. Smitten and fawning all over you and assuming you don't like them at first.

Her silly Links.

She watches you, wondering where you've been.

It dosen’t much matter she guesses.

You're here now. With your boys. It's all going to be fine.

Epona chuffs again. However long you have left, she's sure it's going to be good.

Twilight pats her side sympathetically. "I miss 'em too, girl."

She has such silly boys. She knows Twilight will figure it out, though. They always do.

After Twilight is done with brushing and feeding her he goes to check on Wild.

Epona hasn't met several of these boys but they are all her Link. She Knows.

She goes over to you, nudging you. Epona will be getting her night time kisses from you now, please and thank you.

You just smile at her, petting her gently. "Hey sweetheart. It's late shouldn't you be ready to sleep?"

She chuffs happily, leaning into the touch on her muzzle.

"Aw, you just want some love, huh?" Ypu grin.

Epona is left, thinking once again that you are the better half to her boys. Always perceptive when it counts.

You press a kiss to her cheek. "Good night, sweetheart. You get some sleep."

She nuzzles her face against you in thanks and to wish you sleep too.

Epona lets you go on your way to finish setting up for bed.

She knows you'll need it.

She watches you stay up with Wind for first shift.

She falls asleep before you do though.

-------

You can't say you love fighting, but it's much better when you fight at Link's side. There's a heady high of adrenaline, trust, and adoration when you fight at his side.

Adrenaline is a hell of a high, but something about fighting for your life back to back with the man you love is even better.

The way his back flexes as he moves about behind you, the reassurance that Link is alive and okay. The reassurance that you are alive and okay.

It's a unique experience.

The sound of his breathing is a familiar cadence that helps you focus.

There is no regret you can find in your choice to follow Link into the royal army, especially not now when you get to fight at his side and help keep him safe.

You can hear Link laugh behind you, back vibrating with the victorious sound as he takes down a particularly vicious enemy.

"That's my man!." You call back with a grin as you knick aside a blade.

"Focus on your own fight, dove." Link says with a fondness that makes your heart swell.

You're not sure how a man can be both so loving and so vicious on the battle field.

You laugh again, blocking a volley of arrows before kicking the next enemy square in the chest.

The enemies fall quickly, the two of you a formidable duo. You both ebb and flow around the other, covering weak spots and prompting moves that are otherwise to risky alone.

There is no meaning beyond this moment. For now, there is only you, Link, and those that stand against you.

The moment the last one hits the ground, Link is spinning you around, so you are in his arms. His sword drops to the ground behind you, unimportant as he looks you over.

Blue eyes flit over your form as his brows draw together.

You smile, dropping your own sword and reaching to cradle his jaw with one hand.

"You're hurt." Link frowns heavily. His hands on your waist light but solid as he tries to tell how bad it is.

"Not bad. You're hurt, too."

"That's not important."

"What's important is we kicked ass!" You laugh, shooting him a wink.

Link laughs too, eyes crinkling and lighting up. He shakes his head at you fondly, indulgent, if only for you. "Of course we did, dove."

"Get over here," You demand lightly, the hand not cradling his face settles on his shoulder.

He does. He moves closer until he can kiss you, and then he does that, too. His lips press against yours as if he has all the time in the world.

As if you aren't both filthy from the fight.

As if you are precious.

There's a soft hum from Link, nothing but an innocent sign of affection as he uses the moment to reassure himself.

He pulls back, pressing his forehead to yours. He breathes heavy, but there is a deep understanding between you and him that this is where you both want to be. Together.

His gaze meets your own, and he gives a soft exhale.

You rub your thumb across his cheek.

He smiles at you softly, a warmth reserved only for you floods his eyes.

"Why don't you head back, I need to go find my dagger." You prompt.

Link frowns at you, "I'll stay."

"No, go ahead. You have to speak to Impa."

"She can wait." He says with a soft voice, arguing to stay by your side.

You smile, pressing another kiss to his lips. "Go on, captain, I'll meet you there."

Link sighs before he leans back in, cupping your face in one hand as he presses a kiss to your mouth a third and final time. "You better get back before dinner."

"I will."

He gives you a smile before he turns and picks up his gear.

You feel something prickle in your mind, an intuition. Danger is here.

It's somewhere to the right-

You turn, seeing the spear with just enough time to react. A desperate bid to protect your lover.

It's not thought through. You launch between the spear and Link, catching the tip through your lung with a strangled scream.

There's piercing pain and the distinct knowledge this isn't going to end well.

You land on the ground, impaled and wheezing heavily.

Link screams your name before whipping around to kill whatever threw that spear-

Time blurs as blood wells up in your mouth. You cough and wheeze.

Link falls to his knees by you. "Dove, stay with me. It's going to be okay."

"Li-nk." You croak. You know you don't have much time or strength.

Based on his face, he knows it, too.

"Lo-ve you." Your voice cracks over the words, but they are important.

Link is openly crying, shaking as he reaches for your hand. "I love you too. It's okay. It'll stop - it'll stop hurting soon."

You smile weakly-

You bolt up right with a strangled sob and an ache as if impaled through your lung.

It was a dream.

Why are you dreaming about the heroes?

Wild is the one one watch and it's his voice that asks "Are you okay?"

You whip around, eyes landing on the champion. Your still heaving shaky breaths.

Wild looks genuinely worried even as his eyes look far away.

You swallow hard.

"Just- a nightmare." You manage. "I'm- I'm fine."

He dosen’t look convinced.

-------

Dream summary: You and Warriors are in a battle. You guys finish it off and are sappy. You convince him to head back while you stay put to find your dagger, but when Wars goes to pick up his things, you are ambushed. You basically die, but it's not explicitly show, your last words to him are 'love you'. He cries.

Tag list: @vrsin

#misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu written in the stars (forever on loop) au #lu written in the stars au #written in the stars au

192 notes · View notes

riamaple · 12 days ago

Text

Life on Your Line (Ch. 16)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

Additional Warning(s) for This Chapter: Description of Torture (Bucky as the victim) — This warning pertains to the beginning of the chapter during Bucky’s memory of HYDRA. Read with caution.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 8.8k (My longest chapter yet! But also my favorite!)

CHAPTER 16: September 15, 2024

The assassin screamed.

The sound echoed through the room, rattling the walls and floors with anguish so raw that even the scientists around him flinched. His body seized as electric currents surged through him, starting from his thigh where a soldier had pressed a baton against his pants. The metal tips attached to the device were short and skinny, yet they made his back arch, his limbs convulsing against the restraints that locked him to his chair.

The assassin’s scream turned into a strangled sequence of breath, but that didn’t stop the soldier beside him from holding the baton firmly. A few more seconds went by before he finally stepped back, pulling the weapon away. The assassin immediately slumped back, gasping for air as his body refused to listen to him. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, his limbs trembled, and he struggled to lift his head as he slowly opened his eyes.

The soldier stood off to the side, joining his fellow men who also carried their own Shock Baton, a brand new weapon HYDRA made, as well as guns at their waists. No one except for one person moved—a silent man without an expression, yet radiated so much disappointment that no one dared to make eye contact with him…except for the assassin.

Colonel Vasily Karpov stepped in front of him, hands behind his back, and spoke with a flat voice. “Are you going to behave now?”

The assassin didn’t answer, but still kept his weary, frost-blue eyes trained on his handler as his chest rose and fell painfully. Karpov sighed as he extended his hand out to his right, and one of the guards stepped forward and handed him a file. He pulled out a photo from the file and studied the photo with cold eyes, each second passing by weighing down on the assassin.

“I know this mission was a difficult one,” Karpov said almost kindly, though his gaze never left the photo. “As always, we are grateful for your dedication in completing every one of your assignments.”

He then slammed the file shut, the noise echoing in the room as he finally looked at the puppet tangled in his strings. “But you failed to stay hidden. You forced us to intervene, override every system, and erase all camera footage around you. And the bomb—it should’ve been deactivated, but you let it explode and attract all this unwanted attention. You succeeded, but it wasn’t exactly the cleanest job, was it?”

The assassin stayed quiet as Karpov moved closer, towering over him. He finally turned the photo around to let him see the printed screenshot of the security feed. It was grainy and black-and-white, but still unmistakably captured him limping through an alleyway.

“We cleaned up your mess. So, tell me…”

He tapped on the photo.

Right on the figure holding the assassin up.

“Who was with you, Soldat?”

Silence.

Not a single word was said.

Karpov stood up straight, staring at the assassin as his eye twitched. Then he glanced at the soldier. “Again.”

Without hesitation, the soldier twisted the Shock Baton to its highest setting and jammed it into the assassin’s skin.

But this time, his leg was not the target.

The scream that ripped from the assassin’s throat was sharper as the skin on his stomach—right on the edge of his stab wound—began to blister beneath the metal. The half-healed gash glowed, fresh blood squeezing out from the pressure of the baton, and the assassin could only thrash in his restraints. Darkness began to close in as he struggled to stay awake, but just before he could fully let the dark take over, the weapon was pulled away. He fell back into his seat with his eyes closed, and his head lolled to the side as he tried to breathe, but his throat was so dry that it just hurt.

Karpov took another look at the photo, humming with his eyebrow raised. “Whoever this is, they’re clearly capable. Brave, even. Carrying you through the alleyways before riding on a bike to get away. But then,” he turned back to the assassin, “they jumped into the river just before it exploded.”

He leaned forward just as the assassin opened his eyes and spoke with a harsh voice. “You’re only alive because of them. This isn’t a stranger, Soldat. You have a history with them, and—”

The assassin winced as his head was pulled back, his hair tangled between Karpov’s fingers. “—I need to know how, why, and when you met them,” he finished, glaring into the assassin’s eyes.

But still, he didn’t say a word.

Instead, his head fell back when Karpov released him, and his breath hitched upon seeing the soldier step forward again. But his handler raised his hand to stop him and then turned to face another man who wore a similar uniform.

Karpov tilted his head up. “Colonel Titov.”

The assassin wearily looked up to see Lieutenant Colonel Matvei Titov, the next handler of the Winter Soldier, eagerly approach his training officer. He patiently watched Karpov walk to a table and pick up a red book with a black star, a scuffed cover, and wrinkled pages. He thumbed it open with an uneasy calmness and looked up at Titov.

“Go ahead.” He offered him the book. “You know what to do.”

With a sinister smile, Titov took the book—almost excited—as the assassin flinched at the cage that trapped his head, the metal plates pressing at his temples. He tried to move, but his body already lacked the strength to struggle, and he could only scream as electricity began to attack his body once again.

“Longing. Rusted.”

His mind— His mind was fading. No, no, no—

“Furnace. Daybreak. Seventeen.”

The assassin yanked his arms against the restraints, but they wouldn’t budge. Then the cage unlocked, freeing his head, but his memories continued to burn away.

“Benign. Nine—”

A cry escaped the assassin’s throat while he himself could not. In his mind, a familiar silhouette walked by, and his eyes shot open, desperate to see this person.

“Homecoming—”

Desperate to hear this person—

“One—”

Desperate to hold this person—

“Freight—”

Don’t leave. Please don’t leave! Please! Don’t—

“—car.”

Quiet.

Everything was so…quiet.

The assassin let out a slow breath, his body no longer twitching. His eyes sharpened dangerously like an icicle ready to pierce someone’s skin. All of the pain he endured still lingered, but he didn’t care.

He was a machine, awaiting orders.

“Good evening, Soldat,” Titov greeted, setting the book down and receiving the photograph from Karpov.

The assassin’s gaze locked onto him, recognizing him as his future handler, and nodded. “Ready to comply.”

The restraints came undone, and he stood up without hesitation, his movements sharp as if he hadn’t been tortured for the past hour or so. He stared straight ahead, hands curled into fists by his sides as Titov lifted the photo to his face.

“Now, Soldat. Who is this?” he asked once again, confident in retrieving the answer as the puppet was back to being in their control.

The assassin looked at the photo and immediately opened his mouth. “She’s—”

He stopped, and the room went silent.

Titov furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes darting around the assassin’s blank expression. He glanced back at Karpov, who had his eyebrow raised at their puppet, wondering if he was short-circuiting. The soldiers and scientists all glanced at each other, feeling uneasy by the unusual energy in the room.

Titov spun back around, shoving the photo closer to the assassin’s face. “Soldat. Who is this? Tell me—”

“Tell me what to do!”

The assassin’s eyes slightly widened, suddenly remembering someone’s cries.

It…

It was—

“Tell me what to do! I—I don’t know what to do!” you sobbed, feeling so helpless as the blood flowed past your fingers. “You gotta tell me!”

Rose.

His Rose—

He almost staggered back when Titov slapped him across the face, getting impatient with their broken toy. “Tell me who she is!”

“…No.”

The room went still.

Titov widened his eyes. “What?”

Suddenly, without an ounce of hesitation, James swiped one of the medical tools from a nearby table—a scalpel—and plunged it into the man’s right eye. Titov screamed, dropping the photo and grasping his face as blood quickly ran down his cheek, all while James bolted across the room.

“GET HIM! GET HIM NOW—”

Bullets sparked all around him, but James continued to run into the hallway, slamming into any soldier who attempted to stop him. He left behind the cloud of panic—the HYDRA operatives who realized that their puppet could say no.

All because of someone in that photo.

The hallway was even more chaotic, as James punched every soldier into the walls, grabbed their weapons, and shot any more men who tried to stop him. Blood ran from his abdomen, sweat dripped from his forehead, but he continued to push.

Get out of there. Escape. Find Rose—

A shot rang out, and he stumbled, pain exploding in his leg. He tried to catch himself, but a second bullet tore through his other leg, sending him crashing to the floor. He tried to scramble away, but then he shrieked at the Shock Baton against his back. He swung his left arm back, knocking the soldier off his feet, but two more of them joined and jammed their Shock Batons into his body. James thrashed around, trying to kick them away, but the first soldier jumped back onto his feet and joined the other two in shocking him.

James screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Even when there was nothing left in his throat, his mouth could only stay open.

When the shocks finally stopped, he could barely move before multiple men grabbed him, dragging him back through the hall. Blood followed him, streaking at his ankles and leaving a grotesque trail behind. James tried to rip himself away, but they eventually threw him back into the chair, trying to keep him in place while the metal restraints moved.

Karpov stepped forward. “Wipe him—“

James tore one of the restraints off before it completely latched and punched one of the soldiers in the chest, stopping his heart instantly as he flew across the room. The other men faltered as he yanked against them, screaming as they pinned him down to the chair.

“SECURE HIM! SECURE HIM NOW!”

A tangle of metal and limbs crashed onto him—more soldiers, more weight, more cages. James’s body quivered under the pressure, every muscle twitching uncontrollably while tears began to form in his eyes.

Karpov frowned with disgust at the sight—this shouldn’t be. The Winter Soldier shouldn’t be crying. He wasn’t capable of crying.

Quietly, he looked to the floor, gaze locking onto the bloodied photo—onto the figure that saved their puppet.

Then, from the different crowd in the room, Titov marched forward, blood dripping from the bandage that the doctors had wrapped over his ruined eye. He snatched a Shock Baton from one of the soldiers’ waistbands and immediately stabbed James’s stomach wound, turning the weapon on to full power.

James let out the most gut-wrenching scream as the guards all jumped away, the metal restraints finally holding their toy in place.

“Colonel,” Karpov called for him.

But Titov didn’t listen. He continued to push the baton further into the wound, his one eye full of fury and hatred.

“Colonel Titov, that’s enough!” Karpov yelled at him with assertion, prompting the man to finally turn off the baton and step back.

James slumped, completely motionless except for his eyes, which slowly blinked at the Colonel. His breathing was just as slow as the metal cage that trapped his head again, and he didn’t even have the strength to flinch at its touch.

“Increase the power,” Titov snarled.

Karpov turned to him, an intense frown on his face. “Colonel—”

“Increase the power now!”

The scientist hesitated. “By how much, sir?”

“He doesn’t want to talk, so make it so he can’t remember how to,” he spat, throwing the Shock Baton aside. “Wipe him, then throw him back into the chamber. He’s been out for too long.”

The scientists glanced at each other before looking at Karpov, waiting for the approval of the highest rank in the room. The man watched James carefully before slowly walking up to him. He scooped up the photo, held it between him and the puppet, and locked eyes with him again.

“Last chance.” He raised the photo. “Who is she?”

No response.

Karpov sighed before nodding to the scientists, who quickly worked to charge the machine to its strongest point. Then he turned around and showed the photo to everyone. “Find out who she is.”

At that, James finally moved, widening his eyes at the intense focus everyone had on the photo.

“Whoever she is, she’s a threat to our operation,” Karpov continued through the screaming. “Find out who she is. Everything about her.”

No. No—

“Sir, she’s dead,” Titov said, still heaving in pain with a hand over his eye. “She was within the bomb’s range—”

“One thing you should always know, Colonel,” Karpov interrupted with a sharp look, “is that everything is possible.” He turned back to the soldiers. “Find out who she is. We must learn how she broke his programming so it doesn’t happen again.”

Before James could say a word, a bloody cry tore out of his throat as the cage shocked his mind once again, and his hands clenched into fists as he struggled to get out. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to latch onto every memory he had of the person who saved him over and over again.

No. No! Don’t hurt her. Don’t fucking—

“And if she’s still alive—”

NO—

“—bring her here—”

A loud crash startled Bucky awake.

A strangled hiss escaped his throat when he landed on the carpet floor, the burn on his right side throbbing from the sudden movement. His breaths, unsteady and jagged, sent more pain through his body, forcing his eyes to squeeze shut.

“Shit! Fuck…” he choked out, trying to slow down his breaths, curling his body into the blanket that tangled around him.

His body twitched under the covers, jerking away from the restraints, but Bucky slowly blinked his eyes open when he realized nothing was holding him back. His skin glowed with sweat under the early evening sunlight that blinded him, but the stillness of his bedroom helped calm his nerves. With a long, deep breath, Bucky slowly crawled back into his bed, wincing at the unfortunate injury he sustained from the recent mission he went on with Sam.

Flamethrowers were only fun when it was not pointed at you.

Gently placing a hand over his bandage, Bucky carefully began to lie on his back, but he paused. Blinking at the crumbled wall towards the ceiling, he slowly tilted his head down until he spotted his bedside table, now in pieces and scattered all over the carpet.

He stared at it for a while before collapsing back onto his pillow. “Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing his face in frustration.

Sarah picked that for him. God fucking damn it—

He let out the biggest groan, throwing his hands off his face before staring deeply at the bare ceiling.

Then again, it was from IKEA. There were so many of those. The Wilsons would never notice if he got a new one. It would be his own little secret…

Bucky blinked.

Secrets.

He was getting tired of them.

Slowly, Bucky resorted to getting out of bed, moaning in pain as he limped to his bathroom. His left ankle was sprained when he narrowly avoided getting burned to a crisp, and there were a few cuts on his face that were almost gone. He flicked the light on and leaned against the sink, exhaling as he unwrapped the bandage around his abdomen.

His fingers trembled, but he refused to acknowledge that.

Bucky sighed once he spotted red stains seeping through the dressing and turned on the faucet to let the water get warm. He dropped the bloody bandage to the tiled floor and wrinkled his nose at the scabs before grabbing a clean washcloth, dampening it, and gently washing the blood off it. His breath shuddered whenever he touched a particularly sensitive area, and he finally tossed the cloth away when there was no more bleeding. Although Sam had thrown a tube of antibiotic ointment at him, Bucky didn’t apply it as his body was swiftly healing the wound, so he reached for a new dressing instead.

But he paused when he looked in the mirror, his eyes not on the current wound, but rather an old one.

Lightly, he brushed his fingers over the scar that had grown so ugly and rough, existing right over his stomach as a discolored patch of skin. There was a faint line where the knife had landed, as well as raised, jagged skin where the electrodes had burned him. The overall scar faded, but never quite disappeared like the others.

And even though it didn’t hurt anymore, it still ached in a different way.

Bucky’s vibranium palm rested against the scar, its coolness pulling him back into the nightmare he endured. The cold restraints, harsh violence, and all the screams that shredded his vocal cords. The night he arrived in Siberia, the night he bled in London…

You.

Your trembling arm snaked around his waist as you rushed him through the alleyways. Your teary eyes locked onto his as you clawed at the hand around your throat. Your desperate cries shaking the room as you begged him to tell you how to help—how to save him.

And then you left. With a bomb against your chest, you ran off to die alone. You were so brave. So stubborn.

God. He missed you so much.

His breath hitched as he shut his eyes, lips trembling as the scar beneath his metal fingertips still managed to burn him—as the memory of you wrapped around him, as it always did whenever he longed for you.

But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

He needed you now. No more lies. No more pretending.

He was tired of secrets.

<><><>

You held the front door open, feeling the evening sun warm your face. “Are you sure I can’t call you a taxi or something?”

The elderly woman, one of your regulars, lightly chuckled and patted you on the arm. “No, dear. I may be old, but I’m not fragile. I can walk home just fine.”

You smiled. “I never said you were old. I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.”

“Well, I do appreciate it.” She waved at you with a wide grin. “Thank you for the recommendations, dear. Have a good night.”

“You too,” you said with a wave and then watched your last customer of the day walk down the sidewalk.

After a few seconds, you stepped back into your store, clicking the door shut and closing the blinds as a sigh left your lips. It was one of those days where your body ached more than you’d like—where your bones felt heavy and your muscles couldn’t decide if they wanted to be tight or loose, making it so that you didn’t feel like you were in control of your body.

Your curse just loved to make your life harder.

You made your way to the front desk to retrieve your bag from underneath—you had put it there when you realized how slow the business was and figured you could get out of the store as soon as it was closing time. You bent over to reach for the bag but then paused.

You stared at the toolbox right beside it.

You had originally put it in the back room, but then quickly moved it to the front desk. You knew that Bucky would come back the next day for another book—another story to dive into—so you planned to pass back the tools along with whatever book he picked next. So you waited for the next day to come.

But, when the next day came, he didn’t.

You then told yourself that he’d be back the day after—that maybe he was just taking his time to read the thriller you gave him. But then another day passed, and another, and another. Now, it had been over a week since he showed up, and you couldn’t help but wonder where he had disappeared.

And of course, your thoughts delved into a darker place.

You tried not to think of the worst—Bucky was strong and capable, trained to survive anything that the world threw at him. And if anything, if something horrific threatened him, you would’ve been sent to him. That was how it worked—how it worked every time. If he were in danger, you were there to save him.

Unless… Maybe it wasn't the danger he was escaping from.

Was…

Was it you?

You kept staring at the toolbox, now on your knees, and your bag untouched. Your hands curled into your pants as your chest ached.

Maybe you pushed him away too hard.

It made sense, right? You did your best to convince him that you weren’t who he wanted you to be, so now you were just a stranger. You didn’t know him—he didn’t know you. That was what you wanted. To keep your distance and pretend you never were in his life for the past ninety years. You wanted him to move on from you. This was what you asked for.

So…why did it hurt so much?

