#HEART OF GOLD WITH A KNIFE IN IT / IN HIS IMAGE .
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Gale sketches by @orangekittyenergy <3
CHAPTER 2 (of 2)
Link to chapter 1 here
Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav
Summary: Set post-game where Tav did not feature in Gale's troubles in Baldur's Gate. A whip-cracking, fedora wearing, Indiana Jones inspired mini-adventure - where Professor Dekarios is tempted out of the classroom, and on yet another perilous quest.
Warnings: THIS IS NSFW! *blares smut horn* Plot with smut. But, you have been warned.
Word Count: 3.9k
A/N: Just a bit of a fun based on the Gale as Indiana comparisons. Also, he looks like a young Harrison Ford, how could I not? This is not the stuff I'm used to writing! But it's been enjoyable and nice to try something new.
Elltavia’s senses were prickling again, whatever was buried in the remains of this temple was beating like a rotted heart, pulsing decay and corruption outwards through the forest. They were close to the cause, she could feel it. She just hoped whatever was the cause of the infection didn’t get to her before she could save her home.
Along the far wall of the room were four murals that stood out in a line. The once clean, carved scenes were eroded and time-beaten, but just about decipherable.
The four images depicted monks in various states of torment. The first monk strained under the weight of a massive rock, muscles taut with effort as it pressed down upon him. The second monk, blood dripping from his hand and ears, was feverishly inscribing words upon a scroll, clearly in agony. In the third panel, a monk appeared submerged and drowning beneath a cascade of shimmering gold, his features twisted and bloated.
The final tableau showed two figures, stripped bare, entwined in an act that should have been pleasurable. However, their expressions were ambiguous, dancing somewhere between ecstasy and agony. The knife suspended ominously above their heads left little doubt about their fate.
Underneath each carving was a word in an ancient language, which Gale was able to translate.
STRENGTH. KNOWLEDGE. WEALTH. LUST
Hovering above the scenes of suffering was a much larger image of a monk in resplendent robes, his hands covering his eyes as he sat before a closed book as if to shield himself from an unbearable truth. The book sat on a carved pedestal, and shimmered with golden light. The lines of the monk’s robes flowed gracefully, dancing in a breeze that no longer existed. The expression of the hidden face was left to the imagination, but Gale’s imagination didn’t have to work very hard. The monk was shielding himself from whatever was written in that book.
Gale‘s chest suddenly went tight, as though the orb that had once branded his skin and burned an aching, insatiable hunger within him was back. The ghost of a pain which would never truly leave him. He couldn’t help but see himself in the image, as though it was a mocking interpretation of his great folly.
Unlike this monk, when he was tempted, he had not been strong enough to cover his eyes. He had suffered the same torment as the other tortured souls. It wouldn't have seemed out of place to see a carving of a wizard with a dark orb branded upon his chest, bent over and crippled by unending pain and sharp regret. His hand once again absentmindedly moved to his chest.
“What is in that book, do you think?” Elltavia was started to get concerned by the faraway look in Gale’s eyes. She had not known him long, but she knew it was unlike him to be this quiet. Whether in a classroom, or on an adventure - he was a born teacher. He had the engaging, adaptable, patient, rare soul of someone who had collected knowledge like precious treasure, and all he seemed to ever want to do is share it. He was not made to be silent, and it worried her.
"Fortune and glory, Kidd." Gale continued to read the fragile inscriptions—warnings, death sentences, holy scriptures, and gold-tinted promises of doom for the unworthy. Yet, for those with the resolve to grasp it, an ultimate blessing. "Fortune and glory."
After more studying, Gale pressed his hand against an indent in the wall, and a rumbling echoed around them.
"I think we've found where the ritual would take place," he murmured.
The carved, ancient pedestal holding the book shown in the mural rose from the ground in the room’s centre, a half-decayed corpse resting against it, its mouldering hand still holding the book open, as if in a final, desperate grasp for whatever it contained.
"That book should not be open." Gale could feel the power emanating from it, warping and stretching the weave of magic around it. This was no ordinary spellcraft; it was far beyond his capabilities. Once, he would have been desperate to grasp it, to drink the forbidden magic until it drowned him. A long time ago, It almost had.
The source of the blight was finally clear. The book had to be closed, or the rot would continue to spread, cursing the forest and luring as many as it could to this place. The book was a lure, a power to draw people here to be tested, indifferent to the fate it bestowed upon them. The burning ache of the sussur, which had been simmering under his skin, began to flare and bubble. His magic tingled in his bones, demanding to be used, to cast protection over him. His mind was flooded with the weave, and the agony of not being able to use it was overwhelming.
“Close the book!” He hissed through clenched teeth, doubled over in pain.
Elltavia approached the book tentatively, with ranger’s care. The closer she got, the more Gale’s words became a far-away song, trailing distantly away from the fluttering pages. Each turn caused a soft rustle; leaves whispering secrets in a forest grove. It was the sound of her home, and it was calling to her. The book cast a gentle glow, soft as yellow moonlight. And with every intake of breath, she could swear the scent of pine mingled with the earthy perfume of petrichor sank deep, holding and soothing her.
Surely within its pages lay the answers they were looking for. It called out to her with a sweetness that stirred her soul, a siren's song promising sanctuary. The glowing page was right there in front of her, she just had to read the inscription…
I am the lure in darkest gloom,
A whispered hope, a flick'ring bloom.
In greed-drenched shade, I bide my time,
Thy greatest urge will feed my shrine.
What am I? A tempter, sly,
In every soul, doth ever lie.
Resist the call for but one hour,
Prevail, and gain the worthy’s power
“Elltavia, NO!”
And she burned.
It felt as though tendrils of flame were invading her through her nose, her mouth, sinking through her skin, licking the very bones of her. It was tugging at her, calling to her, scalding all the way through her. She was a woman aflame, and there was only one way to extinguish the fire. She needed Gale, and she needed him now.
He rushed over, and managed to close the book - but not before catching a glimpse of the inscription within. As soon as he had read the words, the book and pedestal began to descend ominously back into the ground.
“Gale..” Elltavia’s voice was suddenly breathy and skin clammy as Gale grabbed hold of her and started to check her over.
“It’s the test, Kidd.” He appraised her pupils to see that they were blown wide, her breathing heavy. The spell was undeniably affecting her, not just emotionally but physically too. Her skin glimmered with a light sheen of sweat. Were her lips fuller, even more inviting than before? Surely it was a trick of the light? The urge to press his own against them, to run his tongue along her bottom lip, was all-consuming.
He pulled away abruptly, almost harshly, startled by the intensity of his desire. He had anticipated challenges to his resolve, but not in this way. He had mentally prepared himself for his ambition, his hubris, his self-worth to be cut out and dissected in front of him, to once again have to pull himself back from the brink of his unending desperation to prove himself. It was his tragic flaw, it always would be. He had not prepared himself for this.
The atmosphere crackled with a potent mix of heat and something deeper, something elemental. Lust. It hung thick in the air, dense and suffocating. It wrapped around him like a lover’s embrace, seeping into the marrow of his bones. He was suddenly starving, and she was ripe and ready to be savoured. He remembered when she had bitten the apple from his desk. How her eyes had met his as she bit down, how the juice had trailed down from the side of her lips to her chin…
“It sai..said.” Elltavia had her arms wrapped around herself, as though trying to hold herself back, and Gale desperately wanted to unfurl them and spread her out on the ground like a map. There was priceless treasure to be discovered. He ached from not touching her.
“It said something about lure.. Temptation..” Her breathing was heavy and lust-soaked. “Resist for an hour.. And we’ll pass the test.”
An hour of this, he thought bleakly, he did not know how he would stop himself from devouring her.
“I have rope” she panted “In my pack. You should tie me up.”
His response to that was a low, feral groan which seemed to rumble from deep within his chest. “I don’t think bondage will help me out here, Kidd.”
Struggling against this overwhelming desire was futile; he was a weary child resisting the pull of the receding tide, or a final leaf clinging to its branch before the onslaught of autumn's chill. He was no match for her; he was a raft-bound castaway - and she was the oncoming tempest.
Together they melted into a pool of tongue and hands, rushed and heavy. There was no softness or words of delicacy, no declarations or promises of what would come after. There was only urgency. There was only her and him and now. At the meet of their lips and the ripping of her shirt underneath his strong, tanned hands there was a rumbling noise which ripped around them and caused loose stone and dust to fall from the ceiling. The shock of it managed to distract them long enough to prise themselves away from each other. The second they pulled apart, the noise stopped.
“An earthquake?” He questioned through rough panting, speaking out loud rather than to her in particular. He quickly moved to one of the far walls and ran his hands over it, feeling for any structural damage and waiting silently for an aftershock.
As soon as his fingers stroked the grooves in the stone, Elltavia was behind him. She pushed him against the wall, and pressed herself against his back, standing on her tiptoes to lick and bite at the nape of his neck.
“Who cares?” She whined. Her hands made their way up the back of his shirt and she dragged her nails down his skin. The sound he made was sinful, and as soon as her tongue licked at the sweat trailing down his spine, the rumbling started again. This time they were both knocked backwards by the wall Gale was pressed against, as it started to straighten out and move towards them.
“Fuck.” He groaned, on his back. He could barely think straight, all his focus and all his blood was currently gathered in hard desperation between his legs. Urging to be sank into the ranger panting on the floor next to him.
She swung her leg round to mount herself on top of him, pinning him to the ground under her hips.
“Wait” he hissed through gritted teeth. She managed to stop herself from sucking on his bottom lip long enough to hear what he wanted to say, she desperately hoped it would be something filthy. Her restraint in her longing for his mouth didn’t stop her grinding her hips down against him. She gasped at how hard he was underneath her. To her shock, he grabbed her upper arms and managed, with difficulty, to push her off him and he sprang up and backed away from her with his arms out.
“Listen, Kidd, when we give into our temptation, to our urge, it sets off the trap.”
She tried to take in what he was saying, and she used her sharp, predator’s focus to survey the room. She had not previously noticed the heavy layer of dust which had settled on the holy ground. Bonedust. The bleak realisation sank in. This was all that was left of others who had been tested. The book was an incendiary, designed to spark simmering desire into a roaring flame. Resist it, or be crushed.
“I am your temptation?” She rasped. “Gale, of all the fucking things to desire?!”
“You’re one to talk!” He snapped. The cord that felt wrapped around him was tightening in frustration. This woman was literally going to be the death of him. This stubborn, infuriating, smart-ass was how he was going to die. He wanted to take his whip out and coil the leather around her…
“Fuck!” He said, turning around so he could no longer see her pouring out of her sweaty, ripped shirt.
“The temptation is each other… right?” She breathed.
“Obviously.”
“Then… then we can still.. Touch ourselves, can’t we?”
It was like pouring oil on a bonfire, the thought of her unbound and lost in her own touch, bringing herself to the brink of pleasure and plunging over a cliff of her own making was unbearable. He wanted to palm himself right there in front of her just from the thought of it.
She didn’t wait for him to answer, her hand quickly found its way into her underwear and to where she needed it most. She was a writhing mess on the floor - but the walls did not move.
He sank and crawled to her, and positioned himself over her, resting his forearms on the ground next to her shoulders, clenching his fists in frustration and caging her beneath him, but not touching her. He allowed one of his knees to push her thigh upwards, splaying her further apart. But he did not give her any further contact. He just held himself over her as she moaned and bucked her hips into her own hand. His gaze was as desperate and intense as any touch could be. Beads of sweat traced paths down his temple, falling onto her skin like liquid fire. Every inch of her felt alive, every nerve alight with anticipation. As he lowered his head, his breath danced against her neck, tantalisingly close yet never touching. His lips hovered, a mere whisper away, and she teetered on the edge of combustion.
“I’ve wanted you since you flashed your thigh at my desk.” His voice was almost unrecognisable, dark as sin itself. The lilt of his words caressing her skin. “I wanted to be that fruit on your tongue. The flesh on your lips.” She gasped, but could not respond. Her eyes fluttered shut as she imagined how he would taste as he spilled herself down her throat in ecstasy.
“Don’t you dare stop looking at me.” He growled.
