#//Never found the time nor the person for it
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Power - König x reader
summary: you’re a combat medic tending to könig’s wounds. könig can see the strength beneath the timid surface of your personality and decides to take the lead in helping you embrace it.
pairing: könig x medic!reader
cw: smut (MDNI!!), dominant könig, soft könig, afab anatomy (reader), fingering
word count: 2,378
as an afab person, i’ll probably be writing most smut (unless drabbles) with afab anatomy.
i don’t have the experience, nor knowledge to write mlm fics with amab anatomy and don’t want to contribute to harmful stereotypes due to my lack of knowledge- so any smut will be non specified on anatomy or female.
ALSO !! never written smut before this is SO out of my comfort zone lord help me
Gentle strokes and tender fingertips graze along the scarred flesh of König’s arm, steady in their movement, precise and confident.
It’s unusual that the giant before you was in your office to begin with, rarely allowing the medics to tend to his wounds. It was something that König usually cared for himself, preferring to rely on his own skill rather than the help of those around him.
It was just his luck that the wound requiring stitches was so awkwardly placed - the back of his bicep - too out of reach for his own hands to tend to.
You stood at his side, finishing the last remaining stitches while he sat silently in his chair, barely flinching each time the needle pierced through his flesh.
König's breath catches in his throat at your tender ministrations, the gentle caress of your fingers sending a shiver down his spine. He found himself captivated, his piercing gaze fixed on your face as you tended to his wound with such care.
"You have a... gentle touch," he murmured, the tender words sounding unfamiliar on his lips. Clearing his throat, he shifted slightly in the chair, his eyes darting away as if suddenly self-conscious. "Not what I expected from a field medic." Comes his now gruff voice.
You chuckle quietly, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.
“My hands were never made to bore blood. I’m much better with a stethoscope than I am a gun, though I admire the skill you possess on the field.” You explain softly, voice hushed as you focus on the task at hand.
“It’s something that I’ll never become quite as good at compared to my medical skills” you continue, voice still low in concentration as you finally tie the finishing knot to his stitching, turning to grab some medical gauze to begin wrapping it up.
König's brow furrows slightly under his sniper hood as he listened to your words, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his features.
"Ja, well..." he rumbled, his gaze falling to your hands as you began wrapping the gauze around his arm. "Different skills are needed for different tasks."
His eyes lingered on you for a moment, something almost akin to admiration in his expression. "But yours are just as valuable, medic." The gruff edges of his voice seemed to soften ever so slightly.
You pause momentarily, looking up at him before offering him a kind smile.
“Thank you” you thank appreciatively. “A lot of the time we get overshadowed. We may not have as intense a job as the soldiers, but we’re just as important. We tend to get forgotten in this line of work” you tell him truthfully. “It’s nice to hear that from time to time” you grin, stepping back to let König rise from his seat.
“You’re free to go now- I’m all done” you inform him, handing him a small capsule of medication.
“Take these if you start to feel any pain from your wound” are your final instructions before he silently leaves, nothing but a curt nod of appreciation sent your way.
The next time you see König is on your way to the KorTac mess hall a few days later.
You catch sight of the man as you see him walking in the other direction.
“Colonel König!” You call out to grab his attention, jogging to catch up with him. “How’s the arm?” you ask kindly, peering over at the bandaged area.
König paused mid-stride, his broad shoulders tensing ever so slightly at the sound of your voice. For a moment, he considered simply continuing on, but something in your tone gave him pause.
Turning to face you, he regarded you with a guarded expression, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over your form.
"It's healing," he rumbled, his voice low and gruff. Glancing down at the bandaged limb, his brow furrowed ever so slightly. "The stitches are holding." There was a hint of begrudging...appreciation in his tone.
You nod, a smile on your face at the news.
“I’m glad. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to check over it sometime to replace the bandaging and ensure that it’s healing well” you inform him, asking for permission to do so.
König felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest at the warmth in your tone, your concern for his wellbeing catching him off guard. He cleared his throat, gaze shifting away momentarily.
"Ja, that would be...acceptable," he mumbled, the words sounding almost reluctant.
The hesitance in his voice makes you feel slightly uncertain in yourself, as if you’re overstepping a boundary that you shouldn’t be with the colonel.
You nod, giving him a tight smile.
“I’ll stop by sometime this evening when you’re not busy” you tell him, sending him a small nod.
König's eyes narrowed slightly at your reaction, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face.
"As you wish, medic," he rumbled, his tone layered with a subtlety that belied his true nature.
Turning on his heel, he strode away, his steps purposeful and his bearing commanding, but as he walked there was a slight tension in his shoulders - one that had not been there before.
That evening, as promised, you made your way to König's quarters. The door swung open at your approach, revealing the imposing figure of the Austrian colonel. He stood there silently, his piercing gaze sweeping over you, sizing you up.
You’re startled slightly when König opens the door, neck craning as you lift your head to meet his gaze, his imposing figure towering over your much shorter one.
"Come in," he said gruffly, stepping aside to allow you entrance.
You step inside timidly while König closes the door behind him.
Unlike the other soldiers who were assigned to shared bunks, König was given a private room, his sleeping quarters merged with his office. A private luxury given to those of high status within KorTac.
König's leering gaze swept over you as you stepped into his private quarters, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was an intensity to his stare that was almost unnerving, as if he were silently assessing you.
"Sit," he commanded, gesturing towards a sturdy chair positioned near his desk. His tone left no room for argument.
Moving to comply, you couldn't help but notice the subtle interplay of muscle beneath the tight confines of his uniform. There was an undeniable power and grace to his movements that was both intimidating and oddly captivating.
"Well, Medic," he rumbled, his voice low and tinged with an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite place. "Let's see if your handiwork has held up."
As you settled into the chair, König moved to stand before you, his towering frame casting a shadow over your form. Wordlessly, he began to unwrap the bandage on his arm, exposing the angry red sutures that you had so carefully tended to the previous day.
König's eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized the wound, his weathered fingers gently probing the area. A low hum rumbled in his throat as he examined your handiwork.
"Hmm, not bad," he acknowledged almost begrudgingly, his gaze flickering to meet yours. There was a faint gleam of what might have been approval in his steel-blue eyes.
He swiftly sits down across from you. Leaning back in his chair, he regarded you in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
He watches as you retrieve your small medical pack, gathering the materials you needed to redress the wound and sanitise it thoroughly.
"Tell me, Medic," he murmured, his voice low and rough-edged. "What else other than medicine have you learned in your time with Kortac?"
You stand, walking over to him to inspect the wound yourself, once again finding yourself in the same position a few days before in your medical room.
“I’ve seen you in training. I’ve learnt not to get on your bad side” you muse light heartedly, earning a quirked brow of amusement from König - not that you would have been able to see underneath the fabric of his mask.
“Ah, so you’ve learned that much at least” he rumbles, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. He continues to study you as you clean and dress his wound, silent gaze penetrating and unwavering. “And what else have you learned?” he presses, his tone low and almost…. Curious. “About yourself perhaps?”
His fingers drum against the arm oh his chair, the motion betraying a hint of restlessness. “Working with KorTac is no easy feat. It takes a… Certain kind of person to thrive here”
You nod in agreement, fingers gently brushing over his skin as you finish cleaning the wound, reaching for the fresh gauze to wrap it again.
“It is.” You quietly agree, eyes never leaving your hands as you continue your ministrations. “I realise now that my role as a medic is much better suited to me than that of a soldier. I found it challenging to be the one causing the destruction rather than healing it.” You confess honestly.
König’s eyes narrow as he listens to your confession, an unreadable glint flashing in his eyes.
“Is that so?” He murmurs, voice low and contemplative. Leaning forward in his chair, he studies you intently, now finished with his redressing and packing away your materials at his desk. “What is it you find so… Challenging about destruction?”
His finger trace the edge of his bandaging that you had so carefully wrapped around his arm, the touch almost deliberately sensual.
“Perhaps you haven’t found the right motivation.”
You pause, eyes watching carefully as his large finger traces the white gauze.
“I’m not sure I could ever find the motivation to encourage causing harm” you confess slowly, gaze never leaving his subtle movements as he fidgets with the dressing of his wound.
“Is that so?” He responds, a hint of challenge in his tone. Slowly, he rose from his chair, towering over you as he moved to loom over your smaller frame. “Perhaps I could show you” he breathes, face mere inches from yours.
Your eyes widen ever so slightly, stepping back as König raises to his full height.
The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming.
“What it truly means to be strong… To be powerful.” His large hand reaches out to trace the outline of your jaw, mimicking what he had just done with his freshly dressed wound.
“Show me how to be strong?” You repeat unsurely, wide eyes looking up at him with uncertainty.
König’s lips curl in to a predatory smile, his finger grazing your cheek once more.
“Ja, mein kleine” he purrs, voice low and soothing. “Let me show you the true meaning of strength.” His fingers move from your jaw, thick finger grasping at your chin, tightening ever so slightly.
“Power is not something to be feared liebling,” he hums, eyes scanning over your face to gauge your reaction. “It is something to be embraced… To be wielded”. Leaning in closer, he fixes you with an unwavering stare, gluing you in place where you stand. “I can teach you how to do that” His gaze drops down to your lips momentarily before flickering back up to meet your eyes. “If you’ll let me.”
That’s how you found yourself in your current situation, sat atop König’s waist - straddling him. Your legs rest on either side of his large body, his hungry eyes sweeping over your thighs that tremble, clenching down against his hips, his fingers buried deep inside you.
He curls them with deadly precision, making you cry out as you continue to ride his fingers.
“That’s it, mein süße" he purrs, low and rough. “Take what you need”
His thumb circles your sensitive nub, slow, agonising strokes, his piercing gaze locked on your face - watching intently for your every reaction.
“Show me how you pleasure yourself” he commands, voice thick with dark promise.
You whimper and mewl, hands planted flat against his chest for support, an embarrassed flush creeping up your neck and darkening your already red face.
You gasp and shudder increasing your tempo as you slowly gain confidence, slowly find a rhythm.
His thumb presses harder against your clit, rough, callous padded fingers sending delicious jolts of pleasure through your body.
“Don’t hold back” he commands. “I want to hear every shameless cry.”
You lower your head, eyes clenching shut as you continue to fuck yourself on his fingers, strangled cries breaching your lips as you allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure.
König’s eyes gleam with delight, his hand gripping at your hip tightly to guide your movements.
“Louder.”
You let out a sob, gummy walls clenching around his thick fingers as you near your climax. König’s expression darkens with savage delight as he watches you unravel above him, your desperate cries music to his ears.
His hand on your hip surges upwards, gripping your chin and raising your head to look at him, pupils blown wide and eyes half lidded.
“Look at me, mein süße"
“I want to see the ecstasy on your face as you come undone.”
Like an obedient dog at his command, you lose yourself in the pleasure of his touch and the warmth of his gaze. Your hips buck forward with each desperate thrust, tears of pleasure building behind your eyes and lips parted.
You look so beautiful unravelling above him.
Legs quivering and walls gripping König’s fingers buried deep inside your cunt, your orgasm washes over you. You moan loudly, arms trembling under your weight as you struggle to keep yourself upright, König’s fingers continuing to coax you through your release.
“That’s it, maus.”
“Let it all go.”
You’re panting heavily, body shaking as you open your eyes to meet König again.
There’s an unmissable glint of approval in the colonel’s eyes, drinking in the sight of your dishevelled form atop his lap.
He could get used to this.
Slowly, you lower yourself, laying yourself down- your chest pressed up against his.
He withdraws his fingers carefully, cautious to not overstimulate you further and bringing them up to his lips. A rumbling purr of satisfaction escapes his lips as he tastes you, savouring the flavour.
“You taste divine” he purrs, gaze still hungry and predatory.
“I think I shall have another helping…”
#konig x reader#konig cod#konig mw2#konig smut#codmw#call of duty#kortac#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#fanfic#konig fanfiction#könig fic#konig headcanons#konig hcs#konig call of duty#smut#cod smut#simon ghost riley#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#horangi#ghost cod#ghost#captain price#kyle garrick#john mactavish#soap cod#Spotify
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15. "I'll keep kissing you." "Until you're sick of it?" "Until I can't think of anything else but you." For Gojo? Like s/o was feeling insecure if he really wants to date her but this is how he reassures her that he loves her dearly?
Quite The Romantics {Gojo Satoru}
A/n: thank you for requesting, I hope you like the outcome
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem! reader
Trigger warnings: mentions of self-doubt, insecurities and overall angst, implied sexual activity
Being in a relationship with the strongest sorcerer alive was easy. The late night calls that signalled missions, him worrying about his students, the higher ups... everything was manageable. It helped that you were also a sorcerer so you knew what the dangers were and Gojo didn't have to keep things a secret in order to protect you.
Being in a relationship with the most handsome man you've ever seen was not easy. It had been a mutual agreement to keep things lowkey and so far it had been fine. The students knew about you two and they were fully supportive and excited when they saw the two of you together inside the school grounds but things were not so simple outside of campus.
Gojo and you didn't share a home, yet at least since he had been pestering you for a month to move in with him; having a huge and luxurious apartment always had its perks. So when it came to dates there were only two options: either Gojo would pick you up or you would meet him at the date spot.
With your line of work, the latter was what usually worked best.
Tonight's date had been marvellous. From the food to the music to the view, you had to hand it to him; Gojo Satoru had taste. And even after the date, when the two of you returned to his place... everything was perfect. Perfect apart from one thing.
"Where's your little mind travelling?" Gojo returned from the bathroom, grey sweatpants on and a white towel on his head. The usual scent of sex had now been replaced by the smell of his body lotion and shampoo: roses.
You were a little hesitant to reply and in your mind it was only natural. Who wouldn't be nervous when the love of their life was asking them what is going?
"Oh no!" He plopped next to you on the bed, a small smirk on his face. "Can I guess?" He nuzzled his face in the crook of your head, his arm already wrapped around your waist.
"Go on." You sighed and turned on your side, facing him. Something about the way he hugged you felt comforting and you knew he knew it. It was a small trick Gojo always had up his sleeve that not even he knew how he had found out.
"Is it about the girl that came up to me while I was waiting for you at the restaurant? Don't be shy with me honey." He giggled. That bastard knew what he was doing and your silence wasn't helping your case. "I knew it." He pulled away from you with a smile.
You didn't want to admit it. Mostly because you were confident in yourself and in your relationship with him. But there were times when you could see other people flirting with him and something in you broke. You weren't nearly as confident as him, nor that much of an outgoing person and your ego was in normal levels. So what was stopping him from breaking up with you to find someone else?
Being in a relationship with Gojo Satoru only had perks. Gojo knew you better than anyone. He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you moan, how to make you stop crying. He also knew how to touch and kiss you.
"What are you doing?" You tried pushing him away but he was strong and he wasn't letting go of you. Pushing him away, especially when laughing at the same time, was never easy and you knew it, but you still did it anyway. Not because you wanted him away from you but because you wanted to piss him off.
"I'm kissing you." He laughed, placing another small peck on your collarbone before travelling up to your neck and then your cheeks and then your mouth.
"Haven't you kissed me enough already?"
"I'll keep doing it, I don't care."
"Until you're sick of it?"
"Until I know you know I can't think of anything else but you."
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#satoru gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo jjk#writing#anime and manga#anime#manga#jjk gojo#jjk satoru#gojo saturo#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen masterlist#jjk#gojo satoru
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If It All Fell (8)
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.
Word count: 3.6k
Warnings: Angst, pining, injury
a/n: I appreciate thoughts and reactions more than you know!!! <333 Italics indicate flashbacks.
Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)
~~
The next two weeks were interesting.
In the first few days after the accident—the ones filled with confusion and incorrect suspicions—you had spent most of your time alone or sleeping. Mor visited your bedroom every morning to share limited information about your past, but there was no routine beyond that. Everyone tiptoed around you, too afraid to set off the timebomb they assumed was your mind.
But Helion had disputed that assumption.
You were allowed to know who you were, to become the person you had been.
So, a routine began to form.
Breakfast early in the morning, usually with a random assortment of the inner circle. Mor was always present, keeping up with her responsibility of telling you about yourself. Cassian joined more often than not—an early riser, he deemed himself. Azriel made it when he could. He was always busy in the morning. Doing… something, everyone told you.
Rhysand would join you after the meal, whisking you away for an hour or two to work on the powers you still could not call upon. He would have a different objective in mind every day and it was your job to parse out what it was.
You failed.
Obviously.
He started bringing in random Velaris citizens instead, but you still felt nothing. It was nice to see the smiling strangers; they were all kind to you, all apparently knowing who you were. The vagueness surrounding them leveled the playing field more. They didn’t know your whole life story and you weren’t supposed to know theirs.
“You’ve explained it to me before,” Rhysand had said. “It’s a vibration, sometimes a light or a color. You see it around them, feel it. You understand a deep part within them that they don’t even know they’re revealing.”
Well, there was never any light or vibration or color. You could never tell that the fae were lying or that Rhysand was planning something big for his anniversary with his mate. None of this otherworldly intuition that the Night Court seemed to value so highly. It was all just stagnant.
After spending some time failing with Rhys, you got to explore Velaris. You had insisted that you didn’t need a chaperone, and your family believed you—for a time. You had three whole days of walking around the city alone before that privilege was revoked.
Granted, it was your fault that it was revoked, but that was neither here nor there.
It hadn’t been your plan to get lost, just as it hadn’t been your plan to get caught up in a street brawl over a cart of potatoes. But when you weren’t at the designated meeting spot for Cassian to bring you back up the house, and when he found you with a bleeding nose an hour later, what you meant to do didn’t matter.
“Y/n?” you heard a voice shout, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath you. “Shit—y/n, look at me, you okay?”
Warm hands enveloped your shaking ones, drawing them back and catching sight of the red staining your fingerprints. It was Cassian, you realized, with his broad wings cloaking you in their shadow. The General’s expression hardened when he took in your face.