Tears threatened to form in your eyes, so you quickly took a deep breath to push the tightness in your chest away.

You were just so fucking tired.

No matter what you did, life would just be painful. If you embrace Bucky, then you would deal with the agony that would come with losing him—watching him grow old while you still waited for one fucking wrinkle to appear on your face. But if you rejected him, then you would never get the life you dreamed of—to be able to walk through Brooklyn with his hand in yours, laughing and talking about what to eat for dinner or where to go for dessert.

And worst of all, regardless of what you picked, he would die, and you would survive.

You would always survive but never live.

Clearing your throat and taking another breath, you snatched your bag and stood up abruptly, desperate to go home and try to sleep the pain away. But just as you went to swing the strap over your shoulder, the front door opened, and you turned to see who walked in.

You softly gasped upon seeing Bucky step inside, and a soft smile immediately formed on your face.

“Bucky.” You quickly walked around the desk to go towards him. “Welcome back—”

You halted, eyes widening at his appearance. For the first time, Bucky’s jacket and gloves were nowhere to be found, fully displaying his vibranium arm to the public. There were a few cuts on his face still healing up, and he favored one leg as he stepped closer to you with a weary frown.

“You’re…” You approached him, getting close enough to see the damage. “You’re hurt.”

He nodded, looking at you with hollow eyes. “I just came back from a mission.”

Mission.

You felt your cheeks get warm, embarrassed from forgetting that detail—of course, he still went on missions. He was a fighter—a hero who stopped at nothing to protect those who needed saving. Every day, he worked to be a better person and do something good.

But something still twisted in your stomach, seeing him all battered and tired.

Nevertheless, you managed to give him a small smile, tinted with concern but full of sincerity. “You look exhausted.”

“It was a long mission,” he replied quietly, his eyes never leaving you.

“I bet. I did miss seeing you around here,” you lightly chuckled. “Was waiting for you to come back and buy another book.”

Bucky’s lips went ajar as he took in your smile. Then he swallowed and exhaled. “Maybe tomorrow.”

You nodded, knowing he still needed to rest. “Tomorrow is good. That said…” You began to turn around. “You left your toolbox last week. Do you want it now, or—”

When a hand slipped into yours, you froze.

You turned back around, stunned by Bucky’s right hand clutching yours as if he had done so many times before. With a shaky breath, you looked up at him to see that he was staring at your hand, so warm in his cold grasp. Before you could say something—to ask what was wrong—he sighed and stepped closer.

All the words you thought about saying vanished when he hugged you.

He hugged you.

He was hugging you.

Your eyes were as big as the sun that was setting slowly, your breath only a whisper, while Bucky firmly held you. His arms were around your upper back, his cheek against your temple, while his eyes were closed; he could feel your heart rapidly beating against his chest, and the rhythm was familiar.

Of course, it was familiar.

He knew your heartbeat.

“Bucky?” you quietly said with your arms floating by his sides, unsure of what to do. “Are you okay—”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said with a slight crack in his voice.

Your breath hitched. “Bucky, what are you—”

“Stop.”

Slowly, Bucky pulled away just enough to still have you in his embrace. You looked up and gulped, feeling his frost-blue eyes pierce into your soul, but not with anger or disappointment.

Just hope. Very, very fragile hope.

“It’s you,” he whispered. “I know it’s you, Rose.”

The words landed like a rock against a glass window—sudden, unexpected, loud, dangerous. But once the shards fell to the floor and the sun shined on them, it was a gorgeous sight of scattered rainbows.

The shards didn’t fall just yet. You wouldn’t let them.

You gazed back at him, shocked and conflicted—emotions crashing into each other before you could even name what they were. But before you could even take a moment—before you could let your heart grab at what it wanted—you took a few steps back, pulling yourself out of his grasp, and his arms fell away without resistance.

“Bucky… Not this again.” You softly sighed, shaking your head while painting an apologetic frown onto your mask. “I thought we’re past this.”

A quiet devastation emerged on his face, almost making you look away as it shot pain at your chest. The light in his eyes flickered like a candlelight struggling to stay awake during a storm.

Bucky’s lips went thin before he took a careful breath, his shoulders slumped, but his eyes locked onto you. “I tried to believe it wasn’t really you, but I can’t. I can’t anymore.”

Your hands curled into fists by your sides, your feet shifting side-to-side as you let out a breath, trying to keep up your little play. “Bucky… I’m so sorry. I really am, but…I’m not her. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

But he only closed his eyes, his jaw tensing as he shook his head. “You can’t pretend anymore, Rose,” he said, his voice full of tremor.

“I’m not…” you started, but even your voice was giving up—wanting to stop encouraging your lies. “I know you want me to be, but I’m just… I’m just someone who works at a bookstore. Nothing more.”

“But you’re wrong. You’re more than that.” He opened his eyes, meeting your gaze again. “You’ve always been so much more to me.”

Something skipped in your heart, but you looked away to avoid his eyes. You hated that he was looking at you like that—like you were something still so sacred to him.

You swallowed back the weight in your throat. “We can’t do this again. Please… Let’s not ruin what we have.”

“And what is it that we have?”

Your eyes slightly widened as you faced him again. “Bucky—”

“I thought that maybe something happened to you.”

You went quiet as he slowly stepped closer, careful not to frighten you away. He moved as if he was stuck in a dream—unsure of what was real, but afraid of waking up from it.

“I thought that maybe you lost your memory, or that you only remember who I am when you magically show up. I don’t know—there’s just too much weird shit that happens that it seemed possible that maybe you were telling the truth. That you really believe that you aren’t Rose, because you denied it so hard that it felt like I was the crazy one. Maybe–”

His voice cracked as he gasped for a breath—a moment to recover and heal from the pain inside, but it wasn’t long enough. “Maybe I’m just so broken—desperate—that I wanted you to be her so bad—so bad that I made it up. So I tried to let it go for a bit. Force myself to accept that I was wrong.”

He then let out a strangled chuckle. “I thought it was going to be impossible, but then we started to talk, and…the more we talked, the more I saw you were different. I mean…you look like her, talk like her, but the way you carry yourself, it’s… I don’t know. It’s just different. But then…you smiled.” His mouth ticked upward. “I finally got to see you smile and laugh because something nice happened, and all of a sudden, it didn’t matter if you were lying or not. I…”

He chuckled, but this time it was lighter. His eyes grew softer as he smiled at you. “I got to see you happy.”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Fuck— Stop denying it—

“Bucky…” You shook your head, biting your lips before speaking again—to stop him from continuing. “I’m not—”

“But then you said to me, ‘Tell me what to do,’ and I knew it was you.”

Frozen in place, you could only watch Bucky release a broken laugh, hollow like it had broken him before.

“It’s so fucking stupid,” he said, shaking his head. “Out of everything you did, you saying that one line made me see that it had to be you. That night I was dying, when I was bleeding out, you refused to leave me. You asked me to tell you how to help—to tell you what to do.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And then last week, over fucking book recommendations, you said the same thing. So casually, but I still heard you from that night.”

Your eyes darted around, your heart leaping from his words. “I…”

“Even though I told you to leave, you wouldn’t listen. I begged you to go, but you didn’t. We were in the freezing cold, fighting a super-soldier in the middle of London, and all you could do was worry about me. He tried to kill you. He—”

His breath shuddered as his eyes began to glisten, overwhelmed by one of his worst memories. “He almost killed you. I wasn’t strong enough to stop him, and he—he almost killed you…but you still only cared about me. I….I can still hear your cries. It's all I hear, so I need you to talk to me.”

Without a second to spare, Bucky reached for you, hands grasping your arms not to restrain, but to ground himself. To prove that you were in front of him.

And you let him.

You should’ve stepped back—pulled away—but the tremors in his voice and his threatening tears stunned you still. To see him in so much pain because of you and your lies made your insides twist, your mask chipping away by the claws of your emotions. Your breath hitched as his grip tightened—not painfully, but with urgency.

“I need you to tell me the truth. Right now,” he whispered. “Are you Rose?”

You stared at him, your mouth opening but your voice struggling to make a sound. “I…”

“Or— Fuck—” He choked on his breath, gasping for air as he squeezed your arms. “I don’t know. I just—”

He was unraveling, falling apart like a thin sheet of ice under too much weight, and yet he still welcomed it. He welcomed your warmth, melting him away into nothing, if it meant he could have you.

“I don’t know what’s happening. Why you won’t tell me you’re her.” His eyes searched yours, frantic and aching. “Do… Do you even remember me?”

You dropped your head, unable to look at him because everything in you ached to say yes. Your mask was falling apart—cracking down the middle as your fingers twitched with restraint. Your gaze was fixed on his chest, as one glance at his frost-blue eyes would send you crashing to the depths of your heart. Bucky tried to look at you, lowering his head to your level, but you just turned your head away more, teeth clenched as you tried to even out your breaths.

But Bucky then let go of one of your arms, and for a moment, you foolishly believed that maybe he was giving up.

Instead, you heard a jingle. Just unexpected enough to lift your head and watch something silver fall onto his chest.

Your eyes flew open, gazing at your locket that glowed so brightly, catching a moment between you and him. The air left your lungs harshly, and before you could stop yourself, the name that was so dear to your heart left your lips silently.

And that was all it took.

Bucky’s breath got caught in his throat as his eyes grew wide with hope blooming beneath the desperation. He reached for your arm again, his fingers curling around you like a lifeline while his lips wobbled.

“You do remember me,” he choked out.

And while his voice wasn’t loud, it broke your mask in two—every wall you built up crumbled to make room in your heart. You snapped your head up at him as horror seeped into your face, and he could see the silver of recognition you struggled not to reveal. Relief flooded his eyes, making the teardrops on their edges bigger as he watched you with so much care.

No, you couldn’t. This couldn’t happen—

You tried to step back, but he was faster and held your arms firmer, never hurting you and just keeping you close. And in that stillness, your breath stuttered while your eyes began to shine with unshed tears.

You frantically shook your head. “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he whispered back, almost as if he was apologizing. “Not this time.”

“Bucky, please—”

“Why were you lying to me?” he interrupted with a fragile voice, and finally, his tears slipped free, and your heart broke at the sight—at the fact that you made him cry. “Why?”

“No,” you stuttered, “I just—”

“Was it me?” His voice broke, and you widened your eyes, startled by his assumption. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No—” You quickly shook your head as a teardrop escaped your eye. “Never. It wasn’t you.”

“Then why did you lie?” he desperately asked, his lips trembling. “Rose, why?”

“No, I—” Your breath hitched, and your voice quivered along with his. “I’m not Rose.”

“Rose—”

“I’m not her. I’m not.”

“But you know me. Not Sergeant Barnes. Not the Winter Soldier. Not even Bucky— You know me, and this locket,” he cried, glancing down at the jewelry between you both. “You gave this to me back in D.C. before you left. Before you d—” He choked on his words, shaking his head with a whisper, “You told me to keep it safe, and I have. I have all this time, Rose, and I’m here to give it back to you. But—” His breath shuddered again, ragged and raw. “I need you to say it. I need you to tell me you’re her.”

You dropped your head, feeling like it weighed too much to carry, and avoided his teary eyes. “Please let me go.”

“I won’t.”

“Please—”

“I looked for you.”

You flinched, but you still didn’t lift your head. You couldn’t. You just couldn’t. Instead, your tears finally began to fall, a broken breath escaping your lips as you shook your head. But he continued to dig into you with just his words.

“I stayed in D.C., near that clothing store. I waited for you, but you didn’t show up. I thought that maybe you had run away after coming back to life. I stuck around for a few weeks before I had to run too.” He squeezed your arms, silently begging for you to look up. “I ran and I lived, just like you told me to. I learned more about myself, figuring out who James Buchanan Barnes is, but I still looked for you. Here and there, wondering when you’d show up again.”

“Bucky, please…” you whispered, your voice turning into a whimper. “Please…”

“You said I’d see you again only when I needed you,” he said. “I need you now.”

“You don’t…”

“I need you.” His voice cracked as it got louder. “Rose, I need you.”

“I’m—” you gasped, and it just hurt so much to keep everything in. “I’m not Rose!”

“Then tell me!”

Everything went still.

You trembled under his touch, heart painfully pounding against your chest as your eyes were squeezed shut. The grip on your arms slightly loosened, both of your voices no longer rumbling through the space, and for a bit, it was just quiet.

Then, slowly, Bucky raised his right hand, letting his fingers brush under your chin. And with the gentlest of care, he lifted your face to meet his softened eyes.

Oh, those frost-blue eyes were always your favorite, weren’t they?

You gazed at him, and he gazed at you, both allowing yourselves to take a second to take it all in. To see each other—admire one another—while you both had time.

Bucky then moved his hand, resting his palm against your wet cheek. His thumb brushed an incoming tear away, and he softly let out a breath. Even after everything—after all the denial—he still looked at you like you were the answer to his life.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice full of love. “Tell me who you are.”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The way he looked at you. The way he held you. The way he spoke to you.

You didn’t deserve any of it.

At least, that was what you believed in. Your life had been built on lies—on ashes of bridges you burnt, all to avoid the loss of the people you loved. There was a cost to love, and you lived your entire life paying it with not much in return, so you kept your distance. Built up a barrier around you that deflected the truth, not because you wanted to be alone, but because you thought it was the only way to stay unharmed.

But you thought wrong. Everything fucking hurt.

The loneliness you’d tried to pretend was peace—mercy—was closing in on you, tearing your soul apart every chance it got. You tried to act out the part in this play of yours, but the lines had grown too heavy for you to deliver. Being a different character than the real person you were… It was too much. It hurt too fucking much.

No matter what you did, everything would always hurt.

So…

Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea to go down a path where you could be happy, even if it was just for a little bit.

You let out a stuttering breath, almost as if your lungs had forgotten how to breathe. Your jaw clenched against his palm, which was so soft despite the number of wars he’d fought through. It was insane—you knew that this very hand had taken the lives of so many, his choice or not, and yet it was the most gentle touch you had ever embraced.

Your eyes softened at the way he waited for you to speak, and you took a slow breath.

“I’m just someone who works at a bookstore,” you repeated from earlier.

Bucky faltered, dropping his hand from your face as his lips suddenly trembled at the thought of you denying him again. “Stop.” He shook his head desperately. “Please, just—”

“No, no,” you softly stopped him, and he went quiet at how your eyes shimmered with an unfamiliar kind of conflict. Your voice steadied as you continued, so calm, unlike the storm that blew through you two just a moment ago. “It’s the truth. I’m just someone who works at a bookstore… I’ve always been. I’m just someone who loves books. Who loves working every day to recommend novels to new readers and revisit classics with old ones. I had other jobs here and there, but they always had to do something with reading or writing. I like to write stories for myself and share stories with others.”

You gave yourself a pause, taking another breath against your trembling shoulders, letting your walls fall finally by your choice.

“Sometimes…I help someone else write another chapter in their story. And…” you took a deep breath before cracking a tearful smile, “I’m so glad to see you’re still writing, James.”

The name rolled off your tongue so easily, like a memory that was forever engraved in both of your hearts.

Bucky’s eyes widened at the sound of it, his lips parting but releasing no sound. He only stood there, propped up by the truth, while the denial around you vanished. He dropped his metal hand from your arm as if it were pulled down by the weight of relief. His chest rose sharply at his staggered breaths, and his gaze went so soft.

“It’s you,” he whispered like you still weren’t real in front of him.

“It’s me.” You then let out a soft laugh, and another teardrop rolled down your cheek. “I thought you already knew that. You sounded so certain before.”

“I…” Words no longer trailed from his lips while his eyes remained locked onto you.

You managed to smile, though it pained your chest. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay. Living, like you said.”

Bucky continued to watch you closely, still stunned by the truth despite begging for it. He looked at you like you were a ghost, only realizing that you had a pulse and a lifetime of stories to share. But slowly, he could see you weren't a ghost, or an angel. You…

“You’re really just a person,” he quietly said, almost to himself.

Your eyes slightly widened at the comment, and you couldn’t help but snort through your tears. “Wow. What a compliment.”

He immediately winced. “Shit. That’s— That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” you responded, the corner of your lips twitching despite the ache in your heart. “But still, for someone who’s died multiple times, I sure look average, huh?”

“What? No, you…” He took another deep look at you and breathed with the only belief he truly embraced at the moment. “You’re beautiful.”

Something leaped in your heart.

Your breath caught, your eyes darting around as his words sank in. How was it possible that he could say that so easily? Even before, when he was still a puppet desperately wanting to be a real boy, he admired you—showed how gorgeous you were just by the way he gazed at you. Those frost-blue eyes always told you that you were more than just a sacrifice.

Bucky, with wide eyes and a steadier breath, stared at you like he still couldn’t believe his guardian angel returned from the sky. But then, slowly, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Rose… Why were you pretending not to know me?” he asked.

You grimaced, glancing down at the floor as the questions you dreaded stabbed you again. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” He stepped closer, and before you could react, he took your hands. “I don’t understand… Why were you…”

“James, I’m sorry. It’s…” You sighed. “It’s just complicated.”

“But… No,” he shook his head, “I need to know. Why did you lie?”

Your gaze landed on your hands in his, feeling so grounded by his touch. “For reasons you couldn’t understand,” you breathed.

“Then help me understand.” His voice was softer now, almost pleading. “I can’t lose you again, Rose.”

But then you pulled away from his grasp once again, immediately feeling like you could collapse to the floor any second. “James…”

“Please. Can we please talk?” He gently found your wrist, making sure you wouldn’t fall under his watch. You felt his hand slightly shaking as he held you, and his breath quivered as he continued. “If not now, then tomorrow. Or the day after. I don’t care. Just…let’s talk.”

You hesitated and then shook your head lightly. “I don’t think talking is a good idea.”

“Why—”

“You’ll hate me.”

He went silent, an echo of questions forming in his widened eyes as you curled in, feeling small from saying those words aloud, but you continued. “James, I promise you… If I told you why I lied, you’ll…you’ll hate me. And I…” A couple of tears began to fall from your eyes again as you trembled in his grasp. “I can’t…”

“No. Rose,” he reached for your face again, wiping away your tears with his thumb, “I could never hate you. So…please… Please help me understand. I want to. I…I want to know everything about you.”

Your throat tightened so much that you couldn’t respond, and your lungs struggled to relieve the pain that continued to grow.

But then, Bucky wrapped his arms around you again, slowly resting his hands on your back and anchoring you to him. His embrace wasn’t forceful or demanding—it was certain and safe, and everything you ever wanted in a comforting hug. But still, you stiffened in his arms, wanting to say no to bringing him further into your life.

But he spoke first.

“Please,” he breathed into your hair, his voice low and warm. “Let’s talk.”

And at that, you nodded. It was the tiniest of movements, but you still nodded, and it sent a wave of relief through Bucky.

And then, slowly and carefully, he pulled back just enough to see your face again—cheeks were still stained with tears, eyes puffy and red, and lips trembling at how warm he was.

But…despite all that…

You were beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful than the day he had to let you go.

Then, he broke. A cry that had been buried deep within him for decades finally crawled out, and he pulled you back into his arms, holding you like you could disappear at any second.

“You’re here,” he gasped, his voice quickly unraveling. He cradled the back of your head as if you were the fragile one. “Fuck, you’re really here.”

All words vanished from your lips as he held onto you tighter, and you were too shocked by his intense relief that you were just present. His cries then turned into sobs, his chest vibrating against your body.

Then…he whispered.

“You're—” Bucky choked on his breath. “You’re okay,” he softly said, not as a hopeful wish, but as his truth.

Something broke your heart.

But this time, it wasn’t out of sadness.

You crumbled, your knees buckling while a gasp escaped your throat, but Bucky didn’t let you fall. His arms protected you from further pain as tears flowed down your face from hearing the relief in his voice in knowing you were still here, alive, breathing, and okay.

You were okay.

Your arms circled him while you buried your face in the crook of his neck, weeping to let go of the silence that engulfed you for years. You hiccuped as your breath faltered and broke, unable to keep up with you letting go of your pain and realizing that you weren’t alone at this moment.

Despite feeling his injured side scream at him for every movement, Bucky refused to let go, securing himself to your warmth, the kind he always wished to have at his side.

And for once, in both of your lives…

Neither one of you had to rush through this embrace.

<><><>

James laid in the attic, peering out through a small window and watching the streets that were busier now. He sighed, leaning back against the wall as the people below scrambled like startled animals in the aftermath of the explosion. Sirens wailed in the far distance, their lights fighting for their glow as the sun rose.

It was a miracle he’d managed to hide before the police fully locked down the area, as the city was being searched in every crevice for the culprit of the bombing. It was a painful experience, but James had managed to throw a tarp over his enemy’s body before finding an attic to lay low in. Now, he could only hope that the police wouldn’t come into this building soon. The focus was still on the distant area, closer to where the bomb went off, but it was a matter of time before police came roaming around where he was.

And if they found him, he wouldn’t be able to run. At any other time, he could easily disappear like a ghost, but with half-healed wounds and exhaustion that was deep within his bones, he could barely move a muscle. He had barely survived the fight.

You had been the one to finish it, too. You saved him again.

And died.

James turned his head, gazing at the torn fabric pressed against his stomach. His stab wound had finally stopped bleeding, but he couldn’t throw away what was left of your hoodie.

It was strange—every time you died and he turned away even for a second, your body would be gone. Your blood, strands of hair, remnants of clothes—all of it would disappear with you as if you never existed. You would vanish, leaving James to wonder if you were even real.

But this time, the hoodie stayed.

It was bloody and tattered, but still carried your scent that had a faint hint of old books. James expected it to disappear when the bomb went off, so when it didn’t, he had slight hopes that you survived, but then later accepted that you were gone.

But the hoodie stayed.

Maybe…

Maybe you were still protecting him.

Even in death, you were still keeping him alive.

With a strangled breath, James closed his eyes and clutched the fabric tighter in his fist, as it was the only thing keeping him human. Even after sacrificing your life, you were still trying to save his humanity, so he just had to hold on.

Suddenly, a sound below broke his thoughts, and he froze. He stayed silent, listening to heavy boots wander around the floors under him while his pulse picked up. His eyes were locked onto the trapdoor, even when he began to hear Russian nearby.

Soon, the door creaked open, and a man popped his head in, cautious and armed. He searched around and slightly jumped at seeing James against one of the walls. The HYDRA operative sighed as he climbed in, his partner following close behind with a groan. The first operative quickly clicked on his radio.

“I found Soldat. Calling for extraction.”

James didn’t say a word. Even when the two men looked at him with disdain and annoyance, he didn’t speak.

But then, the second operative raised an eyebrow and gestured to his stomach. “Where did you get that?”

James didn’t reply. Instead, he hugged onto the scraps of your hoodie tighter, unable to let go. Even when the extraction team came to drag him out of the attic, he still clung to your tattered clothes.

And when they tried to rip the fabric away, he murdered one of the operatives.

Because that was who he was, right? A murderer. A monster. A…

No.

That wasn’t him.

You said that wasn’t him.