Her eyes flashed open again to meet his, and his command would have sent her spiralling, but something was wrong.
“I can’t.. It won’t…” She removed her hand in desperation, and it took every ounce of resilience he had not to grab hold of her wrist and drag her lust-soaked fingers between his teeth and roll his tongue against them. “It just makes it worse.”
The walls were still at each end of the room, they had barely moved. The two of them were safe, maybe there was time to…
“Fuck it.” He said, and he lifted her robe and tore her underwear off her. Gods, the scent of her. He wanted to spend a whole day with his nose buried at the source of her divine, needy musk.
He did not have a whole day, he had minutes at most.
“Is this what you want?” He asked, shaking with the resolve it took to show her the decency she deserved.
“No” She responded, but before he could even attempt to pull himself away from her, she wrapped her powerful warrior's thighs around him and flipped them so he was beneath her.
“This is what I want.”
She turned round above him so her cunt was hovering over his face, just out of reach. This position gave her the chance to unbuckle his belt and finally get her hands where she wanted them. There was no time to undress him, to peel him out of his tight trousers the way she wanted to. This would have to do. He moaned beneath her as she finally freed him from his confinement, and without grace or hesitation - took the whole of him into her mouth.
In response, he grabbed hold of her hips and pulled her down against his lips. Locking her tight against him, he groaned and pushed his tongue into her. The taste of her was technicolour. He worked as quickly as he could to relieve the tight, coiling need which was squeezing the life out of them, but not quickly enough.
The walls had pushed towards them quicker than he anticipated, and it wasn’t long until he felt the hard force of it suddenly pressing against his feet.
Elltavia must have become aware at the same time he did, because her mouth was suddenly off him and she rolled away, completely disentangling them and stopping the movement of the walls.
They were both slick with sweat, and with each other.
“Get over to the far end. Now.” He snapped at her. The narrowing of the walls had now turned the large, circular room into a slim corridor. It would only take a couple more metres of movement and they would be crushed to dust.
“Do not bark orders at me!” She retorted with a hiss. “That is really not helping the situation!” She retreated as far away as him as possible, pressed her thighs together, and put her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear his heavy, laboured breathing.
The hour may as well have been a day. They faced away from each other, breaths heavy and skin slick with sweat. They had both tried to cover themselves back up with what little material had not been ripped. At this moment the threat of being crushed by the weight of an ancient temple wall seemed inconsequential compared to the overwhelming intensity of this moment. Gale thought that If this were to be his end, he would welcome it with open arms. At one point in his life, he had resigned himself to the fact he would die alone at the order of a pitiless Goddess. What a privilege it would be then, to die in the arms of a merciful one. In the arms of Elltavia Kidd’Alka.
He thought of her as he faced the wall. He thought of her in every way except the one which had pushed its way to the front of his mind and coursed its way through his blood. He thought of her fierce loyalty to her home, how she had travelled far and risked her life. How she was blunt and forthcoming and how she refused to dull any of her bladed wit. He thought of the shimmering seasons of her eyes, of how long it must take her to braid her hair, how she has the wisdom of an elder and the bright laugh of a child. He thought of how much he wanted her to live, and how much he wanted to see her again. And suddenly, the urge simmered - it was there, but it no longer suffocated him. He could breathe. His lust had been mixed with something else, and the sweet combination had strengthened his resolve. He could do this.
Elltavia thought of the forest. Of her home. Of the children who fell out of trees and laughed in the dirt that caught them. Of the people who had spent their lives telling stories and weaving tradition through play and prayer. Of the mothers who had fletched arrows with babes at their breast. She remembered the first time she summoned an animal, and how the swift spring bird had flitted between branches and sunbeams to settle upon her shoulder. She remembered the poor autumn fox which she had found dead from the spreading curse. She would beat this. She would return home, and she would show Gale the place they had saved together. Her blood cooled, her resolve steeled. She could do this.
An hour passed in silence. The two of them focused and determined. Two people who ached enough to not touch each other. And it worked.
Suddenly, it was as though they had emerged from holding their breath in ice water. The walls rumbled and slowly retreated back to their stations.
“Is it over?” Elltavia spoke quietly, too nervous to turn round or remove her hands from her ears. Her answer came when a strong, comforting hand placed itself on her shoulder and she didn’t burn from the touch. She let Gale turn her, and take the hands from her ears to kiss them.
“Not for me'' He said gently, stroking her cheek and tucking a braid behind her ear. Before he could kiss her properly, without magical kindling feeding his flame for her, the book reappeared. It fluttered once more, and settled on its final page.
“Is it safe?”
“I think so” He said, more calmly than he felt. “We passed the test.”
He made his way to where the soft glow welcomed him to read, and spoke the book’s final inscription aloud…
Behold, two souls of spirit true
Live long - old magic rests in you.
“If this is some bullshit about how the power was inside us all along, I'm going to be really annoyed.” Elltavia was still breathless, but relieved.
“Maybe…” He said thoughtfully, but from the book and the murals and tenacity of the ancient magic, Gale didn’t believe that was the case. There must be the mentioned ‘reward’ somewhere… But, he was not interested. Godly gifts he could live without. There were other things more worthy of his attention now. Other desires to fulfill.
“What do we do about the book?” she asked, closing it and running her finger over the cover. “Will you take it to the Academy?”
“No. This belongs here. It’s as much a part of the forest as you are.” He turned to look at her, her bright eyes fierce, “You know what lies here now, you can tell your community - you can spread the story and let them become guardians of magic and knowledge. And this can stay here… closed.”
He bent down and kissed her, soft but purposeful. Full of the promise of things to come.
“You know, Kidd. Before you dropped by my lecture I was reading about this amulet…”
She entwined her fingers with his as they made their way back into the lush greenery of her vibrant forest home. “Sounds interesting professor, I take it the next adventure would also require you to bring along your whip?”
“Oh, most definitely. I could give you another demonstration now if you’d like?”
Her bright laugh echoed through the trees as they walked into the distance, unaware of the ancient gift bestowed upon them by the temple in the forest. Perhaps one day, Gale would notice his hair wasn't greying as quickly, or that the furrows between his eyes no longer deepened despite the endless days of laughter shared with Elltavia. Maybe then, they would realise they had been chosen as timeless protectors: the wizard destined to safeguard the magic he once sought to consume, and the ranger courageous enough to save her homeland.
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Home is Where the Hearth Is - Emily Axford (2024)
they made a pact. they broke the pact. they spent tens of thousands of years alone. and now, perhaps, they can start to be whole again.
image description under the cut:
[ID: two images that are show comic panels.
the first image is 16 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.
from left to right, top to bottom, they are:
1: a light green background with the words "they say the" and then a gold circle with a cross stitch inside it, with the words "home is where the hearth is" stitched in, with a roof above "home" and a fireplace between the i and s of "is".
2: a light yellow panel showing a gold dragon breathing fire and a large yellow divine heart with blue and green veins with a humanoid with yellow hair, yellow skin, green pants, a brown tunic, and brown boots, (Telaine, the gold dragon) reaching out to touch it. there is a green and gold overlay to both so they appear to be glowing. the words over it say "and fire heals the soul".
3: a light blue panel with darker blue footprints moving through the panel, as though walking through snow. the words read "but you've been trudging through the cold".
4: a wintry scene with a humanoid in a green cloak with yellow pants and green, leaf-covered boots (Melora), cloak blowing in the wind. the sky is gray and the ground in front of her shows a blue patch of ice. blue snow overlays the entire scene. the words read "you have been traveling through ice and snow".
5: a light green panel showing a teal pocket watch and a green arrow with green, yellow, and blue feathers. the words read "'cause time isn't an arrow".
6: a light blue panel with a dark blue man, Aryox, with his chin tilted upwards, a blue knife pointing at his throat, lifting his chin upwards. the blue knife is inscribed with runes. the words read “it’s a dagger at your throat”.
7: a light blue panel showing two figures, frozen statues, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and you are numb from head to toe”.
8: a light yellow panel showing a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it. the words read “and all your blood has turned to stone”.
9: a light green panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a green hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.
10: a light green panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.
11: a light green panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.
12: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.
13: a light green panel with an image of a pair of green boots with leaves drawn into them that have green laces, the boots Melora is wearing in panel 4. the toes and bottoms of the boots are speckled with light blue water stains. the words read “your boots are stained with slush”.
14: an outdoor scene with Melora, clad in her green cloak and green boots which are blowing in the wind approaching a light blue cave with a different blue interior. in front of the mouth of the cave is a light blue arctic fox, Lumi, who is glowing with a blue aura. the wall of the cave immediately inside of it is carved with an image of a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, from panel 8. the sky is a grayish blue and snow overlays the entire image. the words read “and the northern winds ain’t letting up”.
15: a light yellow panel showing an image of an intricate gold cloak with a hood and many shades of yellow to create shadows and an intricate pattern. the words read “and your best coat can’t compete”.
16: a light green panel with a wooden window showing a purple night sky with the cream yellow crescent moon and stars from panel 11. in the foreground is a dark wooden table with two pairs of arms and hands on it, one pair is yellow and the other pair is green. the arms are resting on the table and the people are holding hands. the words read “with an evening in good company”.
the second image is 15 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.
from left to right, top to bottom, they are:
1: a light blue image showing the teal head and torso of the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. halfway down the torso, the color changes to the dark blue color he is in panel 6 of the above image (when he was alive). the dark blue is giving way to the teal. the words read “frozen half to death”.
2: a light blue panel showing an image of a pink bowl of hot soup on a matching pink plate with a spoon resting on the plate. the broth in the bowl is tan and has green onions floating on its surface. there is gray steam coming out of the bowl. below it is an image of a bed with a brown wooden frame. the made is made with purple sheets and pillows under a royal blue blanket. the words read “you need a hot meal and your bed”.
3: a light blue panel showing an image of a cushioned purple armchair. draped over the chair is a flannel blanket, the majority of which is yellow but has dark blue vertical stripes and dark green horizontal stripes. there is a fringe at the edge of the blanket that is alternating with the blue, green, and yellow of the rest of the blanket. the words read “you need a blanket and some rest”.
4: a light blue panel showing an image of a small purple teacup with brown liquid inside and steam coming off the top. there is a lemon wedge on the rim of the cup. below it is an image of a piece of brown bread with a layer yellow butter covering its surface. the words read “you need a toddy and some buttered bread”.
5: a panel that is twice the size of the other panels, separated into three triangles by gray lines. the left triangle shows a gold dragon flying upwards with its mouth open with a light green background. the center and largest triangle shows a temple with dark and light green stones constructing it, and large columns at the front. the top of the temple has a craving of a wavelike swirl at the center, the symbol of the goddess Melora. the right triangle shows a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, the image from panel 8 of the above image, on a blue background like the cave wall in panel 14 of the above image. there are a pair of blue hands in front of it, holding a chisel and mallet, carving that image into the cave wall. the words across the top of the three triangles read “wear the mantle like an albatross” and across the bottom read “and never take it off”.
6: a light blue panel showing an image of the teal torso and head the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image, with the light blue sword of Raedak overlaying his head, as it does in the statue. the words read “you let yourself grow numb”.
7: a light blue panel showing a green hand reaching out to the back of the frozen teal statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. between the statue are layers of blue and purple energy, keeping the hand away from being able to touch the statue. the words read “‘cause you’re too proud to need someone”.
8: a light yellow panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a yellow hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.
9: a light yellow panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.
10: a light yellow panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.
11: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7 of the above image, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.
12: an image showing the blue cave wall with an icy blue floor and the feet and legs teal statue of Aryox. there is an additional layer of blue ice overlaying the feet of the statue. the words read “the cold has got its claws in you”.
13: an outdoor scene of two figures walking together through the snow up a light blue hill. on the left is Melora, in her green cloak, green boots, and yellow pants, braid peeking out from the cloak which is blowing with the wind. to her right is Telaine, with a golden yellow cloak, brown boots, and light blue pants. the sky is a slightly darker blue than the ground. snow overlays the scene. the words read “oh, the weather she can be so cruel”.