“What happened?” he asked, voice low, comfort combatting fury. “Where have you been? We have about 10 people looking for you, sweetheart.”
You grimaced—both at the pain in your nose and the notion of your family scouring the streets of Velaris. “I’m so, so sorry, Cassian. I got turned around and then I was in this alley and there was a boy—”
“Hey!” Defeat washed through you at the sound of another voice in the alley, all hopes for a peaceful return home washed away. “Is your girlfriend over there gonna pay for the product I lost?”
The Illyrian before you paused, body going still at the accusatory tone. Cassian’s jaw clenched and he turned, keeping you well behind him. You still caught a glimpse of the scene from between his legs, and the merchant—to his credit—had the mind to stop his taunting.
And to look afraid.
Really, truly afraid.
“You did this to her?” Cassian growled, fists clenching at his sides.
The merchant swallowed. “You’re—and she’s…”
“Did you. Do this. To her?” Cassian asked again, words broken up by malice.
A beat of pressing silence, only whispers of the street meeting your ears. The merchant took several, shaky steps back, but the movement damned him. His hands swayed with his backtracking feet, and red glistened on his knuckles.
Cassian’s wings flared at the sight. It only took a small uptick of his brow for the smaller man to fall to the floor in a plea.
“Please, please don’t kill me! I didn’t know who she was. Don’t turn me over to the Shadowsinger, I won’t make it! I have a family to care for—a wife! I was only trying to protect my crops and she butted in. I didn’t want to hurt her!”
The General hooked his chin over his shoulder and sent you a questioning gaze, one you were sheepish to answer. With a harrowing breath, you revealed, “There was a little boy stealing potatoes. He was going to hit him. I stepped in the way.”
A tug at your chest had you gasping as Cassian turned back around. The feeling had been persistent the moment you got lost, increasing after you’d been implicated in the merchant’s conflict. It pulled and pulled, a desperate winding around your ribs that you didn’t know how to relieve.
It had to have been fear. Or stress.
Cassian eyed the man crumpled to the floor. “Is the boy okay?” he asked, the question meant for you but directed across the alley.
“Yes,” you confirmed, pressing your hand to the blood running down your chin. “He ran away.”
Cassian grunted, sent a harsh warning to the man, and then crouched back down to your place on the ground, shaking his head in frustration. “Let’s get you home.” And then he grumbled, “I might get my ass kicked but…”
Cassian had not gotten his ass kicked when you got home, but many other things happened. Mor just about cried in relief, her arms thrown around your neck followed by a string of commands to never do such a thing again. Rhys rubbed at his jaw as tension lifted from the House. He also had a command—that you wouldn’t be traveling alone anymore.
And Azriel… Azriel looked like he would vomit, his shadows flitting angrily around him before bridging a path to you. He had cleaned the blood from your face, eyes haunted by misplaced grief, and pure guilt replaced all else in your myriad of emotions.
You agreed an escort would be better.
Azriel volunteered. Every day.
And so you got to know Azriel.
Mor had described him as reserved, not one to offer the intimacy of touch or personal information so readily. That was not your experience with the Shadowsinger.
Fleeting touches had become commonplace between the two of you, whether it was his hands or his wings or the brush of his thigh as you sat by the Sidra. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously, but you welcomed the familiarity. You found he did it most when he wasn’t paying attention—when he was deep into a story about your past or listening to your opinions intently.
He was open, sharing pieces of himself you didn’t have to pry to receive. He told you about his mother, about his scars, about how he overcame them. He shared with you how important you were to him many, many times, slipping it into conversations so causally. A thread connected the pieces of his life, and you, it appeared, made up the spool.
He did not speak of his mate, despite being prompted.
A sadness came over him at any mention of her, one so achingly melancholy that you told yourself you wouldn’t ask again.
He loved her deeply, but something had happened there.
You tried not to get too close. This was friendship, a deep familial love that he relied on. That you seemed to have relied on for so many years.
And Azriel was hurt. Even if he and his mate were no longer intertwined by their bond, he didn’t need the onslaught of emotions his amnesiac friend was suddenly overcome with.
Because you were—overcome by emotions for him.
It was wrong.
You wished you had the context to separate those feelings. If you understood your history—if you had memories beyond the few weeks of sweet stories and brushes of his fingers along your hair—maybe you wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe your heart wouldn’t beat painfully against your ribs each time he entered the room… each time his eyes met yours as if he could feel your admiration for him within his own chest.
You wouldn’t be feeling this way, surely. Because no one had told you that you should be.
You only had the recounts of your friends, and the three of them had made no insinuations about you and Azriel.
You wished you could meet the rest of the inner circle.
There had been plans to, but then you came home with blood on your face and a disorientation in your eyes and that was suddenly off the table.
After your time exploring Velaris, you read.
Mor would pile your favorite books beside you in the small reading room you had come to love and rave about how great of an opportunity this was for you.
“You would kill to be able to read these for the first time again,” she’d laugh. “So have at it!”
Reading felt easy.
Books did not pressure you to remember things you weren’t able to.
You could see it all in their eyes, the way your family clung to each of your words for even a hint of reminiscence. They’d make a joke and hold their breath, desperate for the laugh that should be bubbling out of you. But you never got it, never making the connections that they did.
Azriel was the only one who’d catch the shame you felt at your lack of deliverance. Although he was the one with the most torture in his expression, he was also the one with the most understanding. He’d lean his head down and whisper what you needed to know in your ear, and then you’d giggle—for show—and hope would return to the room.
But nothing had returned to you.
You were still a shell.
~~
“What do you think?”
Cassian’s question blanketed the table, forks halting their movements atop plates. Breakfast had just begun and you were dressed for a morning in Velaris at the theater, this time with Cassian.
“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Mor questioned, eyeing the General beneath a raised brow.
“Were you there last week when I brought her home all bloody? I think it’s a great idea. Rhys agrees.”
“And Az?”
Cassian continued his breakfast, reaching for his drink. “Cassian—”
And so you found yourself steps away from the roof of the House of Wind—no longer in the comfortable daywear you’d been sporting—squinting into the morning sun. Leathers fitted for your body were laced up at your back and waist, stretching with a groan as you reached up to block the light from your eyes. Although the pain in your head had subsided to practically nonexistence, it often flared up in brightness or in times of stress.
Like when you stood atop a mountain and stared into the sun. Or got punched in the nose by a potato merchant.
“This is where I go while you go galavanting around the city,” Cassian chimed in, a grin evident in his words.
“Charming,” you muttered, still adjusting to the jarring assault of the sun.
The sound of grunts and clashing metal oriented you quicker, and as your eyesight settled you were met with the image of Azriel. He was bare-chested, leathers donning his legs as he pressed further and further forward, the knife you always saw at his hips hacking away at the metal dummy before him.
He moved so quickly that it was difficult to track him, one swipe after another, so carefully skilled and practiced. Sweat beaded down his tattooed skin. His wings rippled and spread in time with his footwork.
He was mesmerizing, a force of nature only halting as his shadows wound around his ear, whispering. Azriel whipped around, sheathing his knife at his side and staring out beyond the training ring with a narrowed gaze. He spotted you instantly, without looking near or around—a magnetic force.
Until he wasn’t looking at you, instead glowering in Cassian’s direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he bit out. The back of his hand made a quick pass along his forehead.
Cassian didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish, ushering you to the outskirts of the ring. “She’s going to train. Now that we know she won’t break at the slightest thing.”
Hazel eyes slid back to you, a softness overcoming them as you quickly averted your gaze from the broadness of his chest. You were not ogling him.
You bit into your cheek to stave off the embarrassment.
“I thought we agreed—”
“Az, come on. It’s been a couple of weeks now. We need to get her back in the swing of things.”
A crack of defeat edged its way onto the Shadowsinger’s face.
What had they agreed on? To wait it out? To treat you like glass until you were their version of yourself again? Something ugly licked up into your chest, something raw.
For a moment—just one—you stood on the sidelines and felt pathetic. While the two Illyrians stared at each other, a silent conversation between eyes, you let yourself feel like an outsider. They had had discussions about you, but not really about you. About the you that they loved—the one with memories and reciprocation.
“Will you be careful?” Azriel’s even voice snapped you out of the spiral you had initiated. His expression was uneasy, a hand pressed to his chest. “And tell us if you need to stop? If your head—”
“My head has been completely fine for a while now,” you assured, hands coming up to grasp the rungs of the training ring. “Promise.”
Azriel pressed his lips into a line but motioned you in with a nod of his head.
Despite the conflict still raging within your mind, you smiled at Cassian, the two of you letting out a small cheer and high-fiving before the General lifted you by your hips and past the rungs. You regained your footing and stood before the spymaster, meeting his level gaze with your own.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Cassian began, a loud clap resonating behind you. “Muscle memory is going to play a big role here, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, so you’re just with this guy for now.” He patted the shoulder of the dummy Azriel had been practicing with.
You scoffed, dropping your hands to hang by your thighs. “What? I still have the same muscle tone from before and last I checked my face was beaten in by a real person, not a chunk of metal.”
“And that will not happen again,” Azriel cut it. “Ever. But especially not when you’re… in this state.”
You ignored the unsettling remark. “Okay, well I think sparring one of you would be more effective in the prevention of that, don’t you?”
“Cassian and I could hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“We can’t guarantee—”
“I trust you,” you interrupted, your view of Azriel partially obstructed by the shadows that wound up your body. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Let me do this, Az.”
The male before you faltered, his eyes darting quickly between yours. His chest, gleaming in the sunlight, rose and fell with strenuous effort. A clench of his jaw. Another pass of silence.
“Okay,” he nodded, gaze roving over your features. “Okay, y/n. Get warmed up and we can spar.”
You warmed up with Cassian, stretching and relishing in the feel of your body moving. He went over a few basic maneuvers with you, and you tried your hardest to pay close attention to how his feet slid around the ring.
It was a rather hard task, seeing as Azriel had continued his blade work on the dummy. Still shirtless.
After the General was satisfied with your progress, he passed you off to his brother. The Shadowsinger’s posture had softened a hair from when you first entered the ring, his wings coiled back and his shadows creating uneven shapes along the floor. He kept his hands by his sides, his feet relaxed—not a fighting stance in the slightest.
“Come on,” you teased, cocking your head to the side. “You have to at least try, Az.”
“I did not spar with you often before your memories were lost,” he admitted. “I do not enjoy the thought of hurting you.”
Guilt immediately flooded you. You hadn’t even thought about what this would be like for him, too caught up in your own strife. Your stance dropped, the fists at your chin loosening and falling.
“Oh, Azriel, I’m sorry. I can have Cassian—”
“No.” He dragged his left foot back. A ghost of a fighting position. “Only me.”
You took a painful breath in.
He didn’t move, allowing you to lead.
You shook your hands out and then your body moved of its own accord.
You swiped at his legs first, unsurprised when he leaped back with practiced grace. The two of you fell into a dance of drawn arms and calculated shifts and you were almost unnerved by how your body moved without you willing it to.
Cassian had said that muscle memory would play a role.
It seemed to be the only thing driving you.
You went for his knees, but in a way that maneuvered past his wings.
You used his shadows as cover, taking advantage of their familiarity with you and cloaking yourself in their mist.
Azriel swung a halfhearted punch at your shoulder and you bypassed the motion, grabbing his wrist and twisting at his back.
It felt right. Your actions were not your own but they were ingrained in your being.
This was your body.
Something that remained unchanged.
In your newfound joy, you missed the open palm Azriel carefully directed at your chest. The impact caught you off guard, stealing your breath from your lungs as you were pushed to the ground. As your back hit the floor, another shocking burst of air was ripped from you.
You laid frozen for a moment before a shadow cast over your body, the sun no longer beating down on your skin. Through the ringing in your ears, Azriel’s voice flowed through.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—y/n, take a breath.” A scarred hand rubbed along your clavicle. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.”
A startling gasp of oxygen entered your lungs. You were fine, completely unharmed, only shocked and disoriented. Azriel bowed his head as you continued to circulate the air into your body, and it was then that you saw it.
A chain hung between you, dangling from his neck and brushing against your chin. It swayed back and forth, a grounding point as you blinked back the tears lining your eyes. The ring glinted in the sun, rubbing against the golden chain, looking as if it did not belong there.
Azriel tracked your gaze as he raised his head, looking down at the object of your attention. He sat back on his ankles and the diamond followed him, resting close to his chest.
You raised yourself to your elbows. “Who’s—” You coughed. Azriel winced. “Is that yours?”
A stupid question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. A guarded look passed over the Shadowsinger’s face and you regretted it instantly. He reached up and clutched the necklace in a closed fist.
“No,” he responded. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t release the ring.
“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “I’m not hurt. It just knocked the wind out of me.”
Azriel nodded. A grim line formed between his brows.
“Hey! She alright?” Cassian called. He had moved clear across the roof when you began to spar with Azriel, mentioning something about inventory or knives or something you hadn’t paid attention to. You had been too focused on the warmth you felt from being so close to Azriel’s skin.
The sound of Cassian’s voice did nothing to break the hold Azriel’s eyes had on you.
Another beat of silence passed.
The wind blew a strand of his hair across his forehead.
“I—”
“I have a mission. I was supposed to meet with Rhys before midday.” He spoke the words apologetically but his hand shook when it lowered to his knee.
The sun was already past the high point in the sky. It was no longer midday.
“Okay,” you whispered. “I want to thank you for—”
“Don’t thank me. Please, just—Be careful. I have to go.”
A quiet collection of parting words fell from your lips and Aziel twitched, looking as if he would move forward but thinking better of it.
But you had thoughts too, and they worked against Azriel’s
You raised to your knees and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a small smile gracing your face, trying so hard to melt some of the tension that had grown between you. Azriel’s breath caught as you moved, but you only doubled down, softly dragging your nails along his scalp.
He shuddered, eyes falling shut for a brief, unguarded moment.
His shadows consumed him.
Azriel was gone.
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel x female!reader#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#azriel acotar#azriel angst#acotar#acotar fanfiction#fanfic
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“I’m always going to take care of you.” Alternate Version! part two!
Eddie Munson x female reader
summary: part two of my series, will also be the final part in the installation.
warnings: talk of sexual abuse and rape, depression and breakdowns, explicit details of rape and violence, mostly told in eddie’s pov, language. if i missed anything please let me know! i hope you enjoyed the reboot of this series<3 let me know your thoughts on this one, it was tough to write!
“Please, Y/n, you can’t shut me out. You can’t.” Eddie was sat by your hospital bed beside you, hands holding the metal railing that was put up at the sides.
“I told you, Eddie,” Your voice broke, eye swollen, purple and red with a gleam of tears. “I don’t need to talk about it.”
“Don’t need to talk about it?” He repeated shockingly, more so to himself.
You’d woke up an three hours ago, having been out for almost thirteen hours after you’d passed out. You were a completely different person. You’d shut down, cold, unwilling to talk about what happened. You only wanted one thing, and that was to go home. Eddie didn’t know how to handle it. He knew he shouldn’t push you. You obviously needed time, but Eddie wasn’t a patient man, and he needed you to be okay.
“Please,” Your voice broke, looking over to him with a bruised eye, the skin around your nose red and aggravated. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Eddie, but I am fine. Just forget about it and get me out of here.”
The police had been there as soon as you woke up to question you. Did you recognize your attacker? Had you ever seen him before? What was he wearing? How tall? Did he tell you his name? What was his hair color? So many questions and so little answers. You hardly remembered it, yet you couldn’t seem to forget it.
Eddie had sent Wayne and all of his friends home. You weren’t up for visitors. Frankly, you were scaring Eddie. You seemed pissed, angry at the world and broken, not able to be fixed. You had a look in your eye that you’d never had before.
“I’ll go get the doctor.” He said tiredly. He didn’t sleep a wink in that uncomfortable chair.
Eddie left you alone then, leaving the room with a heavy sigh. He found your doctor at the front desk giving check out papers to another patient. “Dr. Grant?” Eddie called, gaining the female doctors attention. “How much longer till Y/n can leave?”
“We want to keep her just a few more hours for observation.” She checked her clipboard. “Just until we get the results of her head ct.”
Eddie nodded, not wanting to tell you the news of having to stay longer. He looked like a shell of a man, broken, eyes red rimmed and lips cracked from chewing on them. “I don’t know what to, doctor.” He looked to the floor. “She won’t talk to me.”
Dr. Grant frowned at Eddie, pulling him to the side so they could sit in the waiting room. She put her clipboard down on her lap. “Mr. Munson it will take some time before y/n will feel comfortable with talking. I can assure you that it’s perfectly normal in rape victims to shut down.”
He visibly cringed at her choice of words. Rape victim. You were a rape victim.
“I’m going to give you some paper work that may help you help her.” She smiled, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “I know it seems impossible, Mr. Munson, but eventually she will be okay again. It’ll just take time.”
Dr. Grant left the pamphlets on his lap as she left for her rounds. He looked down to find brightly colored pieces of paper, the words rape and assault plastered all over them. He got up quickly when his eyes teared up, disappearing into the bathroom and shoving the papers in his pocket.
Take time, it certainly did.
•
You acted as if nothing happened. You went on about your daily chores, cooked meals and cleaned the trailer. You were pretending, acting. Eddie couldn’t pretend nor could he forget. He was trying to be patient, that’s what the pamphlets told him. Be patient and understanding. But Eddie saw right through you. You weren’t that good of an actress.
He could see how broken you were, the look in your eyes was shattered and gone. The aches in your body you pretended weren’t there, how uncomfortable you were sleeping in the same bed with him. He offered to sleep on the couch and you’d nearly bitten his head off, saying you were fine and he was overreacting. All you were was angry when he talked to you. When anyone talked to you.
When it got late, when everything had been done for the day, you’d sit outside on the porch and stare up at the sky, smoking your pack of cigarettes that you’d swiped from Hopper a few weeks prior. You’d stay out there past midnight. Eddie hadn’t even seen you cry. You didn’t cry or get sad, only angry. That’s all you ever were.