You said that he was James Buchanan Barnes, a man who lived in Brooklyn in the thirties and so on. A man who almost got into a car accident and dodged an explosion in the mountains during the war. A man who walked into a bookstore to buy his sister, Becca, a book. A man who loved his sister—his family with all of his heart.

A man who had to survive.

A man who had to live.

You had begged him to. You had cried—sobbed—for him to live.

He couldn’t let go of your words. No matter what happened to his mind next, he would never forget you and your tears.

And he swore to himself that the next time he saw you, he would hold you close and never let go.

NEXT CHAPTER >

Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys @balatroaddict @herejustforbuckybarnes @redtaytan @lilfuturescars @glossy01 @starstruckfirecat @moon-shampoo @buckysdoll1940 @rainbowpr1sm

Thanks for reading :)

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mercy-burning · 8 months ago

Text

A Weekend In Paradise (Summer of Sin Bonus Chapter)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: A couples' weekend vacation with Y/N, her fake boyfriend, her mom, and her real boyfriend, who also happens to be her mom's boyfriend... What could possibly be more relaxing? Category: MATURE (18+) Content: Strong language, cheating, female masturbation, kinda non-con (previously mentioned masturbation is happening while an unaware party is asleep in the same bed), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, omorashi/piss kink, daddy kink, "little girl" nickname, car sex, grinding, brief handjob, praise, biting/marking. (This one is pure fucking filth, y'all, buckle UP LMAO) Word Count: 7k

MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know summer is literally over and we're all in autumn mode, but better late than never, right? ANYWAY, it's been an absolute pleasure re-reading this series and finishing it out with more shenanigans. These two and their messy asses are always so much fun to write, and I think about them all the time. In the timeline, this chapter takes place between parts 2 and 3 of “Your Favorite” if you want to put it in sequence with the other parts :) Have fun, and thank you for being patient with me. I hope this was worth the wait!

**********

FRIDAY

The only thing warmer than the blazing sun above me, the only thing that could burn me to the greatest extent until I was nothing but a pile of ash, is the way Spencer is staring at me right now.

Mom is reading a book quietly, laying her legs over his lap as they lounge on the loveseat, and Andrew is with me on the patio, rubbing sunscreen on my limbs. Even though we're far enough apart so no one can hear any conversation from the other party, the unspoken jealousy radiating from both Spencer and I is loud enough to drown out an entire concert venue.

Maybe it's cruel, and I'll probably catch shit for it later, but I can't stop smiling. It's easy for me to imagine that it's his hands gliding over my skin while I'm staring directly at him, and he's returning said stare with so much intensity that it might as well be magically willing my bathing suit to come off. Andrew's deft fingers tease the thin string at the edge of my hip and I laugh, playfully reaching back to swat at his hand.

"They're right inside, you know..."

He gets up to look, but still feeling Spencer's red-hot gaze, I quickly turn Andrew around and kiss him deeply, cradling his face in my hands and pressing into him with a laugh.

He pulls away just enough to speak. "Well, then let's go somewhere they aren't..."

"Mmm... Might be too obvious. He's smart, he'll know something's up if we're quick to run off."

"If you're quick to run off, you mean..."

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just an innocent bystander..." Andrew leans in and pecks my mouth sweetly, his voice just as gentle when he speaks. "Your only goal this weekend is to taunt him, and he knows it." Another peck. "If you run off with me this easily, you figure he'll be onto our little scheme." And another. "But if you play it right and act all inconvenienced by my... urgency..." Another kiss, this one a bit longer and definitely more sensual. "He might just feel bad enough to make it up to you later."

"You think?"

"I don't actually know. Probably." He reaches for my hands and helps me off the lounge swing, and I feel wobbly. "But what I do know is that you think too much. That man wants you so bad, he's going to find a way to spend time alone with you this weekend, whether we're making out in front of him or not. Just... Loosen up. Have a little fun."

The two of us are attached at the hip as we sneak out of eyesight from the patio screen door, and from Mom and Spencer.

"Loosen up? Do you realize how serious this situation is, Andy? One wrong move and my life is over."

"Look. I'm not judging you, and it's none of my business. But you put yourself in this situation on your own. And I'm happy to help you out, but you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

He's not wrong. I could stop this at any point, and I could've from the start if I wanted to... But I don't want to, and that's just it. I've dug the hole, and if it means getting to spend time alone with Spencer for even the smallest amount of time, I'd gladly lay down and die in it.

So. 'Loosen up and have a little fun' it is.

I take a deep breath and smile up at Andrew, patting him on the shoulder. "Yes. I can do that."

———

"I can't do it."

"Mmmmm, you and I both know that isn't true. You've come much faster under more stressful circumstances. Should be easy for you."

He's not wrong, yet I can't help but frown at Spencer's request anyway. I've been in a shitty mood all day, despite my discussion with Andrew earlier on. It's nearing nightfall, and with hardly any attention from the person I wanted it from, to say I'm now desperate is a severe understatement. There's still some time left until the two of us can properly sneak away, but even so, we have a moment alone and all he wants is to watch me get myself off in the bathroom upstairs while Mom and Andrew set the table out on the porch for a small, late dinner.

"Yeah, but you usually help me with that..."

Spencer only grins at my whining, tilting his head as he stands at the sink with his arms crossed, watching my hand at work. "If you're going to flaunt your boyfriend at me all weekend, then you're going to deal with the consequences."

"You're fucking my mom, Spencer, and you flaunt it at me every fucking day of my life... Cut me some slack."

"Aw. You're grumpy."

"Fuck you."

"You wish, don't you?"

I huff and get up off the edge of the bathtub, flipping my skirt back down and shaking my head. "You know what, forget it. If you wanna be difficult, then you can suck my dick."

"I'm not giving you what you want until I watch you come."

"Whatever."

I breeze past him and shut the door, hoping he'll follow and pull me into a bedroom and just fuck me anyway, but deep down I know he won't. He's a man of his word. It's simultaneously the best and worst thing about him.

The rest of the evening passes by slowly, which only sours my mood even more every time I look at my phone and realize that only a few minutes have passed.

I'd thought at least maybe Spencer would ease up and take the role of "Eve's Loving and Devoted Boyfriend" to the bare minimum, however that's promptly not the case. I don't know if he's doing it to piss me off and get me to cave, or if he's just over my bullshit and being his genuine, caring self to the woman he's in a relationship with... Either way, I practically feel my insides boiling over and my face burning red. I'm jealous, I'm grumpy as he so eloquently put it, and I'm so sexually frustrated that I'm seriously considering just running off to my bedroom and pulling out a vibrator, Spencer be damned. Fuck his rules, fuck his 'consequences', and fuck this whole damned weekend straight to hell.

My eyes wander to the lounge swing where Spencer and Mom are almost falling asleep, her head resting on his shoulder, and an inordinately evil image etches itself into my brain. Evil might sound harsh, but it's truly the only accurate word I could use to describe the feeling as it runs its course through my bloodstream. And when the breeze picks up and cools me off, within a mere second I realize just how insane I'd be for even entertaining it.

Even as our two groups say our goodbyes for the night, and I recount the day's failure to Andrew just before he falls asleep, I'm still going back and forth.

Loosen up. Have a little fun.

The situation at hand is decidedly not fun.

That being said, the possible look on Spencer's face after I'd do what I'm thinking? Taking his rules and throwing them in his face? That sounds fun.

My mind is already made up by the time I reach their door, gently pushing it open and letting my eyes adjust to the darkness, which isn't terribly bad to start with. There is a giant open floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the beach, and subsequently the moonlight reflects off the water and into the bedroom. It's still dark, but not enough to where I can't see where I'm going.

Each soft step I take sends my heart rate higher and higher until I reach my destination at Spencer's side of the bed. Call it what you want, but I figure it's damn lucky that he's facing towards the room and not towards my mom, otherwise waking him up would have been a much more difficult feat.

I brush strands of hair away from his forehead and then tap him gently on the nose. I almost think it won't work, but then he shakes his head and flutters open his eyes, and that's when my heart leaps straight out of my chest.

This just became real.

There's no going back now.

He's shocked to see me standing above him, obviously, and before he can say or do anything, I put a finger to his mouth and imitate a shh with my own.

I wait for his eyesight to adjust and for him to realize what my intentions are, and right before it happens, my finger lifts from his mouth and rests on his bare chest as I balance myself, lifting my right leg to the pillow, right next to his head.

There's a deep, concerned warning in his eyes, but it dissolves the second he glances down to see that under my thin silk nightdress there's no tangible barrier between himself and my slick cunt. Even if the darkness prevents him from getting the best look, it's not a secret what I'm doing. My right hand drapes down as I start to touch myself gently, and fortunately it doesn't take long to start feeling that familiar sharp ache of desire pulsing through my lower half. Spencer's wide eyes and heavy breathing tacked on to the sheer danger I'm putting myself in to do this have made me wet in an instant.

I force myself not to think about the sleeping woman next to him and instead keep my eyes locked with his. It feels almost like a dream, like if I get distracted and lose his gaze then I will be doomed to lose it for good, and no matter how hard I try to remember it when I wake, it will be nothing but a distant feeling. The stakes right now have quite literally never been higher.

Now, there are a lot of things I'm not proud of. Helping my mom's boyfriend cheat on her is probably the biggest offender for obvious reasons. But as I've learned, sometimes those things end up being totally worth it.

Faking an orgasm also happens to be one of those things.

It's risky, I know. Spencer is the smartest person I know. It's not a stretch to believe that he could call my bluff. I also happen to be unfortunately seasoned in the art of faking orgasms (thankfully due to my time seeing men before sleeping with Spencer). The determination I have to get him to fuck me before this first night of our vacation is over is the cherry on top of my evil scheme.

So, I rock my hips into my hand, lock eyes with Spencer, and fake the fuck out of it. And thankfully, faking being quiet in this particular situation is ten times easier than faking being loud. It's a fool-proof plan.

I barely 'finish' before Spencer grabs my wrist and softly sits up in the bed. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, because his face doesn't even twitch. It almost looks like he's angry, but I have a hard time believing he would be. It could also be the concoction of desperation and anxiety coursing through my nervous system making me make that up. Either way, I know I'm going to find out very soon.

Spencer gets out of bed quietly, dragging me behind him. He shuts the bedroom door with barely any sound, and it's impressive considering he'd just woken up a few minutes ago. I suppose though, a man on a mission is a man on a mission no matter how drowsy; The moment we're down the stairs and out the back door to the porch, he's backing me up to the table where we'd eaten dinner, my legs nearly buckling before he lifts me up and sets me down on top of it.

"You're insane," he whispers, closing the gap between us just a millisecond after.

I welcome his kiss and melt into him, snaking my arms over his shoulders and wrapping my legs around his waist. He tilts his head hungrily, deepening the kiss, and I can't help but groan at the inclusion of his tongue.

"Insanely irresistible," I finally counter back when we part for air.

He kisses me again, quickly, adding, "Insanely bratty," and then he reaches down to touch the heat between my legs. I've gone long enough without it that I involuntarily drop my head back with a sigh of relief at his touch, breathing out, "Fuck, I need you..."

I half-expected him to keep bantering with me, but instead he leans forward and latches onto my neck, surely leaving hickeys behind as his fingers work inside me. It feels good, but it's not enough. I need more.

More...

I hadn't even realized I'd been breathlessly chanting the word into the air until Spencer groans and removes himself from me to pull his lounge pants down far enough to free his erection and slide into me with ease. He swallows my moan with his mouth, holding himself inside me and kissing me so deeply I can barely breathe. The cool night air sends a blanket of chills over my limbs, and for a moment in time, it's just me, him, and the ocean crashing beside us.

It's almost like we become a part of it, wave after wave of pleasure and relief passing through us with each harsh crash of water over sand. Skin against skin, tongue over lip and tooth.

We could have been out there for hours, and I wouldn't have known any different. All I know for sure is that it's me and Spencer. Just as it should be.

Even after we both reach our end, we remain still in our embrace, my limbs weak but still wrapped around him. Safe. He strokes the back of my head and kisses me lazily, drawing out every last ounce of happiness from my body and soul until he pulls away finally and I remember where we are. The situation at hand. How horrible I feel at what I'd just done in front of my sleeping mother.

God, you are so fucked up...

"You're right. I'm insane."

Spencer tenses at my words, then sighs. "I'm not any better."

"I don't know how I'm going to get through this," I confess. "I wish it was just me and you. I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I know, Y/N..."

He doesn't say anything after that, and I don't either. Part of me wants him to reassure me that everything will be okay, but the rational part of me knows deep down that I don't deserve it. Also that it probably wouldn't even work anyway.

I'm too far into this pit of hell for any kind of redemption, and I'm just going to have to deal with it.

Which is why, when Spencer walks me up to my bedroom and gently kisses me goodnight after helping to clean me up, I simply slink away to bed and will myself to sleep, feeling completely numb despite getting exactly what I wanted.

SATURDAY

"Pancakes are done!"

I feel miles better than I did yesterday, maybe because Spencer had padded into my room early this morning to uh... Pay me back for the stunt I pulled last night. I couldn't deny the smile on my face when I woke to his body standing over mine, palming himself through his pants as Andrew slept soundly next to me.

Rather than watch him though, I quietly sat up and lent him a helping hand.

And mouth.

Whatever negativity we'd encountered yesterday had magically vanished, and now I can't help but feel like it's going to be a good day.

It also helps that Andrew made pancakes and bacon.

"These look great, Andy," Mom compliments, sitting down at the head of the table. "Better than mine."

"Nonsense," I tell her. "Yours have confetti sprinkles."

"Yes, but they're always burnt." Spencer kisses the side of her head as he stands behind her, but his eyes are on me, an evil grin on his lips. "No offense, Dear."

I want to strangle him.

"Not all of us can be masters of the frying pan... But I try."

"You do great, Mom, don't listen to him. He may know everything, but he doesn't know everything."

He feigns hurt, putting a hand over his heart and pouting, and I can't help but smile. Mom does, too, and for a moment, it feels like we can all get along without complicated feelings and desires putting a damper on our weekend.

Andrew fixes up his plate last, and when he sits down next to me, his hand finds mine under the table, tapping my palm twice—our signal for "everything good?"

I tap his back, a confirmation that for right now, I'm okay.

Breakfast is enjoyable, and I don't know what the day will bring, but I don't have any panic or dread settling in my bones, and Spencer and I aren't staring daggers into the back of each others' heads, so until that point arises again I decide to stuff my mouth with food and just revel in the calm.

Mom perks up as we're finishing the last few bites of our plates. "There's a big flea market a few towns over today, I thought we could go check it out after breakfast. It's supposed to be a nice half-hour drive along the coast, and they've got live music and tons of food."

"Mmm, sounds great, Mom," I say through a bite of food, swallowing it before continuing. "Maybe on the way back we can stop somewhere and get stuff to finish the patio."

Grandma's beach house is nice, but it's old, which means the patio screens are littered with holes and other wear and tear. Part of the reason we'd decided to come here was to make it look nice and figure out what repairs need to be done before we help her sell it, and that patio needs... Well, it needs a little more than some new screen-doors, but that was the start.

Spencer nudges my foot under the table and speaks up. "I don't do so well in the car after I eat, so I can actually stay back and start working on getting the porch cleared out and take measurements for what you need if you want to go ahead without me."

"Oh, are you sure, Honey?" Mom grabs his hand. "We can wait a little to go if you want."

"Really, it's okay. It's a beautiful morning, you should take advantage of it. I'll take the other car and meet you there in an hour or two."

"Well, okay, if you're sure. I just feel bad leaving you behind..."

He nudges me under the table again.

"I can stay and help," I offer then, suddenly feeling my chest warm up from the inside at the opportunity. Then it's my turn to do the nudging. I tap Andrew's hand under the table and look at him. "I mean, you don't mind hanging out with my mom for a bit, do you?"

I'm so glad he's quick at catching on. And I will love him forever for what he's doing for me. I make a mental note to send him gift baskets for life when he nods and gives my mom his best smile. "I don't mind at all."

I turn to Mom. "Yeah, I'll call you when we've got everything handled and then Spencer and I can just meet you guys down there." I turn to him then, hoping to make it seem more like a natural development of a last-second plan rather than an evil scheme. "If you want the company, that is. I didn't mean to intrude or anything."

He smiles. "I don't mind the help at all, but it's totally up to you and your mom."

Mom practically fawns over her boyfriend and grabs his hand with a lovesick pout, which makes me feel really bad for what we're probably about to do the second she leaves. "No, I think it'll be good for you two to spend some time together. It makes me happy to see my two favorite people getting along."

"Then it's a perfect plan for me," Spencer beams at her, kissing the back of her hand.

———

We wait until we can't see the car anymore, until it's so far in the distance that we're positive we won't be seen. Spencer wants to wait longer in case Mom decides she forgot something and needs to come back, but I know that Andrew will text me if anything happens. Spencer is right here next to me, his hand steady on my lower back as he guides me through the house.

We're alone, not doing anything yet, and it feels like torture.

So on the way to the bedroom, I squeeze his hand and depart, hoping to kill some time—to ease his mind as well as my anxiety.

"I'm gonna pee quick and then you can have your way with me, yeah?"

Spencer reaches out for my hand again, pulling me to him and not letting me go, a glint of something mischievous in his eye. It shocks and excites me simultaneously. "But I want my way with you now."

His lips are on mine, and he's backing me into the wall, picture frames gently rattling in the hallway once my back is flush to the drywall. I melt into him with a laugh.

"We have time," I tell him between kisses, trying to get away. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"No," he grunts, kissing me again, deep and earnest.

I whine at the excitement that burns in the pit of my stomach, but I also do really have to pee. "Spencer, please."

"Hold it," he demands through gritted teeth, kissing my neck and then slotting his knee between my legs.

I clench instinctively, and I can't help but test the waters. "Or what?"

"Or I can tell your mother what a bad girl you were today. So unhelpful, wasting my time and giving me back-talk. She'll be so disappointed in you."

"Wow, Spence. Threatening me with my mother, how kind of you," I retort, even though his words are undoing me. I grind down on his leg and feel my bladder pulse with need. My teeth grit when he bites down on my shoulder.

"I'm a kind man."

"Kinda mean, maybe," I whimper.

"Not really. All you have to do is hold it, pretty girl. That's all I ask."

His knee lifts higher and I moan to the air. "Fuck. Spencer, I don't think I can."

"You will."

I have a brief moment of reprieve when he drops his leg, but it doesn't last long because he brings his hand down in its place, deft fingers slipping under the band of my shorts and toying with my clit.

"That's not fair," I sigh, weaving my fingers through his hair.

He smiles, nipping at my jaw. "Aw, poor thing."

His fingers are relentless, rotating between flicking at my clit and plunging into me and spreading me apart, and it's making it extremely difficult to do what he's asking. I feel an orgasm building rather quickly, but I can't quite tell if that's just because I'm so turned on, if it's my bladder, or both. My thighs are trembling and the pressure is getting tighter.

"Fuck, I— I can't... I'm g—onna..."

The orgasm rips through me beautifully, a brand new feeling that I have to sort-of subside to keep from completely letting go all over his hand, but I can't help it. My hips cant back and forth, and I feel my shorts warm a little as I come down, and suddenly I clench my legs together, whimpering and stopping myself from continuing. The pressure hasn't let up at all, and now it's even harder to hold back.

"I'm sorry... I'm... I'm still trying."

Spencer captures my mouth in a tender, teasing kiss as he coos, "I know... You're trying so hard." His fingers glide through me softly, and then they're gone and taking my bottoms with them. The fabric falls to the floor, and soon his pants are gone, too.

"Can you hold it a little longer, sweetheart?"

"I can try," I sigh out in one quick breath, looking down and already feeling overwhelmed at the sight of his erection.

I'm not going to last long.

Spencer turns me around and bends me at the waist, using one hand to wrap around me and rub my clit as the other guides himself into me from behind.

I yelp, then groan as he fucks me hard.

My face is pressed flat against the wall, and I try to focus on that feeling instead of this new angle and all the pressure it's putting on me. I'm clenching so hard, and Spencer is loving every second.

"God I love how tight you are, trying to be good for me..."

I want to tell him to stop talking, because his words always push me over the edge, but I have to focus so hard on nothing but this goddamn wall in front of me to keep from making a mess. And with each searing thrust he throws my way, that just becomes harder and harder.

He shifts a little and hits a particularly good spot, making me yell again as I relax and start to lose control— but only for a second. I still want to try, so I clench again and whine as I feel the warm liquid roll down my leg and the beautiful burn I'm feeling.

Spencer groans and goes harder then. He wants me to break, and honestly, it might not be long until I do.

"I know you want to, little girl," he tempts, sliding his hand up to press on my bladder. "Am I making it harder for you? Huh?"

If I could punch him, I would, but I'm afraid all I can do is beg him for release, the pressure almost too much. But because I still like to make things difficult and I'm not completely fucked dumb yet, I decide to add some flare.

"Please, Daddy, can I let go?" I whine, and he pauses with one of his own. I feel his hand slide off my stomach and weave through the roots of my hair instead, pulling me up to meet him.

He whispers hotly in my ear, "If you want to act like a greedy little slut, then by all means. Go right ahead..."

It's hard to tell what his intentions are after we move on from this position, but right now, I don't really care. Because no matter what consequences come with it, it's still permission all the same, and I'm not going to last much longer anyway.

"But I'm not going to keep fucking you through it. That's on you."

There it is.

So, what?

He stays inside me, hard and pulsing with need anyway, so I rock myself back and forth on him and reach down to rub my clit as I bring myself to the edge again. I keep trying to hold it until I'm ready to orgasm, and thankfully that doesn't seem to take very long.

Within seconds, I'm coming. I feel it all with a shout, letting my body tense and release, and Spencer grabs my hips to keep me from falling over. His blunt nails digging into my skin only add to the insane pleasure that courses through my body, and then the dam breaks not long after.

I let go in small spurts, still trying to have some control over how I do this, because I still want to drive him mad. So I turn my head and try to look at him, throwing his words in his face.

"I know you want to fuck me through it, Daddy... I'm still trying to hold it for you, so you can. Please..."

"Fuck," he hisses, giving up and pushing me to the wall again. He snaps his hips back and then forward, and it takes all I am not to scream at how good it feels.

This time I really let it all go, allowing myself to relax and revel in all the sensations coursing through me. Just like I wanted, Spencer fucks me through every second of it, until I have nothing else to give but mindless whimpers of over-stimulation and gratitude.

I don't even realize I'm coming again until my body jolts with the sensation, and then Spencer follows, running his hands along the backside of my body anywhere he can reach as he does.

Once we're both tired enough, he pulls out and gently turns me around to face him. I almost whine at the loss of his warmth, but he's pressing me to the wall again and kissing me before I can protest.

I don't know how long we stand there and make out, but eventually I shiver, feeling cold and... dirty. Don't get me wrong, I definitely don't regret it, because it was hot as fuck, but... Now? In this moment, after the fact?