14: a light blue panel showing the torso of the teal frozen statue of Aryox. on the part of his leg that is visible is a pair of snowdrops, white bell shaped flowers drooping off of green stems. at his back are two hands, a yellow one above a green one, both of which are touching him. dark blue emanates from both hands, spreading throughout the rest of him in concentric circles. the words read “but home is where the healing starts”.
15: a light yellow panel with an image of 4 arms and hands, one yellow and one green each holding the hands of the two blue arms, as though to guide them somewhere. below that is an image of a fireplace, with brick walls, a stone border, and wooden mantle and baseboards. there is a fire at the center with two logs, the same one from panel 9 of this image. the words read “so come in from the dark and find the hearth”. /end ID]
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#i havent come to terms with the fact that one of the people i held closest to my heart has graduated and i wont see him for a good while#until i can shell out the money to fly to singapore. i get the feeling this is the conductors first shift on the train.#(all the black and breathing rapture) so welcome to charing cross? are you ready? an adminstration error#you are covered in the metallic stench of the rusty chains of command. its time to make four thousand pounds. i thought of you.#here in the garden of england she scrapes the shards of glass from the black sea. first with a spoon and then a knife and the with the#hairdryer that belonged to his mother. in the back of his car i can feel the stutter and jutter of the wheels the same shaky-straight path#of a beginner driver. i love you and the trees. hes finally growing his hair out. here is an enclosed metal room#more man than machine. i wont see you for another year. driving dangerously close to an 8-wheeled tall box i feel safer with you#than i ever will at home. weve already started a campfire in the backseat of your car ive got you didnt i?#we laid in the luxury of a four-person tent next to the mass of campfires and stars and i told her i thought you hated me#I've never hated you. ive never hated anyone except my father. here is how to forgive unspeakable things.#i am really all that ive been looking for. youre not a narcissist baby youve just got a lying problem. take molten gold#and glue the fragments of yourself back together. we cant stop crashing into the sky. drink wine straight from the grapes in the vineyard#and when you give it give it all. studies have shown you view your own future self as a seperate person#and oftentimes you have less empathy for this other person than for a friend. it is time to extend your kindness unequivocally.#the aviation tax attorney on the train floating on water told us a short story of her life. a smile full of charisma and#feeling old retiring at 47. theres a lot about you we shouldn't know. GRAB A GUN AND SHOOT THE IMAGE OF YOURSELF STRAIGHT IN THE MIRROR.
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Labyrinth
Uh oh, I’m falling in love / Oh no, I’m falling in love again
synopsis you’re reunited with your ex-boyfriend, Rafe, at an Outer Banks wedding.
tags Rafe Cameron x fem!reader, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn-ish, A LOT of angst, an equal amount of pining, an awful breakup but a wonderful reconciliation 💓
wc ~11k
“You look,” you murmur, squeezing Brooklyn’s shoulder gently, “perfect.”
She’s sitting in front of a round, gold-rimmed mirror, the windows on either side of her painting her skin a warm aureate. You stand in shadow behind her, the sunbeams unable to reach your pretty features. There’s a wistfulness to them that’s almost imperceptible.
Almost. If she weren’t your best friend, someone you’ve known since forever, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way you were hiding from them. The smile on her face falters as she looks up at you through the mirror.
“Look,” she begins tentatively, frowning, “if this is too hard —”
“Do not,” you interrupt. You try for an encouraging smile; what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I’m totally fine, okay? I’m over it.”
A pause. Brooklyn’s reflection sends you a long, hard look. “No one would blame you if you weren’t.”
You know what that means, the insinuation behind her words: you were supposed to be the first one. It’s all anyone in the Figure Eight was saying when they first found out about your break-up: you’re meant for each other, though, we can’t imagine you not being a couple!
Well, neither could you, not that it really mattered. Six months on with half a heart and pulseless motive, you’ve come to realise that wretched pining comes at a costly price.
You can’t afford it anymore.
“I know,” you reply quietly.
The spaghetti strap of your cowl neck falls as you straighten, the periwinkle fabric shimmering forebodingly. An image of the Rafe you knew flashes in your mind, slipping it down to press a kiss on your skin. Your stomach drops.
“But I am,” you add, louder. As though you’re trying to convince yourself more than you are her. “I promise.”
Brooklyn stares at you for a long time before her gaze falls, acquiescing with a sigh. “I hate that you still don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you.”
You bite back another wince, the fresh sting of forgotten feelings pricking at your eyelids. “I do believe it,” you say quietly. “I do. That’s what makes all of this so fucking hard — that I know we’re never getting a second chance. That he chose to throw all of it away and I’m never going to be able to forgive him for it.”
“You shouldn’t have to, though!”
“We were together for half our lives, Brooke!” You turn away from the mirror, taking in a jagged breath. “We — his mom had promised me her ring before she died, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from what we had?”
A long pause. Brooke’s voice is gentle, but her words cut like a knife. “It’s not as though you had a choice, Y/N/N. He didn’t give you one.”
You look around at her, unshed tears making your pretty eyes shine. “What does it say about me that I’m no closer to accepting that than I was six months ago?”
“Babe.” A tear falls. Brooke’s features soften, and she pulls you into a tight hug, enough pressure to wring out the melancholy in your chest. “It says that you’re human.”
She rocks you for a moment before you’re forced to pull apart, a knock on the door breaking your reverie. “God,” you self-reproach, sending Brooklyn a watery smile. “I would find a way to make your day about me, wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe I should ditch Kelce,” Brooklyn replies faux-seriously, catching the stray tears wetting your lower lids. “We can elope or something.”
As though on queue, the Universe intervenes before she can go through with this idea. Perhaps it knows, having watched the pair of grow close throughout college, that there’s a part of her that really would call this all off if you asked her to.
“Sweetheart!” Comes Brooklyn’s father’s voice from behind the door, punctuated by the sharp rap of his knuckles. “It’s nearly time!”
The tension ebbs. Suddenly, everything about this wedding—the same one you’ve been helping her plan forever—becomes entirely too real. Your melancholia is a tide in this way, flowing forth and receding as its surroundings permit. Never fading away; ever-present. Though it may not be as unbearable now as it was when you first broke up, it lingers.
You’re afraid that it always will. You push down this fear like you’ve done every other.
Focus. Your eyes widen in anticipation, mirroring Brooklyn’s as they transform into nervous excitement.
“Come in!” Brooklyn calls anxiously, biting back a squeal. You’re grateful for the fact that you haven’t ruined her mood completely. “Oh my god. Oh my god!”
She stands up and turns around just as her father enters the room, his lined face shining with a wistful sense of happiness. As the atmosphere in the room shifts, she glances back at you, and your insides twist in cruel mocking. More repentant than jealous. I was supposed to be the first one.
You don’t let your expression falter. The first few chords of the processional float into the room through the ajar door, and you spring into action, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your bouquet of flowers.
“That’s my queue,” you say, squeezing her arm once more before slipping past her and her father.
In true Kook fashion, Brooklyn’s wedding ceremony is taking place on the Island Club green. Upon exiting the storage room you’ve transformed into a vanity, you find yourself in the entranceway that leads to the venue, the set-up just visible beyond its oak doors.
Benches of beige driftwood sit on either side of the aisle, twined with buttery white lilies and ivy-like viridescence. They face a brilliant floral wedding arch, where the officiant and Kelce stand talking in hushed whispers. And the sky above you is a vibrant, cloudless blue, golden sunlight fanning down upon the crowd, bathing them aureate.
In the beat that passes, you search for someone you shouldn’t.
The last time that you saw him, he was hunched over his father’s office desk. His eyes were bloodshot and his tired gaze dull; half-finished documents stared up at him in mocking, and a nagging ache was making home in his chest.
The week prior, you hadn’t seen much of each other. And it wasn’t as though he’d requested this space—he rarely did, rarely asked you for anything—you’d just taken it upon yourself to give it to him. Stay in control. If you proposed time apart before he did, maybe it would feel more deliberate; hurt less.
You were dead wrong.
“Look,” he sighs, this cruel, heavy sound that splices right through your chest, “I realise I’ve been neglecting our relationship a lot recently.”
“Yes,” you respond tentatively. “But you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. I get it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” He glances up at you through red-rimmed irises. “I… I don’t know how long it’ll be like this. With everything that’s happened… my dad dying, and me taking over the firm —”
“I’ve seen you through all of it,” you interrupt quietly, your voice cracking. “I’ve — no questions asked, I’ve done it. I get it, Rafe, you’ve got different priorities at the moment. But we’ve loved each other for so long now that I —”
“But that’s the thing,” he says then, swallowing hard, “I just don’t know if I do anymore. Not as much as I used to.”
The silence that follows feels as though it’s suffocating you. You haven’t said a word, and Rafe’s said plenty, but it’s you with the lungs that heave for loveless oxygen.
“Oh.”
Rafe’s Adam’s apple jumps again, and he breaks eye contact as unshed tears brim to the surface. “I’m sorry.”
It doesn’t make any sense.
“Maybe,” you try, grappling hard for a logical explanation, “maybe your grief’s fucking with your ability to feel anything.”
Rafe’s gaze lifts to your face again, teardrop tracks making your pretty cheeks shine. His heart aches, hard, and he finds it difficult to catch his breath. “But… I’ve dealt with it,” he says quietly. “I’ve had to.”
“How can you have?” You throw back, exasperated. “Rafe you — you haven’t had a moment to yourself since his funeral last month, you’ve holed yourself up in his office and acted like everything’s fucking okay!”
“Because it is!” He replies, his face hardening momentarily. “I’m — I’m fucking fine, alright? I just need to be alone right now.”
“Because you don’t love me anymore.”
Rafe winces. Your lower lip trembles. “Yeah. Because something’s missing… the — the fucking spark, or whatever… and right now, I can’t give you the sort of love you deserve.”
He was tired of hurting you through his abjection, he’d said. As if breaking things off wasn’t the most hurtful thing he ever did.
Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.
It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.
It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.
You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.
“Shi—did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?” Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He’s spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You’re straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn’t want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.
Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.
Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”
“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.
“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.
“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”
“Rafe!” You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. “Put me down, you asshole.”
“No way, Y/N/N,” Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. “Your PDA’s the only reason he hasn’t given me a shiner yet.”
Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. “You’re lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation.”
Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”
You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe’s neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it’s with great reluctance, and he doesn’t hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.
“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.
“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”
Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.
“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”
“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”
Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”
“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”
“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”
How times change.
Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.
“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.
Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”
You shake your head, smiling in tandem.
The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.
You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.
Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.
He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.
He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.
He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.
If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.
He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…
“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.
When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.
Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”
“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”
…that fucking hug.
After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.
You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.
It shifted bile into your throat.
And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.
What were you meant to say?
But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.
It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.
And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.
All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.
It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.
Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.
Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never not recognise the sound of it. It’s as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it—so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.
You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.
He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.
Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.
He can’t remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You’re slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.
“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.
“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”
Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”
You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”
Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”
“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”
Sarah’s eyes well with tears. “It’s going to be hard without you too, Y/N,” she murmurs. “You’re my sister.”
Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”
“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.
“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”
When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.
“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”
Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”
Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”
“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”
“What isn’t?”
“The… the spark.”
“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”
Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”
To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.
The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.
At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.
Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.
He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.
Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.
He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.
Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.
It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.
That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.
Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.
You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.
God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.
He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.
Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?
Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.
“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”
Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”
You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”
“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”
“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”
Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”
“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”
“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”
“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”
“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”
You nod. “She told me.”
Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”
“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”
Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”
You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”
A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.
“Listen, Rafe, I —”
“Y/N, I’ve been —”
You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”
“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”
Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”
“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”
“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”
Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.
—
“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.
When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.
That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.
“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”
Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”
“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”
“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”
Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”
“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”
Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.
“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”
“Well…”
You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.
You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.
Fucking sadist.
“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”
His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”
“Uh huh.”
“This way.”
You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.
“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”
Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”
You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”
Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”
When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.
He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”
Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”
“Never,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn’t forgive you if you did.”
“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”
He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.
He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.
Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”
He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.
“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.
Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”
“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”
You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”
“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”
Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”
“Rafe —”
“No, listen…”
He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.