You spent a lot of time in the shower, hours at a time during the night when you thought he was asleep. He never was. Neither of you slept peacefully anymore. You were barely eating. You tried, tried to keep up appearances to prove that you were okay, but you were slipping. It was getting harder and harder.
It had only been three days, but Eddie was starting to loose it. He couldn’t handle watching you fade away so quickly.
It was late when he finally had dozed off, but your absence in the bed woke him. His hand reached out to find you, only feeling the blanket and pillow. His eyes squinted in the dark, his heart beginning to race. Where were you?
He found you in the living room, one single lamp on that made your face an orange color, staring off into space with a blanket wrapped around you. Eddie frowned, turning on the kitchen light that made you jump slightly.
He tried to ignore the way you stiffened when he sat down, sitting a few feet away from you. He stared at you the entire time, trying to read your face. You looked broken. Utterly broken and so, so sad.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie began, sighing deeply. “I can’t keep watching you like this. I’m trying to…give you time, but it’s killing me watching you-” He stopped when he felt a lump build in his throat, not wanting to cry in front of you.
“I’m fine.” You dismissed him every time, not wanting to entertain the idea of breaking down in front of him. The mere fact he knew what happened, what everyone knew, made you feel weak and disgusting. Like a huge spotlight was on you. It was the worst feeling you’d ever felt, like you were standing naked on a stage, vulnerable and exposed.
Eddie bit his cheek and looked away. “No, you’re not, Y/n.” He swallowed roughly, looking back to you. “And that’s okay. I know you feel like it’s not, but it is. You don’t have to shut me out. Please, baby, you can’t shut me out.”
You squinted your eyes shut and looked to the wall. “Eddie,” You begged. “I can’t.”
You can’t.
That was the first time you had said that. That you couldn’t talk about it. Your voice had broke, just only a little. It was the first time he’d seen real emotion in three days. He didn’t want to push you, but you had to let it out. There was no way you could keep on living like this. It wasn’t healthy.
Eddie looked toward the window, it was pitch black outside, not even the flood lights were on. They had quit working a few weeks ago and no one had come to fix it yet. He swallowed back anxiety and nausea. “I know you’re scared-”
“No, you don’t.” You snapped, still refusing to look at him. “You don’t know how I feel. Nobody knows how I feel. They’re just trying to be nice.”
“Then tell me, baby.” He begged, placing his hand on your knee.
You shoved it off, storming up and escaping to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it just as quick. The shower was turned on within seconds, then he heard you crying, trying to muffle it with the sound of your sweater, or maybe it was a towel.
You hated him. You had to. There couldn’t have been no other explanation for your anger and hatred. You blamed him for what happened, for not coming to your rescue sooner, you just wouldn’t admit out loud. He felt like you’d been killed that night, like your very spirit had been snuffed away like a lit match. He missed you. It was his fault. It was because of him. He was the reason your spirit was gone.
He put his head in his hands and cried.
•
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Wayne. She won’t talk to me. She’ll barely even look at me. She won’t let me touch her. She won’t…she won’t tell me what happened. She blames me. I know she does.” Eddie pushed out air between his lips, struggling to breath. He’d showed up to Wayne’s mid panic attack one morning when you refused to get out of bed. The both of you almost broke out in a fight, except you wouldn’t fight. You didn’t have the energy. It had been another three days gone by.
He was sitting on his uncle’s old sofa, going back and forth from putting his head between his knees or fisting his hair with his hands. Wayne was making himself a fresh cup of coffee, watching as his nephew suffer through his anxiety.
“No, buddy, she doesn’t. She’s just hurtin’.” He poured the coffee into his mug.
“Then why won’t she let me in?” He bounced his knee. “Why won’t she let me help her? She blames me.”
“Try to imagine yourself in her shoes, Ed.” Wayne came over, cradling his mug as he pulled out the kitchen chair, sitting himself in front of his nephew.
“I can’t.” Eddie shook his head. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s feeling.”
“That’s my point.” His uncle continued, raising his mug. “You don’t have the slightest idea what she’s going through, you’ve got to give her more time. It’s not even been a week yet, buddy. I know you’re anxious to help her. She’s lucky to have you.”
She’s lucky to have you.
He bit his nail nervously, thinking back to leaving you at the trailer, covered in blankets and refusing to get out of bed. He shouldn’t have left you, but he was on the verge of another breakdown and needed his uncle.
“Why is she so angry?” He gulped, his throat dry from his quick breathing. “I’ve never seen her this angry before.”
“Because she doesn’t know how to process what she went through.” Wayne placed his coffee on the table after another sip. “When we’re hurtin’, sometimes it turns to anger. I think you can relate to that, huh?”
He could. With the kind of life he led, his childhood, everything after vecna and the trauma he endured, he knew exactly what his father figure was talking about. When you hurt, when you have nothing else to feel, you get pissed off.
•
When Eddie got back home, he knew you were still in bed. The lights were off, the tv was off. The poor fish you shared hadn’t been fed yet. He quietly walked into your shared bedroom, the sunlight peering through the curtains, illuminating your face. The blankets were tangled around you, your arms hugging the pillow. You stared at the wall into nothingness, s blank look on your face that spoke volumes of emotion. You were heartbroken.
Eddie watched you for awhile, making his way to sit at the foot of the bed. He sat by your feet, putting his hand on your blanket covered ankles, squeezing them reassuringly. “How about something to eat, huh?”
It took you several seconds to respond. “I’m not hungry.”
He would much rather you be angry than like this. A zombie, unwillingly to move or breath, not able to function or communicate with him.
“What about some tea?” He tried, eyes soft and round, his hand softly rubbing circles on your leg.
You cringed under his touch, shaking your head. “I don’t want tea, Eddie.”
Then, Eddie’s throat filled with a ball of sick, but he quickly forced it back down. You said his name with such malice, such hatred and venom that told him everything he needed to know. You did blame him.
His eyes filled with tears and he stared at the wall. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
He’d said it time and time again, but his words came out in a desperation that he hadn’t yet conveyed to you.
“I don’t blame you for hating me.” He sniffled, his curls shaking with the weight of his shoulders. “I’m to blame and-”
“Eddie, please,” You sobbed, making him practically flinch in surprise. You were crying. “Stop it.”
He let out a whimper, falling to his knees so he could kneel at your head. “Honey,” He cried. “My baby girl, I can’t stand the thought of you hating me. Please, angel, just let me take care of you. Talk to me. Let me in.” He was begging you with a cracked, broken voice that made you sob right along with him.
His hand went to touch your cheek, but you flinched and sat up, bringing the blankets up to your chest. “It’s not you, Eddie!” You blubbered, snot running down your nose. “I don’t hate you! You can’t think that! P-please, don’t think that!”
He crawled up on the bed to sit in front of you, hot tears still rolling down his face. “Then why are you shutting me out? We’re supposed to be a team! We promised each other! You promised me and I promised you! Please, baby, I have to know what happened! It’s killing me!”
“I can’t!” You exclaimed, your tousled up hair falling at the sides. “Oh, God, Eddie, I can’t! I can’t talk about it! I can’t do anything! I just want to lay here and die!” You coiled over and wailed broken-heartedly, a song of cries that boiled out of your throat and paralyzed you. You curled up into a ball and practically screamed into the blankets. Eddie was shaking, bringing up a hand to bit as hard as he could, not knowing if you would allow him to touch you,
He placed one hand on you gently, and when you didn’t pull away, he quickly gathered you in his arms. “I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. Just let it out. Let it out, let it out.”
You let him hold you, and in desperation of the moment, you wrapped your arm around his leg to bring the heat of his body flush to yours. You bawled your heart out into him, emptying all your fears and sorrow.
“I- I can’t stop- thinking a-bout him!” You said hysterically, your tears making his jean covered knee damp. “It hurt so-so bad, Eddie!” It sounded like your cries caused you physical pain, your words coming out choppy and broken.
Your bruised ribs ached from your heavy sobs, your hands going to hold your stomach. “God, oh, God, Eddie, I can’t do it! I can’t! I can’t!”
“You don’t have to.” He said firmly, trying to control his own sobs so you could understand him. “You give all that pain to me, okay? You give it all to me. I can handle it. You let me take care of you. I’m always going to take care of you, sweetheart.”
Your bruised nose had started to bleed onto his jeans, going unnoticed from the both of you. You were hyperventilating, shaking and practically convulsing in his arms.
“Come on, baby,” He held you to his chest, your body still curled up against him. “It’s okay, I’m here. Just let it out. Tell me what you need to.”
It hurt. It hurt so bad. He hurt me so bad and I couldn’t stop him. I’m so scared. I’m scared he’s going to find me. I don’t want you to look at me differently. I feel so weak. Please still love me. Please stay with me. Don’t tell anyone I’m afraid.
You cried for so many things, but he listened to every last word you had to offer him. You told him what happened. A man had followed you into the bedroom, forced you down and split your legs apart, punching you in the nose and kneeing you in the ribs, shoving himself inside you like a sword, piercing it’s way into you roughly. You had cried and cried, screamed and begged, till you didn’t, finally going into shock and laying there, taking it.
Eddie had tried his hardest not to breakdown at your confession, but he could only do so much. He held you into the dark of night, promising what he had said. He was always going to take care of you.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#stranger things season four#joseph quinn#eddie munson imagines#eddie munson headcanons#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x y/n#female reader#i’m always going to take care of you
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★═━┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈━═★
★ Subspace x Tall!Reader ★
★═━┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈━═★
"Tall ass bitch. — ..my tall ass bitch."
PHIGHTING! | Head-canon | Fluff | Romantic.
Warning/s: [data not found.]
Extra: [brain dead + my brain can't think of anything LMAO]
≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ───────────────≺
• Ngl, I feel like Subspace wouldn't really care if you're tall or not..... lemme just write something up rq.
• Okay so, first of all, he thinks he's the tallest working demon in Blackrock. (He likes to intimidate shorter people with his height.. you can't change my mind.) So seeing someone taller than him and most importantly.. HIS OWN PHUCKING ASSISTANT— he was a bit flabbergasted when he wasn't the taller demon in blackrock now. sad lol.
• He does find your height quite useless and useful sometimes.. that's when he needs to reach much higher places that he can't reach that is.
• He doesn't like you nor does he hate you though, you guessed. he just thinks he doesn't need any assistant as he can do anything by himself, plus he has his biografts to order around.
• That's until neither of them could reach a tall ass shelf.
• He once ordered the biografts carry each other to get something off the shelf anddd... they all fell onto him LMAO—
• He did call out for you to get the stuff he needed, until you said something about him getting a chair or a ladder so he could reach it, yeah, he never asked again as he felt dumb of not thinking of that. -5 pts.
• Don't worry, you got him some mechanical parts as an apology that you think he'd like, so he won't kill you afterwards.
• He thinks it was a nice upgrade for his biografts though. +1 pts
• He is still an ass to you.
• But, he actually forgave you after about 3 months as you kept giving him the things he could use for his biografts, and occasionally asks you to buy some things..
• When he's chill and tired, do ask him about his latest inventions, he'll lighten up, he hides his little excitement and talk about it 24/7 and will never stop.. what have you done. +5 pts
• He now does insist that you go shopping with him at times, whenever he feels like it as you have an advantage to look for stuffs he wants. called you a dang giraffe too
• He makes you his personal eye shopping tree as you can see much higher places..
• Oh yeah, you carry everything too lol
• When you're now on his good side, he would repay you with a nod when you do/did something useful or worth his time.
• Don't worry it's gonna change overtime.. wink wink.
• For most parts, he acts like he doesn't like or care about anything, but wants you to get it for him secretly. do get it for him though.. +3 pts
• Oh, right, forgot to say that when you ask about his biografts or his inventions, AND you're actually interested in them??? Just know he's secretly giddy about it. +20 pts
• But now that he knows you're interested in his inventions, he showcases them to you, he never misses any damn details about it. (he talks about how efficient some of the component parts are too)
• Yay, you're on his good side, he's never letting your ass go now.
• Ngl, he dislikes it when you show anyone else with the same interest as you have for him, your interest shall solely be towards him, and him only.
• If he needs you for something and he can't find you? Yeah, doesn't happen you're the 2nd tallest in this building. no he doesnt wanna be on 2nd place.
• He also has this tendency to steal you away from anyone you talk to.. no matter how important it is, he's the boss, YOUR boss to be exact. So you should only follow HIS orders.. you are his assistant after all.
• Yeah, he only wants you to be interested in his doings and no one else. jealous ahh bit—
• [Y'know what, let's skip to when you guys are dating, yeah? I can't think of anymore bs.. why do i even do this..]
• You'll be the one carrying everything, no matter how small or big it is, you're carrying it.
• He uses you as a ladder, he makes you carry him whenever he can't reach crap.
• Also not only you're his ladder, he makes it as an excuse to do less things. Oh he could reach that? he calls for you. Oh no, it's it's a bit high up with a ladder besides it.... calls you anyway. You're his personal ladder now and you can't get away with it.
• He also makes you give him some piggyback rides, his legs are tired.
• Will definitely blush if you carry him bridal style.
• Don't do it in public though, he might present you a certain tripmine. *winks.*
• Also whenever he has some conversations with Scythe and makes him uncomfortable, he makes you as a shield.
• Scythe definitely think he's being babied.
• Overall, you're his.. you can't change that.
• You can't get away nor run now after all, you have him by your side..
≻─────────────── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺
[Ngl, I don't think Subspace really cares about how tall anyone is, he just wants his inventions done and stronger.]
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How Fragile Allyship is Portrayed in Frontiers of Pandora
So I really love this audio log from Priya and needed to talk about it. This entire post will be based on this log.
Transcript:
"I ... it's Priya. Obviously. I don't know what day it is. Nothing makes sense...
Alma's dead. Alma. Is. Dead.
Oh wow. That's weird. But you know what the really weird, screwy part is? There's this whole other Alma just walking around. Except she's not blue and she's got tiny eyes. Do we all have such tiny eyes?
I just ... I feel like good Alma was killed. And we're left with this other one who everyone hates. But really it's the same person. Or is it?
I don't know what to think. I'm not really the one for existential crises, but this is a real brain-breaker.
And I'm ... I'm sad. My friend died. No. No. She was murdered. I know she did some bad things, but Nor had no right. I'm glad he's gone. Maybe he's glad too. He never liked it here. Never liked us. Humans.
But we're trying to help. Alma was trying to help. She was protecting them. She tried. Right?
Mercer's the bad one. That's all I know for sure. And that other Alma... she wants to hang out, just like old times. But... she's not my friend. Not— I think I hear someone. Signing off."
This audio log can be found in the Resistance Hideout.
I really like this log because it encapsulates the different ways allies & marginalized peoples view and are affected by certain situations.
Disclaimer before I start: I am not saying Priya is a bad person, nor am I saying allies are bad people.
For starters, I can understand why Priya, and likely other Resistance members, have mixed feelings towards Alma. It's a very complex situation. So Priya regarding it as "weird" and being at a complete loss makes sense.
What I want to focus on in this post are the last 3 paragraphs. Where she expresses confusion and hurt because "Good Alma was murdered".
I think this right here is a very well written distinction on how allies and the marginalized communities they assist experience situations differently.
Alma's Reveal
Everyone had their worlds turned upside down when Alma confessed the full extent of her actions in TAP. Alma admits that her avatar was a tool for manipulation. Although she may care for the Sarentu children now, for the majority of their relationship, from the genocide, to TAP, to being frozen and left behind, Alma's avatar was a tool to manipulate and coerce Na'vi into viewing her (and by extension TAP, then later the Resistance) as "one of them". As someone to trust and relate to. The purpose of her having an avatar was to act as a golden ticket into Na'vi society.
Alma was not "murdered". There is no "good" or even "bad" Alma. There is only Alma.
The human who played a role in the massacre of a clan, then manipulated its survivors for years, then left them behind to remain in stasis for nearly 2 more decades.
Who is also the human who founded the Western Resistance and tried to band together several Na'vi clans to protect Pandora, who encouraged the Sarentu to reclaim their culture and customs the ones that didn't expose her ofc, and who helped rid Pandora of cackling narcissist John Mercer.
There is only ONE Alma that has done all of these things.
Alma was not "murdered". Her tool of manipulation was destroyed. The object, the mask, the weapon that gave Alma her power and confidence and that helped her fool not only the Sarentu, not only the Resistance, but also herself into thinking she was something she was not, was taken from her.
Alma was not murdered. She was thrust back into reality.
And so, Priya's last 3 paragraphs interest me. It's completely fine that she mourns the image of who she thought Alma was. In a way I think the Sarentu (sans Nor) do as well. Everyone thought Alma was just a good person who only wanted to help with no ulterior motives. It's painful to realize that was far from the case.
But then Priya goes on to hate Nor. She spits his name out like a curse. Glad he's gone because "he never liked them anyway". That he had no right to "murder" Alma because she only did a few "bad things".
There's a lot to unpack there.
Priya's Blaming of Nor & It's Ties to Fragile Allyship
I want to break down the lines one by one.
She was murdered. I know she did some bad things, but Nor had no right.
For starters, it is EXTREMELY COMMON for allies of marginalized communities to "insert their two cents" on a delicate topic. More often than not when there is inter-community issues, allies have a tendency to say the phrase: "I'm [insert demographic] so take what I'm saying with a grain of salt, BUT I think..." Any and all oppressed classes have heard this phrase from MILLIONS of allies before.
The FOP writers did remarkably well at capturing what allyship looks like when writing the Resistance. Because Priya, as a human formerly part of the oppressive group trying to wipe out the Na'vi and Pandoran wildlife, fully believes she can judge whether Nor had a right or not.
It's not her call.
She cannot determine whether Nor was justified or not because she, as someone part of the privileged class in the world of the game, has never suffered from the harm that Alma's avatar has caused.
She, and none of the Resistance members, were raised by Alma's avatar.