I pull away from him and sigh. "You should have just let me go to the bathroom. Now we gotta clean this up."

Spencer ponders for a moment, looking down between us and then back up at me before shrugging with a shit-eating grin.

"I told you to hold it. Maybe you should work on listening to me."

I punch him in the arm, and he laughs.

"In your dreams, old man."

———

Evening comes in the blink of an eye, and I swear it's the happiest I've ever been. Sneaking out of the house like a teenager in love with someone she knows is fundamentally wrong for her is probably the most accurate way to describe what's happening, though Spencer is only wrong for me in a completely different way.

All the same, no matter the reason, he makes it hard to remember why.

It feels so good—so deliciously right—after all.

And how couldn't it; I'm absolutely elated, heart beating wildly as I race down the highway with the windows all the way down. Spencer squeezes my hand, trying to let loose, but I can tell he's utterly terrified by my speed. It makes me laugh.

When I finally pull over into a small clearing some miles down a random side-road and put the car in park, he sighs. "Where are we?"

"Dunno. But it's secluded. Moonlit. Romantic."

Each word that escapes me is punctuated with a kiss on each of his fingers.

"It's... Unsettling."

I can't help but laugh again, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing over to his lap. He shifts uncomfortably but helps me straddle him anyway, rolling the seat back as far as it can go as I tease him with neck kisses.

"Are you afraid of the dark, old man?"

He groans my name in warning when my teeth bite down on his shoulder. I know I can't mark him. It upsets me greatly, but I have to at least give myself a little taste.

So, when his hands tighten around my waist, I whine and settle for his lips. I kiss him eagerly, and by the way he's responding, any qualms about being in this "unsettling" location seem to have vanished. His hands roam my body reverently and eventually help guide my hips as they rock into him with desperate conviction.

I welcome his tongue with my own and thread my fingers through his hair, already feeling the heat of the summer air cling to my body as the air conditioning dissipates. The windows are already starting to fog.

Spencer notices my urgency and breaks apart with a hum of amusement. "What's the matter?"

"I want out of these damn clothes."

"Well, why didn't you just say so?"

I don't even have the energy to tease him back. He's giving me what I want with no obstacles other than the fabric between us, and I couldn't have asked for anything more.

It's a little difficult in such a cramped space, but eventually I am completely bare in front of him, save for my underwear. I've removed Spencer's shirt, but his slacks are still on, and I'm in the process of helping him out of them when he laughs again.

"What?" I ask, eyebrow raised.

"Nothing... I'm just surprised you even wore any underwear to begin with. Surely you knew what was going to happen tonight..."

I roll my eyes, but my smile never wavers. "Do you or do you not remember how this whole thing started? You love my underwear, and you love taking them off of me... I did this for you."

In agreement, he tenderly slips his middle finger under the seam and pulls the fabric to the side, and I nearly whine as he looks me over, the corner of his bottom lip pinched gently between his teeth. He's so fucking hot it physically hurts me. It makes me pathetic.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he finally offers, dragging a careful finger through my seam. I gasp at the sensation and feel myself start to tremble when he gently flicks at my clit. It's so featherlight, barely a touch at all, but still enough to drive me mad.

I need him. Now.

"Anything for you," I breathe, lunging forward to kiss him again. He welcomes me with fire instead of the amusement I'd almost expected from him. Usually, it's a dig at my eagerness, but tonight he's just as eager, just as needy, and the equal reciprocation has me in shambles.

It doesn't take long to find my way to him. I've finally managed to free his erection from fabric confines, and instead of fully sitting on him, I slick him up with my arousal, grinding along the length of him as he leans his head back and curses to the air. The friction is low-simmering and beautiful, and nowhere near enough to get myself off, but that doesn't matter to me right now. It just feels so good, and seeing Spencer tensing and twitching beneath me, feeling his hands tighten over my breasts as I rock back and forth... Reveling in this tension before truly giving into our carnal desires is honestly just as good as the sex itself. If I could etch this feeling, this erotic slow-burn of a moment, into my soul for all eternity, to remember in vivid detail for as long as I was alive and breathing, I would.

I'm so wet, so hot with sweat and aching with desire for this man, I can barely stand it.

My hand reaches down between us and takes him in a firm grip. I stroke him slow and tight, to which Spencer hisses, forcing himself to look down as he shakes his head.

"Fuck, you're perfect..."

The genuine praise makes me tremble again, warmth flooding my bloodstream. I start to quicken my pace, but his hand reaches down to grab my wrist.

"We have to get out of this damned car."

Before I know what's happening, he's opening the door and exposing us to the open air. He leads me outside, then opens the back door and guides me to the back seat, laying me down on my back. I lean up on my elbow to watch as he towers over me, sliding his pants all the way down and watching me with hungry eyes.

I can't help the urge that overtakes me then, readjusting my underwear again so that I'm exposed to him. Ready. Still, no teasing from him about how ready I am. There is only fire burning behind his gaze and a determination to make me feel every single flame as it dances brightly over my skin.

I can tell just by looking at him right now, barely illuminated by the moon in the open sky above us, Spencer is going to absolutely ruin me.

He comes forward and reaches down, both hands tugging at my underwear until they literally tear at the seams. The sound is so jarring and unbelievably hot that feels almost pornographic. I've never been so turned on in my life. He knows it, too, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he tosses the tattered cotton away like it's nothing at all, then proceeds to adjust me to his liking, folding my knees up to my chest and giving himself the deepest angle he can possibly get.

"Ready?" he asks, that fire in his eyes telling me he already knows the answer.

"Always," I tell him, pulling him down to connect our lips.

He pushes into me then, a steady full movement that doesn't falter even once. I take it happily, humming into Spencer's mouth as he starts to move his hips. The car gently rocks underneath me, the smallest of creaks sounding under the upholstery. Between that and the snapping of his skin to mine, the crickets chirping in the background, and the thick, heavy whirring of our breathing being so close together in this small space, it truly does feel like the perfect summer night.

This is what summers are made for. Passion. Heat. Want. Wildfire. Pure sin...

That's what it is. Spencer's teeth leaving unashamed marks on my skin when I'm not allowed to return the favor as he fucks me in the backseat of my mom's old car, nothing around us but the moon, the stars, and the sweltering summer heat... There would be time for guilt later, when we return to the beach house, and possibly even along the drive there. But for now, I don't feel guilty. I'm completely aware of my surroundings, of my situation, and yet there's not an ounce of guilt to be found anywhere in this car.

That alone is the biggest sin of all.

SUNDAY MORNING / 2 A.M. / SPENCER

My limbs are barely awake when I shuffle down the hallway and sigh heavily at the sweet promise of a deep sleep. I feel tense, but I know that's only because I have to keep my departure a secret. I won't fully know peace until my head has hit the pillow and my consciousness has drifted away for the night.

Eve is an early riser. I won't get much sleep, but the few hours I will manage to round up will be worth it. And I'll go to sleep happy.

Y/N is still all over me, which is dangerous. Her aura, her smiles and her laughter, her sighs and her pleas, her fingernails trying not to leave marks on my back even thought it's all I want—All of it is such an enormous part of who I am now, that every second I'm in Eve's presence, I start to wonder if she can feel it. I hope not, but as a man who has proudly worn and reflected the attributes of every woman he's ever loved, it's a scary thought.

So scary, apparently, that it seems to have manifested a near-heart attack. I know I'm not actually having one, but the sharp pain I feel in my chest when I open the bedroom door and find Eve, awake and sitting in bed with a distant look in her eyes, for a split second, could have fooled me.

"You're up early," I say, closing the door and walking to my side of the bed. My heart is beating so fast, my nervous system working on overload to keep up with the amount of signals and sirens that are blaring in my brain.

Eve doesn't look at me, but responds somberly. "So are you."

How long has she been awake? "Yeah. Couldn't sleep. I wanted to take a drive..."

She hesitates for a moment as I climb into bed and nudge her leg with my own.

"Is everything okay?" she asks.

No.

"Yes. I'm sorry if I worried you." I take her hand in mine, but she still can't look at me. It frightens me. "What's wrong?"

"I don't... I don't know... Something just feels weird, and I don't know what or how to explain it."

"Like... With the house?" I feign confusion, easily disguising the fear that lies underneath, and it seems to work; Eve concedes.

"No," she sighs, turning to finally look at me. Her eyes are tired, and she looks like she's embarrassed. "I don't know... I've been getting this weird feeling lately, and then you disappeared for a couple hours tonight, and I guess I just..."

She trails off, and I sigh, hoping to put her mind at ease. "Eve... You know I love you, right?" They're the right words to say, but they feel evil coming out of my mouth. They're... I don't want to say they're not true, because in some way I still do love her. But... Not how she wants me to. Not how she loves me back.

"I know," she cries apologetically, falling her head onto my shoulder with a dramatic thump. It's a mannerism that reminds me so much of her daughter, I feel another sharp twist in my gut. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There is nothing wrong with you," I comfort her quickly, squeezing her hand. "It's okay, I promise."

"No, it's not. It isn't fair for me to just assume you aren't happy in this relationship when you've done nothing to show otherwise, and then act all grumpy and accusatory. It wasn't right. I should have just talked to you about my... weirdness, and gotten it out of the way. I'm sorry."

"I appreciate that," I tell her. I'm relieved that she still doesn't know the truth, but my heart is still racing and I can't seem to get those damn warning sirens to quiet in my head. "Still, I'm sorry for worrying you. I wasn't tired, and it seemed like a perfect night for a quiet, mindless drive."

"Mmm, you're right," Eve agrees, leaning into me and glancing out the window. She takes a deep breath and kisses my neck, right where her daughter had been only hours before. "Next time, invite me along?"

"You got it." It's an empty promise, but it makes her happy. It keeps her unassuming.

We fall asleep together, but my dreams belong to someone else.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #mercy after hours #spencer reid x reader fanfic #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #summer of sin

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 months ago

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august 2024 episode of octavinelle + 4koma update

You know the drill by now!

Spoilers for the 4koma and the Episode of Octavinelle chapter 12 below the cut. As a reminder, the Episode of Savanaclaw won’t be updating again until winter.

🫵 THERE THEY ARE…

THE SMOOTH CRIMINALS…

The poses in this opening page are so good; Leona sat all lax like a boss who knows who’s large and in charge, Ruggie leaning against the chair and swinging the keys to the vault around on one finger… The posing perfectly captures their personalities and roles in relationship to one another.

Once again, Azul makes many fantastically desperate and despair-filled expressions this installment 😭

Falling to his knees???? Laying flat on the floor??? Man is UNMATCHED when it comes to theatrics.

I like this shot of Azul and Leona’s gazes lining up; it really helps give you the sense of two rivals sizing each other up.

(Side note: you can also tell how much painstaking detail the artists went through to include their eye makeup in these close-ups. Hats off to them for the extra effort, it looks great!)

… WHY DiD THEY hAvFTA mAkE HIM So smUGHERE 💀

damn i wish i was that stack of contracts

… I mean what

sorry

Sorry

SORRY

I got distracted there, what were we talking about again????

AYO they always make Leona casting King’s Roar look so darn cool in the manga 😭

My favorite panel in this sequence has to be the one with the text bubbles. He looks so nonchalant and a little stern as he speaks the chant… The shadows on his face add a lot to the atmosphere of it!

This chapter is the part where Leona gets to sanding Azul’s hard work away! Look at how beautifully drawn Azul’s reaction is ✨

The particle-y effect of the contracts melting into sand is nice 😌 It feeds Azul’s tears… Tasty meal…

MOU YADA IN MANGA FORM IS PEAK

lmao Azul for real threw a tantrum, flailing his limbs and everything 🤡 Love that even Leona and Ruggie have NO idea how they should respond to this.

Oh no, here comes the OB…

The anguish Azul’s experiencing is really coming through. He’s sweating so much and his entire face is so. Er… for lack of a better term, twisted.

I think seeing the blot leaking out from each of them helps to illustrate that they’re truly being overwhelmed and consumed by their own inner darkness. It’s sad to see 😔

We cut back to Yuuta and co. squaring off against the twins!

I wanted to point out and comment on these parts with Jack. He’s not a character that I usually pay much attention to, but I gotta commend him for fighting back so hard and trying to shield the picture even when he’s clearly got no chance of winning. Jack bearing his fangs at Floyd with pupils contracted… 🫶 Very good and loyal pupper! I get the Jack appeal now, lol

I LOVE THIS

It reminds me of the similar Azul-Leona framing earlier in the chapter, though with a different context. I like that this shows how the twins are in sync and coming to the same terrible conclusion.

Not long after, they rush to Azul’s side—which makes me think that these two worry for his wellbeing 😭 THEY DONmT SAY IT OUT LOUD BUT THEY CARE

Oh yeah, here it comes… OB Azul has arrived!! 👀

I MEAN YEAH it’s not good for his health, but I’m so hyped for the battle and flashbacks to his childhood! Baby!Azul shall NOT escape our sight…

The 4koma this month centers on Jack, Vargas, and others (Jade, Kalim, Deuce) talking about using transformation magic for racing.

dhejeveiwhwuow I would say more, but I actually didn’t find this 4koma that remarkable. It’s a generally the boys chatting about animals and their different activities they excel at.

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intheorangebedroom · 11 months ago

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The corner deli

Summary: You take a night trip to the corner deli and meet this handsome guy, but shit turns out weird.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!reader

A/N: This is what happens when I can't sleep. Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡

Word count: 1.8k

The corner deli

And here you are, another Friday night on your own, reading a book you can barely focus on, scrolling mindlessly in between chapters, slouched in your couch and feeling sorry for yourself. Those stupid, evil thoughts starting to whisper some nasty shit in the back of your mind, and you’re letting it happen.

It’s on you, though, because some of your coworkers, the younger ones, offered you to go out with them but you said no. You’re too much of an introvert, but not enough that you don’t feel miserable now, sitting here alone while the city’s buoyant life unfolds without you behind your closed windows. What difference does it make, anyway. It goes on, whether you decide to join or not. No one misses you, so there.

Fuck it. Tonight, you’re gonna eat your feelings. You slip on your jeans and your shoes and go out to the deli on the corner, it’s open all night. You’ll get some Pringles or ice cream, whatever comes first.

You’re walking down an aisle, hesitating between two flavors of Chex Mix, when you catch sight of THE most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

He’s tall. And so fucking broad. His denim shirt is working hard containing the breadth of his solid shoulders, his jeans are tight on his thighs. He’s got a scruffy, patchy beard and strands of brown hair curling at his ears underneath his trucker hat. He’s all sharp profile, solid features, plush lips, oh! his lips are just… generous, and his eyes… god his eyes are dark, deep and soulful. Wait, did you just use the word soulful? Well, he’s that fucking handsome. There’s a stern crease splitting his brow, but it’s tempered by the small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the kind you get from laughing often.

You look down at yourself and… fuck. Your mascara has run off because yeah, maybe you cried a little, earlier. Your hair is dirty, pulled together in a messy bun that looks nothing like those supposedly effortless hairdos thrown at you in Instagram reels. The ones that make you feel unworthy of the air you’re breathing. You're wearing a dirty pair of 501 with your pajama shirt tucked in, there’s no way you're getting anywhere near him, even if you had any self-confidence to boot.

You walk over to the back of the store. Not that it’s a good hiding spot, it’s just where the fridges are. And of course, they’re out of the one ice cream flavor you like. Wow. It really ain’t your day, is it? Craning your neck to scan the empty top shelf, you spot the very last Netflix and Chill’d all the way to the back. Opening the door, you stand on tiptoes, fingers scrambling over the icy shelf to grab it, but you can’t reach that high.

That’s when you feel him. His chest barely brushing at your back. You get a whiff of his scent and you swallow a gasp. He smells like leather and warm skin and laundry and you can’t even move anymore, you just stand there like a Roman statue in a museum, with one arm up. Your gaze follows his arm as it extends toward the shelf, reaching it with ease. As his large hand grabs the last tub, the whole sequence of movements completely effortless and well, graceful.

He takes a step away from you, and your body’s responding again. Your heels meet the ground, and you turn to face him. There’s the promise of a smile curling his lips, fuck he is stupidly handsome, Jesus fucking Christ, are you still breathing? He hands you the tub and all you can think of is how thick his fingers look around it, and how they would feel buried inside you, or wrapped around your throat, and… oh wow. That escalated quickly.

You swallow hard, blinking the filthy thoughts away. There’s something in the way he looks at you, a glimmer in his eyes. You feel… warm. He flexes his jaw to the side, he’s smiling at you, still holding that goddamn ice cream, you gotta say or do something, but your body has bailed on you, yet again.

Eventually, you take the cold tub, careful not to touch his fingers. But he’s not letting go. Your breathing turns shallow, you can barely hold his gaze. Why does he keep looking at you with those soft brown eyes, why is he smiling like that? He can’t possibly be… what? Interested in you? No one can. No one ever is. That’s why you’re in this deli, alone, in the middle of the night, wearing last week's dirty laundry.

Oh. Of course. He’s waiting for you to thank him. Jesus you’re stupid.

“Thanks. You. I mean, thank you.” Oh, great, that went well.

There’s a beat before he releases his grip and lets go of the tub.

“You’re welcome,” he says, and of course, his voice is velvet. Round and husky and low.

There’s an easy confidence about him, like quiet assertiveness, is that a thing? Like he knows his worth, but he doesn’t need to step all over people’s toes to show it.

You’re raking your brain for some smart quip you know will come to you tomorrow morning in the shower, when you hear a commotion at the cashier. Somebody’s shouting orders, a dude holding up something in his hand, pointing it at the employee behind the plexiglass. Holding a fucking handgun, Jesus fuck the place is getting robbed.

Your mouth drops open, but no sound comes out. There’s pressure around your elbow and you’re yanked down onto the dirty tiles.

The man in the trucker hat is crouching next to you. He holds his index finger pressed to his lips. His face looks different, his jaw tensed, a deep frown darkening his face. His eyes are pitch black, is it even the same man? A minute ago, he looked like the friendly next-door neighbor you’re daydreaming about fucking in the basement laundry room, and now he looks like someone who’s about to shoot you in the face.

“Be quiet,” he mouthes under the noises coming from the front of the store, “stay here, everything’s gonna be ok.”

You don’t want him to leave you here on your own, no matter how threatening he looks, but he’s already moving toward the front and anyway, it’s not like you can move.

Shouldn’t you call 911? He told you to be quiet, what the hell are you supposed to do?

It all happens so fast, and you’re so scared. You’ve never been this scared in your entire life. You hear a thud, followed by a gunshot. You clasp your hand to your mouth, you’re sure you’re gonna die. You hear the sounds of a struggle, a loud, piercing yelp, and another, louder thud. There are a few more noises, fabrics rustling, muffled groans and nothing. Deafening silence.

You can’t feel your legs and your heart is beating in your throat when you finally hear him, the guy in the trucker hat. His voice is firm and his tone commanding as he addresses the deli employee.

“Hey, hey look at me, you’re ok. Can you call 911? Hey! Call 911. You’re ok.”

Your legs won’t carry you. You have to crawl to the front of the store on your hands and knees, and your eyes grow wide at the scene you find there. A tall, young man with a shaved head is lying on the floor, wrists in a zip tie, he’s passed out, or dead, you’re not sure and you don’t wanna know. And anyway, you don’t have time to see more. He’s here, in front of you, the guy in the trucker hat, blocking the view with his massive silhouette, helping you get up and walking you outside.

“You ok?” he asks you.

He’s got one hand in the small of your back, the other one is gripping your arm. They’re warm, and that’s how you register how cold you are. In fact, you’re shivering in the warm city night, teeth chattering and all.

“It’s over, I got you,” he says, cupping your face and you look up at him, nodding, mumbling, “I’m ok, yeah, I’m ok,” trying to focus on his warmth radiating through your cheeks.

When they arrive, the cops instruct you to stay to make a deposition. Uncomfortable doesn’t cut it to describe your state of mind throughout the entire process, but he stands near you the whole time, his shoulder against yours, and you don’t think you could stand straight without it.

Eventually, the place clears up. The perp came to, they handcuffed him and took him away. As he passed near you, you saw a purple bruise blooming on his neck.

You’re told you’re free to go, and there’s really no reason for you to stay.

Except there is.

“So um… you’re a cop, or something?” you ask, looking intently at the fascinating tip of your Van’s, bumping against the curb.

He shakes his head.

“No. US Air Force. I’m a pilot.”

Your head shoots up, mouth falling open into a silent oh.

His smile is so fucking soft you want to kick the curb and break all your toes.

“Well, thank you, anyway. That was really scary. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Now, there really isn’t any reason for you to linger. But he’s not moving, standing tall and broad and solid before you, hands propped on his hips, with that easy confidence about him. And that thing happens again, that thing where he looks at you with those gentle brown eyes and that promise of a smile, and you feel like you’re the center of the goddamn universe.

“I’m Frankie, by the way,” he says, offering you his hand.

From all the scary shits that went down tonight, this one has got to be the scariest, by far, because you know that if you take his hand, you’re not gonna let go.

You hear your name coming out of your mouth, and it’s too late. You’re done for. Your small hand slides into his larger one, and he gives it a strong squeeze. Not enough to hurt you, but enough to tell you everything you need to know.

And he’s not letting go. And you’re not letting go. You expect fucking fireworks, at this point, but it’s just… right. Like you don’t have to be scared. Like you don’t have to torture yourself anymore with mean-ass questions about how to behave or what to say next. Like you can simply be you, and it’ll be enough.

“So,” he starts, and he’s downright grinning now, a dimpled smile that lights up his entire face, “d’you think we can consider this as our first date?”