“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”
You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.
“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”
He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”
“And listen, the Elle thing —”
Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”
Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”
“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”
“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”
The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”
Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”
“Which I have.”
The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”
“It does,” you reply, “I am.”
“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”
You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”
“Like we were before,” he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend.”
Your heart sighs. “Me too.”
“Friends then.”
“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”
—
You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.
You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.
Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.
If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.
When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.
The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.
“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.
“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”
Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”
“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”
You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”
Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”
“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”
Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”
“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”
There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.
“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”
When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.
Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.
“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?
“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”
You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.
“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.
He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.
“I know.”
“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”
“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”
What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.
Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.
Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.
And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.
The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.
“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”
Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”
“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”
“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”
You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”
You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”
“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.
You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”
“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”
“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”
It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”
Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.
Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.
“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”
Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”
“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”
Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”
“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.
Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”
You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”
“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”
You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”
Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”
“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”
It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. “I wasn’t… I don’t know, I thought it’d be best if I kept my distance.” He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. “Clearly that was a mistake. I haven’t been this relaxed in fucking ages.”
You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”
“Nice.”
“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”
“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”
Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”
When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It’s a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.
The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.
“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”
“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”
You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”
“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”
Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”
Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”
“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”
“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”
Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”
“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”
“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.
“Yeah. I guess.”
There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.
It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.
The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.
thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.
You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.
—
It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.
Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.
It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.
Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.
“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”
Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”
You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”
It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”
“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.
He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.
You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”
Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”
“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”
Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”
You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”
Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”
Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”
Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.
“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”
“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”
“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”
You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”
“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”
You frown. “Different how?”
“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”
“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”
“Brooklyn…” you sigh.
“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”
“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?
“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”
“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”
“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”
“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”
“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”
A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.
Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”
You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.
“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”
“Different how?”
“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”
Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”
“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”
“I do.”
Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”
You furrow your brow. “Hm?”
“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”
“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”
Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”
You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.
Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.
And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.
Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.
Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.
“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”
He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”
“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”
“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”
“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.
“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”
“We were eight, Cameron.”
“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”
He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.
“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”
Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”
“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.
Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”
He’s still grappling with the fact that he’s a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. “Go on.”
“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”
Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”
“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”
Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.
You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.
You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”
“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”
“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”
“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”
“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.
I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”
Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”
You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”
“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”
“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”
Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”
You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.
After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”
You balk. “Hm?”
“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”
Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.
It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Elle.”
Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.
“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”
You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”
“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”
It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.
“Has it been helping?” You ask.
“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”
“A rebound,” you echo.
“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”
“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”
“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”
You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”
“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”
“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”
For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”
Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”
“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”
You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”
“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”
You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”
It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”
Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”
—
Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.
A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.
And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.
You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.
He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.
Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?
Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.
You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.
You smile. “Shocker.”
He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”
You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”
“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”
A hush falls. “True.”
“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”
You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”
“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”
It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.
Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”
“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”
Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.
“Do you, Rafe?” You return, opening your eyes tentatively.
His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. “Only if it’s you.”
“I think I am,” you murmur.
Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”
—
I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe x reader#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron oneshot
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(Teaser) It Will Come Back
Chapter 3, Broken Bonds
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
A/n: I feel bad that it's been forever since this series had an update, and I'm just feeling silly today so I thought I'd share a lil something of what I've been working on (to hopefully motivate me to finish the chapter lmao).
Now…
The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the ancient stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.
His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at his laptop and they check over some details for next week’s event.
It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.
That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.
Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.
Their father has been planninging this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to every individual and family in Westeros who thinks they are even slightly important that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens.
There can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.
His eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan in the main ballroom. Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.
He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind his eyes and in the crevices of his scar.
Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”
“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”
“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.
The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease, and he has no choice but to endure it.
He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it: a glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.
“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”
When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in the office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.
“I can go and grab some–”
“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.
He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.
He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.
“Is it… you know,”
Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?
Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#hotd#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction#modern!au#aemond targaryen smut#it will come back#hozier coded
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👹 Match Made In Hell 👹 || Aemond x Reader (My Demon AU) (Part Three)
Next Chapter
🍒 a/n: this series is inspired by k-drama, and it’ll deviates from the canon, but still had the same atmosphere as the netflix version. i’m so sorry it took so long to update a new chapter!
🍒summary: reader, who has now made pact with the devil, must face the difficulties by the likes of her surroundings, and Aemond, who took pleasure on tormenting her, even divulge his dirty thoughts.
🍒 warning: Dark!Aemond, violence, blood, misogyny, mentions of cheating, Aemond is a demon in a fic, he’s a d*ckhead, but charming, reader is a b*tch, spoiled brat, smut, action sequences, oral sex, rough sex, public sex, hotel sex, hate sex, contract, blood kink, religion themes, knife play, sexual tension, Aemond in a red suit, money kink, p in v sex, breeding kink, sex in the club, sex in a hospital bed, toxic relationship, fake relationship, possessive Aemond, obsession, jealousy, stalking, blackmail, dom/sub relationship, wet dream, cunnilingus, fingering, squiriting, reader is a virgin, aemond is experienced, moaning, reader and aemond being horny, 69, lotus, sex on the wall, praise kink, creampie, daddy kink. Demon!Aemond has powers, but needs reader to fuel and restore his power. The story from the show will be different in fanfic. Inspired by K-Drama “My Demon”.
Chapter Three: Heiress’s Bitch
Afar from a thickened crowd of paparazzis and reporters, on the left side of the corner, there was Aemond, in a fanciful suit of black and green with gold-embroidered scarf hung loosely around his neck, leaning and beaming as his violet eye watched the spectacle, and you on the platform, microphone on the podium, distress overwhelmed you, attempting to cooperate on various questions, concentrating. Accidentally eyeing on a one-eyed devil, a former prince regent to the Greens, only for him to withhold the possession of your thin lacy pink thong that was once clinging between your legs, with his tongue licking over his gleaming, fanged teeth.
“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.
The Devilish Prince is waiting outside the fitting room. And it bugged you to a point you want to strangle yourself to death. If Aemond wanna-be decides to torment by reviving you back, you have another chance to get rid of yourself again.
Why on Earth did he decide to pick you, or pick on you—you’re unsure. Thoughts stifled yet jumbled all at once that you hadn’t realized your top sleeve slipped from your shoulder, and your pink satin skirt is crooked, tilted on one side. Everything went wrong. So wrong all you crave at this current moment is to sleep or eat fast food or drink away. Or possibly thinking about crawling up to a hole and die. Or somewhat in that order.
You still couldn’t register in your head that Aemond Targaryen—as a devil—would step into your life—audacious and malicious! And superstitious!
The audacity is real!
A real good one at that. Aemond, a total bastard—jerk—a former Prince Regent—is in your world—your real world—one true flesh. A fucking prick with a demonic stick up in between in his legs is here. As much as you admire Aemond in the series, despite his war criminal activities, his charisma oddly exuding through screen, you can’t help but admire, but seeing him now, has shrank your heart to hate thousand times fold.
And here you thought, being in a room with devilish jerk has set your heart of fire—and not in a romantic idealistic way. You wanted to stab him with a Dark Sister. Over and over and over and over again. You wanted to hear his scream, for what he did to you. It was unbearable. Your purity, your maintained image dwindled in a flash.
Why can’t it be Cregan Stark? Or Robb Stark? Or Jaime Lannister? Jaime Lannister—Kingslayer has devilish charm you couldn’t resist. The problem is, you’re not blonde enough. And you’re not Cersei or Brienne of Tarth.
What about Loki? The God of Mischief? He’d be perfect. Tom Hiddleston with a devilish scheming smile he beholds and puts everyone on a chokehold. But all you got is the Aemond the former Prince Regent.
In all days, you shouldn’t be nervous. In a fitting room, you are alone, with your heart pumping. In an unusual circumstance, you should be ecstatic with your new attires to a press conference. Press conference might boost your business—or lowers—depending on which answer. There are several conferences you’ve dealt or saw before. One is from Philippines, the other is from Italy.
It’s a hassle as it already is. The question is; why does your “attempted” suicide had to be announced? Who could possibly leak the information? More importantly, who started a commotion—an accusation of you being suicidal? Your soul is dying from stupidity everyday, not to a certain of killing yourself from someone stupid—maybe that’s another list of stupidity, but surely there’s more to it.
You never thought of dying once. You never thought of injuring yourself. Keeping your held up high by doing hard-work is ultimately the best. Self-care and fashion lifestyle goes second. You love yourself too much to make a “jump” for the sake of a stupid man—a wild mongrel who has more worth of acting like in a zoo than a quiet and lavish luxury.
Picking another attire, before slithering out from the top, large hands abruptly rotated you, pinned you against the wall and meet his eye—Aemond.
“Aemond, what are you—”
His lips plunged against yours. Those damnable smooth lips, drowning the squeak in your throat, one hand held your neck while the other pinned against the wall.
He pulled away, and undo your outfit in one swoop.
“I’m hungry for a moment, darling,” he purred, untucking his trousers. In between the opening, hardened cock stretched in the undo zipper, and your legs hiked around his waist, his body pressing you down until the space enclosed. Grunting, Aemond thrusts into your cunt, panting together.
“Aemond, not here,” you said in a strained tone.
“Shut up, you fucking cunt,” he said, biting your lower lip, drawing a wet scratch, taste of iron left in your mouth and his scathing teeth, as his pounded movements became sloppy and messy, heavy with breathing and muscles on his legs fatigued.
Nevertheless, he quickened his pace, and his semen spurted in your tight folds, leaving you breathless.
“Aemond, you—”
“Get dressed, stupid bitch,” he ordered, shoving you forcefully back on the wall. “Don’t make me repeat myself, little girl. Have your white outfit ready.”
Choking, your soft hands grasp against his, but not powerful enough. “I was going for pink—”
“Fucking bitch, I’m not asking you,” he seethed, hand strangled on your neck. “Did I not make myself clear?”
Under his grasp, your eyes blurred, chest constricted and deprived from air. “Why are you doing this? If you hate me that much, why did you decide to fuck me?”
“Isn’t obvious? You’re so hideously repulsive, I can’t stand the sight of your feeble appearance. That lousy and bratty mouth of yours needs to be shut. I can’t stand the noise—the sighs—you make in the fitting room.” He loosened you and watched you dropped on the ground. “A little girl like you has no place in a woman’s world.”
Absconded from the fitting room, tears ran down on your face. Picking yourself up off the ground, numbed fingers swiped across your wet cheeks.
Could he really be comparing you to someone else? There’s no way. Even in a form of a man, a devil’s no better beside the lousy man.
As you stepped out of the dressing room, the assistants had no expression but an obvious mark of reddened blush on their cheeks and neck, as Aemond had a scowl etched on his princely visage.
~~~
On a Sunday mass, everyone bowed their heads with prayer as the priest preached regarding to loving your enemies, and forgiving others’s sins. Though this is a quiet mass—a private mass, more like. As a sign of good luck. A prayer.
Aemond found it ridiculous. His eye stared and lanced at the back of your head as you kept yourself down, memorizing the priest’s words and its uniquely hymn.
Aemond, in his cherry red suit, kept an eye on the family. Blessed, no one is able to notice his true form except in a disguise of your butler.
“Let us pray,” the priest said, “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollow be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven…”
Aemond never heard of prayers like this before. For him, it’s a fascination, but a grotesque sound in unison. The recital conjured him back to the days where Queen Alicent and Otto Hightower are highly dedicated to the Faith of the Seven, how his mother wore the ornaments of seven-pointed star on her lavish gowns in most days. King’s Landing’s walls were adorned in statues and stars—their holy grail to keep the place from evil’s perseverance.
To him, as a Westerossi, this is nothing new.
Aegon’s holy grail is drinking and whoring, while Helaena’s is her insects and her children she bore with brother-husband. Aemond’s holy grail is history, books, swordsmanship and Vhagar, the largest dragon in Westeros—he recalled it all too well. He figured that there were no dragons in this world—your world, but has airplanes and helicopters—that’s how you were transferred into the hospital, just down by the isolated beach, carrying you in his arms, unbothered if someone sees you and him strolling casually out from the deep waters. Despite all the deeds he has done, Aemond found your modern world amusingly impressed.