They were not lied to by Alma's avatar for YEARS about the true fate of their families and loved ones.
They were not encouraged to view Alma as a mother-figure or nurturing teacher or beloved caretaker, when she was actually just eager for fame and success.
They were not put into cryosleep and then left behind for 16 MORE YEARS with suspicions that this abandonment was an intentional coverup.
They did not suffer any of that.
They saw her as the leader of the Resistance and as a friend, which does cause an impactful betrayal of course, but Alma's avatar never tried to force them to see her as family. As someone to love.
While Priya only says all this in a private audio log and thankfully doesn't say it to any of the Sarentu or god forbid So'lek, these are her thoughts. The simple fact she believes she can judge Nor, that she has the capacity and authority to scold one of the main victims, is a reoccurring feature of privileged allies who struggle to realize that they cannot relate or ever fully understand how marginalized communities experience oppression.
Priya says Nor had "no right" to "murder" Alma. When truthfully, Priya has no right to judge how the Sarentu feel and respond.
I'm glad he's gone. Maybe he's glad too. He never liked it here. Never liked us. Humans.
After Priya attempts to place judgement on Nor's actions, she then dives deeper.
She is glad Nor is gone. Not ONLY because of what he did to Alma's avatar. No. She is also glad he's gone because Nor was not friendly.
Another prime instance of fragile allyship is that allies tend to believe that marginalized people are only worth their sympathy if they're likeable.
This has a lot ties to the "Perfect Victim" concept.
Because Nor was not friendly, because his trauma caused him to distrust humans and he did not quickly get over it and befriend Resistance members, he is undeserving of as much sympathy as the other Sarentu.
It's seen as a positive that he's gone (despite the fact he ran away in clear emotional distress.) Not just because of what he did to Alma's avatar, but because now Priya and the Resistance no longer have to assist someone that's "ungrateful" and "not as nice" as they should be.
The purpose of being an ally is to help oppressed classes survive against circumstances that would otherwise have them discriminated against or have them dead. Being a truly good ally should not hinder on whether the person is "likeable" or "grateful" for their services. But sadly, in the real world, that is one of the most common "conditions" a LOT of allies have when it comes to offering support. How much they like the person or groups they claim to want to help.
Allyship is more often than not based on likeability, rather than morality.
But we're trying to help. Alma was trying to help. She tried. Right?
Another feature of fragile allyship is the tendency to change sides.
Priya agrees that what Alma did was wrong. She understands that.
But because of the simple fact that Alma is human, Priya not only relates but tries to defend Alma's actions. Seeing herself in Alma is understandable because they are both human and were friends. The problem comes when Priya begins to project and defend Alma's actions.
It doesn't matter that by her own admission Alma's main goals were fame and achievement. It doesn't matter how much the Sarentu are hurt by her actions. It doesn't matter that Nor was outraged. It doesn't matter that even calm and collected Ri'nela was disgusted. It doesn't matter HOW the Sarentu, as the direct victims, feel about Alma's actions. It doesn't matter that intent ≠ impact.
Alma is human like Priya, so from Priya's POV, Alma's 'intentions' hold more value than how the Sarentu were impacted. "We're" trying to help. Alma was trying to help. So her actions can't have been that bad. Right?
Mercer's the bad one. That's all I know for sure.
And finally, this is another feature of how allies tend to respond to things.
Of the two, Mercer is the one who unabashedly committed the massacre and oppressed the Sarentu for years. Mercer is "the bad one" because his actions are overt. They are clear cut, obvious, and maniacally evil.
When real world marginalized groups face microaggressions or covert prejudice, allies have a tendency to step in and defend the offender. "Hm, I don't think that was racist." "Are you sure that's homophobic?" "It's just a word. I don't see how it can be ableist to say." - "It's not like it's really hurting anyone."
When oppression is not as clear cut to allies, they tend to dismiss it entirely. It doesn't matter how the victims feel about the situation. As discussed earlier in the post, allies tend to think they have the authority and capability to make judgements on prejudice they do not face, and ergo believe they can determine how "bad" something really is. Better than the marginalized class can themselves.
In Priya's eyes, Alma is better than Mercer because Mercer's oppression was harsh yelling, explosions, and murder. "Mercer's the bad one" while Alma was "only trying to help."
But in truth, both Mercer and Alma have done and continued to do harmful things. They both played a part in the decimation and continued manipulation of the Sarentu. Both for their own selfish purposes.
Oppression has many faces. It does not always look the same, it is not always a mustache twirling villain. It can be subtle and quiet. It can be hidden behind gentle eyes and smiles. It can be from "good intentions" just as easily as it comes from "bad intentions". It can be subconscious, it can be self aware, it can be secretive, it can be out in the open. It can be many things. There is not only "one bad" style.
Oppression is just as diverse as the communities it aims to harm.
Conclusion
I want to reiterate that I do not dislike Priya and this post isn't a hate campaign against her. I know many dudebros in the fanbase unfairly criticize her.
The point of this post is to applaud the FOP writers. It is very rare when mainstream media is able to accurately depict how fragile allyship is. Priya's reaction to Nor stabbing Alma's avatar is painfully realistic to the many ways allies have reacted to certain situations in the real world.
This is one of the many reasons why I love this game and feel it hits home. Not only can I relate to the Na'vi clans, but my god can I relate to the way allies are written in relation to them. And I feel like this audio log from Priya, while brief and easily missable, is one of the prime moments of realism this game portrays really well.
#it's such a minor audio log / note#but it really hit me and i just had to talk abt it#frontiers of pandora#avatar frontiers of pandora#afop#priya chen#alma cortez#lexi plays afop#long text post //#long post //#sorry lol
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Heart of the Great Wolf
47 - Into the Haunted Forest
Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)
Length: 16k
Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, character death, disturbing imagery and violence, non descriptive animal death, past trauma, mild illness, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v
Notes: The first scene of this chapter does not necessarily take place at the same time that the main chapters contents take place in. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here
The night had been calm. Sky was dark and stars white and bright, visible with not a cloud to fog their vision of the lands below. The wind was hardly there for once, and not a speck nor sign of rain or snow meant that peace could be found. Or, it should have been found. As it was, that calmness, that serene quiet and clear skies were a lie with what laid below. The longer footsteps walked through the empty halls, the more the silence turned to muffles, which turned to the source of disturb in their home as the doors to the outside were opened.
Their shores should never have been used for such a purpose. It was an insult, a sin, a spitting on the only god they should be serving and yet it now was the sight of something red and terrible. Fear and pleading, they were chosen for no crime. Not weak men, nor selfish or stupid. They were as good as the rest of them and yet they stood on the pyres, hands forcing them tied around the poles, and wood placed just enough on the rocky shores that the waters tide would not touch them.
Torches were lit in hands of those foolish enough to believe whatever this was. Orders of a King and yet it went against what they were. This was not spoken of in the promises made when they chose him. It was all making sense until some months ago. Many travelling to here or there, and plans for more made until those months passed and something had changed. Something that changed the man from determined to a darkness growing more and more to be feared.
It was confusing for many of them, and it would only be revealed as much as he wanted to reveal it, which until tonight, had been none. The original plan was supposed to be their only one. Daenerys Targaryean had dragons, claimed to be a Queen, had vast armies, it made sense for a man like their King to come up with. This did not. Her dragons were still sought after, but the plan had changed from being sent away to find her, to leaving some place as opposite of the Slave cities of Essos as could be. But, as they walked, they knew it was their Uncle who was King, it did not matter if it didn't make sense to them.
Yara knew she had to obey whatever command she was given. Euron Greyjoy ruled the Salt Throne, not her.
Personally, she had no affinity for the Targaryean girl or her dragons. Yara was Ironborn, and their power came from their ships. Dragons were air and land and fire, not ships and water and the freedom to sail and take whatever. Raiding and taking what they need wasn't possible when one would burn said lands to take it in the first place. It wasn't sustainable, there was no end there that made sense.
But, Euron didn't make sense. He returned home from over a decade of exile as a man she did not recognize. He was rambling, and crazed, yet terrifying in his confidence of the psychotic things pouring out of his mouth. Stories she didn't know if she should believe. He hadn't made sense since he stepped back on Pyke, and it continued to not make sense as Yara walked down to the shores of her home.
Only now were she and her Uncle Victarion given details on what the new plan entailed. Who they were now tasked with finding and bringing to Euron. The only Queen which mattered he had put it, but then that witch had showed up. Slunk into the room and tried seducing words to offer one last thing before Yara, Victarion and their men departed. An offering.
It was that offering Yara approached now. The very red witch's voice loud as she stood before the pyres with Euron standing tall without question beside her. “Here us now. Accept these tokens of our faith my Lord, and lead us from the darkness.”
The men on the pyres did not beg mercy, and yet each step Yara took towards the shore did she wish to give it to them. Bloodshed was their livelihoods, but this was not bloodshed. This was cruelty and torture with nothing to gain from it. She briefly wondered if these thoughts would show her weak, but as she came to the side of her Uncle Victarion, he held the same expression. One which felt as doubting as hers as they glanced to one another.
Euron was their King, and they would let this happen, they would follow their orders, but they both felt as if whatever path this was leading them on, was going to be a war they cannot win.
Half around listened intently to the words this witch was speaking, the other half standing as unsure as the two of them were. Euron had not even shifted once. He didn't look even remotely affected by what he was about to do. Continuing the witch spoke in reverence, “Lord of Light show us the way, yours are the stars that guide us.”
He hadn't done anything like this when the plan was to find the Targaryean girl. What was it about this one though that demanded such extremes? Why was she so necessary it warranted this? But Euron had told them, she had plenty of time to come to him herself. So now they must do as Ironborn live by, take what they need. And to Euron, he only needed her. Nothing else mattered, not the morals nor the cost.
“Lord of Light, protect us.” Euron watched, his uncovered eye bright and certain with almost a hint of a smirk on his face at how little he cared about the horror he was to allow. Yara and Victarion shared one more glance, before watching the witch give her final words acting as command. “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”
In an instance, the pyres were properly set alight, and their visions all were taken over by reds and oranges of flames taking those consumed by them. Their screams did not last long, but they echoed in Yaras ears even in the silence which followed. Euron had not flinched, or moved or blinked the entire time. Whatever the reason he wanted this girl, he seemed to think this was worth it. Yara disagreed. No one person was worth this.
All passed her by, one by one returning to the warmth of the castle walls until only Victarion by her side remained. His voice was low, and hiding the doubt in them despite none else there left to hear. “I dare not think what Damphair would say, knowing what has become of us.”
Yara pretended as he did, neither voicing their doubts despite it being felt thick between them. “Have you seen him?” His silence was her answer. Face falling into somewhat of a grimace, she shook her head slightly. “This isn't who were are, uncle.”
Victarion knew that, but he gave her the only answer he could. A lie. “It wasn't once. But it is now.”
Only she was left. The fires dimming eventually into a smouldering of embers, and Yara could only think to herself that she could not decide which she wanted to feel more. If she should feel guilty she gave up on rescuing her brother as she once declared, as she now wished he was here to give any comfort to her ragged soul. Or if she was thankful she abandoned him that night, so he wasn't here to see this.
Theon would be ashamed if he knew this was what his big sister had allowed their fathers Kingdom to become. Yara knew she deserved it, she felt ashamed too. But still, once the sun rose in the sky, she had gathered her men as Victarion did his to prepare regardless of the guilt and doubt.
They had a long, cold journey ahead of them, and she had a feeling this King in the North would not let them take you from him without a fight.
For something so quick on it's feet, he moved very slowly with a trepidation which was exhausting for any to watch. The small dips within the snow creeping ever so closer to where he was sniffing out what he should not sense as danger, and yet there he paced. Taking every inch of time there was to do so. Such an amount of time taking to approach it, one would think it was smart enough to sense a trap by that point.
The little fox was not quite as clever as he was quick, and within a single breath of a wrong step did a whoosh rush through the air as sharp ends clamped down as planned. The brightness of the snow at least provided an easy way to monitor movement patterns out here for small prey, and thus far all five laid traps had given something to varying degree of sizes.
Not particularly heavy the fox was, easy to tie ends of thin ropes around two legs at a time and looping it around to much more easily lunge over a shoulder. Human footprints in the shape of boots were not the only ones leaving the scene, but a very large pair of ones owned to a wolf followed with a huff on it's breath as if to grab attention.
The hand reaching out to run along their ears and top of their head didn't last long against the affectionate shake of the wolfs head before a laugh followed. “You can wait the time it will take to cook it.” Only when the wolf did not ease up on their intending want, a small chunk of meat kept in a small side pocket, hidden away under the sheepskin fur, was brought out and tossed their way, the wolf gleefully catching it in his mouth.
A sigh and shake of a head, the wolf at least found content for now. Climbing up the remainder of the snow covered hillside, mostly forest surrounded but there were clearings such as the one coming into view which showed a grander image then preciously imagined.
Mountains which sat far in the distance looked like they spanned on forever, snowy peaks which bled down to the tops of the trees of the forest which seemed to go on for as long. Down below though, the clearing in the most immediate view was as strange as it was becoming familiar in it's own way. The remains of a small camp having mostly been cleared away, packed up on the two horses which seemed unaffected by the cold around them.
Still going strong, the fire which had been in the centre of the scene the night before burning bright with the last remains of firewood to add to it still sitting close by. The figure knelt by the fire had their head down, working away at an animal, large and immobile laid out in front of them, half of it's skin already being sliced away with ease. The wolf trotted down happily to join, only then causing the figure to glance up to the approacher.
The moment he could see more up close, you knew without a doubt already Jon was forming something far more clever to say then the still early hours of the morning should permit.
Whatever natural ability to tease and poke fun at you existed naturally in his blood, was now tenfold. Utterly relentless he could be now that there was none to hear him tease you but two horses, and Ghost. Not a soul existed for miles, not a scrap of human life was left in the fortnight you had been travelling.
Not yet words shared, as he paused in his work to pass a sharp knife to you. Ghost settling somewhat by the fire between you both as you each continued on in the quiet. Only to have you drop the movement of your hands barley able to begin removing the skin, when his voice finally found itself far more teasing then you expected. “Does five small things win or lose against me getting this one and dragging it back on my own?”
Your eyes rolled up to the sky with a grin, knowing the moment you dropped back to look at him in an amused incredulity, Jon was failing horrendously at covering up his own smirk. “Not even five minutes passed this time.”
The confidence in his voice was both well earned and yet only there to serve as mocking towards you, knowing how easy it was for him to do. “I wasn't making fun of you, I was asking a question-”
Shaking your head, you looked back down to the animal in front of you, trying very hard not to be weak and tear your gaze right back to his teasing one. “You're the one who told me to handle the traps, Snow. It isn't my fault I keep losing.”
Jons audacity to genuinely kneel there and say to you, “I never said you lost.”
Biting your tongue could barley even contain the grin trying so desperately to poke back out. Purposely now not looking at him, knowing it would only serve to amuse him more. “Perhaps if I too was strong enough to pull a bloody deer all the way back on my own, you'd finally lose once in a while too.” His voice barley rasped out before you raised your voice ever so slightly, in an almost childish defence knowing what was about to be said. “If you say anything about my fragile state, Jon, I swear to all the gods,”
His laugh gracing your ears was nothing but welcome. Only just flickering your eyes up enough to catch his, noting he had shamelessly not stopped watching you. Not even moving back to his own work, just looking far to adoringly at you for your own good, or health.
“Were you this touchy last time?”
You had not the foresight to notice he had walked you right up to the edge of a trap and gleefully watched you fall right into it regardless. Mouth falling open in offence, you tore your eyes back up in a narrowing glare. “First you make fun of me, and now you say I'm being sensitive-”
He had too much energy this early, it wasn't fair. “I didn't say you were sensitive, I asked of you were touchy last time.”
Your head dropped, almost dramatically and he laughed once more. Muttering under your breath as you returned to work. “That entirely depends.” Asking on what, you raised your eyebrows unknowing he once more was guiding you to just the right ends to make fun of you. “On how much more or less you'll keep this going depending on my answer.”
Jon said it with such a flat tone you almost found it in you to laugh, yourself. “So you were this touchy.”
Sighing deeply, you shook your head slightly glancing back up and Jon had purposely returned to the deer in front of him. Catching only your eyes with a playful glint before looking back down. Your attention glancing over to Ghost, who was relaxed as could be watching it all play out. “I thought we were a team.”
Letting out a tiny huff as he only rested his head down more, Jon laughed again. That time your eyes rolled into the back of your head, now trying to ignore them both. There was work to be done before leaving, and Jon would keep you here going back and forth far longer then time should permit.
Not that time wasn't all you had out here.
By all estimations, only a fortnight had passed. The first days of it were as unremarkable as they somehow were the toughest. Getting used to being out in such cold without any stop was something you were not yet used too. Even a building of four stone walls around a person and no fire would have done more to keep the cold out then nothing at all.
You didn't complain, but the chill sat in your bones for those early days passed. Naturally, it was as if it bothered Jon none. He didn't even seen to notice any difference of cold out here then he would in the North of his home, tending to this exactly the same but out in this open. Or, somewhat open.
The Haunted Forest went on and on for most of the known lands of beyond the Wall. It was where much travelling would be done until nearing the mountain ranges leading to the Fist of the First Men, but that was not for a while would you two get there. So for now, it was a vast array of snowy woods and forests that gave strange sight to an endless land you knew nothing about.
Once lands you heard about in stories, of dangerous creatures roaming any which way. Of the blood thirsty wildlings, ready to snatch and savage any woman they could find and their terror was why no women could ever join the Nights Watch. Instead, the lands were empty.
Wildlife still lived here, yes, but other then Jon and yourself, the only other living things anywhere by were two horses and Ghost. Nothing else was around, as if everything too had gone into hiding. Leaving the sights to not be noticed by whatever cold could come sweeping through at any moment. Likely looking out in the sunlight thinking the small party of travellers were fools heading the wrong way in the open lands to be spotted.