****

Part 2

#happy frankie friday #the pilot™️#let me know if anyone's interested in a second date?#also just so you know chapter 5 of tybtm is coming along #I'm at 8k but i needed a break from the angst #and yes i am fully aware I said this chapter would be angst-free thank you very much #frankie morales #frankie morales / fem!reader #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales / you

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deus-ex-mona · 7 months ago

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monthly reminder that it’s ✨ok✨ to not have friends~~~~

#that girl from the first verse though lmaooooooooooooooooo #…yeah. chizuchan’s valid for not liking her tbh.#and that blond guy and his green bowlcut pal for that matter #though. looking at their designs. i gotta wonder which came first: the character designs (in general) or the mvs or the manga #(bc the flashback sequence basically fusion danced this mv and kawaiinoni’s mv into one horrific mess)#(man. chizuchan’s manga really does have the subtlety of an oncoming truck.)#though. that begs the question of w h o came up with chizupapa’s character design bc he sure is just. a guy.#ueueueueeeeeeee i hope chizuparents get featured in an mv soon they’re so sweet and supportive…#in a series where you have ikemen dads like yusuke and pretty (only with makeup on) dads like the longleg… chizupapa is. surprisingly normal #idk i feel like we’ve had lots of time to process chizumama bc we all expected her to look like an older chizuchan #(just like how all mothers in this series seem to resemble their kids tbh. ayako and the narumi sisters. tae and yujiro.)#(akarin and mochizuki daughter. natsuki and the older setoguchi son. and yuko and aizo (to a degree) ig)#(only exception is miou but. idk. maybe serizawa son is reincarnated chiaki or sth idk)#but i digress. anyways i have a need to see chizuparents in full colour that’s all #m. maybe if we get an anime adaptation of this… but… then again… the stuff in the recent chapters are kinda..#so. my latest pitch is this: there should be a song series ([season] session-style) sung by gen 3’s parents.#no one would want it. yet it’d be really funny yk. can we have longleg rap pls #i for one think longleg and chizupapa could spit some real bars together #but uhhhhhhh where was i… um idk. anyway stream chizuchan’s songs and see y’all in jan when vol 2 drops~~~~~~#(provided that they decide to digitally release vol 2 at the same time as the physical release on jan 21 (iirc) anyway. so um. yeah.)#(terrified for ch8 btw i think the preview’s gonna drop in like 2 weeks… man.)#(i hope the inevitable ani.mate bonus manga for vol 2 is wholesome or ridiculous though… just as a palate cleanser for vol 2’s actual chaps)#(can jan 2k25 pls come faster more people n e e d to witness the insanity in these recent chapters)#(cons and cons of reading untled manga from a small fandom is that there’s no one to scream your thoughts at so you’re stuck in d’tags void)#chizuutan chizpost

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heckcareoxytwit · 6 months ago

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The two teams of X-Men along with Calico, Jubilee (in the wrong outfit) and Beast (who is oddly absent in the fighting sequence) are fighting off the Sentinel Hounds and the brainwashed Mutant Trustees in the corridors of Graymalkin Prison. They are bantering each other and fighting their opponents at the same time. Meanwhile, Kwannon and Nightcrawler are walking along the secret passage debating on which mutant prisoner to free. Nightcrawler knows that freeing Omega Red is a bad idea because he is unstable and is likely to turn on them any time. At the Prison Control Room, Warden Corina Ellis is throwing bitchy hissy fits by berating and slapping anyone around her for not doing their jobs right. Corina orders Phillip Scurvy the crippled psychic mutant to use more psychic powers on the X-Men.

Back to the corridor of Graymalkin Prison, the two exhausted X-Men teams have defeated the Sentinel Hounds and the brainwashed Mutant Trustees. Rogue and Cyclops start to argue each other on whether they could free Charles Xavier from the cell. Rogue wants to free Xavier from prison. Cyclops is against the idea because not only that he witnessed Xavier killing the innocent human astronauts (which Xavier was actually doing that to trick the Orchis into leaving the mutants alone by pretending to join them in helping to wipe out humanity), Cyclops was also gaslit by Xavier for years as an X-Man. Then, the squabbling X-Men are interrupted by Phillip Scurvy who uses his powerful force of telepathy on the mutants. Even though Juggernaut is wearing the helmet, he is struggling through the mental attack and he tries to pry the cell door open. However, Juggernaut stops doing that when he hears a familiar voice behind them. It turns out that Charles Xavier is not in the X-shaped cell and he is right behind them, walking alongside with Nightcrawler and Kwannon.

X-Men v7 #9, 2024

It seems that the artists who did the pages of the fighting sequence, forgot about Jubilee's prison outfit. Earlier on, Jubilee was wearing the prison jumpsuit in the previous chapters, yet in this issue, Jubilee is shown wearing the yellow coat and full black bodysuit.

Jubilee wore the red prison jumpsuit in X-Men #8 and Uncanny X-Men #7.

In this issue, Jubilee is shown wearing her yellow jacket and full-body suit in the fighting sequence.

Yet on the same issue, Jubilee is back to wearing the prison suit again except that it's yellow.

Besides the artists and colorists, it looks like the X-Editors are really sleeping on their jobs!

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froagles · 5 months ago

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I have- a lot to say about Chapter Four, so-

I sound a bit salty, because I am, but I promise it’s all not that serious and it is just a game! Let’s all remember that and be respectful

⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD BIG RANT BELOW ⚠️

❌ There’s about to be a lot of negative so if you don’t want to see it skip to the positives! Totally fair! It came out yesterday and I was hyped and it didn’t meet my personal hype, so I am a bit salty ngl! So totally fair to skip ❌

I can’t really talk much about Yarnaby because his death was SUPER glitched? So I was kind of just like “…okay- I mean yikes for him but-“ I can’t even tell if it was something I did that made him burn? I’m someone who hates chase sequences (not because they’re bad I just get too stressed lmao) but his felt kiiiind of underwhelming? But again one of the places I assume he was supposed to be chasing was- glitched as all hell he didn’t chase me at all, but anyways, my son that I can’t draw, I’m so sorry

Pianosaurus- honestly? I didn’t give him the time of day during promos and such, and honestly now I’m ashamed I didn’t, I’m someone that needs time to just- stare at a character’s design for more than four seconds, just to picture their potential, and staring at his design after the fact, yeah, a MUSICAL chase scene? Are you KIDDING me?? I would’ve fucked with that, SO. HARD. I think Mob was trying to go for the funny route, that or just to show how unstable/strong Doey is, but- I don’t know maybe he could’ve come in and saved us.. after an actual chase scene? My man had ten seconds of life including the cutout, Mob hates dinosaurs fr

The Doctor- I don’t know man I wasn’t too hyped about him like- fight wise? But I knew he’d come with lore and it’d be a different kind of villain so I was still hyped in a sense, and- since I can’t say much about Yarnaby’s death- then the Nightmare Critters stuff? Like it was interesting he was playing with us, but he just dies so easily, like I guess it makes sense, he’s an immovable(?) computer, but for someone everyone expected to be the main villain, and who was talking so much shit to us the whole game, he was also kind of underwhelming, disappointing really the mindless drone computers was also all glitchy so I couldn’t tell you much there

Saved this for last (critique wise) because if you follow me/like my stuff you probably know I love the Nightmare Critters, they got me into actually drawing Poppy Playtime stuff instead of just fixating on the Smiling Critters but not drawing them, helped that I had finally gave in and watched chapter three (out of order.. I finally watched chapters one and two like a week ago, fake fan I know) in September, and then they came out in October

Maybe it’s dumb, but these stupid emo critters mean a lot to me for personal reasons, a lot more than they probably should, so to say I was excited was an understatement, and- the trailer didn’t give me high hopes, but I stayed hopeful, thinking maybe that tease of a Bigger Baba would lead to something? Like- “maybe she’s actually an ally! They did say multiple allies, she’s the black sheep of the Nightmare Critters! It makes sense! They have their own jingle made too, maybe there’s a commercial!” And then to not even get cutouts of them felt kind of like a stab in the heart

They started their big promotion of the chapter with a week long introduction and- nothing, and yes you can argue the same thing happened to the Smiling Critters in chapter three though comparatively they got way more than the Nightmare Critters, which they gave us more of in chapter four, but that’s just the thing, why make the Nightmare Critters in the first place then? It’s not like it’d tarnish the Smiling Critters’ brand, they were introduced AS antagonistic plushies trying to eat us, and if the idea was that they were such a failed attempt (in universe) at trying to attain the same popularity as the Smiling Critters.. why not say? Give us a note? A line? An acknowledgment besides them visibly attacking us to their existence? Even as a villain despite the symbolism Baba could’ve been a parallel to Catnap, something, but nope, she was just the main grunt character, like actually, that’s what her and the Nightmare Critters were, Yarnaby was a pet, they were like The Doctor sent out bugs to come at us, in the cage room they were just slightly bigger bugs, like what is that about by the way? Are they not Bigger Bodies? Are they the “main” Critters? Like tell us things about them please, even their little jingle is an Easter Egg there’s NO acknowledgment of them, at all, and to top it all off, no cutouts, when characters like Daisy have cutouts despite never being a character we face, why have us see the Smiling Critters cutouts again with the same dialogue- and all the other new characters get cutouts, but not the Nightmare Critters?? Why????? I dunno, it’s not that serious but it’s incredibly disappointing for me personally, as we had months of hype for- literally nothing

Edit: I have more to say actually, why the heck was Baba even advertised as different from the rest of the Nightmare Critters? In everything we get of them she’s in the middle, or the main focus, the spotlight, for.. what? She’s the only one attacking us? Like I just don’t get it, I still believe a better plot were to have her be a parallel to Catnap, because they’re similar situations in a way, Baba’s Prototype was just Dr. Sawyer instead, just.. minus having a hinted personality, but maybe this time, we could’ve saved her when we couldn’t Catnap or something? So like it’s not too similar, but I dunno, literally anything would’ve been better than what we got

✅ But! It wasn’t all bad, this chapter did have a bit of good in it that I enjoyed, case in point- ✅

Doey, GOD I love his colours, I jokingly hated him because I fucking hate drawing circles, and this man is nothing but circles, but my actual opinions pre release I just couldn’t wait to see him animated, I love characters that don’t have to deal with anatomy, I hate anatomy, stretch away king, but I didn’t have much of an opinion otherwise, then we find out he’s made up of three people? The lore is hot, his jingle is a bop also, the fact he killed his (well one of the people’s) parents, that was illegal, stop that, and I’m glad that he didn’t just agree with Poppy’s plan, but also I wish they talked about the long term? Say they defeat The Prototype, it’s not like they can go back into society, I’m surprised no one had that existential thought, his death though- a bit convoluted but yeah, also to my understanding The Prototype set off the bombs right? But we still planned to do it, just maybe we could’ve moved the Safe Haven guys out beforehand I dunno, but that was such a sad death, he said SORRY TO US. US???? BRO WE SUUUUUCK, RIP the king of this chapter

Safe Haven, omfg that was just such a cool concept to me, I guess you could say that it’s not really original but I don’t really care about all that, kind of wish there was more of a variety of toys in it though (yeah I know there were a couple Boogie Bots and a Mini Huggy but it was still clearly Smiling Critters focused y’know? I swear I don’t hate the SC guys I’m just trying not to be biased towards them) I’m glad they had a memorial room, and it’s SO lucky of them to have a doctor I don’t know how if they were all children but that doctor is the goat, in the thumbnail of the trailer they make a point to show that Doey could put things in himself, and we also know from tapes that he can make it where others can’t, surely there’s big enough cracks to where he could go up in the surface and lowkey rob a store to get them food right? Pretty please? Give these people food T^T ALSO I’m glad they actually talked, I didn’t expect that to be honest, yay :3

I was not expecting to see BBI Hoppy but I’m so glad we did, my fav Smiling Critter hiiiiii :3, I love her voice, and it makes me wonder if she was the last Critter besides Dogday and Catnap, because maybe they would’ve mentioned the others if they were alive? I dunno, but I’m just glad to see her

Bouncing off of those two points ^, we got more Smiling Critters shit!! Not much in the grand scheme of things, but we got a whole BBI Hoppy tape, a blurry image of I thiiiiink BBI Bubba on one of the TV screens, and an entire room full of the little Smiling Critters, that counts probably, we got more that makes me happy :3

Out of order but seeing that Kissy in the train car- omfg I think that was who Riley from the notes was- RIP Queen, Jesus-

By the way I WILL be using the fact that Touille’s tail is lowkey kind of like Catnap’s that shit is so long, we sure he’s not an opossum lol?

The jingles made by Black Gryphon slaaaapped bro, make them longer puhleaseeeee 🙏

Kissy Missy, send tweet, she’s alive my angel she’s so TRAUMATIZED go AWAY PROTOTYPE

Poppy joining the realistic panic attack club- I don’t blame her for running, and I don’t think any of us should, we the player suck LMAO we deserve this, it was sad for Kissy though the queen

Also people saying fuck Ollie- why? Ollie was real, it’s The Prototype that did all that, not him, leave him alone he’s a bean

I kind of expected Huggy Wuggy was alive, these fucking wuggies are made of titanium I guess, what if the two reunite? They should give each other a hug with their long velcro paw pads, that’s what should happen Kissy and Huggy need to hug as probably the only BBI’s left (presumably, if Boxy is alive we cheer)

As disappointed in the chapter as I am, as it was my first time seeing it release live, it wasn’t all bad, maybe I could better judge some parts when they fix the glitching

I am working on some more drawings! Sorry I’ve slowed, I’m still not used to drawing so much lowkey, at least not like fully colouring and even doing backgrounds, if you couldn’t tell I only ever really do sketches lol, but yeah sorry things slowed I think I hurt my hand somehow, but sorry for the rant! I can get really ramble-y I’ve just never had a place to do so, despite my opinions I won’t be stoping posting art! So fret not, anyways, byeeeeeee!

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime spoilers #yarnaby #pianosaurus #harley sawyer #nightmare critters #doey the doughman #rant post #froagtalks #more like #froagrants

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rise-my-angel · 7 months ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

66 - Blood Filled Danger

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

Length: 19.4k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, descriptions of gore blood and violence, disturbing imagery, mentions of child death, discussions of consent, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, somnophilia, breeding kink

Notes: The three sequences of events in the last scene of the chapter, do not take place at the same point in time as the main chapter's events. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Knives, ropes, a small coin purse with but a handful of silver in its contents, and on the older man specifically sat a suspiciously shaped sack which as it was laid out with the remains of the other contents, was looked at with dark eyes and a jaw so tightly clenched one may have thought the bone was about to snap. “No identifiable marks, features. No sigils sewn into anything. Nothing special about the rope material, nor the blades. Nothing.” Maester Wolkan held a sigh just barley internally with the frustration of so little to go on as he looked upward. “It seems by my estimation, your grace, that whomever sent these men did not so readily wish for themselves to be known.”

Glancing at the third which Jon had already looked at in the hours before, the tenseness on his tongue no doubt came in part from the inability to let his muscles nor bone in his face relent even the slightest bit. “And him?”

Moving across to the second table where the man Gendry came across in the courtyard now lay, the fox fur bloody around his back laid out to have been looked at in more depth, both boots pulled off with pant legs rolled upwards where the rat bite was still fresh looking on the dead flesh and the bloody antler piece lodged in his mouth sat on a small metal tin on a side table beside with varying instruments used to examine it all. Wolkan first gestured to the fur, the only thing of worth looking. “The cloak itself is rather unextraordinary. Which is what makes the fur stand out. Fine craftsmanship would have gone into putting such a fresh fur to work. Your guess was correct though.” Gesturing to the blood gouged eyes over to the wound presently being sewn closed. “His throat was cut, then the shard here was used to make these wounds in the eyes of the fox fur.”

Jons voice was a rough sort of husk in the more quiet air of the night of the room. “Then shoved in his throat.” A grim hum came from Wolkan in a more disturbed agreement. Arms moving to cross against his chest, Jon couldn’t decide between which he watched. The strange one Wolkan stood before now, or the two whom Jon had seen almost do what they had meant to do.

“Why the fox? I understand what the antler means, but why put so much work into what one of them was wearing just to kill him?” Arya stood not too distant from Jon, but behind a sitting area, her hands perched and tense against the top of a chair as she too looked as tense and on edge as Jon felt in his blood, and no doubt looked on his face.

Both men had the answer, but Jon gave it first with your name to start. “She’s half Florent. The sigil for the Florents are foxes. They give nothing away about who was paying them to do this, but they wanted us- wanted me to know she was the target.”

Arya, unable to keep any kind of relative status calm, pushed from the chair only to pace across part of the room and back. “It still doesn’t make sense. Why leave something for you to figure out who they were here for? Wouldn’t that make it more likely you were going to stop them in time? Putting it together faster?”

Shaking his head only once, Jon didn’t even bother restraining the need to glance to the side room where he knew you were just out of hearing through the door. Blood properly being washed from you and tending to the cuts across your hands, back and the one in your head from being thrown, colliding with the side of the bath as you were thrown to the floor. His voice was low, only heard no doubt by those in the room. “They didn’t expect her to fight back.”

Arya and Wolkan both looked with a question in their eyes, allowing Jon to morosely elaborate as his hands flexed with an agitation as he did so.

“She’s a woman, and a new mother. They tried to corner her when she was alone because they thought she wouldn’t fight back as much as she did.” Swallowing heavily in his throat, he continued. “If she didn’t fight back, they would’ve had enough time to kill her and run out the way they came.”

With your head, but none in the room dared broach that imagery.

The question broached next, was why leave a message behind in a body of whom their target was when they all would’ve found out regardless. But the answer much to all of their dismay, was more obvious then they felt comfortable with. Yet it was from your voice, now standing with your hands gently braced against the frame of the door, which had all three pairs of eyes turn towards you. “Because it was personal. Whomever ordered this wanted to make a scene out of the fact that it was my head they were after. They wanted everyone to know this was no accident or coincidence they came across me. Who ever these men worked for, they wanted me. They didn’t just stumble upon me by accident.”

Creeping up gently behind you, Selyse muttered your name to grab your attention before letting one hand rest on your upper arm. Turning to face her, you mustered part of a smile, letting her transfer hold of your son from where she held him as you were being tended too. Little Eddard clambering as much as he could to worm his way into your warms, you felt the mutual distress. You had been in danger just out of his view, and it was as if the baby sensed it happening beyond the struggling noise and was unhappy with anyone holding him except for you. His own way of saying, he needed to be there for his mother without having any words attached.

Though you were almost used to it, Bran had offered to send Summer out in place of Ghost whom normally would’ve been the eager one to run into the area surrounding to look for anything of note. Instead, Ghost kept dutiful at your side, the large direwolf not even needing any look or word from Jon to do so, both your white wolves minds functioned at an eerily similar level.

Moving further into the room, you were thankful none drew any attention to the less then composed state you appeared in. You knew no longer were there any hints of tears which you hated had fallen in the first place, but the redness in your eyes, puffiness just below them against your flushed skin gave away what you would’ve done just out of their view in your own overwhelmed silence.

Not kept to your own devices however, your mother grasped you by your arm and side, moving you across to a different far side of the room to where the others mostly stood but away from the tables of men and blood that your eyes tried to drift towards. Keeping the baby close, it felt as if you were still pinned to the floor listening to him crying out for you muffled in the other room. “Do we have any idea who would’ve done this?”

Missing from your eyes still trapped against the blood and flesh on the tables, was Jon relaxing only the arm reaching more out to Selyse to beckon her to guide you to his side. Each part of his muscles tense in the places which did not at all touch against you in anyway as he spoke. “It depends on what the person who ordered this wanted.”

Pulling you close to his side, Jon kept his arm firm as he let it drift from your side up your spine gently as if he was attempting to trace where he had no doubt seen faint marks of a knife which had inadvertently dug into your skin as your clothes were sliced at from the back. Keeping a large, warm hand on the back of your neck as part of your now somewhat damp hair sifted through his fingers, the maids helping to have cleaned what you didn’t then realize was your own blood having painted down the strands.

Arya caught on right away to what Jon had been alluding too. Looking to him more suspicious and wide eyed, “If they wanted to hurt you through her, then it would have to be someone who has a problem with you specifically. But if-”

Wolkan finished the next assertion for both Starks. “And if the King was not taken into account at all, then the list of who could be responsible is endless.” Selyse gave him a look which no doubt looked much like a pleading of frustrated reason of yours, head tilting slightly as her face fell and brows furrowed for more of an answer, or at the least, the wish of a better one she knew would not be provided. “She is one King’s daughter, the wife of another King, and the mother to a future King.” He hesitated to say what he was next thinking.

Jons grip tightened not enough to be uncomfortable, but to the point you allowed your body to turn a bit closer into his side so he could feel you against him much more presently. The hand once more relaxing at the sensation, even if neither of your eyes found one another to communicate it, his rasp much more comforting this close. “What?”

Eyes narrowing towards him, Wolkan took Jons state and relented that the truth out here and now was a better option then withholding it for a better time. Knowing the reaction was going to be the same regardless, as he gestured back to you. “It is not something discussed within the North, your grace. But to widely whispered about in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, she to the public knowledge, is still considered the heir to the Iron Throne.”

Heart nearly lurching from your chest out onto the floor in a vomit at the thought, you maintained just an unpleasant twist of your stomach, curling the baby closer to your chest as if an object of comfort the way he tried to match it by resting more against your chest. “I’ve never-”

Cutting you off, Wolkan gave the most straight forward explanation that you continued to feel an ill within you for being any kind of insulation, no matter who here did not believe it. “How something is and what that thing appears as, are two different things to the people of the realm, my Queen. You know that. To most, you are the only living heir to the Iron Throne through your father. You have twice been married to a King in the North, and now you have bared a son to the present. To the eyes of one considering you an enemy, you would be quite the great one.”

Jon pulled you even closer, feeling his dark eyes flickering down towards you as Arya’s just as dark but more worried then angry ones gave a similar overbearing feeling. Deep his voice vibrated into your ear and shivering down your spine, “She’s been in the North for years, she’s never been anywhere near Kings Landing since she escaped. Why would they-”

Your mother had the answer, swift as it came to her. “She and you sailed with a Northern army to Dragonstone, where you met with Stannis and Aegon Targaryean. Then sailed home, with an alliance of peace only for Stannis and his army to soon return following back North.” Your mind was a bit muddled to put it together on your own, but hearing it aloud did your eyes close with a sigh leaving you.

If one didn’t know any better then, “It looks as if she and her father are plotting something with Jon.” Arya had however, seen what felt the most likely piece fit right into place as why you were the target. And her addition only solidified it as the one explanation which made the most sense. “Besides, Jons right. Killing a Queen is a lot easier then killing a King. Let alone two, and it just so happens the one Queen that connects the North to the South?”

The open endlessness of her statement was not a question but something to have the blanks filled in on, which was done so with ease.

Some begun to leave the room, others still with work ahead of them with the bodies in need of final tending towards, Jon murmured your name as you made move initially out of the room. Turning you more to face him, Jon let his now free hand reach up to cup your cheek. Tilting you to look up at him, for once the freedom in his own nerves you suspected, allowing him to not care about giving such physical affection in front of others, even as little as those within Wolkans study.

The baby laying down in your arms, only one of your hands closer to Jon found the ability to reach out, fingertips gentle as they brushed against the leather of his tunic. Not even a chance he had this late into the night to dress down as he should’ve. Still though, he barley gave the thought any pass in his head no doubt as the hand on your cheek drifted upwards, running gentle through your hair to seek out the now cleaned out and closed cut across the top of your head.

A deep sigh left him, once more uncaring of the eyes around Jon tilted your head downward that time to let his lips press against your forehead in a firm but lingering kiss. Murmuring so close you could feel his breath warm as it brushed against your skin as his forehead leaned against yours, now both hands slipping to cup your cheeks. “The room won’t be clean enough to go back in for a little while. We can stay in your old chambers if you-”

Shaking your head, your fingertips barley curled into the belt by his waist keeping his things strapped to his side. “No, no I want to sleep in our bed.” Muttering once more that it won’t be for a few hours at this rate, you shrugged only one shoulder half committed as to not disturb the baby. “You want me by your side regardless,”

As your own voice slowed, a pleasant vibration entered through your cheeks and ears down into your heart and reclaiming it with a warmth as Jon gently laughed. Bright eyes shining down at you, as one thumb ran over the skin of your cheek. “Maybe this was all my plan. I hated not having you by my side all hours of the day, I just needed an excuse for it.”