When the prayers are done, there was a bread and wine communion—again, new and beyond from Aemond’s religious practices in Westeros’s Old Gods and New, something about Jesus and his twelve disciples at the last supper. His eye watched over your feeble and small stature gracefully taking the offer. He eyed on the paintings. Scanning the room, you see nothing but marbled statues of historical figures and angels depicted from a human’s eye, paintings and depictions of Old Testament and New Testament in the Bible fascinated him more than his own religion, something about religious emanates soothing and sinister to the past testimonies in the past of mankind. If Faith of the Seven were decorated in paintings like this, maybe Aemond would’ve been convinced. He could’ve been as a sworn servant to the religion, a maester in a way—never to be wed, forever devoted to the goodwill of guidance to sinful peasants and subjects to the light.
Though, your mind differs. There weren’t any sincere prayers and mournful thoughts in your head, rather shrouded by a dark aura, something he can’t pinpointed. He watched you taken your seat as the mass hymn a song regarding to praising God.
And there, the Devil awaited.
~~~
As the future president of the AURORA company, you strolled and mounted inside the car—assurance within you is hanging by a thread, but you kept yourself in check, telling yourself that this won’t take a while. But beforehand, Aemond’s hand blocked you from entering the copper and black sports vehicle.
“Don’t touch my Vhagar,” he reminded, rather strictly. His violet eye gleamed—no, darkened within his short warning.
“Vhagar? Are you serious right now? I can open doors myself,” you shot back, the feeling of inadequacy hadn’t left in your chest since the fitting room on the previous day.
Aemond, without showing his obvious grimace, escorted you inside the car, lifting the car door in an upward direction, leading you inside the passenger’s seat and drove you all the way to the press conference.
~~~
For the press conference, things hadn’t been gone so smoothly. Paparazzis invaded the moment you arrived, dubbing you as “Miss Future President” of AURORA.
Reports bombarded you with useless inquiries and what outfit you were wearing. Obviously you wanted the people to focus on your outfit more than your “suicidal attempt”. As for Aemond, hands on his back, striding alongside you until you reached the platform with your pink suit with gold buttons and your simplistic threads of gold bracelets and thin necklace on your neckline, your hair tied up in a low ponytail, long framed bangs slightly tucked (hair reference).
“Are you ready to set hell on stage, Miss Future President,” Aemond mocked.
Nonetheless, you disdained him with cold shoulder, and stepped onward to the clear-glass podium, formally address the issue to a recent event. Cameras clicked and reporters typing on their laptops, then you began to speak in two languages, which Aemond doesn’t recognize, nonetheless his curiosity piqued.
Endless topics from reporters came, already slandering accusations disguised as questions, but you handled it well.
Rabbit questions like regarding to comparing your nightly activities to your ex-fiancé, how both are reckless and childish—nepotism. Then partying, then other scandals that are once addressed as false had been brought up again—their resolved minds can sometimes fickle.
Until…
Afar from a thickened crowd of paparazzis and reporters, on the left side of the corner, there was Aemond, in a fanciful suit of black and green with gold-embroidered scarf hung loosely around his neck, leaning and beaming as his violet eye watched the spectacle, and you on the platform, microphone on the podium, distress overwhelmed you, attempting to cooperate on various questions, concentrating. Accidentally eyeing on a one-eyed devil, a former prince regent to the Greens, only for him to withhold the possession of your thin lacy pink thong that was once clinging between your legs, with his tongue licking over his gleaming, fanged teeth.
“You may now suffer and keep your empty, prideful head high as you wish, but soon I shall have a taste of you, my little angel,” his thoughts penetrated in your head.
“What the—you fucking—”
The press conference grew in silence, cameras flashing. The crowd is in awe of your random reaction.
“Pardon me,” you uttered, cheeks reddened. “I’m still in quite state of shock since I have been taken to the hospital. Forgive me.”
“As the next president, what is your next move for the Aurora company?”
Several cameras clicked.
“Regarding to the AURORA company, nothing is set in stone. When the next project is ready, I’ll be the first person in the company to inform you and the media. That will be all.” Bowed, you stepped off the stage.
Your back inclined to a bow and left, leaving the press rowdy, bombarding you with questions, questions that involved and regarded to personal affairs with your ex-fiance and the CEO of EDEN company.
Meanwhile, Aemond’s mischievous smile grew, taking the scenery in.
And the only thing he could utter, within a crowded noise was—
“This…should be interesting.”
Tucking your rosy light-laced underwear in his pocket, saving his dessert for last as he watched you disappear through the doors.
~~~
“I want my underwear back, you asshole.” Stomping outside the AURORA building with heavy huff. Pink heels clicking the pavement as you went your way to the wide parking lot.
Aemond’s violet eye flickered. “Only if you say “please”.”
“Fuck no. Give it to me! What if I have blood on my thong, are you still going to play yourself?”
“A deal’s a deal, Miss President. Keep this up, you’ll get more scandal,” he reminded, his teeth gleamed.
“I thought you said you’re going to help me, not humiliate me. I almost cussed out to hundreds of paparazzis and reporters because of your perverted ass! Don’t tell me you also have my bra?” Pulling the fabric, you spotted your croquette lace bra shielded your chest beneath the pink office suit.
“This is rather fun. I’d rather have this, than a formal way of ending the conference. Dare, I must say you have an exquisite taste in wearing these contraptions you women covered your maidenhood.”
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
Aemond’s platinum hair swayed. “Your face is quite amusing. Don’t get yourself hurt, Miss President. Otherwise, you’ll get sick from your anger issues.”
Raising your fist, the mark on your wrist glowed. Bemused, Aemond clicked his tongue as he stopped your motion with his hand caught your marked wrist, his other hand—still holding your thong—his index finger swished, his tongue clicked. “Ah, ah, ah, that’s not how our deal supposed to go, little angel.”
“Go to—”
“Hell?” Aemond’s brow flicked. “But I’m already here.”
Then he released you; the mark went black as he successfully dodged your punch before giving him a menacing glare, marching down at the sports car.
As you went your back to the car—Vhagar—Aemond began with, “So, what are you going to do now, Miss President? Are you going to let yourself fall, or are you going to give them hell?”
You didn’t look at him in the eye. “I want to go back to my apartment and rest. And don’t you dare talk inside my head! It’s creepy enough as it is. It makes me think you’re Voldemort instead of Prince Aemond of House Targaryen.”
His brow flicked. “Who’s Voldemort?”
“Your twin!”
“I don’t have a twin. Besides, I’d rather be the eldest child in the family.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, just take me back to my apartment.”
Aemond hummed. “As you wish, Miss President. When an angel is there, a devil also is present. Never forget.”
“Never forget also the you’re my bitch.”
“On the contrary, my dear,” he sneered. “A Devil is no slave to anyone.”
“And I’m an Heiress to the AURORA company. Therefore you’re my bitch—Heiress’s Bitch.”
Huffing, both you and Aemond then mounted inside the sports vehicle, Aemond geared his shift and stirred the wheel to a sharp turn, maneuvering right then swerved on the road.
A first step to hell has commenced.
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We’re All A Little Mad Sometimes
Jonathan Byers x Fem!OC
Summary: Bunny is the girl of Jonathan’s dreams. With a masked killer on the loose he would do anything to protect her. She’s sweet, beautiful, and has a heart of gold. But things aren’t always as they seem… WK: 8.1k(oops)
This is a collab with @babygorewhore you can read her part about Eddie and her OC Sammy here.
Warnings: This is a scream AU so there will be descriptions of murder, violence, Jonathan is a perv(he thinks she doesn’t know but she does), mentions of male masturbation, slight jealous!jonathan, mentions of Bunny & king!steve in the past(she scares the shit out of him but doesn’t kill him), sub!Jonathan, Dom!Reader, blow job, unprotected sex. I thiiiink that’s it? Pls lmk if I missed any! Divider is @saradika-graphics
Jonathan walked shoulder to shoulder with Eddie down the hall, discussing the recent murder of Hawkin’s community’s head cheerleader, Chrissy Cunningham. The gruesome images of the small blonde haunted the minds of everyone who had the misfortune of seeing them. She was killed with a large hunting knife, multiple stab wounds littering her body. The police wouldn’t have connected it to the murders of him and Eddie’s fathers if it wasn’t for the exact nature of the kill being the same, down to the murder weapon.
A little over a year ago, only a few nights apart Lonnie Byers and Al Munson were murdered in cold blood with a hunting knife, “overkill” they called it. He and Eddie would both be lying if they said they were sad, they should’ve been scared that they would come for them next, but if anything, they just felt relief.
Him and Eddie parted ways, and he made his way to his photography class. His favorite class and not just because it was his favorite subject, but because this was the class he shared with her. Willow. The girl he couldn’t keep his mind off of. He walked eagerly into the classroom, his eyes landing on her immediately.
She was beautiful, her long blonde hair always looked so soft against her caramel skin, her pink mini skirts and chunky Mary Jane’s, those big brown eyes and pouty lips. He would do anything she asked and all she had to do was look at him. When she would put her small manicured hands on his forearm and look up at him sweetly, he felt like he could melt where he stood. Maybe he should feel pathetic, but he can’t find it in himself to care when she looks at him like that. Not when she was an angel on earth.
He walked over to their shared table, pulling out the stool next to hers and putting his bag down. He was lucky enough to be assigned her seat partner at the beginning of the year, and even luckier that they got paired up to do their next project together.
“Hey Jonathan! It’s nice to see you.” Her voice sounds like sugar, the smile on her face just as sweet.
“Hey Bunny, it’s nice to see you too. Especially with everything that’s going. I’m uh - glad you're safe.” Bunny was a nickname, one he was proud to have given her. It stuck, and now everyone in their group called her that. He didn’t mind really, but ultimately she was his bunny, he gave her the nickname.
“Oh yeah I know! Isn’t it just awful? I can’t believe someone would do something like that. The pictures made my skin crawl.” Her big eyes were wide, her lips set into a pouty frown. Jonathan wanted to protect her, he never wanted her to not feel safe.
“Yeah, it’s really awful… You don’t have to be scared though I’ll pro-“
“Alright class!! Everybody remember who you’re not partnered with?”
“Yes! You ready to get to brainstorming, Jonny bear?”
Jonathan forgot what he was even going to say, her sweet nickname and the teacher's interruption turning his brain to mush. He spends the rest of class bouncing ideas back and forth with Bunny and tries his hardest not to gawk at her but fails on multiple occasions. It didn’t help that she was always touching him in some way or another.
When the bell rings, Bunny grabs her things and waves to him, letting him know she’s going to go find Sammy and that she will see him in the group spot in a bit. He stares after her, her little skirt swishing back and forth with the swing of her hips, the bows in her hair trailing behind her and her shiny black shoes squeak against the classroom's linoleum floor.
Jonathan gathered his things and sighed, his mind filled with nothing but all things Bunny. He thought of her soft skin and how it would feel against his fingers as he walked down the hall. He thought of her silky hair, the way he caught a whiff of strawberries every time she whipped her head around. He imagined her plush lips pressed against his own, he knew the sticky pink gloss she always wears would rub off on him. He desperately wanted to know what it tasted like.
When he reaches the courtyard his breath catches in his throat. Bunny was sitting with Sammy by her side. It was rare to see one without the other. They were the dynamic duo, everybody knew that. Sammy’s style was much different from Willow’s, she gravitated more towards dark colors. Her bright pink curls and combat boots are a stark contrast to her best friend’s frilly socks and pastel pinks. Yet they complimented each other so well, like yin and yang. Her brow was furrowed and her small hand was grasping Sammy’s sweater covered arm while they talked to Eddie. She looked upset and he immediately wanted to do anything and everything to see her smile again.
“Hey man, you just gonna stand there with your jaw hanging open all afternoon or are you gonna go talk to her?” Steve came up behind him, his large hand grabbing onto his shoulder and shaking him slightly.
“I wasn’t… staring. I just… got distracted, is all.” Jonathan shakes Steve’s hand off of him, sending him a glare.