Some days it felt like that. In the dark of night, if high enough in the lands near a clearing, you could stand by an edge and see the shimmering green in the distance. It felt like a torment, knowing it was drawing you two near to the end, but the determination of cause acted as an invisible force pulling you towards that end anyways. But you didn't talk about it. Not now.
You both knew that this might be a journey only going one direction, but you had time for now to not think about it. The furthest any have ever gone and come back that you knew any truth of, were the Frost Fangs and it would take months to reach there. You could feel that impending, morose sense of doom when that night shimmer of green drew as close as the hospitable lands lasted. Only then would you have to face that reality. Or want too.
“How far do they go on for?”
You had asked looking at the maps, eyes trained directly over the ends of it which showed no direct ending of something. Jon had leaned more into your side, the press of a hand firmly on your lower back running ever so slightly up your spine a tad before dropping back down. Murmuring quietly, as he looked between you and the map. “We don't know. No one's ever been recorded to survive far enough to know where it ends.”
Any maps of it cut off, as if guessing it could not be assumed the degree of it's vastness and so much of it was lands none could go, see, or touch. It was something as if to keep something out, separating whatever was in there from man being able to travel freely into it. “Some say if you sail west long enough you'll end up in the furthest east edges of Essos. Maybe if you travel long enough North, you'll end up walking into the start of the Sunset Sea.”
It was quiet between you both for only a moment until Jon murmured, “Didn't you used to think the world was flat?” What was flat, was the expression on your face it fell into. Arguing back under your breath that you were eight when you thought that. “Thought you were the smart one.”
Were Jon not far stronger then you, and standing far too close to gain any upper hand against, you might have turned and shoved him for that. But still, your eyes drifted to it once more, the way the map cut off without any notion of if it continued passed that point. Gloved fingertips tapping gently against the edge of Thenn, you pushed that sensation down.
Worry about the unknown when you get there you told yourself. Worry about it then.
The days were easy, still enough time of sun in the sky to get a decent amount of the way into the lands, before finding a place to stop. Once nightfall hit though, there was no more place for a fair back and forth debate of plans. Once the sun fell beyond the sky, it was Jons word alone. He knew what lurked in the dark here far more then you did, he didn't want any risk of you finding yourself out of his sight once the only light guiding you was that from the moon, and the whatever fires sat in the middle of your camp.
But the daytime, with light everywhere shining even brighter against nothing but the white snow, it was far easier to see Jon smile and joke. Less to find in a determined terror, he could relax knowing at the least, what threats existed here some time ago no longer were to always look out for. The wildlings were once the enemy to watch out for, but now the enemy was something far different, and it hunted at night. Not in the light of day as you two travelled in.
Six villages this far you both had passed, and each according to Jon had been abandoned long before he saw them the first time. “Some fled, trying to get south of the Wall. Most joined up with Mance Rayder, though.”
Brows narrowing in the slightest, your eyes remained trained looking mostly up and around. The forest paths were a bit longer, but provided the most safe path. Yet gave nothing lacking in sights to take in, almost as if you were as surprised now how far it went on for as you were seeing the wolfswood when a girl. Voice a bit distant, as you eyes caught sight of Ghost following beside him. “Doesn't sound much like a plan. Going to war with the Nights Watch, but what happens when they crossed it? The Seven Kingdoms forgets how they got there?”
It took him a moment to answer, it had been some time since he thought back so those days so vividly, but now it was all around in him memory as it was new for you. “Don't think he had one.” Catching your gaze as you turned to look at him with a question, he elaborated further. “Mance was trying to protect his people, get them south of the Wall before winter came. It took him years to get them all in the same place, but I think that's as far as he got.”
Inhaling a bit, you considered such a fact before jumping to any unfair conclusions. As easy as it would be to. “I suppose when your primary goal is trying to not die, everything else tends to be secondary to that.” A small glint shining in the greys of his eyes spoke enough, and it almost succeeded in bringing the smallest of smiles from you before looking away. “Can we really say we aren't trying if we've both already done it before?”
Matching yours with a bit more ease, your eyes flickered to the side briefly enough to catch a smile much more free on his face, the lightness as he spoke matched as well. “We aren't out here to protect ourselves, we're doing it for our people.”
Almost interrupting his thought, you found the alternate path he was headed towards. “I'm not trying to disrespect the man. I didn't even know him. I'm only saying it doesn't seem like a great plan, if the only option he had if he had crossed was for his people to roll over everything and everyone for a thousand miles.”
A curiosity sat in Jons eyes as he watched you, no malice sat in your expression or tone but you also understood war in a different way then Jon did. The war you've seen were vast and traditional, it was difficult to change such a point of view to that of pure survival when the one you marched into with Robb was so different.
“Can't imagine what he'd say now. Learning in the end the one who betrayed him, brought all his people south without any more fighting over it.”
It caught him off guard you suspected, how quickly it slipped from your mouth without thought behind it. “What do you call getting stabbed in the middle of the courtyard, then?” Your eyes peeled over to his, and a darker bemused glaze sat in his as a nonchalant jest of smug sat in yours.
Lowering a tone in deepness, Jon was short as he replied back. “They didn't kill me for that.” You only muttered that it likely didn't help the matter, but you trusted neither of you felt any blame one way or the other. Not for that anymore, not now. “Trust me, Ser Alliser had wanted an excuse for years. Only matter of time it was before he found a good one.”
“Why?” Turning to look, everything of playfulness had dropped. You barley knew him, but you knew enough to feel the spite returning as it did that first meeting. “Why did he hate you so much? No one that day could give me a real reason.”
But Jon also sighed, looking forward once more and yet also back into such early days so long ago. Back when the worst of his life he thought was being left at the Wall by his father and leaving you to his brother. “I don't know. He did from the moment I got there. It didn't help things when I tried to kill him.”
How he almost managed to get you to pass that by, with the manner he dropped it as you knew that information. Turning with a bit of an open mouth, your eyes shined in wonder he didn't look at. “We're discussing why he hated you, and you somehow didn't think to mention that first?”
“It was only in my first few months. It was after you and my father were arrested, Ser Alliser insulted him in front of me,” Pausing you knew images and memories of what was likely an anger sunk back into his bloodstream. “Before he knew it, I was going at him with a knife. If Grenn and Pyp weren't there to stop me, I would've done it too.”
In one way it was difficult to look at Jon now and imagine such an impulsive action, but you knew the Jon then and his handle on his temper was one. His lack of willingness to control that temper on behalf of the love for his own family, was another completely. “Call it bias, but I can't say I disapprove that you tried. I barley knew him for hours and already I didn't know how you put up with that as long as you did.”
A huff of a laugh came from Jon, “You cut his head off after only knowing him for hours.”
“Someone had to finish the job in your honour.” For a moment nothing was said, until you felt that watching feeling. Turning slightly to glance at Jon, you regretted it in a moment. The look in his eye was undoubtable. “Jon. You cannot possibly be thinking about that right now.” Asking with a rougher tone why not, you felt the fluster wishing to come up your chest. Biting your tongue before finding a much more collected answer not looking his way. “There is nothing appealing about what I did.”
Jon though, switched between watching the path head and glancing to you with the same low words he irritatingly knew got to you. “You killing a man isn't what's appealing. It's how passionate you were about doing it to defend me.” There was little doubt Jon was using how much you were purposely not looking his way against you. “You'd feel the same if it were me, why can't I return that?”
Stammering a bit, your jaw clenched trying to focus. You knew what he was doing. Jon had been at this for the past three days. Trying to gauge how much more needy you were getting and enjoying all too much how hard you worked to pretend you weren't worked up more often now. If you recalled, two months was around when you begun to feel rather needy for Robb as well.
At least you two were in a camp full of soldiers. Jon had you out in the open North with no soul around for hundreds if not a thousand miles to see you but the guarding direwolf beside him. Muttering back low enough he heard, but quiet that you knew you were trying to push passed his intentions. “There's only so much daylight on our side, we can't stop everytime you-”
“Everytime I what? Want you? Everytime I want to shove you against a tree and-” You with much more of an obvious fluster all but shouted his name with wide, embarrassed eyes and instantly he laughed. “Gods, you're making it too easy.”
Oh it was even worse then what you thought. “Maybe I'm not sensitive, maybe you're just being mean, your Grace.” He didn't say anything and you both knew you were not looking at the glint in his eye on purpose. Instead, he left it in the open air, a tease or riling up it could go in either path. He was unpredictable in how mean he could be now that he had you all alone.
Further into the day you'd get and as the sun would continue to fall it was Jons keen eye which would search for a place to stop and always with enough time to settle before night fell. Arguing that it may take longer by being so strict about not travelling at night, but once it was dark and you both could look North and see the glowing green waiting for you, it was difficult to find reason to distrust his instincts.
For now, enough sun remained that he beckoned you to follow, circling more up a path to a small cliff side edge. Jon would always climb from his horse first, keeping you there until he had every reason to suspect there was nothing waiting behind any shadow.
A fortnight passed and the routine was beginning to come easy. Settling the horses first, food, water, they were the easy part. Jon nodding for Ghost to go with you as you gathered wood for a fire insisting he could handle things from there. Though, you were well aware he was giving you the less labour intensive job, with no amount of reminders that only two months you could still do everything you used to. The first night out here, Jon merely pulled you in to press his lips gently to your forehead before shoving you off a bit, murmuring, “Stop arguing.”
When you had pointed out that wasn't anywhere near an argument he had smirked. The next night he simply gave you things to do right away instead of taking over what you already started. Now you just knew better, and no amount of knowing you could do more would make it feel better in his head. So you let him give you the easier tasks, knowing it was thus lighter on the weight bearing down on his shoulders about it.
You did not think of it in that manner at all, but you knew too well, there was already much guilt in his heart. To Jon, he had dragged his pregnant wife out into the far North not knowing if you two would ever come back. He had no choice in bringing you, but he would blame himself if you made his worries any worse then they needed to be.
Ghost at least, had a much more direct manner of ordering you around. He was large after all. The direwolf would simply nudge you to the side out of his way if he decided you were not fit to carry the heavy object in question. There was no mistakening why Jon was the one Ghost bonded too. They were essentially the same person within two different entities.
On many occasions, when you would put down enough branches into the pile collecting, Ghost would saunter up and snatch a large amount in his mouth and look at you expectantly to pick up the smaller amount left. A playfulness in his eyes as he would wait for you, knowing you'd inevitably run your gloved hand over his head and ears first. Picking the rest up that early evening, you looked back up to the direwolf with a brightness in your eyes. “He wasn't so far off when he said we already have a child, was he?”
If Ghost could shake his head like a human to agree, he would have. Sometimes it was striking, how used to him you were. Moreso out here it came to you. In what a direwolf's natural home would be, Ghost fit into it perfectly and yet also was more human then some men ever behaved as. You had only ever spent a significant amount of time around three of them, and it was interesting to see what traits of their companions they took after.
Robb could be just as troublesome and playful, but Grey Wind always represented the assertive independence, the part of Robb that was undoubtedly a King was what was found in his direwolf. Jon had all the same aspects of him as a King, and yet it was his playful and gentle side which was found within Ghost. You could almost wonder if they were there, meant to bring out the best in their human companions which otherwise might not have come out so easily.
But there was a third you knew, and you didn't prefer to think of why you knew the direwolf that much. If you let yourself you could still see her face as you and Lord Stark approached her. The cutest wolf you'd ever seen, and yet she had not a clue what you were there for.
Nudging you slightly, Ghost brought you out of such a memory. Still crouching on the ground, you smiled at him before gathering the rest up. You didn't want to think about that now, what it meant. How Ghost seemed to tie so deeply into the strange abilities which seemed to exist in Jons blood, and what it meant when you help take a wolfs life away without taking the human with it.
You knew he was aware you were back, but you preferred not to interrupt when he did this part, letting him focus solely on setting things up. Already having the base of a fire going for you, your next task begun. It was nothing one could ever call a grand meal, but once the evening sky turned gold, you knew as long as wildlife was around to take advantage of, you'd make best of what you had.
Jon left nothing up to chance. With only the three of you, taking turns staying up to keep watch was not sustainable. If you'd all be asleep come dark, Jon was ensuring anything coming his way would be heard before getting there. And knowing it was not the free folk coming to hunt him down for being a crow he was on the watch for, but the blue eyed dead which could come at anytime.
Turning back though, something in his heart took a skip. It was a sight strange to him, but he had once been desperate for it. Travelling with her, there was not one day he'd wake and not prey to the gods to let it be you he'd see. Instead it was always her, and it always put him on edge no matter how recently he awoke. Jon would wish it would be you there with him, it was all he wanted, all he focused on to get through it all with his sanity.
But the sight he came upon? The camp now set, serving as what home he could give you in this place, you were a strange blend. The sheepskin was not unlike what the free folk would wear to endure such cold so normally, and Jon found himself both hating it and loving it. He hated it, because he wanted to bring you home. Let you wear the dresses he knew you preferred and live in the comfort you deserved to have. But he also loved it.
It was what he would want in his most insecure days. Dreaming of taking you into this very North to live a life where your love was not disapproved of so heavily. You knelt by the fire with a small narrowing in your expression as he knew you were trying to make something good rather then edible alone, as if it were normal. Jon knew you weren't sure of your place here, but he stood there with his heart floating in his chest at how natural you were in whichever kind of life he dragged you into.
But here beyond the Wall, you didn't fit. Or, you shouldn't have fit. A highborn girl, born in luxury within the royal family. Nothing but expensive, beautiful dresses made from fine silk, taught how to be a lady and you presented yourself as such. Smart and well read, but sweet and innocent enough that it made men everywhere want you even if you refused to believe him when he said it.
In your home you were a Queen, and you grew up the closest thing to a princess a girl could get and yet you were here with him. In a frozen land, making your way deep into such difficult inhospitable lands and giving up everything to do so. You were always more to Jon then just a pretty maiden, but for everything you deserved to be, he felt something so warm in his chest at the manner which you worked in the small campsite as if it were everything you needed anyways.
Maybe it was being back out here doing it, but something was filling him with an adoring pride at being able to call you his, knowing that you were exactly the kind of girl Ygritte made fun of. But here you were, surviving the same lands she did, but all without making fun of her for any opposite. You fit her clothes as much as your own, when Ygritte would rather have burned yours then even pretend she could fit into them.
Ygritte would've hated everything about you, and it made him feel all the more angry at her for it. Even after all this time, standing there knowing you were his wife, carrying his child, and following him to the genuine ends of the known world when you should be home in Winterfell in comfort.
These were the lands of her home, and maybe he thought, if she could watch him now, she'd understand that the man she forced him to pretend to be was nothing of who he wanted to be. Maybe she'd finally understand he willingly shared with you what she forced him to pretend to want to give. Maybe Jon thought, he should make love to you under the night sky even just once, so she could see what love was, and why Jon would never have given it to her.
By the time Jon returned, you gave him a small smile glancing from your focus. “Perfect timing, your food is just about ready.” He said nothing as you worked, not that you took any notice, you didn't need him to fill the air every moment. You were fine knowing he was in your sights by the fire now.
It was one of the few times you found something resembling a normal feeling out here. By the fire as the sun set, even past the sting of the cold everywhere else, you would look to Jon and feel a bit less unsure about it all. You both had a long way to go, but quiet moments of normalcy here, nothing but Jon and Ghost at your side, it felt as if you truly were supposed to be here. “What?”
Registering the question in your head, bringing you back to notice now Jons gaze was set directly onto you with curiosity. For only a second did you give yourself that time further to entrench yourself in that feeling before swallowing such sappiness back down where it belongs. Turning your attention back to what was boiling, you told a half truth. “My apologies, your Grace. I'll admire you out of sight next time.”
Shaking his head with an amusement, Jon choose to not reply to that. Likely knowing flustering you as you were perched over a hot fire was not the correct time to do so.
“I'm taking us on a different path then we planned tomorrow.” Glancing up at him later into the evening, your mid bite allowing him to simply elaborate for you. “We'll set up came earlier, but there's somewhere I want to go. Something I need to see before I lose the chance.”
Agreeing with whatever his plan was, you could see a distance in his eyes finding the flames. Lost in a memory you were too apprehensive to interrupt to ask about. A whole lifetime passed for Jon both in the Nights Watch and in the far north here, and sometimes it was easy to forget how little you knew of his life in the years you were apart.
Clever he was, picking to choose when to bring it back up. Kneeling behind you a the sky fell dark properly, carefully untangling the natural mess from the day in your hair as night truly begun to sink down on the North. A low murmur right in your ear, warm breath dancing along the skin and almost shivering down your spine as a result. “It seems dark enough to say we're not going anywhere now.”
A smile falling on your lips as you leaned a bit back more into his warm touch. “What is there to say about it? You were there, you saw what I did.”
Shifting part of your hair to one side, a flutter of your eyes came about as Jon rasped deep into your ear before leaning down to press his lips to your neck ever so gently. A free hand of his sat firmly on your upper arm, the other running up and down your opposite arm toying with the idea of finding your waist as he spoke. “I know you, and I know you wouldn't have done it without getting him to confess in front of everyone.” Asking lightly if Edd hadn't told him, but Jon only pressed another kiss to your neck, lingering longer that time. “He did, but he's not the one who made that choice. He wasn't the one who did it. Had you ever done it before yourself?”
Shaking your head only slightly as to not disturb his warm place by your neck, a little bit of airiness poked through the memory thinking back of it. “I killed before, but never in that way. Robb was the one who did it, I stood with him but he swung the sword.” Only quiet followed, but Jon shifted a bit to lean more back against the rock side behind, pulling your back into his chest properly. One arm wrapping across your front and sitting by your other shoulder, rightly anticipating you reaching one hand up to wrap with his there.
His other did as he always did in such a position now. As his brother once had. Firmly against the front of your stomach. Jon liked to find his hand soothing over your scar, but now you knew the possessive nature behind it had grown to something else. “Why not get someone else to do it? No one would have blamed you.”