A tiny shake of your head with something fond trying to fight overtop your lips, you murmured in something just as fond but more pretending to be dismayed. Despite the general feeling around you being that of something numbing and exhausting, something that wished to remain in the small bubble you stood within and not step outside or look away at all to the truth.

Something small and meek inside your heart reminding you that you were safe right here in Jons arms, and not to move away from that and risk anything else. A girlish feeling you knew, but one that even if you said it aloud, would garner nothing negative from Jon beyond perhaps, a few jests here and there as he knew he wanted you close all the same.

Looking back to years ago, Robb was sweet and gentle with you but you as a woman were vastly different. The times your life was in danger were not similar, and you could stand your ground without a question and Robb felt a loving confidence in his wife being capable of taking care of herself. But here you stood, letting your head lean closer to rest against Jons once more and you knew it was very much not the same, nor did you think you could go back. You relied on Jon to keep you safe in a way that he craved to do to protect you right back. It was soft, and perhaps a bit pathetic to some of the people in your life but you felt that safeness standing there in his touch, and not even a slight twitch or sound from the bundle between you both.

Pulling back with one more kiss to your forehead, Jon directed you out the door with a thank you to Maester Wolkan before nearly being bombarded in the corridor by Theon and a few others. “You grace, we found where they came in from.”

The hand around to your side tightened as Jon looked at him, glancing to you from the side of his vision with a nod for you to follow him, as if you needed instructions to do so now.

“They didn’t come down this way, but it leads up to the path we came in through. Easier access I assumed them making the Queen climb through a bloody tunnel in the middle of the night.” The man leading the group of you presently down into the tunnels had made quick way through the paths underground and found it simple to navigate you all through. Pointing down one path which was a thin and narrow passage before leading to an unseen incline upwards into the castle no doubt. “That’s the path they took to get in. I’d show you if not for her grace and the little Prince, but thats the way they would’ve taken to get all the way to your quarters. One section of the stones just loose enough to be pushed up against, and a short way from there.”

Eyes narrow as he looked down the way Jon asked, “You’re certain?” The man affirming he checked himself, Jon only nodded for him to go forward. “Show me where they came in from.” A hand reaching backward until he felt you in his grasp, he turned to the side to allow you to walk forward in front of him as you cradled the baby still. Pushing you with both hands on your hips, “I don’t want you lingering back there.”

Jon said nothing more as he pressed his lips to the side of your head, except for prompting you to follow. One winding way then the other, these tunnels went on and on. For many miles they did, nowhere near the fifty you once traversed within under a different city, and much warmer in fact as they sat closer to the allusive hot springs you wished were possible to see one day. Were you to stay down here for hours, one might have even broken a sweat as ridiculous as that sounded, as the path wound its way to the outdoors as slowly did droplets of snow find your face, the outdoor winters creeping in against the floor in terms of snow.

Gendry knelt to the ground glanced up, looking you over with what was much more of a subtle worry between you both then either gave off, your small nod his only needed indication. Jon behind you asked to confirm this was where they came in, pushing up from his thighs he and Jon moved to stand next to one another just near the outside as the former explained. “Summer found some tracks near the woods about half a mile west, can’t see most of them now with all the snow.” Gesturing up and around to the falling flakes covering the faint traces of paths. “My guess, they came in here last night, probably looked around best way to get in and waited.”

Theon affirmed to the side just partially out of view as you carefully made your way around the tracks in the snow out closer to the night. “Down here for hours, probably how one of them wound up with a rat bite in his ankle.”

The rats. Biting down on your tongue, you didn’t even feel the sting crawl in from the increasing pressure each moment. The rats came crawling through the tunnels, a beast beneath the boards, killing a maid, tying up and gagging another forced to watch as they sat in waiting for the Queen and her child to arrive alone. A lightheadedness fell through your mind as you looked at the footprints with unblinking eyes.

“You hear that, boy? Your mamma want’s you dead.”

No, your mind screeched. No you didn’t want him dead, you wanted to fight back to make them stop to ensure they never got to him. Somewhere in the fainting of your mind, did you hear Jon like a muffle beyond you. “No one around knows anything, or heard anything?”

“None, your grace. Probably snuck in through the wolfswood, never intended to come across anyone but the Queen before leaving.” Another ask from Jon about any idea from Theon of who the men were, but too did Theon have little answers so soon. “Could be anyone, they didn’t look like they were from anywhere close but its impossible to say. All it takes is one person to know there’s tunnels under Winterfell and they could’ve been around here for days trying to figure it out and no one noticed.”

One problem, then the next. One dead, another takes its place. Only there were two, maybe three if the man with the cloak was also involved. One then three, how many next? Four or more? How many rats were down here to take up the mantle against a life? The baby in your arms bundled and asleep, you were grateful he were not awake to sense and make notice to your distress rising if only seen in the deeper caverns in your eyes.

Jons call of your name grabbed your attention, head rising up with wide yet deeply distant eyes as little in your face gave away anything of what confusion turmoiled within. He needn’t say anything, and only with a small twitch of the smallest hint of a smile did Jon sense the answer to the question he did not have to ask, which was later. His focus turning back to Gendry, “How fast can you get bars blocking the path?”

Tilting his head in thought he only asked, “Without any gate or lock, maybe an hour after getting everything over here. With one, maybe two hours.”

Thinking for only a moment did Jon return with a single nod and a voice firm not to be questioned, as if any here would’ve dared or cared too. “Gather whatever men you need, I want everything blocked from the outside. Give anyone in the castle a way to get out if they need, but no one sneaks in.” Jon only managed to get in from the cold as the snowflakes in his still pulled back hair barley begun the process to melt in the hotter tunnels, turning back to Gendry and the other man whom guided you all here with something even more stern in his tone. “That passage they used to get into my chambers? Make it two gates. One to get into the passage, and one just before where it leads into the castle. That one, and any others we know of that could lead to Brans chambers or either of my sisters.”

Your eyes trapped on the footprints as your mind almost asked yourself why it felt confused they were in the shape of shoes belonging to men and not the prints of rats did your heart lurch in a startle. Turning your gaze to meet his narrowed one, with a grip of your chin in one hand, Jon muttered your name as if it were the second attempt to do so with a question in his eyes. You only nodded once with a just as false smile both of you knew he did not buy. “Are we certain everyone else is alright?”

Jons head turned to the side slightly, a beckon for you not to once more divert the attention before slipping his grip to run along the side of your head. Gloved hand threading his fingers through the strands he found before using the leverage to begin the process of making you turn the way you came. “I had the guards check on Bran and Sansa both, they’re fine. Just worried about you.”

Muttering enough only for him as Jon seemed to be the one to guide you with ease, ignoring the following footsteps behind you both that no doubt was about to become a repeating occurrence of a sound in your life. “I’m talented at that.”

You knew Jon said nothing as to indicate for you not to do this within anyone else’s hearing. An easy ability you had to turn any discussion into something more self hating to a degree few but Jon really could grasp. Even then, he had little patience for it in the kindest manner he could convey. Pushing you forward for a moment, did Jon stop to mutter something to Theon you barley heard. “I want all of your men to know, unless I say otherwise, whoever is on duty with her doesn’t leave her side. For any reason. If she isn’t with me or Ghost, I want two guards with her at all times.”

Were you willing to cause a scene, you’d have protested.

The main room of Jons chambers were as clean as always. Everything in it’s proper place but that was never the spot in question. So late into the night, in a waiting for the room to be finished being dealt with along with the body of the poor, young maid you never even had the chance to meet let alone learn the name of yet. Jon had taken the time to find a study with a warm fire already going to sit you in, knowing before returning the little one was in need of feeding.

It was nice almost, it felt normal. Jon sitting somewhat beside you enough you could turn and he’d pull your back to his chest, as your son together fed from your breast at his usual slow pace as the warmth of the fire filled the feeling back in your skin. Now though, you felt Jon part from you the moment the door behind him closed. Making his way to inspect the side room no doubt, you made quick work of gently placing little Eddard down in his bed. Hand running along his front and side as he shifted and wormed his way into something more comfortable to sleep in position of.

You stayed there for some time, never looking away. The horror of the vision in your mind from the night before any of the actual horror reached your eyes. You wished it was one clean cut. But it wasn’t. The sounds of your son crying for you in the next room mixed with the phantom sounds of a vision in a memory not yours, of something grotesque. A boy, a prince, an heir all the same as yours but older by a few years. The cutting, it haunted worse then the rats.

Until an overwhelming warmth encompassed your back, did your shoulders relax. Your hand on your son lifting to hover in the air as Jon gently murmured your name in your ear. His own now uncovered hand reached down to yours, pulling it up from the small bed and passed yourself beyond to his own. Turning so he could see the back of your hand and pressed his lips to the skin, the coarse facial hair scratching at the skin with something comfortingly familiar. Keeping it in his hold, Jon wrapped your own arm attached to his around to your stomach and pulled you back into his chest as his other hand grasped at your hip to steady you.

You felt the lack of presence of some of his outer layers, weapons off, tunic off and just his softer layers as your brows furrowed. Jon however, only chuckled deeply in your ear knowing exactly what your face was speaking in the silence. Murmuring for you to hear as his rasp danced in your ear, “After everything tonight, darling. The last thing I’m going to do is make you do anything for my sake. I can undress myself.” Your frown only increased, causing Jon to laugh deeper into your ear before pressing a kiss to the skin just underneath it. Leaning against the side of your head with his, “You’re going to like what I’m about to suggest even less.”

Twisting the hand in his to try and hold back, your other was still braced against the top of the wood of the small bed as you both just watched him fall asleep. “I won’t argue, I promise.” Jon only muttered that such a thing was not what he wanted you to say whatsoever. He was only amusingly silent before the drifting urge to fidget in his arms came about, yet suddenly just as it arrived did Jons hold on you grow knowingly tighter to keep you in place. “Jon, what is it?”

Asking over his chuckle, Jon gave a gentle shush in your ear. “Only if you settle.” You didn’t need to be looking at him to feel the bright grin growing brighter when you stopped moving about or fussing. His hands reached up finally leaving your other touch, running to your shoulders and dancing his fingertips along the fabric there toying with the idea of letting it drift downward but not with a tease in his voice, but a seriousness. “I know what they were about to do to you.” Cutting you off from stating the most obvious, “Beyond that. I know what they were doing when they tried cutting your clothes off of you.”

His hands ran across more smoothly but now each glide of his palm dragged the material down further and further with the drag. “They didn’t, I promise.” Jon only muttered he knows they didn’t touch you. “I don’t understand then, it isn’t a-”

His rasp turned deep much more to a husking frustration as his accent always thickened along with his emotion. “They were going to. They wanted too. I never want to push you, but I want to take your mind off of it. All of it.” Asking how, Jon was not teasing nor even upbeat as he stated it almost in your mind, embarrassingly outright. “I want to lay out on the bed, and have you over top of me so I can taste you.”

Your eyes wide, you would’ve pulled away if you thought you could escape his grasp. “Jon...”

“You can say no.” One hand dragged the material down your shoulder more then the other, his lips suddenly finding the skin of your neck on that free side as if tempted to continue downward the now freshly exposed skin. “But I don’t want any of this to scare you. Make you forget how far you’ve come. Replace what they almost did to you, with what we do together.”

Biting down on your tongue, it released just moments after as soon as Jon finally pressed his lips down to where your neck and shoulder met, tracing it along your shoulder more and more as the same hand dragged the material stretching down your arm. He too you felt, had let his curls sit loose as they danced across your bare skin being slowly exposed. You nodded, but knowing his lips had him too distracted to see it, a stealthily taken inhale of air prepared you to sound more confident then you felt over the image.

Faint you were but Jon heard you as loud as possible. “What about you?”

Tingling the feelings were, of Jons lips forming into a laugh against your skin, as the sound muffled deep in your ears. Pulling his head up to kiss the side of your neck more firmly one, Jon trailed them more sloppily up a path to just below your ear before he rasped deeply. “What about me?” Trying to now much more awkwardly bring up what he would get out of such an arrangement, Jon left a much more lingering kiss just below your ear as if somehow his voice grew even deeper, something wanting much more thick within it. “Tasting you is all I’ve ever needed.”

He was clever, you could give him that in the back of your mind. A master at tricking your distressed mind into focusing on something very different then the problems he portrayed at first. Air in your lungs coming out a bit more on the shaking side then you wished, but your words flowed behind it just fine, even despite the airy tone. “I feel as if you are underselling yourself a little.”

Jon knew exactly what your mind had turned too, is grip on your hip growing tighter as his lips returned their path along your neck as his other hand now continued to drag your sleeve down. “One thing at a time. Let’s get you feeling good first.” Muttering an alright, Jon moved both hands to pull the sleeves down of your dress down your arms.

The material sitting indecently low on your chest before Jon undid the small belt like fabric keeping it together. Instead though of letting it fall naturally to the floor, Jon took initiative on his own. Hands rough as they drifted up your sides, sliding around to your chest and through the fabric against you grasped both of your breasts. A not so gentle groping as he ran his hands over you, the spark through your system igniting the desire in your core, but it did not last long in such a form. Sinking both hands inside he went against your thoughts of his plan, and instead grasped at the fabric against your breasts and started to slowly pull the material downwards. Not letting them have a break, Jon never ceased pulling everything down off of you in one fell swoop.

Grasping at both of your hips as a prompt to get you to step out of the material before swiftly turning you in the room towards the bed. Spinning you more to face him, your hands reaching out to grasp against his sides to steady yourself, Jon only murmured in a low tone, “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His brows narrowed however, the moment you reached up to his remaining clothes, Jon grabbed your hands. Pushing them back downward with a disapproval, before waiting in quiet to ensure you weren’t about to move again. Instead, close to you enough you felt every movement from him did Jon reach for his shirt. Pulling it up and off, dropping it out of his sight, Jon kept your gaze firmly on his grey eyes as he too reached for his breeches, again not even bothering to let you help.

Bare as you were, your hands only finally moved but not for anywhere provocative. Instead they followed the path your eyes took, fingertips tracing up and against the scars along his chest, never closed and never to be healed as yours was. A strange, dark, and macabre matching you both had that none else either had known of someone in this fashion could understand. His own hands ran up and down your hips, watching your eyes dark scour the wounds littering his chest as if the first you’d ever seen them.

One of his own left your hip, slinking up the length of your arm before turning your face up back to his from his fingers gently under your chin. His brows were narrowed and the expression painted across him was almost frowning in something akin to a worry but you took the initiative normally Jon held the lead for. Leaning upwards, your eyes slipped closed just as he followed suit.

Meeting your kiss in the middle, did Jon cup both of your cheeks, tilting your head up to his angle perfectly, soft and guiding he was but not for a moment as your lips met did Jon let you control anything of it. Your hands smoothed up his torso before winding around the back of his neck, hands toying with what of his curls which fell into your grasp. One of his sank down to the side of your neck and jaw as if to keep a hold controlling you to up to him, the other ran along your front. Down gentle as his thumb traced your scar before pulling your hip close to his.

Feeling the brush of his cock against your front as he hardened, your hands clung to Jon a little needier as you nearly parted your lips for his freedom without even needing to be asked in any way. A deep grunt left Jon gifted to your mouth as he wasted no time. Slipping his tongue inside of your mouth, brushing against you and tasting just as he wanted no matter what of you he had, his grip on your neck and jaw stayed more controlling to ensure you had to lean up almost perched on your toes just to stay with how much he hovered right over you in his kiss.

Barley did you notice Jon slowly turning you so his back faced the bed, kiss growing deeper anytime you may have parted from him, pulling you back to him with more of a need as he used his grip on your hip to pull you up right against his front, yet somehow uncaring of his cock sitting hard between you.

The amount he left your lips hardly anything as his breath was hot against your skin. Muttering in a low rasp as he nearly interrupted himself to kiss you once more. “There’s no pressure, remember. You’re just going to sit there, and let me make you feel good.” Not even looking in your eyes until he felt the nod, and then pressing his lips back to yours.

Just long enough to take away any air you might have needed before muttering in a strained need to breathe as your hands had slipped down to grasp at his shoulders. “I promise.”

Jons laugh though was bright, gentle, almost sweet. “Stop promising what no one’s asked of you, darling.” Nodding, Jon left a rather chaste kiss to your cheek before moving himself to the bed. Not letting you go, he pulled you along with one hand.

As he laid on his back, looking vastly more relaxed, you were hovered over top of him by your knees straddling his lower half yet not even close enough to his cock were he to demand instead you both get right to it. Instead you let his hand drop to his chest as yours braced against the furs beneath you. Tilting his head he looked up at you with patience, your name murmured deep from him. “You have to come up here yourself this time. Show me you trust me to help you.”

“I do trust you.” Entirely unconfident and were you anyone else to Jon, he might have taken it as doubtful instead of the endearingly shy manner which made him smile handsome and bright. One arm resting casually on the pillow above his head, as he let the hand you dropped from his grip still lay limp across his chest. Questioning if you truly did, your head lay a bit to the side as if to implore him to listen to you. “Jon.”

Rasping deep, you felt your limps relax a little the more he spoke so gentle towards you with a murmur of your name. Yet what came from his lips next you hadn’t at all expected. “Were you this shy with Robb?”

A fluster came over you right away. Sitting up straighter against the bed as you nearly turned with that sensation of embarrassment coming over you right away. Perhaps it was the scenario you both were in, or the passage of time making it a little easier to sometimes shove that sorrow away, but it was a mere mutter from you that was your reaction. “Robb never did such unusual things with me.”

Jons grin however, only grew brighter. Sitting up, Jons hand slid around to the back of your neck as he leaned up to you, hoping it would prompt you to sit closer as he nudged your nose with his. “There’s nothing unusual about this, darling.” You only replied back with a whisper that you never had heard of any of this before Jon had started doing it. But he only felt an amusement as he let the hand at the back of your neck toy with the loose strands there. “You barley knew what sex was by the time we almost shared our first time together.”

You tried pulling back as an even stronger embarrassed fluster came over you, Jons laugh breaking out into the night air as he tugged you back to him through your protest. “I knew what it was.”

Pulling you down, Jon ran his hand through the back of your hair, the other hand traced along your cheek before cupping it. “You had never even seen a man naked before you decided you wanted me to have you that way.” Gentle presses of his lips spoke through his teasing words, knowing the heat behind your face was of his causing. “You let me pin you against the wall and taste between your legs, not even knowing that was something a man and woman could do together.”

You could only attempt to mutter between each press of his lips, “What relevance does any of this have?”

Laughing again, Jon pressed one more kiss to your lips before pulling your head back by his grip to look you in the eyes brightly. “Don’t think about what we’re doing. Just let me help you.” Draping a strand of your hair behind your ear, Jon leaned in only to nudge your nose again with his. “Alright? Will you let me make tonight better? Escape your head?”

He didn’t ask you to respond when you nodded, only leaned back properly on the bed once more. That time, even though the apprehension was painted all across your face as you slowly made your way over his upper torso, you did move all of your own accord. Up and up until your face burned so hot and flustered your eyes flew closed unable to handle any of the sights further.

That time unlike the last proper he had introduced you to the act, Jon did not actually let you hesitate once he had you. Grasping both of your hips, Jon leaned up to press his lips to your clit. A jump almost making you leave his touch were he not holding your hips with a bruising grip, Jon pulled you back down more to him.

Small pecks against your clit he left, one then the next each growing a bit more sloppy without ever sacrificing how small and gentle he left it. Gradual small brushes of his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves cause that heat to flow generously through your body and down to your core. Your hand reaching up to grasp at the headboard, while the other almost hovered clenched in the air unsure what to do with it, but each pass of Jons tongue gentle like a kitten against your clit had your face scrunch in wanting to cry out.

Licks and tiny presses of his lips were nothing compared to how he almost took your clit into his mouth like the manner he would to your breasts, but the gasp erupting from you was sharp and high pitched at how without mercy he begun to suck at the nerves. Thighs tensing around his head, Jons grasp on your hips grew tighter as he continued to suck at your clit, brushing it against his tongue as if he treated you between your legs the way he’d indulge you in a kiss of greed.

As much for him as he was doing it for you. The wetness between your legs making you self conscious at how close to Jon you were feeling that burn grow needier and hotter but he did not care. He licked and sucked at your clit with no stopping, forcing you closer to that end. But that lack of mercy came out in a grunt against your core, biting down on your lip from the cry of his name so desperate to come out but you felt a fog within your head.

The feeling building and twisting inside of you, you knew he was putting you in a position as opposite as before as possible. Atop of him, on the other side of the room facing away, Jon wanted to keep you from it all. But he had no reason to, he had been the one to save you. He saved you, and yet he was the one filling the air with the sounds of his tongue between your legs and a grunting noise from deep within his chest each time you wracked yourself with a shake in your muscles.

Eyes everytime they tried to open, fluttered shut as your limps too shook and the burning twist of a coil within grew tighter as did his grip as did the patterns which he ran his tongue along your clit. Hand against the headboard, your nails begun to dig into the wood as he licked you closer and closer to your end, but you knew he had so little mercy this was nowhere near to be your first and only end he would draw his tongue for you tonight.

“Jon...”

A grunt again only followed, increasing how his tongue ran flat across your clit, your gasps high pitched increasing along with how tense your thighs shook. Biting down against your lip trying to hold back, but Jons hands on your hips burned, as if the moment he’d leave the grip you’d see marks as if they were on fire when he touched you. Licking and kissing against your clit, you nearly bit a split into your lip trying to withhold but soaking you again and again as the coil twisted.

Just barley following a much more greedy suck of your clit with the scraping of his teeth did that coil snap, bursting within you and causing Jon to react. He did not just hold onto you and make you endure, no. As soon as you began to cum, did Jon shift himself downward on the bed and yank you roughly much more down onto his mouth. One hand on your hip and the other sliding back to grasp just as roughly into the meat of your ass.

Running his tongue downwards, as you still felt that releasing burn from your orgasm did Jon finally sink his mouth onto your core perfectly. Every single drop of wetness he drew from you previous did he drink now, and his grip had you been more aware of anything but his mouth against you, would’ve begun to hurt as the skin around you bruised.

Drinking deeply, you felt Jon lick inside of you. Were your eyes not sealed closed, they would have rolled into the back of your head. Lips parting in a desperation to plead his name but it did not come, you could only be kept there against his mouth as he feasted upon what you soaked him with. Small cries left you without you even realizing, high pitched noises short and repeating of pleasure did they sound like music reaching Jons ears as he groaned.

The vibrations against you had the hand on the headboard grip even tighter, and your other hand shot up. Joining it without any other place knowing where to put or do with it, nails digging into the wood as Jon refused you the ability to move in anyway. Sitting you right against him, did the sounds of his tongue between your legs get muffled by how you covered him.