“Oh dude, you were totally staring! I don’t get why you don’t just ask her out, she’s clearly into you.”
Robin stood next to Steve, rolling her eyes with a smile spread across her lips. Her and Steve were constantly teasing him about her. It drove him insane, because he knew they were right. He should just ask her out. But she was just so beautiful, her and Steve’s dad were business partners so she never had to want for anything growing up. He also knows her and Steve have… history. He knows they were friends with benefits for a while and he knows that Steve wanted more than that but she turned him down. If she didn’t want someone like Steve why would she want someone like him.
He didn’t come from anything, he wasn’t athletic or classically handsome like Steve was. He probably wouldn’t ever make a lot of money, wanting to choose his passion over his salary. Steve was a business major with a job lined up for him when he graduated. Steve was on the basketball team, the swim team, he threw huge parties and fucked around with different girls every weekend. Jonathan was a loser virgin who spent his weekends smoking weed in his dorm with Eddie Munson while they played Dark Souls.
“Better snatch her up, before someone else does.” Steve winked at him before walking towards the table, his stupidly perfect hair somehow looking like it was glowing in the sunlight. He didn’t mind as much when Robin teased him but when it came from Steve it made his blood boil.
“Don’t listen to him Jonny, like Robin said, she’s totally into you.” Robin’s girlfriend, Marina smiled sweetly at him, tilting her head towards the table as Robin pulled her along by the hand.
He took a deep breath, thanking whatever god is out there that Steve didn’t take the spot next to her. He slid onto the bench, his senses immediately being flooded with sweet strawberry goodness. His heart rate picked up when she smiled at him.
“Hey Jonny bear, we were just talking about how scary all of this is…” Her lips were set into a pout, that same crease between her eyebrows he saw from afar that he wanted to rub out with his thumb.
“Yeah, it’s pretty fucked, huh? Like I know none of us were Chrissy’s biggest fan but I don’t think she deserved to die like that.”
“I’ve been thinking about those photos all morning… I can’t help but think about if that happened to me. You don’t think this guy has like… a type do you?” Her large brown eyes were filled with panic, her bottom lip squeezed between her teeth.
“I don’t think so, because before this it was me and Eddie’s dads, there doesn’t seem to be a specific pattern anymore. You’ll be okay… I promise l - I’ll keep you safe.” He smiled sweetly at her, forcing himself to be brave enough to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Thanks bear…” She returned his smile with one of her own, her thumb gently stroking his hand.
“I-“
“You take a knife, and you slit them from groin to sternum.” Bunny’s hand drops from his, her head whipping towards Steve with her mouth hanging open. That crease between her brows returned and it made him want to smack Steve.
“Didn’t you and Chrissy used to date?” Eddie has a smirk on his face directed towards Steve.
“Yeah dude for like two seconds, and if you wanna call what her and I did “dating” then I guess me and Willie “dated” too, and look at her she’s perfectly alive and well.” Jonathan scoffed, Steve’s words, feeling like a knife in his heart. He knew they fucked, but he hated being reminded that it happened.
“Hey.” He was snapped from his thoughts at the sound of her sweet voice, her soft hand landing on his Jean covered thigh, causing him to gulp. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just being a fucking idiot. You still wanna work on our project today?”
“Yeah, of course.” He smiled at her, his cheeks tinted pink. What did she mean don’t listen to him? Is she reassuring him because she likes him? He really fucking hopes so. “You still want me to drive us there?”
“Yeah totally! I’m really excited! I think we will have the most unique topic honestly. Who else is going to think to depict the different types of gravestones depending on the time period?” He loves the way her eyes light up when she talks about things she’s excited about. He never would’ve thought this sweet girl with bows in her hair would ask him to take her to the Hawkins cemetery of all places. She was always surprising him in the best ways.
“With all this bullshit there’s probably going to be a curfew in a few days, so I’m throwing a party this weekend. You idiots are all invited.” Steve tapped his hands on the table, making sure to wink at Willow before he got up and walked off. Jonathan scoffed, anytime he felt like he was getting somewhere with her it was like his confidence was knocked down all over again.
“Don’t let him get to you Jonny, he’s not worth the energy. You wanna get going? If we leave right now we can get there before dusk! That way we can still get some natural light photos!” She clapped her hands together excitedly and Jonathan tried not to look at the way her boobs giggled in her tank top, he really did, but he just couldn’t help himself around her.
“Yeah uh - yeah, let’s go, Bunny”
Jonathan watched in awe as Willow weaved through the various headstones pointing out different shapes and sizes. He was actually really surprised with her knowledge on the topic, when he asked her if she had been doing research for their project she shook her head and said it was just something that had “always interested her” which just made her even more interesting to him.
“Jonathan! Look at this one, like I was telling you earlier doves were a very prevalent image on headstones in the mid 1700s! Oh! And that one over there, see how it just looks like a rock that someone carved into? That’s because before the 1600s they didn’t have professional gravestone carvers, so they didn’t start making them more decorative until then!”
Her eyes sparkled, the excited tone of her voice warming every inch of his heart. She was just so cute. Talking about the history of gravestones all clad in pink and white. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He watched her bend forward to brush leaves and grass off a stone by her feet. The heat that was previously residing in his heart rushed to his cock in a matter of seconds, her little pink skirt rode up her hips, showcasing her white panties that had little pink bunnies all over them… his breath caught in his throat as he held in a groan. It wasn’t the first time he had caught a glance up her skirt, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
He wished he could say it was the first time he grabbed the camera that was around his neck, raising it to his eye. He quickly snapped a photo of her from behind, turning the lense slightly over her shoulder before she could turn around.
“Did you get a good one?” She turned towards him with a smile on her face.
“Huh?” He looked at her dumbfounded, did she know?
“Of that stone over there? Did you get a good picture of it?”
“Oh! Yeah! I think so, I’m gonna take one more, just to be sure.” He smiled sweetly at her, snapping a ‘second’ photo of the stone she was standing close to.
“Aw shit! My battery just died.” Bunny huffed as her camera beeped in her hands. “Can I use yours real quick? I was trying to get this shot and I’m scared that if I move I’ll lose it.”
“Oh! Yeah, of course.” Jonathan hands her his camera with a smile. His heart rate picks up when she takes it and their hands brush. Not just from her touch, but also from anxiety. He was really hoping she wouldn’t ask to use his camera. Earlier that morning he was sitting in his car before class, going through his photos and when he was scrolling he saw one he took of her a few days prior.
She was walking up the stairs a few steps above him and he had the perfect view of her panties, he just couldn’t help himself. He also couldn’t help himself when he pulled his hard cock from his jeans and started jerking off in his passenger seat with his camera gripped in his hands. When he came it was sudden, and way quicker than he expected so it shot onto the screen and the strap of his camera. It came off the screen easily, but the strap? Not so much. The more he tried to get it off the more it seemed to spread, so he ended up giving up. It had mostly dried since then but it was still a little tacky and he just prayed she wouldn’t notice.
“This is kinda sticky…” His heart immediately stopped beating in his chest as he watched her fingers stick and unstick from the strap. Part of him was terrified of her reaction but part of him was so turned on at the thought of her touching his cum that he wasn’t sure if he cared anymore or not.
“Oh shit, yeah, I’m sorry. I meant to tell you before I handed it to you, I spilled juice on my desk this morning and it got on the strap, I tried to get it off but it just kept spreading around. I’m gonna have to get a new one tomorrow.” He scratched the back of his head, nervously biting his lip.
“Juice?” She raised her eyebrow, her eyes traveling from the strap to his and back down to the strap, her fingers touching it experimentally. “What kind?”
“What kind? Uh - Orange. Yeah, it was orange juice.”
“Orange juice? That’s my favorite…” Her brown eyes twinkle and she holds eye contact with him as she lets her tongue slip from between her plush lips, trailing it along the length of the strap with a moan. She licks her lips and smiles at him. “Mmm… tastes so good.”
Jonathan’s jaw drops, his cock feels like it’s going to explode in his jeans, his mind doesn’t even feel like it’s properly computing what just happened. She just licked his cum, and she liked the taste. Did she know? He genuinely doesn’t even know how to respond, and she either knows that or doesn’t seem to be aware of the effect she just had because she just shrugs and puts the strap over her head. She brings the camera to her face, capturing the shot she had her eye on.
“Okay! I think we should take some in that area over there, and maybe walk down a little further to see if we missed any before we head back?” She smiles at him, blissfully unaware of the fact that if she so much as breathed the right way right now he would cum in his pants.
“Yeah, sounds good!” His voice came out squeaky, and he adjusted himself in his jeans as subtly as possible, withholding a groan at the momentary relief in pressure.
The next hour was both heaven and hell for Jonathan, he loved spending time with Bunny, he truly did. But right now he felt like if he didn’t cum soon he was going to fucking die. If he didn’t know better he would think she was teasing him intentionally. She kept bending over in front of him, doing those cute little excited jumps she would do when she was happy causing her tits to bounce in that little white top. At one point she even said she “could really go for some orange juice now” and that’s when he couldn’t take it anymore. Making an excuse about homework and calling it a night.
“I think we got some good ones, don’t you, Jonny bear?” Bunny skipped alongside him, a bright smile on her face.
“Yeah Bunny, I think we definitely got some good ones…”
Jonathan huffed as he declined the call from an “unknown number” for the third time in the last ten minutes. Ever since he switched phone companies a few months ago he swears the amount of spam calls he's gotten has doubled. His phone rang again, the same unknown contact lighting up the screen. Whoever this was clearly wasn’t gonna give it up.
“Hello?”
“Jonathan Byers?”
“Yeah this is him, who is this? Why do you keep calling me?”
“I think you know why, you little pervert. I’ve been watching you, I know about your little photo collection. I know about your obsession with your precious little Bunny.”
“W-what? I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about… whoever this is, leave me the hell alone.”
He scoffed, hitting the red circular button on his phone screen. This person was clearly fucking with him, and even if they weren’t they had no proof of anything. Fuck that. He let out a deep breath, trying to compose his anxious thoughts. He had just started to calm down when his phone abruptly started ringing again.
“You think you can hang up on me, Jonny boy? Think again. I’m not fucking around here, hang up the phone again and I’ll slit your little rabbits neck and come for you next. I’ll stab her more times than I did your low life daddy. Got it?”
“What the hell do you want? Who is this? If you seriously think I’m going to believe you’re the killer you’re insane. You’re obviously some asshole just trying to freak me out with everything that’s going on.”
“Oh so you wanna act tough? Don’t believe me? Check your texts.” His phone dinged seconds later and he removed it from his ear, clicking on the text notification from the unknown number. He gasped when he saw the contents of the text. It was a photo of him on the stairs, with his camera in his hands. The lens was tilted at Willow walking a few steps above him, directly up her little skirt.
“W-What do you want from me?”
“I don’t particularly want anything from you, I just wanted you to know I’m watching…If you want your little Bunny rabbit in one piece you’ll do what I say, when I say it. Got it? Have a good night, pretty boy… don’t let the bedbugs bite…” The line went dead, leaving Jonathan standing in the middle of his room alone, confused and shaking.
“He really called you? Like you’re sure it was him?” Bunny pouted as she leaned her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her folded hands. The red light of the darkroom reflects off her hair giving it a blood tinted hue.
“I’m pretty sure… He was really believable.” Jonathan gulped as he unrolled the negatives from their project, laying them out on the table.
“What did he say though? Did he threaten you??” Her brows furrowed, and yet again he just wanted to kiss right in between them, kiss all her worries away. Especially if she was worrying about him.
“Uh - yeah, kind of? He kind of made it seem like he’d be back later to force me to do something for him almost? I’m not really sure… but, he called Eddie and did the same to him. I’m pretty freaked out if I’m being honest.” He let out a shaky breath as he loaded the negatives into the enlarger, getting the first one in frame to process.
“That’s so scary… especially with your guys’ dads last year, and now Nancy. It seems like he might be targeting you or something. How are you doing by the way? With Nancy being found and all…”
“Yeah, I’ve kind of been thinking the same… I’m trying not to think too much into it, but it’s hard not to, ya know? Also I’m doing… okay? It’s not like she and I were on good terms in the slightest but I didn’t want her to die or anything, especially like that. I’m a sad obviously… It just mostly feels weird knowing she’s gone, I guess.”