The weight trapped in your throat, it did none to let you swallow the flood of raw grief that you had no more need to feel. He was behind you, he was alive with you, but it felt as fresh as it had in the same hours that day. “No one took responsibility for it. The ones who knew, the men I spoke to who all pointed the finger at Ser Alliser without even knowing the truth. Everyone knew it was him, and he was allowed to walk around as if he had been waiting for such a day for years.”
Nudging the side of your head with his, you turned more to the sensation without committing to trying to seek out his eyes. Were you anywhere but in his arms, Jon wouldn't have been heard. “It wasn't your fault- no darling, we're not doing this again. He wanted me dead for years, he only used me going after you as an excuse. It wasn't your duty to take justice, you shouldn't have had to.”
Mumbling a bit, there was a chance of none Jon did not pick up the wavering. “I thought you found me defending your honour attractive.”
A chuckle hummed in your ear, Jons thumb reaching up to brush against what of your chin and jaw he could from such an angle. “I do, but that doesn't mean it wasn't hard for you. I never avenged you and Robb when I had the chance, so yes it's important to me that you did for me what I didn't for you.”
You weren't sure why it was what came out, but it did and quickly. “You know what made me angry the most? Thinking that your last moments, you were forced to die alone. No one was there who cared, just let you bleed out in the snow before hiding what they had done.” Your grip on the hand close to your shoulder tightened, Jon returning the change right away as you tried to almost force the sting behind your eyes away through that alone. “He said to me he should have left you outside the gates, force me to freeze to death with you but it wouldn't have changed anything. It wouldn't have changed that you were alone. I came back without him, but at least Robb and I were with each other when it happened. The last thing the other saw, but I couldn't stand the idea of Ser Alliser getting to walk around free when he forced you to die thinking you had no one.”
His rasp deep and warm right by your ear, his hands pulling you back more into him were such a feat even possible. “When I finally realized what happened, when I was in Ghosts mind, if you hadn't come through those gates that morning I would've gone looking for you anyways. I couldn't stand thinking you were somewhere out there, thinking no one was left to care about protecting you. I didn't care what the others thought, even if I was going alone I needed you to know I cared, I needed you to know I still loved you more then anything else.”
“And that's why I had to execute him myself. I still loved you, and even though I couldn't get there in time to save you, I'd protect whatever you had left. From any of them.”
Hiding somewhat in your neck and partially in your hair, Jon stayed there. Muffled against you as you tried to lean and return the gesture back from such a spot. “I'm starting to think we've never been normal about each other.” Your breathy laugh caused a deeper one to rumble through his chest into your back. “Am I wrong?”
Rising up suddenly, he left your hand go to tilt rest at your other cheek pulling you so he could press is lips to the side of your head as he continued. “The old me would have never done any of that seeing you alive again the first time. Not right away. I'd have at least waited until I had you in a warm bed to tear your clothes off.” Running his thumb up and down your cheek still, the leather somewhat cold against the wind. “Would have said more then three words to you.”
Turning suddenly, Jons hands settled on your hips as you straddled his lap. Perched on his shoulders, able to run along his exposed neck while it was not hidden away by his curls. Bright was all your eyes shined at him with, and a sickening adoration you found yourself unwilling to downplay as he found the same instinct right back. “If I recall, I wasn't exactly begging for you to stop.”
There it was, that tease in his eyes which shined so perfectly. The need in him to hold you tighter and closer with the obstacle of how covered up you both were out in the cold. “As soon as I had your shirt off, you were desperate to get mine off too.” Leaning forward more, hands cupping both sides of his face against the scratch of his facial hair, Jon moved one of his to hold you steady up your spine as he followed suit and sat up to meet you closer.
Just barley nudging your nose with his as you tempted yourself with kissing him, eyes darting back and forth between his lips and closing to enjoy the proximity. “I was desperate for you the moment you kissed me, think I'm always a bit desperate for you. Don't know what's happened, you came back and all I want to do is hand my body over to you for whatever you could possibly want.”
Jaw clenching tightly, Jon drifted that hand up to run through the hair down your back. Slinking through the stands he had so recently smoothed out and grasping a hold of it much more tightly. Words slurring together a bit the more worked up you knew he felt. “If I did whatever I wanted to you, you wouldn't even be able to walk when I'm done. I don't know I'd even let you, maybe I'd keep you tied to by bed. Stripped and bare, legs spread for me the moment I walk in, whenever I want.”
Swallowing harsh, Jon had spotted it no doubt. Breathless against him, lightheaded in the need growing the longer you sat there but he made forgetting everything around you in his favour too common. You hadn't even said a word, only nodding obediently.
The thicker his accent, the more worked up he was, and it was as thick as could be, murmuring against your lips. “All I'd have to do is taste you for hours. Drink between your legs and never let you cum until you'd beg me for anything. That's when I'd ask, when I'd suggest it, any of it. Show you why you've always belonged to me.”
Dropping your head slightly, forcing a whine back down your throat even though Jon could feel you desperately attempting to not grind down onto him. Reaching up from your waist, Jon tilted your chin to force your gaze to meet his. Brows furrowed in a seriousness before he lurched forward. Capturing your lips with his, bruising and rough in the moment he kissed you and only pulling you closer by the hand tight in your hair.
Your hands wrapping instantly around the back of his neck, you let him deepen the kiss as he moved his lips, soft and perfect against your needy ones. Teeth nibbling at your bottom lip and you parted ways for him almost too instantly, almost too obediently. He hadn't even asked yet, but took full advantage to slid his tongue into your mouth, brushing against yours.
Keeping your lips against his, the hand at the back of your head loosening his grip only enough to slink through the strands of your hair more. Not so forcefully tight but almost controlling, his large hand pressing the back of your head to keep your lips all to himself. Stealing your every breathe but you pressed against his front as much as you could, almost wishing you could still give him more.
Only a fortnight passed which you two were alone out here, and already Jon had you utterly weak for him in such a powerful way. Nothing and no one to distract you from the burning inside your lungs which pleaded his name for more. Licking the inside of your mouth, you tried to brush against his tongue back but he kissed you just the way he wanted, you surrendering all control to him, begging for each break in the kiss to come back, chasing his lips once more Jon never refused.
But in the cold of night, you could hardly share as much as you were desperate for. Pulling back from your lips, saliva not even breaking between you as Jon husked out deep as anything, “I wanted to make love to you here, take you under the stars, but not tonight, not yet.”
Surging upwards, Jon hauled you to your feet along with him by your hips before pressing his lips to yours once more. Pulling back just as you gasped from the suddenness, “I'll take care of things here, I want you to lay down for me.” Your nod, eyes fluttering closed, was not enough. Calling your name to attention, meeting his eyes black in their desire. “Alright?”
“Alright.” A hand ran down your hair gently, and prompted you as if nothing was out of the ordinary, to where the tent was firmly set, waiting to hide you from the cold properly.
You knew the routine, after all, only the two of you it was easy to find new patterns with one another and Jon was not a difficult man for you to read. A laugh leaving you gently right away, tucked away on one side, curled up as if being in a ball did not make him one very large patch of fur, Ghost barley took notice to you interrupting the lack of cold as you moved inside.
Shocking it was how easy it was for the cold to seem so much less permanent hidden by the simplicity of four walls, or what makeshift walls a tent of such size served as. The sheepskin was the first to come off of your torso, tearing it from you to the dark shirt long down your arms underneath. Part of you wanted to sigh, you did every night.
It was as if you were in the Westlands all over again. How much wearing things such as this day in and out made you miss your dresses. Truly, you didn't know how men did it. You hated having to dance to get even most of your heavy layers off and even then your legs still firmly hidden away. In the outside it was nice, when you were in here, it was nothing but an annoyance.
Only two of you, not much could be taken. But the material hiding the snowy ground was thick enough you couldn't feel the cold under it, and at the least the fur on top was as close to the comfort of Jons bed as you two could recreate.
Listing off in your head what he was doing, knowing the routine set which you almost had down to exactly when he'd do what, right up to matching in your head the approaching of footsteps coming your way. The fire no doubt hidden as embers to not catch any possible chance of attention, it left not a peek of light as your eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Laid back somewhat, perched up by your palms against the fur, you watched as Jons figure only briefly brought the cold and light in with him before hiding away again. The sounds of boots coming off and layers shedding, you had not a clue what he left until the feeling of his warmth came to you.
Keeling down on the fur over top of you, Jon crawled over to force your back against the floor of the tent. Your hands seeking him to find he had nothing on, not a thing and yet he was so warm. The brushing of his curls now loose danced over you as Jon reached for the bottom of your own shirt. Pulling it up and tossed away to the pile without another thought. Your pants next he gently pulled them down and nothing left was in his way.
Crawling back over, one hand cupped the side of your cheek and jaw, moving your lips perfectly into place as he pressed his bare frame over yours. Your legs spreading as they bent to seek home by his hips, Jon used the other to cup the back of your head. Keeping your lips to his as he guided you to follow in his kiss. Nothing but the gentle sound of his lips moving with yours was around. Not the sounds of outside, not the crackling of a fire always close in any room. Just the two of you, as your hands roamed his shoulders and back.
Not a shred of the roughness he took you with earlier, moving from your lips down to your neck, not biting. Just his lips, his tongue, still taking his opportunity to suck marks deep into your neck, you gasped loudly as your back arched up into him. The hand on your jaw, now wrapping around your waist, keeping your hips pressed to his, the feeling of his cock hard running along you as if he could simply ignore it.
Your heart pounding in your chest the further his lips moved, your breathing heaving your chest as he came down to them. Grasping each in a rough hand, that time your gasp was far sharper, far more high pitched as you almost didn't contain a whine along with it. His eyes adjusted better then yours, Jons gaze shot up to you. Muttering quiet with a thick rasp, “Shh, darling. I know, they're sensitive this way, barley have to touch you anywhere else now.”
Your head falling back to the ground, your hands wanted to keep holding onto Jon, but his shoulders too far down to wrap around properly, only nails digging in slightly as you mumbled back. “No, please, please I need you-”
Pressing his lips gentle to each breast, despite caressing and groping them tightly together, he reassured you with deep tones to seduce rather then calm. “I'll touch you I promise, but these,” Groping more before his fingers found your nipples in a more pinch that had you gasp for him again. “You're so sensitive now, carrying my child...” More and more your core twisted at the sparks he sent through your breasts.
He was right, they were so much more sensitive now and Jon adored it. You nodded despite not knowing if he could even see, but your tongue was stinging being bitten down on to contain yourself, the worry that how suddenly Jon touch burned you would seem depraved and unhinged, but you felt it with such need as he twisted the buds of your breasts, giving them a tug before letting one hand go back to grasping to replace the twisting sensation with a bite.
A hand finding his curls, grounding yourself before you floated away Jon bit at your nipples before sinking his teeth into the skin around it. Leaving a sheen of cold from his saliva when he would drifted, only to switch to the other. His hand now yanking at the nipple against your breast stinging from how much you knew he marked it in colours.
Biting down against the other, your core burned and twisted right until you felt tears leave the corners of your eyes from where you lay, but always arching into his touch. He couldn't you thought, he couldn't finish you just from this surely. But if that were the case, why were your hips almost grinding up into his, feeling the brush of his cock.
Moving away, Jon looked up to you with a tilt of his head. “You're not going to cum for me, just from this alone..” Testing the waters, he groped them roughly with his thumbs running along your nipples and the manner in which it twisted in your gut would be embarrassing had Jon not dropped his head slightly. “Fuck..” Before returning right back. Taking your nipples between his teeth and increasing the roughness every passing cry.
It was so quick, the build without anything but the slight brushing of his cock against your core, but it was too fast. It had you shiver in his touch not from the cold, but your hands tightened in his hair. A growl leaving him at the tug, you did it again only for Jon to bite down at your breasts harder. You could feel how much they were going to sting come morning but you craved it.
“Come on.” Muttering against you, as he yanked at them once more. But it was the return of his lips to your neck which did you in. It felt humiliating, an orgasm coming from his touch at your breasts alone but you writhed up into him almost desperate for your breasts to be let go. Sloppily trailing to your lips, Jon captured another kiss as he muttered under his breath, nothing but inaudible swears until he slunk to your ear with hot breaths. “I'm not done.”
That time he did not pace himself down your body. Somewhat sitting up, Jon grasped your hips, yanking you to pull down the fur. Pulling your legs over his shoulders, Jon leaned down enough so your back remained flat but his grip on your hips kept you hoisted in the air, and more notably, kept you wide open for his mouth at his desire.
Grateful for the hidden acts, knowing were you to see the utter display Jon had you in, you would feel nothing in your bones but a deep shame at what you were willing to let him do. Licking a path right from your core up to your clit, he gave the same treatment to it as he did your breasts, teeth scraping against the bundle of nerves before sucking at it. Cries leaving you without notice but the feeling of how wet you were not anything to Jon but a feast.
Tongue flat against you, licking down before shifting enough so one hand slid down to cup a cheek of your ass, as if keeping you perched right for his tasting. Licking deep inside of you, the spinning in your head immense as you soaked him with every brush of his tongue inside. Warm his mouth was against already your warm cunt, the winter outside need not exist as the sweat built up the more you cried out, hands grasping at the fur beneath you tightly.
Grunting into you, fingertips digging roughly into your ass to the degree you felt his nails carving half moons into the skin. His other hand firmly at your hip keeping you trapped in such a position, and yet your hands yearned to touch him. To let him touch you, but words couldn't escape between breathe of pleads and begs of his name for something your desire could hardly ask for through the fog.
Nose nudging against your clit, every bit of wetness you soaked him with was not let escape to find your skin. Only his tongue, as Jon felt the pounding in his heart as his insides burned how much he could loose his senses this way. Your begs for him were the only sound he needed, knowing if he kept you this way, you'd cling to him so needy when he finally climbed back over top of you. For now though, he guided you into that darkness more around you, sucking back at your clit before nibbling down and tearing gasps from your lips.
Drinking from your cunt, were they not closed, Jons eyes may have rolled into the back of his head, the taste was so heavy but so perfect. You gave no man this but Jon, it belonged to him, this taste belonged to him and not even a sliver of what you were like down here could match to such a feast.
Were the end of you both coming to the destination of this journey, the only meal Jon wished to have before you both went was this. He'd keep you on his mouth and tongue as long as he possibly could, he knew he would need this. Almost every night Jon wanted to let his tongue run along your soaking, sensitive walls until you gifted him more of your wetness.
Which you continued to do, begging his name.
“Gods, Jon..please, you're-gods you're so good, so perfect..” Sometimes you knew you spoke but not a clue what words truly came out of your mouth. But that core inside you burned and twisted and turned until you felt your legs tensing around him, but Jon only held you tighter against his ravenous mouth.
Growling into you, it vibrated against your walls and dragged you over that edge. Tongue soaking up every slick of orgasm you poured into his mouth. Breathless cries leaving you, but Jon only growled more the longer you came, the longer you let him lick inside your cunt the perfect taste.
Only when your legs started to tense and almost pull away did Jon tear from you. Letting your legs drop, spread wide for him did he let you heave in need for air, hand running along his mouth to gather what remained before crawling back over you, hoisting your legs back up to his hips, muttering against your lips so close you already could taste what remained on him of you. “Wrap them around me.”
Somehow relaxing now that your arms could follow your legs, the later at his hips and hooking around his back and your arms wrapping around his shoulders as your nails scratched into him. His kiss deep and forcing his tongue into your needing mouth to brush against yours, making you taste yourself the way he couldn't stop craving.
A hand cupping the back of your head to keep your kiss against his lips, Jon spared no more time as he used his other hand to grasp your hip. In one single, smooth and soaking thrust Jons cock stretched you thick, sinking as deep as he could go without any resistance despite how tightly you clenched around him. Your nails carving into his back, tearing himself from your lips in almost a snarl at the sting, despite such an innocent look on your face, overwhelmed at how much his cock filled you.
Jon knew by now, he had utterly ruined everything that once made you so pure.
It wasn't the cold causing you to shiver as such, the slow drag of his cock against the most sensitive walls inside of you, making you feel his every inch. Only when he was sat deep inside of you did Jon press his forehead against yours, rasping through such a gruff need. “I'm bringing us home. All four of us, I promise.”
Eyes hooded from the spark flying through your veins, you sought after his kiss. Muttering between each press of your lips, “Stay with me, that's all I need. No matter what, that's all I need..” Pushing you back into the furs to deepen the kiss, you felt the protest in him but you raked your hands through his curls almost soothingly.
You didn't need any promises but that you'd be together. Everything you needed was already with you, right in this tent and that was all you could ever ask the gods for. Slowly, Jon begun to slide his cock almost all the way out, only the tip still inside you and he thrusted back in you just as slow. A burn hardly out of control much like the embers of the fire outside, enough to keep you going but dim and soothing instead of wild and out of control.
Breathing heavy between you both as each slid of his cock snug inside you had you cry out, and each time you clenched around such a sting he gave you Jon eased you with a kiss. For every way he could take you, nothing was ever more overwhelming then when he fucked so calm, slowly, taking his time instead of tearing you apart. One hand high on your waist slid down, running over the scar with a pressure knowing he was trying to feel any changes yet.
Brows furrowing you knew he was trying to figure it out, what did you feel like the night before what could he be imagining from hope, but your cries tore him back to the present. Somewhat hiding in his neck, you burned white hot within you, you were soaking his cock you knew it. Every thrust it got worse but you might cry if he stopped, if he pulled out. Grasping desperately around his back and shoulders, Jon tried to shift so he ran a hand down what he could of your hair.
“I know, darling. I know. It's a lot.” Nodding against him, he never changed his pace, never moved how hard he thrusted into you, but your muscles shook as your mind fogged. So hazy he could say anything and you'd nod in agreement as long as he kept his cock inside you.