Running up to your clit and back, Jon shifted his other hand to your ass as well, pushing you more to the perfect angle as the embarrassment ran through you wildly, but Jon did not care nor would he ever have allowed you to move now. The heat burned, sweat begun to dampen your hair as you tried not to move against him, but Jon did the work for you. His hands naturally shifting you by his dead tight grip on your ass as if shoving you closer and his tongue dragged along something sensitive inside you deeper.

So close you felt, he already dragged one from you but already you felt your breathing increase almost in quieter sobs trying to hold back how warm his mouth was and how soaking wet he made you and subsequently drank from you. Twisting like burning metal the coil once more spun but before it even truly had recovered and begun the process again did Jon drag a second from you.

Even worse this one was, as he had you pinned to his mouth like a feast for a starving man only to survive off of one thing. A growl left him as he somewhat sat up, soaking his mouth as you cried out his name, one hand leaving the bruises on your ass to hold steady at your hip so you would stop making it harder for Jon to drink everything you soaked against him. His facial hair scratched the skin at your thighs utterly raw to contrast the warmth his mouth was against you.

The taste to Jon, was unfair. He almost felt angry that you didn’t feel comfortable with this position the way he did. He had you down against his mouth in such a perfect position and he knew he was strong enough to keep you there, and your beautiful begs in his ear he was so sure you weren’t even aware you were doing. “Please Jon, gods, please its too much..”

If he was willing to tear his mouth from your cunt, he’d have barked a no in response. There was no way he was stopping now. He knew you didn’t like how whenever he was finished between your legs, would he glide his tongue into your mouth and make you taste yourself but he always had to try. Something feral inside him growling that he needed you to understand what your taste did to his head. But holding onto your body this time?

Oh it was doing Jon something in bad. He hadn’t had you on top of his mouth like this since before the baby. Since coming back to Winterfell, Jon was almost overbearingly strict about your eating habits. He refused to let you fall into the same instinct drawn from insecurity about your size now that you had regained the weight lost from your captive time a prisoner. The skin in his hands, hips, breasts, ass, they were so plush again. Just the way he remembered but now he had the perfect amount to hold onto to force you to stay at his demand.

Spiralling did a third come through you like a wave, the pleasure making you lightheaded as everywhere within your core burned and stayed alight as you meekly held onto the wood of the headboard. Your head hung with your eyes closed, lips parted barley managing to beg Jons name with all you knew to say as his tongue ran over you, drinking from within you like a parched man.

Everywhere tingled on the inside, but you almost clenched around the nothing of his mouth as it screamed at you for a mercy you knew Jon had no interest in showing when he was growling into your taste.

Running his tongue back to your clit and down flat again, Jon soaked up every single bit left so the only thing keeping you wet was his own saliva. The rest from yourself treated like a dessert he kept all too himself. Finally did small sounds of begging needs leave from your chest, trying to breathe deeply as you bit your lip. Jons strength picking you up and moving you to his desire.

Hardly did you notice as he shifted you like something weightless in his arms, your hands braced against his shoulders as Jon sat against the headboard of the bed you just held onto. Leaning you across his chest and tilting your head up with a grip at your cheek to look up at him. Eyes turned black and hooded, Jon looked down to your lips but a whine came and your eyes sealed back closed at the shine against his from where you stained him before he captured you in a kiss.

Slipping to the back of your neck, Jon bit down on your bottom lip instantly tearing into the wearing spot you had worked at. The gasp allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth, running it along and with yours, gifting you the taste he was addicted too. Your hands braced against his shoulders but his other hand tugged you closer to his torso, your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. Whining into his mouth, Jon growled again as you felt his cock twitch between you.

Tearing away enough, the saliva still connecting you both as Jon looked down your lips and body of what he could with black eyes. His rasp was deep and his accent such a Northern thickness that were you not so lightheaded at his very hand, you may have struggled to even understand him. “Nothing could ever be better then that.” A small whine left you, your eyes closing with that flush travelling back up to heat your face when he continued. A hand on your side leaving down to recapture the perfect bruised imprints of his fingertips against your ass once more. Your wince at the sting only prompting Jon to start speaking through a quick but greedy kiss once more. “I’m serious, darling. You think what little you taste when I kiss you after is anything close to what tasting you is actually like?” His brows narrowed as if in disbelief of your lack of ability to understand. “You think I don’t let you use your mouth on my cock enough, but you have no idea what it’s like trying to tear myself away from how you taste. No idea..”

Biting your lip, your head tried to drop but Jon forced it back to meet his eyes despite yours staying closed and flustered. Unable to yet handle the intensity in his gaze let alone his voice as you spoke back in something weak akin to a whisper just for him. “It isn’t that-”

Instead of bothering with words, once again Jon pulled you to his lips. Rough and deep he kissed you over and over, the growl in his chest coming out into your mouth as you felt lightheaded, grasping at his dampening curls with a need to hold on for his sake, only tearing from your lips down your neck. Teeth sinking in as he sucked at the sensitive skin, Jon forced your head more to the side to give him room.

Relentless he was, tearing his teeth down your neck in marks just as you knew so well, a wolf would sink his sharp fangs into its prey to render them immobile. Arms trying to wrap around his back and shoulders, Jon grunted as your nails without notice, dug into his back at the painful sting he gave your neck as it bruised something fierce. Only tearing away to once more bite at your lips, pulling away to seek your hooded and needy eyes, as one hand smoothed down your hair at the back of your head over and over in a soothing type manner.

His voice back to a husking rasp that was only intelligible to your ears. “You want to do something for me?” You didn’t even seem to notice that it was not quite a rhetorical question, but a trick one. A way of doing something he knew was for your sake entirely, but appealing to the side of you that he exhaustively knew desired to simply please him. A trick just to ensure you didn’t try to argue against what you were worried about being a problem. “I think my beautiful wife should reward me for saving her life.”

That had your eyes peer up wide at Jons, the grey almost completely gone beyond that which sunk into the blackness. “Anything.” Your posture even seemed to perk up too.

Withholding a groan, Jon knew he was doing himself in with his tactic as much as it was to you. Normally, he’d lay you out gentle on the bed, keep you in a position where he was sure you could relax and feel the best, but the marks along your back he knew wouldn’t feel good against the sheets or furs just yet. But if he posed it as such, you’d protest. Knowing Jon preferred to hover over you when you laid out against the bed like that, so Jon had to try and coerce you a different way to make taking care of you a bit less of a back and forth debate.

Leaning forward, Jon ran his nose down the length of yours, nuzzling them together as he spoke lowly and with a slow purpose with the way he said it. “Let me have you, just like this tonight. I want you on top of me, just like how I took you the night we married.” Pulling you closer, Jon ran his lips across your jaw and under your ear to rasp into it more. “Or the morning after I had you for the first time, just like that. Let me have you this way tonight, a thank you for protecting you, yeah?” Nodding, Jon had to reel in a few varying emotions on the matter.

He wanted you the way he always did, but this was better for the marks along your back to heal more first. But it too was the ease in which when he had you so deep into pleasure, that you went along with anything he said. He wasn’t even sure you would’ve registered if he had truly suggested something outlandish. Something much more perverse he pretended every single night he didn’t want to try.

If Jon brought that up now, you’d let him without question. Head dropping into your shoulder as he swallowed and smothered a grunt, Jon couldn’t get over how much you trusted him. How much you simply agreed he should be rewarded for saving your life, when he shouldn’t be rewarded for that. Jon didn’t want a reward for protecting you the way he had promised he would, but the swift obedience you held for him when in such a pleasured state pricked at something feral within him. That part of him which was more wolf then man. A wolf with an obedient mate.

But you felt none of that, a lightheadedness as you looked at Jon. Holding him tightly as you could with your muscles feeling weak from three orgasms already he drove you towards with his mouth alone, and when you bit your lip and nodded, your lungs ceased to function as Jons grip shifted to move your hips.

Braced against his shoulders, you looked between you as Jon settled you over his cock, thick, red and leaking already but barley as you felt his tip slip inside of you did you gasp. Forehead resting against his as he asked if you were alright but you just nodded, grasping the curls around the back of his neck. “You’re...I always forget like this how...” The nerves within you made you sound less and less confident or seductive by the time you finally got even part of the actual though out. “You’re just big...”

Jon though, didn’t react with tease or anything smug. Nodding with a stern expression, Jon didn’t force you to look at him but he kept your face in his focus as a seriousness matched his softer tone. “You’ve taken me just like this before. I’ll fit, darling. You know I will.”

Your eyes spotting his as you raised your head, and something more sure ran back through your blood with a nod. He never left your touch, helping you sink down inch by inch as your face twisted in a wince and eyes closed with parting lips to let out a gentle cry. Never once making you do it all yourself, Jon guided you the whole way until you were sat upon his cock completely.

Head inside of you spun a mess, but Jons hands on your hips were back to so tight they left marks where his fingerprints sat. Through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, Jon could barely spit out what through the desire was doing to him. “Just follow me.”

Nodding, you felt that burn of how much his size stretched you, especially this way. Jons cock was so thick, the girth something never not intimidating and as your mind wrapped around the feelings of him to drown out what had happened just hours ago, you still couldn’t relax enough not to be so tight around his length. Leaning back properly against the headboard, Jon leaned you against him so the leverage was shared equally.

His eyes looking upwards to the ceiling as if begging for mercy, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as he breathed heavy and deep through a jaw clenched tight. You only had the baby not so long ago, Jons only been able to make love to you again for just around a fortnight. And yet, it was as if that time had made it so you wrapped so tightly around his cock like you were still a maiden. You were always tight, but now Jon felt as if he was being tormented. He had to be rough with you, just to sink inside you all the way. But with you on top of his cock this way? Sunk as deep as possible simply because you sat atop his cock? This felt cruel. He was expected to at some point, pull out of you? That was cruel, knowing he could not keep you right here on his cock forever.

But slowly did he start moving you, hands on your hips as you held at his shoulders, and the moment the first gasp came from you as he lifted you just halfway off his cock, did Jon sense your nails digging into his skin and whine in your throat a beg not to make you leave any more. So just as slowly did he sink you back down, and you nearly fell into him at the sensation. Hiding in his neck as Jon let one hand rise up to pull your hair over in a way he could rake his fingers through it and massage gently to bury his face in the same way.

His other hand, was strong enough after all to keep moving you.

Burning was felt within you, a fire strong and engulfing both of you as a sheen of sweat build against both your skin. Lips parted open in a silent pleasure, slowly you moved with Jons touch. Sinking up and down his length, getting only halfway before you felt that need to return as if it would stop going too far. Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck more but the cry leaving you was soft yet dizzy as you felt him fill you.

Each inch inside of you dragged perfectly against such a sensitive part inside of you, the angle meaning there was not way to alleviate the pressure it built within your core as a result. Warmth inside you turning to hot and burning and a fire living within as the coil twisted the more Jon moved you up and down.

Never overwhelming you too much, he stayed mostly still. Not thrusting up to meet but following your movements as a guide to help you take him, the slow pace between you, was perfect. Jon let out a shaking breath as he guided your head up from his neck so he could rest his forehead against yours, more almost moving like a wave just following your movements, despite him being the one to actually control your pace. Never going too fast or slowing down, but certainly the sound of him so deep and filling you so completely added that wetness to the air.

Your voice weak and needing, barley able to mask the sound each time you took his cock deep inside you. “Oh fuck.. Jon..” Nodding, Jon was imploring you to continue words neither of you were sure you even had planned within you, but they came out in pure desire breathless and hazy. “Thank you...for saving me, saving our son..thank you..”

Swallowing down a groan, Jon still rasped rough and strained trying to not overwhelm you with how tight and warm you were around his length. “I’ll always protect you. I promise.”

Leaning forward yourself, Jons lips took charge the moment they made contact. Deep and slow as his cock moved you atop it, his tongue barley brushing against yours as he kept it gentle but on the side of sloppy as he refused to let you part to breathe. He needed your kiss now more then you needed air, and Jon had no choice but to refuse one of you that reprieve and his strength meant his kiss continued.

Both of you knew perhaps it was strange, or perverse or simply not comprehensible. Why after such events did this become the only peace you both could find, but it was there. The way Jons lips were so soft and kind against yours, his hands tight and yet possessive afraid to even consider letting you go. The way you let yourself fall into a dizzy feeling relying solely on Jon. He always took care of you when he made love to you, he’d take care of you now and your eyes could close and you fall into him knowing there was nothing safer then when he moved you along his cock.

Lips and skin always connected in some way too, you were always sure of each other when Jon was deep inside of you, it was a certainty. It was an expression of something you both were not talented enough to say in another form, but found unity in the way he moved you against him here. The pleasure burning and twisting in your core was exactly the language you both spoke, and the blood and pain did not have to exist.

There were no visions of begs and threats and death which had kept you trapped in a terror of your mind until it was playing out in front of you. You did not have to consider what it all meant. You just had to keep moving against him, let his length fill you over and over and it all kept making sense. There were no sounds of cries or crying, just the wetness of each time he moved you to take his whole length, the press of his lips to yours or the breathing ragged and deep between each of you the chance Jon gave you to try and catch it again before reclaiming your lips.

A groan left Jon as you clenched around him, crawling closer and closer to another end. Tearing from your lips, Jon pressed his forehead against yours once more. Eyes both squeezed closed, but his hand in your hair keeping you pressed to him was firm but not for you, as if grounding for him to feel the soft strands of your hair through his fingers as he kept moving you up and down his length. Each time he sunk as deep as he could, his cock throbbed more and more and each did that have you clench tighter.

His name pleading from your tongue as your hands braced against his shoulders, staring to try and move more desperately but Jon shushed you, forcing your hips to slow down. “Easy, darling. Go slow, it’s alright.” You barley had met his eyes, yours glossy and hooded as were his dark to match but you just nodded with a bite to your lip trying to listen to him.

Sitting up straighter, Jon kept your eyes more on his as he started to move up with you more with a purpose, waves against the water you both moved like as his eyes begun tearing down your form and his cock throbbed even more inside of you. “Jon..”

He begun to speak, but in the back of Jons head he had no idea what he was saying. It was whatever animal arguing to make its way to the front wanted to say as the man in him making love to you slow and gently was too, trying to tame back down. “I told you I’d never let anything happen to you. I promised you, and I always will. I’ll always keep you safe.”

You didn’t notice that you nodded, but your hands ran up over his scratching facial hair while a thumb of yours brushed against his cheek, grey eyes beautiful as they looked at you wide. “I love you,”

Eyes of his flying shut, did Jon thrust up into you a little faster then he had the pace at before. Trying to slow back down, he could only hiss as he moved you faster and faster despite his tries to stop. Breathing roughly Jon was trying to keep himself together but the growl festered through. “Fuck darling, you have no idea how much I love you.” A deep and urgent kiss did Jon capture before still rasping towards you in a battle for sweet and demanding with no clear winner yet. “Keep you with me like this forever, you’re safe on my, cock you know that. I’ll make sure you’re always safe that way, protect the one thing I love more then anything..”

Hurdling close towards your end, Jons cock throbbed inside of you and grew warmer and warmer. Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck seeking his eyes, Jons jaw clenched and teeth gritted as he still moved harmoniously with you but faster and more greedy. The beg from you was high pitched and truly you hardly noticed you said it beyond his name. “Jon, please, I love you I promise.”

His grip on your hair grew rougher. “Stop promising that. I know you do, I’ve always known. You don’t-” Cutting himself off as he groaned out with a gentle moan coming from you as you clenched around him tighter. “I don’t want your promises. We love each other, that’s all that matters, I know it’ll never change. I know.”

Forcing your lips back to his, it was the final thing you both needed. The coil within you breaking into a violent snap as your orgasm swam through you in cries he accepted in his kiss. Tight and soaking around his cock, Jon suddenly dragged you down to fill you completely before he too found his end as your walls were all but milking his cock to join. A groan, possibly of your name into your kiss, Jon begun to fill you.

Hot and thick seed spilled and spilled. Pouring inside of you in thick spurts as Jon kept you pressed to his kiss and your hands both clinging to one another as you both encouraged the others orgasms to not stop, as you came together around one another perfectly.

Only as you begun to drop, head seeking his neck and shoulders did Jon still have just a bit more in him, filling you to the point if he didn’t have you so deep and were he not so thick inside of you, it would’ve begun to leak between your legs, instead it all stayed deep inside your cunt as Jon knew it belonged.

Truly, Jon meant to let you sleep.

Already had you begun to drift away before he even pulled out of you, he knew the days events had exhausted your mind. Gentle shushes as he did so, knowing it was a lot when he left you, but swiftly Jon laid you down. “Let your back heal, darling. Just like this..”

Pulling the furs up over so your lower halves were covered, stopping at his hips and just above your ass so the marks along your spine had time to breathe. Your hands rested up around the pillow as he fell asleep to the gentle press of Jons lips to the top of your head and a murmur back and forth once more that you loved one another before you slipped into a dreamless sleep for once.

But Jon didn’t yet. In truth, he did this a lot. Waited for you to sleep after taking you, then watched you sleep gentle knowing that in a few short hours would his son rise, and cry for something. It was a time he loved. Sometimes the baby needed to just be cleaned, sometimes he needed attention and sometimes Jon suspected his baby simply woke from a dream he wanted comfort from.

If there was parts of being King in the North, Jon knew he had the worst of it. Not having the time he desired to simply spend with you both. Everything you and little Eddard were to him, and as Jon a few knuckles of a hand run up and down your back as you slept, his gaze would toss between watching you sleep, and watching from a little ways away, his son sleep happily.

Jon hadn’t said it, and in truth, he had no idea how to explain that he knew it, but Jon was well aware of what you had seen in the display earlier in the godswood. He had no more information then everyone else but he knew. The rats, the plead of her life in place of a sons in whose mind you found yourself in. It was why he realized. The rat bite, the fox and the antler, your worry all day of something which made you wish to keep the baby elsewhere and then you not wishing to part alone.

One attack was for a son, but this attack was more. But that only meant Jon knew he was going to fight even harder for this. Whatever the rest of the realm thought of the bastard boy being called King in the North with a son now at his side, Jon didn’t care. His son was his son, and it started and ended there. Nothing else played a single part in it, he was his son as he was his father and he’d never hear another side of that story.

But you? Jons head turned back to you, sleeping in peace as the sweat across you begun to dry and leave a cool sheen along your skin as he ran his knuckles still down your back carefully. You were different, just as Maester Wolkan had said. You were the daughter of Stannis Baratheon, the niece of Robert Baratheon. That alone posed you in a very dangerous position in the world and Jon knew too well that there was more danger lurking then some thought. He didn’t know when or where it would appear, but it posed a threat to you all the same.

Jon had ideas on who would try and have you killed, and his list of allies were a lot smaller then he was going to let on publicly. There were easy names he could direct temporary suspicion at, but a lot less that he trusted to actually be safe. There was only one truth, he was to keep you safe with him. At his side, Jon would protect you. The worst part though, is Jon only knew one single person who wouldn’t have done it, and it was the one person Jon wished he had every reason in the world to kill.

The only person who wouldn’t have tried to have you killed, was Euron Greyjoy. He wanted you alive to rule at his side for your power. A power you didn’t even understand, a power that left you scared and confused, a power that would only hurt you the more it was used and Euron would not hesitate to use it for whatever he willed. He knew the rumours and what he already heard, Euron had sent a small army to murder Jon and kidnap you. But he needed you alive. He hated that the one man Jon would have driven his sword through the throat of, was not the guilty party he sought.

But again, Jons eyes looked down to you. Everything you were, and you were everything to him. He saved your life and then fucked you to make you forget because your mind and heart were far more gentle then they used to be. It was another problem, another thing keeping Jon awake for more the just waiting for the time his son would wake and demand time with his father. Jon stayed awake, because still under the fur, you lay bare, with his seed still between your legs.

Knuckles of a brief touch turned to a palm flat and smooth across your back, tempting each run to dip below the fur to run across your ass and look at the bruises of his fingers he knew he left. The way his sanity relied on taking you, that feeling of being so deep inside of you the one thing that brought Jon peace just as it was the one thing he knew he could protect your mind with. Keep you focused on how he made you feel and you wouldn’t spiral about the rest of it just as he wouldn’t obsess over the rest of it.

Jon moved before he realized, before he would stop himself. But it was not a man who was suddenly at the forefront of his mind, no, instead Jons mind was replaced with the wolf dark inside him. As soon as the word came back, Jons eyes bled black.

Mate. Looking down at his mate.

Suddenly did Jon push away the fur, sending it down from where it covered your ass, and his hips. The bruises of his hands on your ass were perfect as they matched your hips, and Jon felt shameless as his cock hardened thick and heavy between his legs looking at you. It was all instinct, truth be told. How he started.

Suddenly starting with your legs, pulling them apart wide enough he could climb over top of you and have them on either side of him. The thought was so unseeingly, that all he had to do, was yank you up by your hips. Your own wetness still sat between your legs as did his seed keep you wet to the point Jon knew he could slide his cock inside you all over again. His hands ran up and down your calves up to your thighs and back, considering it all but he wasn’t a brute.

Slowly, Jon let one hand press against the sheets beside your body, as his other slipped two fingers deep inside. The sound was obnoxious of how soaking wet you were as he did so, gliding them out and in the sound repeated to the point Jons cock ached. Leaning down, Jons eyes watched what he could of your face as it rested against the pillow to the side, but no sigh of discomfort came.

Two fingers thrusting in and out of you, were he to pull them up they would be utterly coated thats how wet you were. But he wasn’t done. Shifting to his knees, Jon used his other hand to lift your hips, only enough that he could slip between and find your clit. Rubbing in tandem to his fingers in and out of you, Jon let out a grating exhale at how quickly you begun clenching around him. Eyes dark and narrowing as he looked down at you, still asleep as he quickly brought you to a gentle orgasm without you ever waking up.

Pulling from you, soaked he rested his palm against your bruised ass with a small grasp of the plush skin as he considered it. You had told Jon that if you fell asleep during a particularly long love making, that he could keep going no matter how much more he wanted. You had not yet discussed Jon starting the act when you were asleep, but the wolf inside him howled.

You were his mate, and his mate was laying in the perfect position to pull your hips up and breed. His cock throbbed as did a growl try to leave at the thought. There was only one solution to the fact that you hadn’t said anything about this. He’d have to wake you up. It was lewd, the way Jon eyed you so wantingly as he pulled your hips up, your slumbering body just moulding to his will as he kept your cunt level to his cock.

He’d need to wake you up, and yet as Jon prodded your entrance, he kept the grip on your hips tight, sliding more down to press against your scar to keep you propped up better, Jon slid inside. Deep he sank with no resistance, and pulling all the way back out to the tip, Jon did not go fast yet, but more roughly he sank back inside of you fully.

The feeling was new, the way you woke up.

As if you knew this sensation of waking with such fullness before but this time your eyes couldn’t open at all you were still so deep from sleep. In and out you were filled, and by the time a gentle voice whispered in question from you, it made the figure behind you growl. “Jon?”