Not as sad as I would be if it were you. He almost said it, he had to physically stop himself. He’d never even held her hand but he would feel like the world was ending if even a hair on her head was misplaced. Nancy had been brutally murdered, he did everything with her except actually fuck her and he didn’t even shed a tear. Granted she cheated on him with Steve, and he literally sent him a photo of her with his dick shoved deep inside her from behind.
“Kind of strange that two of the victims have been girls Steve slept with, don’t you think?” Bunny inquired, her small hand grabs a piece of photography paper from the stack, placing it under the focus finder for him. She leaned over the table to look into the peephole, giving Jonathan a perfect view down her little pink dress that he just couldn’t resist. Her hair fell over her shoulder and into her eyes and he reached out, pushing it back without thinking. He almost apologized, scared he overstepped, but she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Thank you bear.”
“Yeah it’s a little strange, but if we are going by that logic he fucked me and Eddie’s dads too.” He chuckled at the thought, grabbing the sheet of paper with the photo Bunny took the other day and putting it into the liquid filled processing tub.
“Ha! I suppose you’re right about that. I know he won’t cancel his party either, he will totally see this as an opportunity to have everyone ‘chill and let loose’ or some corny shit.” She snorted, throwing her head back with a giggle.
“Yeah, you’re definitely right about that, Bunny.” He smiled, her giggle causing him to let out a chuckle of his own.
“Are you gonna go? To the party I mean.”
“Uh - I’m not sure, I’m still thinking about it. I think Eddie is going, if he does I probably will.” He shrugged, grabbing the next film strip and lining it up without thinking.
“Me and Sammy are going, it would be cool to see you there.” She smiled sweetly at him, her fingers twirling a strand of her hair. Her brown doe eyes were shining in the red light as she stared at him, far too distracted to notice the photo of her bent over in front of him at the cemetery being magnified by the negative carrier right next to her.
“Yeah? Then maybe I’ll go, I’ll let you know for sure. Um I -“ He stopped mid sentence when he turned back to the task at hand, his eyes widening at the sight of the photo in front of him. He quickly pulls the photo away, praying to whatever god is out there that she hadn’t noticed it.
“Oh shit - whoops!” Bunny let out a small gasp when she accidentally knocked over the stack of papers on the table, turning to pick them up off the ground, giving him yet another glimpse of her panties. It also gave him time to shove the film strip in his pocket and out of view.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just turned a little too fast and knocked these down, no biggie.” She picked up the stack, straightening it and putting it back on the table before pulling her dress back into place, giving him one of those smiles that is so sweet he feels like he’s going to get a cavity from it one day.
“Okay, cool, wanna keep going?” He smiled back, his cheeks dusted pink, he couldn’t help it, she was just so cute all the time, no matter what she was doing.
“Yeah, of course!” Her hand found his bicep, giving it a few soft strokes with her silky smooth thumb. It sent shivers through his entire body, there’s no way she didn’t feel the goosebumps raise on his skin.
“Cool, let’s do it, cutie. By the way I really do hope you decide to go, to the party I mean.” She winks at him, raising up on her tiptoes to place a soft lip gloss covered kiss on his cheek before turning back to the negatives, resuming her work like she didn’t just make his insides melt.
Jonathan wandered around the party with his camera around his neck and his hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes scanned the crowd every few seconds, keeping them peeled for Bunny. He knew she was here, he saw her car outside when he was coming up. He decided to grab a drink and perch himself against a wall in the living room. He people watched as he sipped the strong syrupy drink.
He caught sight of Eddie, sitting side by side with Sammy on the couch and he smiled to himself. From what Eddie had told him things between them seemed to be going well. He heard a giggle he would recognize anywhere coming from his left over the music and he turned his head only to be met with a sight that made his heart shatter.
Bunny was here, that was for sure. She was standing in front of Steve, in front of being an exaggeration, she was literally pressed up against him, trapping him between her and the wall. She had this mischievous look in her eyes that Jonathan had never seen, and the smile on her lips was almost sinister. She looked like she wanted to eat Steve alive and he never felt more jealous in his entire life. That should be him. You should be doing that cute hair twirling thing you do and giggling at his jokes. Not fucking Steve. Jonathan watched as you continued to whisper in his ear, Steve’s bottom lip catching between his teeth at whatever you were saying.
“Listen up everyone!! If we are gonna survive this night with a psycho killer on the loose we are gonna have to understand the rules!” Robin stood clapping her hands to gain everyone’s attention.
“Rules? At a party? Seriously?” Steve scoffed, stepping away from Bunny to walk into the living room. “I think that’s the last thing on everyone’s mind right now, Rob.”
“Yes rules, dingus!! First rule, you can NEVER have sex. Have sex, and you die!” Everyone in the room booed and laughed at that, no sex? At a party? At Steve Harrington’s house? Not likely.
“I think you’re a little late for that…” Steve smirked over his shoulder at Bunny, sending her a wink. Jonathan cringed as he watched her bite her lip, curling a finger towards herself as she walked towards the stairs. He wanted to scream while he watched Steve’s smirk turn into a full blown smile, and when Steve followed her up the stairs? He wanted to bash his head into the wall. Fuck.
Robin continued to rant about her “rules” but he couldn’t hear a word she was saying anymore. All the blood in his body rushed to his ears and everything in the room sounded like it was under water. He brought his drink to his lips, chugging the remainder of it before scanning the room again. Eddie was still sitting on the couch but Sammy was gone, so he made his way to his best friend’s side like a kid who just got his toy stolen at recess.
“Hey man…” Jonathan sighed as he flopped down next to Eddie.
“Hey dude, you okay? I saw uh - you know…”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s cool. I’m sure she will say hi if she feels like it. Wanna smoke?” He tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, but Eddie knew him, he could tell how upset he truly was. But if he didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t going to pry.
“Yeah bro, light one up, why the hell not? It is a party after all, Robin’s rules be damned.”
Steve walked down the hall toward the door he saw Bunny go in, when he entered it was dark, and the door slammed behind him.
“Oh shit! Jesus Christ. Willow?” He searched the room for her but his eyes had yet to adjust so all he could see was darkness.
“Hey Stevie boy.” A voice came from behind him, one that definitely didn’t belong to the small blonde haired girl he was looking for.
“Wha-? Who's there? This isn’t fucking funny.” He whipped around towards the door, only to find it blocked by a black cloaked figure. The mask of the infamous “Ghostface” staring back at him. “Hey man, I don’t want any trouble, seriously. I’m just looking for my girl -“
“Your girl?” The figure rushes him, slamming his back against a near wall. A shiny silver butcher's knife is held to his throat so tightly when he gulps it knicks him a little. “Since when has she ever been your girl? And if you didn’t want any trouble Steve… Why did you do it?”
“Do - do what? What did I do?” His voice comes out as panicked as his hazel eyes look, his hands shaking at his sides.
“You really don’t know? Or are you really so much of a prick that you don’t even understand the concept of right and wrong? Remember how you fucked Jonathan’s girlfriend and sent him a photo of your dick buried inside her? Or what about all the times you’ve called him ‘little dick Byers’?” The voice was harsh and masculine, which confused Steve slightly due to the fact that the person standing in front of him was half his size. Regardless, they had a knife to his throat and he had seen the photos of their victims.
“That’s what this is about? Byers? Seriously? I’m just giving him shit dude! I know that shit with Nancy wasn’t cool but I was just being a dick! I’m fucking sorry okay!”
“Yeah? You’re sorry? That’s so sweet Steve… you know, I was going to kill you, but I think I’ll let you go. I have a better idea… you’re gonna tell Jonathan just how sorry you are, and then you’re never going to fuck with him again. If I find out you do, I won’t kill you, but, I will tell everyone how ‘Big dick king Steve’ is really just a subby little baby with mommy issues who wants girls to play with his ass and spit in his mouth. Got it?” Ghostface chuckles, running the tip of the blade along the boy’s Adam’s apple.
“Yeah! Yeah! I got it! Please just let me go!” Steve has no idea how they know that, there’s only ever been two girls he’s shown that side of himself to, but right now he doesn’t fucking care, he just wants this knife as far away from his throat as possible.
“Oh Steve? if you want my advice? I’d own the whole sub thing, you’re kinda sexy when you beg…” The figure taps his cheek with the blade before backing away from him, leaving the room and locking him inside.
•
“THE KILLER IS FUCKING HERE!! HE FUCKING STABBED ME! HELP!!” A dude came running in the back door, holding his shoulder that was gushing blood. Screams erupted around the room, everyone running towards the door, bodies slamming into each other and drinks spilling as cups were dropped from hands in a frenzy.
“Fuck.” Jonathan was immediately on guard, discarding his own drink and scanning the room for Bunny and Eddie. He pushed through panicked party goers, yelling out both her real and her nickname, but she was nowhere to be seen. He scanned the room for the fluffy curls of his best friend and came up empty. He rushed down the now empty hallway, poking his head into one of the bedrooms only to be pulled inside and slammed against the door.
A hand pressed against his mouth, his head shoved against the hard wood of the door, causing him to wince and close his eyes. His hands reached for the one covering his mouth, when they met silky soft skin his eyes shot open. Bunny. She was standing in front of him in her little pink dress, her small hand still held to his lips, but the look in her eyes is one he had never seen before. He tried to say her name but it came out muffled, he tapped her hand, silently asking her to move it. She complied, taking a small step back.
“Bunny? What’s going on? Are you alright?” His eye’s frantically searched her, landing first on the blood on her left shoulder, a bit of it staining the tips of her white hair. He couldn’t tell if it was hers or not. His brown irises traveled over her face, to his relief there wasn’t a scratch on it. But that’s when he noticed it, in her right hand, a butcher's knife, covered in blood. “Bunny? Why do you have that?”
“Aww, you’re so sweet to me Jonny Bear, I’m alright. Don’t worry. It’s not my blood.” A smirk stretches across her lips and that look he couldn’t identify before now presents itself as almost evil.
“Whose - whose is it then? And you didn’t answer my question Bunny… Why do you have that knife? Why is it covered in blood? What's going on?” Jonathan is frantic, his hands running through his hair as his breath starts to pick up.
“It’s Jason’s.” She shrugs, so nonchalantly, like holding a knife with one of their classmates' blood dripping from it is just an everyday occurrence.
“Jason’s? What happened to Jason?”
“Well… there is no more Jason.” She raises the knife, shaking it back and forth, that smirk on her face widening into a full blown smile. “Me and Sam made sure of that.”
“You and Sa - ? What do you mean Bunny? What did you do to Jason?” Jonathan is in disbelief, this isn’t the Willow he knows, did she seriously hurt Jason? Does that mean? No. She can’t be.
“Jonathan… baby, don’t do that.” She pouts as she closes the distance between them again, pressing her chest against his, the knife still held at her side.
“Don’t play dumb. You know what I did. Well, what we did. We stabbed him in the neck, both sides. If you need me to spell it out for you.” She giggles, that giggle that usually sounds sickly sweet coming off far more sinister now.
“Bunny… I - does that mean you - you killed all of those people? Why? Why would you do that? I don’t understand you’re so-“ his eyes search her face, his sweet Willow, could she really have done this? Everything he knows about her tells him no, but the way she’s looking at him right now, and the knife in her hand? They tell him otherwise.
“Well, I didn’t kill all of them… Just your dad… and Nancy…” She brings a delicate finger up to his jaw, tracing it. “I did it for you, ya know? Because you deserve better than them.”
“For me? What - what do you mean you did it for me?” Jonathan was beyond confused, why would she do that for him?
“Well, I feel like your dead beat dad was a given, I saw how upset you were when he came around here last year, asking you for money and insulting you when you didn't have it. Hurting you. You thought I didn’t notice but I did. You think I don’t notice you but I do…” she presses herself closer to him, her hand cupping his jaw while she runs her thumb over his bottom lip. He gulps, and he knows it shouldn’t but his cock stirs in his pants at the feeling of her boobs pressed against his chest.