Closer and closer the building in your core got, the more Jon buried his face in your hair in return. Trying to keep above instead of pressing you into the furs, but you let a whine escape enough that Jon almost groaned in your ear, even moreso when you begged so sweetly. “Please Jon, please, I want you to finish with me..please..”
Turning to kiss the side of your head, Jon nodded against you after. “I'm close, show me what you learned.” Hesitantly, you let a hand around his shoulder slide away. Drifting down between your bodies, Jon knew you found it the moment you jumped the slightest in his arms. “That's it, come on,”
Slowly sliding in and out, you refused to touch your clit at any pace Jon was not setting. Rubbing just slight circles, trying to find the right feeling when he bit at your ear, hissing against it. “Don't overthink it.”
It was a little easier, telling yourself once again to focus on his cock inside of you and you followed as such so naturally. Pressing your forehead against his, you felt his cock throbbing inside of you just as the heat in you burned enough the coil twisted tightly, small needing cries left muffled into his neck and clenching tight around.
Just as it released, just as the desire flooded your veins with a beg of his name did Jon groan yours. Pressing you flat against the fur, but not before he snatched your hand from your clit. Pushing it against the fur as well beside your head, Jon interlocked your fingers together as he pulled back to capture your lips into a rough kiss. Thick and hot, his seed spilled inside of you at the deepest point, your hand grasping somewhat at his waist beckoning him almost further.
Slow thrusts moved down to slower, and slower before almost hardly being considered moving as you and Jon both lost each other in his kiss. As if you weren't already carrying his child, Jon refused to leave as if you needed to be filled with his seed at any time.
Gentle brushes of his tongue against yours, just to coax you back to him. Smaller kisses being pressed back to your lips each time he pulled away, followed by a longer, more chaste kiss as he slowly pulled out of you. Running a hand up and down your hip and keeping your fingers interlocked on the other side as he did so. Murmuring the moment he led up, “I love you.”
For the sweat and seed shared between your bare bodies, Jon let out a boyish smile and chuckle along with it. Pressing a kiss to your lips once more muttering, “And I love you.” Until the after shocks would settle, Jon kept you in his neck and his face in your hair, running hands over one another.
Only when you could kiss him back without gasping for any air once more, Jon finally turned you in his arms. Pulling your back firmly against his chest as he pressed his hand once again firmly against your stomach. Both nuzzling back into the other, you both were fine if sleep was harder to come by out here as long as you'd find it wrapped in one another like this.
It was but another grim day in the sky, but such things felt normal no matter where in the North one travelled. Climbing off your horse, you gently led him over to where a few posts still remained, albeit more rough and more covered in snow then likely when such a place was kept.
It was a clearing of land in the middle of the forest, and yet the buildings here no longer existed as they once had some time ago. Scattered remains which in fresh days looked like they could be burnt, but the snow and ice dusting over them now hid such evidence from afar. Running your gloved hand along their mane before stepping towards what remained of an open entrance like gate.
Jon did the same not a few feet from you, but his mind was as distant as his grey eyes were hazy with something unspoken and troubled. You wouldn't rush. He had wanted to come to whatever this was, and you would give him whatever time he needed with the remains of a memory.
Your feet carrying you one path to another avoiding the rubble, but unavoidable the longer you walked around what used to be some sort of building. You had been through villages once belonging to the free folk, but this reminded you more of a home. Tucked away in the forest from the rest of the world and it was a wonder what sort of world this north used to be before the winter colds came down.
Everything was as clear to Jon as it was both times he had been here. The first filled with strange memories, visions of the very woman walking some feet around the keep from him with Jons own brother, the truth of what exactly went on with the girls living here and the stacking upon stacking of evidence that a monster of a man lived here.
It was difficult to imagine someone with spirits as bright still as Gilly had come from such a dour, horrible place. Or how she had found harmony and love in someone as unlikely thinking he'd find it as Sam. Then again, once more Jon looked to you, wide eyes searching all around to put together what Jon was not saying in the silence, and he knew you too were somehow what he never thought would be someone he could have.
Finding a voice eventually, Jon walked more towards the middle of the keep over the wood still remaining from when he himself had helped burn it down. “This was Crasters Keep.” Your head turned to look at him, and it was still so odd seeing you in such a place he hated. A place where once was full of men he would be terrified to have you anywhere near. “The Nights Watch had an arrangement with Craster. We'd bring him things from south of the Wall, and he'd let our rangers stay and sleep here on their way to wherever they were going.”
Eyes narrowing in question you asked, “I thought the free folk had all hated the Nights Watch.”
Nodding, Jon didn't dispute it. “They did. Craster included. He hated everything that wasn't himself. He just liked his greed more then his privacy.” Your expression twisting a bit, he knew that wasn't even the half of it. Jon wasn't about to tell you the disgusting truth of his wives, or the vulgar things he meaninglessly shouted towards Jon with just to try and humiliate him in front of his brothers. He only was alright with you being in this place, now that it was gone.
Some things north of the Wall Jon thought, you should never know. The world you lived in together away from here was bad enough, he didn't need to divulge the worst of this place to you. Or what his brothers did once this place became theirs. Your voice cutting through the quiet, “What happened here exactly?”
Face falling into a frown, Jon considered the most gentle way to describe it. The first half was the easy one, the second not so much, taking his time explaining to get to that second half. “I wasn't here for it, it was after the brothers got attacked at the Fist of the First Men. They were making their way back to the Wall and stopped here, but for some of them I guess they had enough.” Turning to look at him, Jons face fell a bit to something he knew you'd tell was a sorrow. “Some of them put a knife through Crasters mouth, took hostage some of the brothers that fought back, and killed Lord Commander Mormont.”
Eyes widening at him, Jon knew it wasn't pity. It was his own guilt for how it ended for him and not being anywhere near it that he was seeing. Tender your voice was, trying not to overstep what you could tell was a wound which still felt strange in his heart. “So they burned it all down?”
“No. I did that.” Training his eyes to the ground, he begun searching for any signs. Glancing to Ghost wandering by with a look asking for him to help without need of words. “Mance's army was coming this way, and I knew if they got here, the mutineers would tell them the truth. What our weak spots were and how few men we actually had. So I had men come with me to kill them all before Mance got to them.”
Not seeing your reaction, but he could tell a bit that you were on the further North side of the keep. “What about his wives? What happened to them?”
Maybe he was being too soft with you, but it wasn't just the mutineers he could see, it was Ramsay. A man like him would've fit right in with that lot. So he kept the worst of it out. “Some ran, the ones who were still here when we got there, I knew they had nowhere to go. Offered to take them back to Castle Black, find them work, keep them safe. But they refused.” Asking why, Jon once more concocted a gentler version of it. “My brothers killed their father, took over their home, and Craster wasn't exactly a good man either. So they told us to burn it down, they'd find their own way.”
Jon looking through the rubble wondered, where had they gone, who did they find. Perhaps they found a way to get South, he hoped they did. They deserved a better life then anything in the far North could give them.
A whine from the west side came from Ghost, drawing his attention. Climbing over most of it, Jon jumped down to what had his direwolfs attention. Pulling back some of the rubble, it was cracked, it wasn't whole, but it was there. Looking up with a low muttering, “You sure?” Ghost only gesturing his head back down, and Jon knew that was a yes. Running his hand over with a small smile, “Good boy.”
He picked it up gently. It was all that was left, but what was left didn't deserve to be left out here. Maege Mormont had said she knew what it felt like to have your brother die thousands of miles from where you were to protect them, betrayed by his own men. She knew that pain exactly as Jon did, and Jon had the feeling you refused to discuss certain things about Robb, because you were avoiding the conversation of why you couldn't get his remains home.
He wanted nothing more then to have a scrap of Robb to bury, but he could give Maege this. He could bring what was left of Jeor Mormont home hopefully. He'd try at least. Shifting things around he wrapped it before finding a safe place for it near the bottom of the bag over his back.
Pushing up to stand once more did Jon notice he and Ghost were alone. The horses both still there, but nowhere in the remains of Crasters Keep did he see you. Calling your name, Jon glanced to Ghost in question.
It was that dream. The one you had the night you, Robb, and Theon had discussed sending him back to Pyke. You had gone to sleep that night, and dreamt of another night in the wolfswood by Winterfell. Only as you walked through the woods north of the keep, you realized your memory had blended with whatever it was Jon had seen that night. You knew these woods from that dream, and further and further your feet carried you looking for it.
The dream had haunted you for years, you would see nothing now you knew but you had to find it.
A baby laid on the snow, as if tossed away while it cried, and a crackling of ice before blue eyes glowing as crystals picked the baby up and walked further away into the northern woods. You had woken suddenly from that point, but you knew now it was real. Standing there, you resisted the urge to reach for your stomach. The idea of giving your child up in the snow for something to take like a monster in a bed side story.
Only a monster could do such a thing, giving up life they helped to create before it ever stood a chance? No good person worth remembering would do such a thing. You hadn't even heard Jon coming up behind you until the hand pressed against the hair at the back of your head, turning you enough to pull you to his lips. A kiss left to the back of your head as that hand slipped down to grasp at the edges of the fur covered hood by your neck.
Standing beside one another, it was another wave of an oddity for you both. The sight of a vision you knew the other had seen, and only now so many years later did you meet here in person where it had haunted you both. Rasping low in your ear, “Don't wander off on me like that.”
Whispering that you were sorry, you could see from the side of your vision him nodding without anger or irritation behind it. He was as wide eyed and trapped in place as you were. “How could someone do that? Give their child up to them, abandon them in the snow like they mean nothing to you?”
Using his grip on the fur, Jon pulled you closer into his side. “He was a monster. Murdering his own children.”
You both could see it, the creature walking away with the baby. The first time for you, that ice and cold and blue haunted your nightmares. “What did they want them for? The boys, what did the Others want with children?”
Was Jons answer more disturbing or less, neither was sure. “I don't know.”
His own hand reach out to run against your stomach before using the grip to turn you around, keeping you at his side with the hand pressing at your lower back. Moving you both back up the snowy grounds to the keep, Jon didn't want to look back. He wanted to know many things by the end of this, but maybe he didn't want to know what happened to the boys Craster gave up.
That way he wouldn't have to imagine in some months, the nightmare of his own son being given up like that. Jon knew he was many things in his new life, but willing to give up his children like that would never be one of them.
You relied on Jon to guide this journey, and this you never questioned his route. So perhaps, it was being kept from you that instead of crossing the Gorge as he knew was more then possible, he was taking a bit of extra time to go around it before making the longer trek to the Fist of the First Men.
The Frost Fangs were a long stretch of ice covered mountains and the terrain was going to be the more rough part. Jon having told you that it would take the longest to get through them. “If I were alone, it may be easier, but I'm going to be taking it slow with you. We won't get there for months, so I won't rush you through them. Not now and certainly not then.”
You both knew why, not only were you not used to terrain which was coming that way, but by his estimation, you would be at least four months by the time you would reach the beginning of them. You'd be showing by then, and he wasn't going to risk you or the babies life if there was even a scrap of a chance he could get you home.
Sometimes it surprised you that even in the sort of cold around, the feeling of freshly fallen snow still was something near refreshing. For quite a while as you travelled, there was a continuous falling around you of large, almost wondrous snowflakes heavily making a home in your hair. More then once Jon however had turned to ensure you weren’t too cold, and just as many times as he would ask, would you dismiss it with your eyes squinting upwards.
The white of the cloud covered sky and the endless snow falling down against it like a blanket was a feeling familiar even though the side was more new. As Jon clarified his question, affirming that you nor the baby would be too cold, you smiled before looking back at him. “Her fathers a man of the North, and I grew up around the rains and storms of an island. I think she is well equipped to handle a little more cold then normal so far.”
All you caught at first was a vauge comment under his breath somewhere along the lines of saying that indeed, his son would be prepared for it. Continuing on the never ending battle for which you were to have persisted between you both. Boy or girl?
Glancing up ahead, Jon gestured to a coming stream. “We’ll stop here until it clears up.” Looking over to him with a bemused dismay you attempted to ask if if he heard what you had said about being fine, when he cut you off with an ease and calm. “I did, and I’m ignoring you.” You could see the grin forming as he rode up ahead of you first.
Securing both horses, Ghost around you both had begun his usual wander. Dutifully by Jons side when travelling but always eager to stretch his legs at any stop. Settling his, Jon gently took the reigns of your own horse for you, not even a question in his conscious mind of allowing you to simply do the work. He almost had to pause mid movement to think about it when you had opened your mouth. “You do have to let me do things on my own sometimes.”
Eyes narrowing up at you in thought, Jon kept it to himself for the duration it took to settle the reigns and rise back to his full height before he gave you a small shrug. “I could. I don’t think I’ve actually stopped you from trying.”
Turning away slightly with a forming grin a this ease and audacity, you arms crossed your front before looking back with a raised brow and tint to your tone of playful challenge. “You absolutely have done that.” Asking when, you sighed out with a more mocking tone of frustration both knew was not real. “Everyday. I can do things on my own still, I am very much as able as I was months ago if you let me prove it. But, even though-”
Taking a step close to you with a laugh of his own, you cut your own words off in favour of having him elaborate on what was so funny. “You’re about to do the thing my father always said.”
Head jolting back a little in question, your eyes brightened a bit wondering of his point. “What?”
An eyebrow raised on him that time with a tone filled to the brim with a smugness that it was about to get under your skin. “That everything somebody says before the word but, is horseshit.”
Your face falling amusingly flat, you tilted your head at him. “I think you’re being a bit hyperbolic. He never quite said it as crudely as that.”
Jon though had something in his eyes radiating with a memory not quite as amusing, but wrapped around a lightness of better times. Looking back down to you with something far less teasing and much more soft, as if relaying the memories to you as they played out behind his eyes. “He never said it like that to you.” Your silence taking appropriately as a question of elaboration, he turned more to the sight of the stream beside you both as you followed. “You’re a girl. He never swore around you or my sisters, wasn’t proper.”
The quiet was light for a moment, but instead of falling into the same form of memory, what slipped out of you was much too quick for your own good. “So why didn’t you ever learn that lesson?”
By the time Jon turned back to you with something smart on his lips, did you make your move towards the stream. Refilling your own water with the thought in the back of your head when you stood up to do his as well, Jon continued speaking as he came up beside you. Only, turning to him at one point to respond did you realize you hadn’t actually known what he was saying to you. Noticing you had somehow stopped paying attention.
Eyes narrowing a little, you realized you were focusing far more on a growing feeling in your stomach. You had reach two months without this, you thought perhaps new life meant you would not return to this.
Jon only noticed you were distracted, perhaps seconds before it all came up. Trying to turn from him completely, he did not let you go far. Following you in seconds, your frame keeled over as the sickness all came up. Hair gathering in his hand, the other running down your back but he was quiet as he was close.
One wave stopped and you only got as far as a wince before more returned. It was never much, but always was as unpleasant as it burned your throat no matter how little there was. Leaning more to your side, in the seconds you had to gasp for air, Jon pressed a kiss to the back of your head, but didn't speak. Just kept himself there, the gentle nuzzle on occasion doing more to calm you then he would know. Just when you thought you were done, just a bit more.
In truth, you stayed knelt there longer then you knew was needed because you were embarrassed. No you hadn't wanted Robb to fuss, but you simply didn't want to be ill like that in front of your husband, and you still didn't want to despite Jon being close by your side now. This was an unflattering, gross part of being with child and you wished it would have waited until you were alone long enough Jon wouldn't notice. Jon though, only gently promped you to drink water, knowing no doubt the burn scratching your throat. You whispering out between drinks, “I'm sorry.”
Running a hand through your hair, Jon was confused. “Darling, don't be sorry.”
Shaking your head, you hadn't looked back at him yet. Pushing up from your thighs suddenly, trying to shake off it hoping he would ignore your sudden outburst did you turn only to find Jon rummaging through something he kept on him. Tossing it to you, your brows narrowed before unravelling the small bundle and thus a bright amused look came over you instantly.
“Dare I ask why you have these on you ready to go?”
Twisting his face in a playful doubt, Jon ran his hand still through your hair. Watching you take one from it before wrapping it back up for you, and tucking it away on your own person. “I wasn't going to bring you here if I didn't learn how to take care of you.” He said it so passively that it clashed with the lift in your heart. Mint and Ginger. He had brought it from Winterfell with him, knowing it would help should you get ill at times.
The mixture easing things in more then one way, you washed the rest of it with water before Jon pulled you back to his side towards the horses. Only you grasped at his arm first, turning you back to him with a look of ask in your eyes. “You're too sweet to me, do you know that?”
Running a hand through your hair, Jon leaned right into you, only to stop inches from your lips when you raised yourself up to meet him halfway. “Didn't you just throw up?”
The drop in your expression as you looked at him flatly. “Really Snow, you think I don't now why you brought mint of all things?” He only laughed in response. Smirking with a slight shake of your head, you playfully scolded. “Taking care of me only as long as it benefits you.”
Jon nudged your nose with his, “I love you.”
Eyes rolling before you leaned up to meet his lips, Jon kept you there for as long as it took to steal the breath you had just gotten back. Somethings it seemed, sweet, teasing, or otherwise had yet to change.
And thus it continued on. Another day of travelling the cold and empty, and another night spent in routine ending with Jon unwilling to sleep without being inside of you, nor you without him. Underneath him, pressing you into whatever tree or rocks he was impatient enough to take you against, or perched in his lap as the only sound anywhere for miles in the night was skin slapping together as he would bounce you roughly on his cock, echoing through the walls of your tent.
The only things you had out here were each other, and you knew the further you got here, the more desperate it was going to get. But you knew, no matter what it cost to get there, you wouldn't wish to be away from Jon no matter what.
If your second chance together was to die at the end of his journey, you both would make it count until the very final moment. You came back to life, to bring Jon back to life. You loved many in your life and always would, but this was where you were meant to be.
Following him to the very end, no matter what unknowns were awaiting there for you.