Rougher he thrusted inside of you, barley giving you enough time to try and sit up in anyway. Your hips yanked up and your knees the only thing keeping you in that position as Jons cock was rough thrusting in and out of your soaking cunt. “It’s me, I’ve got you.”

A louder cry left, face twisting in pleasure as your lips gaped open. Trying to push to your elbows and then hands, you barley managed to try and meet his thrust back once before Jon growled even deeper. Suddenly grasping both of your hips, Jon fucked into you as much as he yanked your hips back onto him. The slapping filling the room instantly was loud, each pound of his cock making it almost violent in nature were one to hear passing by. Pound after pound Jon dragged you on and off his cock, and it grew rougher as it did faster.

Begging his name with a sleepy slur, Jon let one hand leave you. Suddenly thrusting shallow and deep as he did roughly, Jon overwhelmed your back. Leaning over your body as your legs suddenly were forced to lay out spread wide for his cock. His head suddenly appearing by your side, curls hiding your vision somewhat as he held your hip to steady himself, but the other gripped at your thigh keeping your leg propped open for his cock to sink inside of you.

Again and again Jon pounded and your eyes still had yet to truly open as you only cried and begged for his name, Jon shushing you in your ear. The gentle tone not at all matching the rough pace of his cock not the words from his mouth. “I’ll always keep you safe. I’ll find who did this to you, and I’ll put a sword through their throat. You belong to me, and I belong to you. I’ll protect you, darling.”

You couldn’t even nod from how pressed against the bed he had you, Jons heavy weight at your back was his cock fucked deep and rough and fast was perfect, all you had was him. His weight and his touch and his lips and words and you came around him before you could even realize it snuck up on you. Sinking his head into your neck and hair, Jon growled as he moved slower, but each thrust made a loud smack as it was rough enough to dry tears you’d ask for more of.

“You’re perfect, you’re cunt’s perfect..” Just rambles in your ear as Jon sunk deeper and deeper. The hand on your hip suddenly shot up. Grasping at one of your hands resting against the pillow, Jon intertwined your fingers as you returned the gesture. Leaving your leg to wrap around your stomach and keep your hips pulled up for his cock to sink into again and again as the sound was wet and mean but your cries were gentle, sweet and to Jon, beautiful.

All you had in you to his touch, was a promise in your heart. “I love you so much...”

Jon only nodded, growling as he tightened his grip with your hand as you did the same, clenching around him again before suddenly his hot seed poured thick. Spilling inside you once again, but Jon didn’t stop. Until he did so twice more, and you came around him another three times, did Jon keep pounding into you. The only words between a wolf and his mate were promises of love, but between Jon and yourself, those words said more then most said in years to one another. This was simply, the language you spoke together.

You knew there was something he wanted to say, but much kept occurring from the moment both of you awoke come morning.

You knew the look, the recognizable look Jon would give you when there was something he would feel the need to check in on you with or for, but your mind had no idea what it could be. Everything he had done last night, none of it was apology worthy and you foolishly thought perhaps if you went about the day with him as normal as possible, his stresses over something small may leave his mind.

Though, that did not mean an apology was not given at all from him. Just the first of which were directed towards his three younger siblings once the dust of the morning settled over discussing what happened and if you were alright. “I’m not a child.”

That was the common thread between the three of them, and each time it came from one then the next you saw the scowling furrow of frustration in Jons forehead grow deeper. His elbow coming to rest propped up on the table as his hand pinched the bridge of his nose trying to keep his sighing exhale as quiet as possible, despite the fact that you and the baby felt an amusement by his state no doubt.

Grey eyes flickering over with a narrow to you both in an instant much more jestingly before Jon raised his head back up properly, all you did was fail to smother your smirk. Turning down to little Eddard wrapped against your chest as you pulled your hand up high from his grabbing attempt to take the food from your hand, which he no doubt could not yet even chew. Jon meanwhile, looked back to his brother and sistsers, one of them with more frustration returned then when looking at you.

“I’m not assigning you all septa’s to watch over you like you’re still children. This is for your own saftey, you know that.” Sansa’s protest was his most easy to dismiss, saying she could handle herself did Jon throw it right back. “Have you ever even held a sword before?” Her narrowing gaze was not angry, but more of a less then mature defeat as Sansa turned back to her food, but the immaturity was then next passed to Arya.

Her voice sounded confident, but you sat in quiet knowing the attempt would be futile. “I can use a sword, I own one. I can look after myself, I don’t need someone following-”

Jon however, had the better argument and most of all, the tone and right to declare what he said as a statement of finality. “I’m not making guards follow you three around all day. Just enough to guard your chambers at night, you’re not safe in there by yourselves if something happens.” You felt the eyes flicker to you, but you ignored them promptly. As did you the eyes of those whom would continue to walk into the dining hall throughout the morning as the sun finally rose its weary head through the darkness.

You had not thought of it whatsoever until she sat down. Your mother only a seat away from you, went to gently ask how you were, only to cut herself off. Uncaring of the display, she reached a hand out to tilt your head to the side and narrowed eyes found your neck as she dropped her hand. Meeting one anothers gaze you read it loud and clear, the judgment and disapproval. The moment her eyes went to slip towards Jon as if saying something in your pair of silence, you shook your head only once with a frowning plead to drop it. You hoped she would drop it all together, but the Mother have mercy you prayed she at least would drop it here in front of all these people.

You already knew how your neck looked, and how the bruises and marks adorning it now were not the same manner which your mother had left you looking once your wounds had been sewn and cleaned out. Those were new, and she was no fool as to whom left them there.

An infant son of your own was strapped to your front, and still your mother managed to pull shame from you for engaging in behaviours with your husband of all people. Yet there was something else in her eyes she was not saying, but dare you venture into that thought now? No, you decided not.

Just as you could hear the faint traces of Jon once more debating with his siblings over whether or not his orders for them were unnecessary did the final Stark way his way in. Swiftly sitting across from you, both grabbing at food for himself while also leaning forward enough to speak not over his nieces and nephews, but around them to you without interrupting as a whole. “How are you feeling?”

A small shrug of one shoulder accompanied your answer. “As well as can be considered. I think I feel more confused by the event then upset about it.” Benjen affirming with a warm comfort that they would find out who ordered it, you found but a hint of a smile in the lightness of your eyes. “I thought men of the Nights Watch weren’t involved in the politics of the kingdoms?”

Benjen at times, was as quick and dry as Jon could be saying something. “Being in the Nights Watch has never stopped a Stark from protecting his family if they can help it, has it?” Your head almost shaking a little in a dismay of how you had not much of an argument against that. All you’d have to do is look to your left and the evidence was right there. Instead you returned to eating, once more navigating around very small attempts to take it from you.

Your attention only drawn back to Jon as his large hand suddenly entered your vision, toying with the baby’s hands before running smoothly over the top of his head. Leaning close enough he could hear his fathers whisper but you could as well did Jon rasp just beside you, “Behave for your mother.” Nothing but a soft smile was directed towards him, and even softer eyes gazing towards you when your visions from the side sought one another.

It was not a topic of discussion at the table itself, but it certainly was an oddity how none of the Starks here had seen that form of fatherly nature since they could all sit here as a family whole when everyone else, including Ned Stark was alive. And yet the first they saw it on someone like a mirror since his passing, was on of all people, Jon. He was a natural father, and sometimes even as you sat there did you wonder if Jon really grasped that.

By the time you all had stood, it was your mother who grabbed you to stop you. Turning back to face her, you dreaded the discussion only for her to switch tactics of what you expected. Pulling what appeared to be a raven scroll from somewhere on her person, she spoke in a more tender but serious tone. “I meant to give this to you the night before, but you will want to know about this before they arrive any day I imagine.”

“Before who arrives?” Grasping it from her, your mother only indicated for you to read it yourself. The warm sensation of a hand coming up to grasp gentle at your hip, and the other flat along your upper arm as Jon leaned over your shoulder both of you missed the significant glance your mother was giving Jon.

From your neck to him and back, her eyes narrowed in a stern judgment that while Selyse would not openly speak on, she certainly felt a well of agitated disapproval for such indecent displays. Her gaze finding it’s way back to you, your hands tensed around the edges of the paper. Lips fallen flat and tight as did your eyes once you reopened them after a deep exhale. A raise of her eyebrow, your mother only said, “If you wished to hide just another incident involving your life, I am afraid the whispers around the castle aren’t going to cease in time.”

You looked it over before closing your eyes with another sigh. Opening again as you noticed Jons hand on your arm shift to take it from you to read closer for himself a you silently let him. Looking to your mother with a plead you knew she could not control against. “He had over a fortnight to come do this, and he only decides now when all of this has just occurred?”

Jon muttered from behind you, his hand still on your hip running slow and lightly up and down in a soothing manner. “I was going to let him know already.” Trying to turn around slightly to look up at him, Jon’s expression did not change to anything which made you feel better, despite knowing why he said it. “Your father was on Dragonstone the last time something happened to you. This time he’s only a few days ride from here, he should know about this.”

That time you turned fully from his touch, looking between both him and your mother with mouth partially agape before the small sound of a babble from your son had you sigh. Running a hand over your forehead before letting them fall flat at your sides. “You both are aware not every facet of my life needs to be relayed to him, don’t you?”

First attempting was Jon, a tender rasp trying to appeal to your softer side but it was not helped by the lightness in his face that he was actually rather amused by how sullen your mood had turned at such a small event being made known. “He cares about you, he’d want to know if your life was in danger-”

Cutting him off, Jon ran a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his grin, but both he and you knew too well it was given away blatantly in the brightness of his eyes that he was enjoying your reaction more then he was sympathetic to it. “He is not arriving for that, he does not need to know about that to what he is coming for.”

Your mother was much more to the point, with a sigh in her tone which very much matched your own exasperation but without the emotion behind it of overreaction. “He may be able to offer his help.”

“Do you know when he is set to arrive?” Shaking her head no, you offered a smile rather false and mother and daughter both knew how childish it was purposely coming off as. “I do love surprises.”

Offering your mother a glance which asked her to allow Jon to handle it, she made her leave as Jon came to your back once more, now both hands on your hips pulling your back into his chest. One wrapping around your stomach, your hands rose. Pushing the material of his sleeve up just enough to grasp onto his forearm with a better hold. “The castle knew last night, which means most of Winter Town already heard it too. It was only a matter of time before it reached the Wall.” You said nothing to it, only closing your eyes to allow yourself to lean back into his warm embrace for a moment longer. “People care about you, you know?”

Neither of you really believed the passive nod you gave, more that you were simply enjoying his touch in the rare moment of quiet you both had alone. Instead of slipping from his embrace as you stood up straighter, your eyes glanced around as only guards and passing servants were left near when you turned to face him. Hands reaching to sit along the belt strapping things to his sides, Jon again gently encompassed your hips as you found the bravery to bring it up first for him.

“There’s something else.” Brows furrowing down at you, you let one hand reach up. Running across his facial hair as you cupped his cheek. “Something that’s bothering you that you aren’t saying. If it’s about last night-” Confirming with a low, no doubt difficult to determine tone your head tilted. Running your thumb along his cheek further. “Jon. It’s over. Yourself and Ghost handled it, you protected me there’s nothing left to-”

“This isn’t about that.” Your face turned confused, letting your hand drop more to his shoulder as he continued. “It’s about what happened later.” Asking slowly if you had done something Jon cut you off. “No, you didn’t do anything. It’s what I did. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

Face twisting further, you suddenly were not following at all. With a bit of a fluster in your veins as you thought it over, seeing everything in your mind as it occurred between you both but nothing came up he’d have to feel odd over you thought. “I’m not sure I follow, Jon.”

Cupping both your cheeks, Jon at the minimum could rely on that the guards and servants would not direct attention to Jons delicate display with you. They could gossip on their own time as long as they gave him the privacy and distance now. You on the other hand, only let the hand on his shoulder hold at his wrist as he murmured so close you felt his breath. “I should never have touched you when you were asleep like that. I had no way of knowing that would be something you wanted, and I did it anyways.”

Lips parting, something both faint yet warm came over you. Glancing flustered to the side, you simply muttered to discuss this perhaps a bit more private, but with the hope it was not in a manner Jon could take as worrisome. Pulling you better in a corridor, Jon gently let you rest against a wall. A pillar hiding you from view, though from how close and intimate Jon stood it would be clear whom he was with. But it would hide your voices.

Looking down to your son, now with his eyes falling asleep more between the warmth of you both so close did Jon hold at one hip, and run his fingers through your hair with the other as his brows furrowed once more in a frustration. Picking up right from where he left off. “I should’ve woken you up properly, ask you first, make sure you were alright. Or..just let you sleep at all. I shouldn’t have assumed because I still wanted you, that I should be able to still have you.”

You knew what he meant, he did not wish for you to be used as an object for his pleasure but regardless of how much you tried to assure you were fine with such an arrangement, you knew much more heartfelt tactics worked with Jon in matters regarding yourself. “I don’t want or need an apology from you, Jon. I liked it. All of it.” The warmth was not from his body temperature alone no doubt, but you shoved it aside. “Besides, I already told you I more then want you to be able to do things like that.”

Cupping the side of your face with wide eyes but painted sad with a frown, Jon so effortlessly captured the part of your heart which was so soft for him as he spoke low. “The only thing you said, was that if we’re together and I’m not done by the time you fall asleep on me, that I can go as long as I need. Nothing about that gives me the right to take you in the middle of the night when you’re already asleep and I never asked.”

What he did not expect, was your hand to drift up to the back of his neck. Pulling him closer to press your lips to his, Jon slipped a hand to the back of your neck, only you pulled from the chaste kiss just as he attempted to deepen it. “Let me make myself perfectly clear then. You do not need permission to take me like that. If I am asleep or not, if I said yes beforehand or nothing, you are free to use me as you see fit.” Pulling back to seek your eyes, a flashing of a darker anger came over him saying that he was not going to use you but your smile had him stop in his tracks. “I’m your wife now, Jon. You can have me whenever you like, and I will always want you too. Awake, asleep, whenever. I’m yours. I want you to have me when you want me.”

Leaning closer, Jon nudged his nose against yours. “And if you decide you don’t want me too?”

Your hand drifted up to his cheek once more, nudging back. “I more then trust you at this point, to know when I may not want to. You know me better then I do.” Muttering with a breath of laughter that he certainly did, Jon pulled you into a much more innocent but lingering kiss.

Mumbling against them as he pulled away, Jon rested his forehead against yours as he changed the subject swiftly. “I’ll find out who did this to you, I promise.” You said nothing, but Jon kissed you once more anyways as if you had. Pulling you close as he could with the baby between you, the urgency of what he truly felt poured into your mouth as you accepted it and soothed with your gentle kiss back just as he and you both needed.

Jon let it linger for a few minutes longer then was appropriate for mid morning. He had a lot of work to do the second he would leave your kiss, and the anger which would replace this feeling here and now would leave him little room to give any affection as you needed today. He could only hope you understood his harshness about to erupt, was to be for your sake.

Afterall, one by one, Jon had a list of people whom could have done this and he was going to protect you from them no matter the cost.

Thousands of miles away however, a storm of a different making was brewing in one direction or the other. Cersei Lannister stood in her chambers with a rage, it all was falling to pieces and not one part of her could conflate to why. It all was thrown back in her face when her plans should have worked and yet not even those within her circle seemed to grasp why her anger was rising.

Both the people and her own son all found side to Margaery Tyrell instead of her. But it should’ve worked, her accusations should have stuck and yet the people, her son, and her own lords alike all vouged for her rather then Cersei. Lord Randyll Tarly had rode to Kings Landing to come to her defence against the Faith and the betrayal was felt hot on her heels. The Tyrells had gone from an ally her family could use to her advantage to nothing better then backstabbers trying to place Cersei in a position so far from Tommen that they had their rose covered claws dug into him alone.

Her own trial approached, only Kingsguard they had told her could act as her champion. Yet weeks had passed and not a word from Jaime. Her letter was a plea to her twin to come home and fight for her but she heard nothing and neither had anyone else. He was as if a ghost took over his person and refused to look back to the life Cersei knew belonged with her.

No word of her retched murderer of a brother reached her ears, but perhaps that was for the better. For everything she had done to find him guilty of murdering her son, he had escaped and murdered their own father. Shooting him with arrows while he was on the privvy with not a single bit of dignity given to the man and Cersei was left here to pick up the pieces but none of it worked for her as it did him. As for Tyrions wife, well that was a new revelation that made her angry.

Ned Stark’s only remaining child, his bastard of all things, had taken Winterfell from the Boltons, and thus returned Northern independence back into Stark hands. The bastard, Snow, had taken up as King in the North and one by one did it seem his siblings revealed themselves. First Arya, the little animal had lived all these years and appeared in Winterfell one day. The second youngest Bran, the one she watched Jaime shove out of a window for coming upon their passion together, he had lived through the many rumours of what became of him. But finally, Sansa.

The murderous little bitch had hidden away with Petyr Baelish, and he had taken her home to Winterfell to her family where she was now so far from her reach she could not be touched. None would get passed the Northern army to get to her, it was near useless now.

Yet there was one more problem and it did not lay with any of Ned Stark’s children. It lay with you.

How you survived what she knew was a butchering massacre at the Twins she could not conceive. All words spoke that you had died and returned to life, that the bastard Snow had died and you brought him back to life. That you were reborn with magic, visions, dreams, sights of the future and spent your days crying of dreams which came true and it ate at Cersei’s blood.

She thought it was Margaery. Younger and more beautiful, which will take her place, but it wasn’t. It was you. Of course it was you. For years when you were a girl, Cersei tried to groom you to her will. She did genuinely like you for some time, smart and quick and not without a hint of attitude towards the men in your life. But slowly did you stand against her until you were called Queen in the North at Robb Stark’s side. You died and returned as you and your bastard King ruled as beings of worship amongst the Northerners.

She heard the rumours of what your people thought of you and him, and it was unlike any ever had thought of Cersei. You were her. The one whom would take her place and she hated that you were so far away. She needed you gone. She needed you dead before it was too late. Cersei stood watching what little of an army Tommen had prepared for a siege once more, and yet it was the obsessive thoughts of killing you that filled her head with sights of red.

The rain was so prevalent it nearly blended into the water splashing against the sides of the ship and over the deck onto each one of them.

The night was dark as they sailed and in an hours time, would the city come upon their vision through the murky darkness. It had been leading up to this for years, for decades and it felt nearly dreamlike that it was about that time.

For years they prepared him for this, and for years he watched with a pride in the past few that he helped do this the best he could. It would not fail, because it could not. They had no one on their side which could stand a chance. They did not even have their own men as they thought. It was clever, he could give House Tyrell that. Their tricks and schemes. He was not entirely sure he trusted them beyond their support here and now, but then again, it seemed neither did Aegon.

He only had trust for one house and Jon Connington knew he was failing at advising him otherwise. He would not listen about how you were nothing but a liar and manipulator using your husband to trick them, and Aegon everytime would close the discussion over it. Varys did not seem to trust you but that was beacuse of the utterly ridiculous claims of the realm.

Everywhere they went they spoke of you as a witch. With the power of raising the dead at your fingertips and the ability to see the future. Visions and dreams which had driven you to a crying madness only that of a woman could hold. How you even ruled at your King in the Norths side with such debilitating madness making you a scared and crying mess of haunting visions was more magic that people called it. That something of your King and husband made you able to rule with him because you shared this magic together.

The smallfolk spoke of you a witch and your husband some kind of god, but Connington knew better. He knew the Baratheons and you were never not going to be one of them. You were a liar, and spreading lies possibly to your husband even to trick everyone into thinking you were this powerful creature not to be stood against together. But you weren’t. You were a liar, and a cunt.

But Aegon failed to see that. So wrapped up in his own plans, he failed to acknowledge you as a true threat and denied doing anything about it. But he would. He had to do something. He needed you dead before you were the cause of Aegons death.

Feet walking across the soaking deck, Connington knew the city he last left in shame would appear and he could not focus on you right now no matter how much he wanted too. He needed to stay focused, because everything was being put into making this plan without risk of failure. Aegon had managed to secure many sides by pushing it was him against the Lannisters and the realm made that choice easy. Aegon or Cersei and most were choosing Aegon.

The Lannisters were true usurpers. They held the Iron Throne through no right of conquest as did Robert Baratheon. They stole it unlawfully and sat upon it only spreading war. And it was time for the Thrones rightful heir to reclaim it, and he would.

The power of the Reach alone was one thing, but with his alliance made with his cousin Arianne Martell, did Aegon sail forward with Dorne at his back, and it showed in more way then one.

Turning back to look upon him, Connington did not see the boy he helped raise most of his life. He saw the blue washed out, and long silver flew behind him in the wind, the rain and water curling it ever so slightly in dampness. His armour was still painted black, the red three headed dragon atop his chest plate as it was that of Rhaegar Targaryean he had the claim for.

But it was not that alone. The details in colours elsewhere, the oranges and yellow, the suns in his accessories. And too, it was his crown. Simple, but with the Targaryean armour, Aegon had a crown made for him which was personal. Aegon made his crown not for him, but for her.

Aegons crown was for Elia Martell, not Rhaegar Targaryean. Wrapping around his head in a thin line was the design of a spear, and crossing over back and front into more then one layer of lines, was the tip of that spear piercing a sun.

All his life, Connington had prepared Aegon for this in Rhaegar’s name, but it seemed, it was the name of his mother, the memory and desire for true justice for Elia Martell and his dear sister Rhaenys that Aegon sailed towards Kings Landing for war. And Connington would do all in his power to help Aegon sit upon the Iron Throne.

But it existed in the back of his mind no matter what he did to make it go away. The wonder about his own plans for you. The Baratheon bitch posing a witch to scare and fool the smallfolk and superstitious Northerners. You were a problem only killing was going to solve.

It was not in those waters though, but across them far away and over many foreign lands which your name came upon one more mind.

She did not understand Ser Barristan Selmy’s hesitation towards your name when it came up in that meeting, nor did she feel the need to pry into his mind to learn why. She had only cared about one thing. This Aegon the sixth was a lie, there was no surviving Targaryean left but her and she would show him that without any hesitation. She would show the people their rightful Queen and they would hand over the lying usurper without fuss. But you were a problem. You always had been.

You were powerful, you were influential, you were well liked, had many allies, and worse, you held an ability of magic which was never heard of before. Ser Jorah tried claiming it was the superstition of Northerners as winter closed in on them needing something to occupy their minds, but she was not so sure and neither it seemed, was Ser Barristan. Lord Tyrion as well was a difficult case to read. She was not sure what his true feelings on the matter were when she decided it, but as did the rest of the men under her rule, they complied to her every order.

As she stood that night at the side of her largest, most powerful dragon, she knew there were few options. Westeros was closing in on her reach finally, and once she dealt with the false usurper, she knew her eyes would turn to you. Or perhaps she had thought, she needed to deal with you now. Before you posed a true threat as you once did to her. Looking up to Drogon, she only had one thought.

Daenerys Targaryean needed you dead. She needed a plan to kill you before she ever steps foot in Westeros.

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

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