#jon snow x reader#robb stark x reader#jon snow#robb stark#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#jon snow x you#robb stark x you#jon snow imagine#robb stark imagine
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Alhaitham tends to lean toward being a service top. However, he is 1) okay with bottoming if his significant other wants him to be, esp if he’s allowed to still take the reins in pleasing them, and 2) is okay letting his significant other take over completely and prioritizing his pleasure if they want, BUT he will be pouty then Entire Time. Unless they can break his composure-
#hc; alhaitham#//And then there’s the fun fact that he’s never actually had sex before#//Never found the time nor the person for it#//And the only person he genuinely considered; he ended up having a Fallout with#//Though post-Sumeru archon quest; the people he’d be okay with had grown a bit#//He is an Avid study however the instant he gets in a relationship bc he wants to be Ready#//Deffo studied LOADS back when he’d first contemplated courting Kaveh before their fight#//Never really made use of it since#//Practiced a fair amount in himself though; that’s how he figured out his preference#//Low key LOVES getting spoiled by his partner; but he really does wanna be the one spoiling them more#//Like he does in everyday life with them—truly he is SUCH a doting partner#//Can be a bit of a bratty bottom tho; trying to take the lead when his partner told him to take it easy and be spoiled#//Teasing and riling up his partner; gotta shut him up real good if you want him to behave himself#//So basically; he likes things a certain way but is flexible abt it depending on his partners wants#//But that flexibility comes with Mischievous Compliance
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do you think falin went on dates/potentially even hooked up with people periodically during those 4 years she and marcille were separated? i know you ascribe to has-been-pining-since-childhood falin (and tbh so do i), but i find it interesting that there were at least Two people interested in falin if we are to believe chilchuck's party relations chart. at the very least, she considered toshiro's proposal -- even if her intentions for doing so were rooted less in mutual interest and more in her fear of being alone -- and it makes me wonder if anyone else were to like... show interest in falin, what would the circumstances have to be for her to be an active participant/if she would've reciprocated if it was casual enough (because i can't see her getting into a serious relationship with anyone while she's still in love with marcille -- unless?)
i could see it going either way. girl who can't believe people could actually LIKE her that way because she struggles with liking herself (despite probably being the most beloved character in canon, though her ostracization in her hometown and the magic academy could explain why...... wait hold on i'M GETTING SIDETRACKED!!) vs. girl's first time being freed from an authority's expectations going a little wild at, well, a taste of freedom (plus a dose of delayed sexual awakening due to prior ostracization + "don't think of marcille like that don't think of marcille like that doN'T. DO NOT." double whammy)
idk idk idk! i find it SO interesting that she's so beloved in canon but is simultaneously very passive about it? i really love how a little creature explores what a more proactive falin could look like, and i'm super curious about your thoughts on what falin's love life would look like/if a love life would even exist decoupled from her newfound dragon instincts and marcille
honestly this is the one aspect im never sure about bc... i've seen other people establish that falin's gone and kissed or gotten involved with some of the other girls at the academy, or other adventurers. and i respect that! mostly bc it's a way of painting falin as more independent and mature than the canon material, and i can't knock that.
but i guess? idk. she was as clueless about shuro's feelings as laios was until he actually proposed to her. she also believed that she wouldn't get another proposal, so there's an element of her not realizing that she's particularly attractive. that, or she's... still somehow working by her hometown logic, which im assuming is the old "if you're not married by your teenage years you're considered a really bad marriage candidate for men" type thing, considering how much of a small town it was/the fact that she and laios already had marriages arranged from a young age.
an intensely auDHD woman, who has spent all of her independent life focusing on at least one person she was inseparably close to, not having had any romantic experience at the age of 23? that's very likely. personally i'd consider it more likely than the alternatives, but that's just my opinion lol
#asks#falin touden#dungeon meshi#i didn't articulate this super super well but#idk#i can see her having kissed other people#but relationships? sex? nah#not unless she was pressured into it which... considering her personality... is not pleasant to think about so im just gonna ignore all tha#but yeah i know a ton of people who havent had romantic experience into their mid or late twenties#mostly bc they just never found the opportunity to nor took the time to pursue it seriously on their own#its really not that uncommon or weird#marcilleposting
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While thinking about what Tobias would choose if he was ever met with a shinigami (aka deciding between trying to get it attached to him to gain more lifespan when/if it dies vs making it fear him rather than like him so it wouldn't be one-use-only), I realized I never once thought about Tobias dying. nor about what age he'd die at
#muse: tobias.#I'm leaning towards him using fear to get all of the use possible out of that shinigami (F + L to it if it's a shinigami like Sidoh)#bc he's not afraid to die; nor does he particularly care how much longer he has to live; so using them for his gain for an extended#period of time would definitely be the more Tobias answer and most likely the way he'd go abt it if he ever found himself in that situation#HOWEVER... that made me wonder how long Tobias would even live. usually I have a rough idea for each of my muses but for Tobias it's ???#I can't see him dying young but I also can't see him dying old. but I also can't see him never dying so like ?! AHIDUSADHIASHDAS#I'll keep being haunted by that question til I figure it out but for now ig I'll focus on the other one instead#the only way I can imagine him picking the first over the second approach is if he REALLY needed that lifespan for one reason or another#but thanks to his efforts he's never really in a position to need it? so the only way I can see it going down like that is if#he for some reason wanted the shinigami to give its lifespan to sb else who's dear to Tobias. which is wild to even think about#but IF it were to happen that'd be the condition. and now that I consider it even in that situation he'd still use fear bc it's not HIM#that he'd want it used for; but rather the person in question... (does mental gymnastics at 7 am)
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Idk why you get hate when your blog is one of the most honest i have come across and your lore posts are so meta that i don’t even think most bb youtubers have discovered what you have lol. Y’all just got jealous haters.
It is far not the first time I've heard explanation that people are just jealous, really :') 👍 Like... That Alfred-chan (aka Clod Frollo) simply hated me and was jealous and latched onto the first chance to justify the unending wish to remove me is painfully apparent at this rate. Inventing up bigotry, harm and opinions that were never there to get the chance to declare someone you hate a "witch" is the oldest trick in the book! If you convince people the person is bad and harmful, you are automatically justified to treat them however you want.
It might be my lore, because they were really mad at the fact that I write essays on multiple occasions? Like, they try to paint it as me "having no life" or "being mad", but. dude. dude you are projecting. If the only way you could write essay on a topic you care about is abandoning all your chores and needs and/or getting mad at someone, then I have bad news for your intellect? :/ This is a very common attitude from people that cannot say anything interesting on their own and just post the same two-sentence brainlet takes about how much male characters/fans suck or how their [LGBT headcanon] is the only true interpretation and everyone who disagrees can't analyse media. 🤔 So how can they feel better about not having as many interesting headcanons or good theories? They've picked the low-effort way - to attempt destroying the value of "lore essays" by painting them as a bad thing! I will be real tho - they've gotten like, two asks about their headcanons in a lifetime (both about the same character, ironically) and shown that they CAN post something good when they want to, so eventually it is the matter of choosing low-effort way. Destroying is easier than creating!
It could also be freedom, and honesty, like you said. Some people's only trump card is being """good"""! Some people think if they put 'transphobes DNI' in their bio and regularly seek to call out bigotry that isn't here they are automatically a good person who is now allowed to stalk, harass, be toxic in general and push even genuinely innocent people under the bus. But I do not have to compensate for lack of personality and latch onto any ideology or activism - I am already a pretty awesome and interesting individual on my own. 😎 Not to mention how they have to put on the hard show of fighting "for the common good" to keep their following engaged, meanwhile I still have very genuine and deep support even despite my honest fuck-ups (forget the fabricated accusations!). I don't have any other theory than them knowing (maybe subconsciously) that by surrounding themselves by witch-hunters ideological soldiers, they've trapped themselves in the situation where if THEY fuck up - their "fans" will turn on them, if not cancel them. Building following based on ideology instead of shared interest (or one's own unique radiant personality, like mine 😎) is the worst thing you can do to yourself. Because... guess what? Correct, because that sort of people eats their own.
________________________
I'd appreciate no more personal asks like this for some time, because I genuinely start to feel guilty talking about myself so much (in my personal blog.... hmmm logical...). But again, kids, remember - you must make your worth with cool shit like talent, great personality traits, positively encouraging others, etc and not in ideology and making up witches you could "defeat". That person has the capacity by having some nice ideas, being able to craft stuff, drawing. They could easily win all the supporters they've lost back and outgrow me by LARGE merit if they apologised, admitted mistakes and committed to cultivating positive emotions, discussions and content. It is basically so easy and it is so much cringe to take so many Ls because of jealousy and obsession?
#personal#ask replies#/drama#honestly? positive emotions are STRONGER#they're harder to create yes#but the last time i got pissed at a bad g3hrman take for example?#i combated it not with vaguepost but with creating a very wholesome poll about him that everyone liked#i am slowly turning into local toxic positivity freak i know but:#my depressed ass found it more helpful to react at the takes i hate by nurturing my takes#hate a ship? post headcanons about a ship you prefer instead!#hate a character? utilize their 'awfullness' in a fanfic or fanart or boost the character you do like#hate a take? write an essay with your counter-take without vagueblogging#why waste time and energy on a person you already 'defeated' instead of rebuilding what you've lost to do that?#my friends told me there is a demand for 'moral victory' too because i still enjoy my videogame and mutuals#and like that's against the rules i guess? hell if i know anymore#like... okay keep convincing yourself that you are harming me for 'a good cause'.#because admitting how much of a mess you've made and how untrue your accusations were would crash the narcissist won't it?#i tend to make enemies whose whole problem is them figuring out they misjudged me but they NEED to stay in denial#that person literally never admits their mistakes - not in regards to people nor in fandom/headcanons stuff#even though doing so would only paint them in a good light#dude. duuuuude. being 'always right' just makes you look like a prick. admitting mistakes attracts hella more simps trust me
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Ruby really just fucking went into the Ever After finding out just how badly all of her plan with Amity and getting help fast failed on top of the knowledge that she will always be a target for Salem to Grimmify her or worse for the rest of her life and also the way she has NO idea whether her mom is dead or worse anymore and having it left up to her imagination. AND on top of finding out that Atlas fell and so many people died and in the end it was quite literally all for nothing. AND on top of that Penny died anyway despite the fact that everything that she’d ever wanted (finally being seen as more than just a war machine and making new friends) was finally coming true. Everything has well and truly gone to all shit possible in her mind, Penny dying wasn’t even a last straw for her it was like half the payload getting dropped on her at maximum velocity. I’m gonna go to bed <3
#the way having Silver Eyes is such a personal concept to Ruby's character and something that causes her so much pain and fear every day#I really hope they can explore it some more in Vacuo potentially#just#wanna be able to see all the other magical people who aren't Oscar describe just how it feels to them to have those powers some more#the Maidens are a long chain of souls that are carried between all those different people#SEWs are constantly getting genocided and are so far apart in time and space that most of them probably never nor ever will have any idea \#\ just what they possess and how special and how dangerous it is#Ruby only found out through the Ozluminati and a survivor of said genocide#after she accidentally knocked herself out activating it while watching her friend die in front of her#and now from literal fucking god and the instigator of it as well#Now that Winter has fully embraced the power of Love and Friendship tm I think it would be really interesting to see a more empathetic#perspective on what inheriting a Maiden's powers means#especially since it was through a genuine emotional connection that was built up over a long time this time rather than just purely a last \#\ thoughts type situation#at least from Winter's POV we know that aspect of the transfer has a ton of weight to her#wondering how fast Whitley and Willow are also gonna join the Ozluminati#no Schnee left behind from that 😭#I'm also wondering if Whitley is gonna start to embrace his semblance how that his sister is a Maiden and his other sister is a huntress#and his mom's summon literally saved his life#and he doesn't have the business anymore bc Mantle is in the past and so is Atlas#so ik it's unlikely bc RWBY doesn't have time for filler but I really wish we could get an arc where Whitley starts to embrace that side of#himself some more#anyhoo enough rambles about magic people it's bedtime#riin rewatches v8
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i want to write a biana fic but alas i must write about john locke instead
#i think johnlock instead of john locke every time#also tumblr's being annoying and deleting my tags every single time i try to post this so this is like take 6 of writing this#anyway. the fic is basically like what if fitz never found sophie?#so life in the lost cities just goes on#and eventually della gets tired of alden's bs and hops off to move in with livvy (secretly)#biana's like hey that sounds better than this household and hops off to live with them#(secretly)#except neither della nor biana actually know that livvy's in the black sawn#plus quinlin's still living with them bc why not#anyway biana doesn't trust livvy so she basically stalks her#and learns about the secret world of elven rebel organizations#also meets a cute genetically modified horse person along the way#august rambles
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ngl the only part of the barbie movie i enjoyed was weird barbie. if they made a whole movie about kate mckinnon playing the visual representation of my childhood feelings on femininity i probably would have enjoyed it. i always loved my fucked up buzzcut leg missing barbies the most.
#idk i gave them to my sister when i was like...less than 5 so i don't actually rmbr playing by myself ever#i played with her though for some sibling bonding time#and she always FUCKED up that fake hair and i ended up cutting it off#...and hiding it in a box that my mom found which made her worried that i was the female ed gein or somesuch#although she did a good job of NOT projecting that fear onto me and didn't tell me until i came out as trans as a like#hey was that related#...anyway yeah idk its just the only part i could relate to as a trans person#never have really been perceived as a man or a woman by people nor did i really have a male or female childhood so#it just doesn't really speak to me idk#its mostly also just bc its a very simplified view of gender in that movie#like yeah i didn't ever experience strict expectations based on being AFAB because#once i got old enough for that to matter to people i was recognizably a lost cause (PCOS + budding transgenderism)#similarly i have yet to been handed the world on a platter for being a man. maybe one day.#so. yeah. ostracization from femininity without any of the perks of masculinity is all i got#which that character did do a decent job of representing... probably mostly on accident#im attributing that more to kate mckinnons acting than the actual script ngl
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♪ WEST COAST. (💌)
– next part
౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader
synopsis: soap accidentally finds out about simon's girl.
tags: fluff, romance, simon is a big baby !! let us all accept this fact, soap and his assumptions, uh bad jokes, very rushed fic, crack ?, reader can indeed fix simon
Soap isn't sure when his assumptions started, nor is he sure how it got to Gaz and Price himself.
Maybe it was when he started to notice that Ghost left base whenever he could. (How come ye never leave base? It's a hassle havin' to go back and forth for nothin', Johnny.) Maybe it was the smudged color of red and pink on his balaclava, the lingering perfume on his hoodie, or his new wallet taking the place of one that was once worn out.
"Wha's yer favorite perfume, LT?"
"My enemies' sweat and tears."
(It's well-known that despite the fact that Ghost does consider the 141 to be his family, he keeps his personal life very private and away from them. They respect that, in turn, but let's face it, Soap is nosy.)
Really, it was an accident. Soap swears it was!
He just happened to be passing by his lieutenant in the bar where the team had all gone to celebrate a wreck of a mission that they've managed to successfully finish. Truly, it was an accident when his eyes caught a glimpse of Ghost's new wallet, and he really, very much so did not mean to watch a little too long – long enough for it to open and reveal a hefty amount of cash and a small square of colors, barely noticeable.
Soap's feet move before he could quietly search for more.
"Got a new wallet, aye?" He slides beside the taller man smoothly, just as the Brit had grunted out another order of Bourbon. Ghost hums in acknowledgement.
"Y'got a crush on me or somethin', Johnny?"
Soap chuckles even if the other does not. "A just happened tae see it. Fancy little thing."
It doesn't take long before Ghost disappears into the night, but the Scot swears his pace was a bit faster than usual when he left the awfully-smelling bar, and Gaz would be lying if he said he didn't see the little picture of a pretty bird tucked away in his scarily huge lieutenant's wallet.
It's not that Soap often makes bold assumptions about people and their personal lives, not when they're out of reach from him, but can you really blame him for thinking that the words 'Ghost' and 'girlfriend' do not sound right in the same sentence? Would it be considered an assumption this time if he'd seen the photo himself? Surely, his superior isn't some perverted freak who keeps an image of a breathtaking woman he randomly found in his private items. Uh, he hopes not, at least.
"Bullshit!" is what a drunken Soap yells when the Brit nonchalantly discloses to the team, without hesitation, that he is simply not interested in dating. He spills everything he's gathered in the past few months, from the smallest hints to the biggest; the unfamiliar strand of hair on Ghost's hoodie to the wallet from months ago.
"A'm no crazy!" Soap convinces no one as he's ushered back to the barracks for making such an insane assumption about the lieutenant in his unreliable state. Ghost's lips curl up into a smirk against the cold glass of Bourbon in his hand, sat back and relaxed with his legs spread wide.
Call him a big baby (he is) for making a fool out of his sergeant instead of just telling the truth and bragging about his angel to the others, but can you blame him? He just wants to keep you tucked away in his pocket, away from everyone else. What are you talking about, lovie? 'Course 'm not ashamed of you. You're just too pretty for them, is all. Gotta keep m' girl safe, yeah?
Besides, they don't have to know the way Simon melts into the nook of your neck when he gets home from deployment or know that he uses your lavender-scented shampoo. And no, it doesn't matter that Johnny knows. It's his word against the lieutenant's. He spares his LT and turns a blind eye this once.
When the time is right, Simon is sure to properly introduce his heart to his unspoken family. For the time being, he just wants to keep you his pretty little secret.
divider by @cafekitsune !
#౨ৎ simon !#୨୧ audi's works !#SUPER RUSHED but i wanted this out asap!!#might rewrite in the future#or add a new part#simon ghost riley#cod x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost#cod x you#cod mw2#cod mwii#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare
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Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.
I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.
Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.
Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.
The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.
Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.
I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.
So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.
If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.
Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.
Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.
And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.
And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.
I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.
Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.
Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.
I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.
#adhd#mental health#mental illness#trauma#imposter syndrome#sorry for the wall of eratic text#feeling jittery af#possibly hypomanic tbh#either way#aaaaaaaaah
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