“And Nancy… well I never liked her know it all ass anyways, but when I found out what she did to you? My blood boiled. Imagine having a sweet boy like you and hurting him like that? I almost killed Steve too… but I had a more fun idea for him. He’s locked in his room right now.” She giggles, her brown eyes shine and that sickly sweet smile doesn’t budge.
Jonathan is speechless, he still isn’t sure that this isn’t some kind of fucked up dream. His sweet Bunny, Willow, a killer?
“Don’t act like you’re not happy, Bear, I can feel your appreciation.” She ground herself against his hardening cock, the knife in her hand drags up his bare forearm and sends shivers through his entire body. “Plus, you aren’t so innocent, I know all about your little photo collection of me. I love how much you fall for my ditzy girl act, you didn’t ever think I was bending down in front of you in all those tiny skirts on purpose?”
“Were you… really?” He gasps, the knife continuing to travel up his shoulder, his collarbone, until it stops at his throat where she presses it lightly. Not enough to break the skin, just enough for him to feel it.
“Of course I was, oh, and orange juice? Jonny Bear, you really think I wouldn’t know? Pathetic virgin boy cum is my favorite flavor.” She bites her lip, her free hand coming to tug on the strap of his camera that he has yet to replace.
“You knew? I felt so bad, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know what to say and I -“
“Jonathan!” She holds a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Don’t be sorry, I liked it. I’d like to get a taste of the real thing… if I’m being honest.” She bites her plump lower lip, her eyes traveling his face. He looked confused, but scared? No. When her eyes met his there was lust there.
“You do?” He bites his lip, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he looks at her. The smile on her face is still there, but the look in her eyes is now filled with hunger and it makes his heart rate pick up in a different way.
“Yeah, can I taste you?” She leans up on her tiptoes, her lips graze his ear and it sends shivers through his body.
“Please.” He whimpers and it’s like music to her ears.
She tosses the knife across the room and it hits the wooden floor with a clank. She takes the camera from around his neck, bringing the strap to her lips and darting her tongue across it with a moan. Putting the camera around her own neck.
“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” She drops to her knees and smiles up at him and her voice is like honey, and if he didn’t know any better he would believe she was the sweet girl he thought she always was until ten minutes ago.
She undoes his belt, undoing his button and zipper with haste. She pulls his pants down to his ankles in one swift motion and his cock springs free, hitting his stomach. It’s long and thick, honestly bigger than she expected and she moans at the sight. She takes it in her hand, her thumb circling the head, spreading around the precum that gathered there.
“Oh shit bunny.” Jonathan whimpers and sends shockwaves to Bunny’s core.
“Mmm.. I knew you’d sound so sweet whimpering for me, Jonny Bear.” She leans forward to kitten lick his head and moans at the taste of him. “And you taste so good.”
She smirks at him, batting her mascara covered lashes as she takes his head in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. Jonathan moans, his hands coming up to clutch the wall behind him, his head thrown back.
“Oh god.” His voice sounds fucked out, his cheeks flushed, and he’s trying really fucking hard not to cum already. The way Bunny’s plump lips look so perfect wrapped around his cock just like he thought they would, her big doe eyes staring up at him as she moans around him. She takes the rest of him down her throat and he jerks forward, causing her to gag. “Oh sh - shit, I’m sorry bunny, fuck.”
“Mmm that’s okay baby, I liked it.” She takes him in her mouth again, bobbing her head up and down on his shaft. Her small hand comes up to play with his balls and his eyes roll back, a loud moan ripping from his chest.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. I’m gonna - I’m gon-“ Jonathan is seconds away from cumming when she pulls off of him with a pop.
“Don’t you dare cum yet, don’t you want to cum inside of me?” Bunny stands, that smirk on her face ever present. “You look so cute like this… I think I should take a picture. It’s only fair that I have one of you since you have so many of me, don’t you think, Bear?”
“Uh - yeah, yeah, I think that’s… fair.” Jonathan blushed profusely, the thought of her taking a photo of him with his pants around his ankles and his hard leaky cock exposed feels humiliating. But god he would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on even more.
“Good boy.” Her voice is sickly sweet and those words leaving her mouth make Jonathan moan. She takes a step back, holding the camera to her face. She clicks the button not once, but twice. She pulls the camera over her head, setting it on a dresser in the room before her dress follows. His jaw drops and a whine leaves his lips at the sight of her bare before him. No bra or panties to be found under that little pink dress. “Take your clothes off and get on the bed for me.”
She doesn’t have to ask him twice. He quickly removes all his clothing as she watches with lust filled eyes. He lays down on the guest bed, his cock still hard and at attention. His brown eyes are wide with wonder as Bunny walks over to the bed to straddle him. She grabs his face in her hand, squeezing his cheeks together with her thumb and index finger roughly. But when she leans down to kiss him for the first time her lips are gentle, and so so soft and her lip gloss tastes like bubblegum. Jonathan moans into the kiss, his hands instinctively grabbing onto her hips.
“I wanna taste you too, Bunny.” He whimpers against her lips. “Will you sit on my face? Please Bunny?”
“Mmm… next time, baby. I’ll give you a little taste though, since you’ve been such a good boy for me.”
She uses her hands to push herself up against his chest, and god does she look beautiful sitting above him. Jonathan watches as she brings two fingers to her core, sliding them inside her. She fucks them into herself a few times and he can hear how wet she is. She pulls her fingers from herself and brings them to his lips.
“Suck.” Jonathan eagerly takes her fingers into his mouth, moaning at the sweet taste of her finally on his tongue. Bunny settled herself on his lap, her slick pussy lips sat directly on his cock. She grinds down, easily gliding along his length with how wet she is. “I can’t wait anymore to have this pretty cock stretching me out.”
She pulls her fingers from his mouth and brings them to his cock, rubbing her spit along the head. She takes his shaft in her hand, rising up on her knees and sliding his tip through her slick folds. She pushes his head inside, grinding up and down a few times before slamming the rest of the day down onto his cock in one thrust.
“FUCK! BUNNY!l Jonathan moans, his eyes crossed, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass.
“Mmm Jonny bear, you feel so fucking good, filling me up just right, you’re so good for me. My good boy.” Bunny starts to bounce up and down on his cock, her hands planted on his chest and her manicured nails pierce his flesh in the best way.
“You feel - so good Bunny. So good. So warm. Oh god.”
He’s a whimpering mess, the girl of his dreams is riding him like her life depends on it, her pussy sucking him in like it was fucking made for him. Her tits bounce in his face and he wants to grab them so badly, it’s like she can sense his hesitation because she grabs his hands and brings them to her chest, squeezing. He greedily takes the invitation, his hands grouping onto the plush flesh.
“Did you jerk off to those pictures of me, bear? Is that why there was cum on your camera strap? Just couldn’t resist, could you?” She mock pouts at him, her thrusts never faltering.
“Y- yes. Yes, I saw this photo I forgot I took and - fuckingshitohmygod - and I just couldn’t help myself. It was in my car, in the parking lot at school too.”
“Fuck, that’s so hot baby, I love how much you want me. It drives me crazy.” She laces her fingers into his hair and pulls, It earns her one of those pathetic little whimpers she wants to record and listen to on repeat. She leans forward, attaching her lips to his neck. She sucks hard, making sure to leave her mark. “And you’re all mine, huh? My good boy? You don’t even care that I killed those people, do you? Just wanna be my little slut and let me use you?”
“Fucking, shit, yeah Bunny. I - Jesus Christ - I’d do anything for you.” His hands grip onto her ass but other than that he’s like puddy underneath her and you can tell he’s getting close.
She sits up again, her thrusts becoming harder and faster than ever. She brings her hand between her legs, rubbing fast circles on her clit.
“You gonna cum for me, pretty boy?” She brings her other thumb to his lip, running the digit across it. “Gonna fill me up?”
“I - FUCK!” Jonathan stiffens beneath her, his fingernails digging so deep into the skin of her ass that she feels the skin break. Seconds later he’s spilling inside her, the feeling sending her over the edge as well. She grinds through her high on his over sensitive cock, breathy little gasps leaving her lips while he whimpers overstimulated and at her mercy.
“Holy shit.” Bunny chuckles, rolling off of him and into his side with a groan. She snuggles up into his chest and he happily takes her into his arms. “That was amazing. You were so good for me Bear, my good boy, you’re always gonna be my good boy. From now on… I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
And she meant it. She would protect him at all costs. Even if it meant she had to go a little mad sometimes.
#Jonathan Byers#jonathan byers au#Jonathan Byers fanfiction#Jonathan Byers smut#Jonathan Byers x fem!OC#Jonathan Byers x OC#Jonathan Byers x reader
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Sweet Serial Killer
Your worst nightmares come to life on Halloween night, all to do with the man of your dreams, Rafe Cameron.
Warnings: 18+, NON-CON, DUB-CON, VIOLENCE/MURDER, dark!Rafe, blood, blood kink, choking, death/grief, college!AU, ghostface!Rafe
banner by: @maysdigitalarts
7.5k words, happy halloween!
The bedside lamp she tried reaching for falls to the floor with a thud.
Her scream is cut short as the squelching sound of the knife going into her chest fills the room. It continues long after her body has stopped moving, the light leaving her eyes.
Her killer finally stops, taking in his handiwork. He moves his foot away from the growing pool of blood.
His gloved hand rips the gold chain off her neck. He stands to his full height as the necklace swings from his fingers. The tiny heart with BFF engraved into it, now forever broken.
He sizes up the full-length mirror across from him, considering this act of violence as a piece of art, something to be proud of. His knife gleams as crimson drips to the floor.
The mask on his face covers the smirk on his lips.
All day, everything has been in slow motion. The feeling of your friend’s hand on your back has been numbed, the weight of it feeling like TV static instead.
The tears stopped a while ago, none left in your body. The only touch registering, is the touch of cold metal in your fingertips. The necklace you’ve had on since grade school, way past the point of realizing it’s tacky.
But it didn’t matter because you shared it with one person only.
Now she’s gone.
It still doesn’t feel real.
“Are they still out there?”
“Right in front of the dorm.”
You’ve been sitting in the same spot all day, the couch molding around you, your friends have taken turns comforting you.
They’re upset too, but no one knew Cori as long as you did.
Right now, Andrea is comforting you. It’s mostly been her and Simone by your side. The guys just giving you space.
You think it’s better that way, not really wanting a bunch of frat guys doing what they think is helpful to someone in a time like this.
Except for your boyfriend, you suppose.
“They’ve been out there all day.”
You lift your eyes from the floor for the first time in the past hour.
He’s annoyed, sighing through his nose. But you can tell the reporters outside your dorm is the least of his worries.
He glances at Andrea, still fighting his annoyance.
“Can I have some time with my girlfriend now?”
“Go for it,” she replies curtly.
Her warmth leaves your side.
You see her join her own boyfriend, looking out the window at the news vans parked across the street.
He takes her spot quickly, not leaving you cold for too long. He brings you closer, his arm hanging off your shoulder. Your eyelids fall shut as he presses his lips to your temple. A moment of solace on this dark day.
“Can I do anything? Get you anything?” His mouth is at your ear, a hush falling over his voice.
You shake your head no, a word not being able to form just yet.
A few minutes pass, while contentment falls over the two of you, something you haven’t felt all day.
“Rafe?”
“Hm?”
His blue gaze settles on you.
“Who would do something like that?” You rasp out.
He pauses for a moment, shrugging a little.
“Probably some maniac. There’s some real fucked up people out there.”
His response doesn’t quell your fears. He notices how your shoulders tense under his arm.
“Did the police say anything about who it could’ve been?”
You remember your time spent answering questions late last night. It feels like forever ago. You’ve tried to block the whole thing out, how it was you who found her body.
You’ll never get that image out of your mind.
“No, they have no idea.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t let anything happen to you.”
You want to crack a smile at his protectiveness, but your lips end up twitching instead. You feel his heavy gaze on you, it’s almost suffocating knowing that he’s upset just because you are.
But it does make you feel better knowing his heart is in the right place.
Cori and your boyfriend never really got along. A tug of war with you in the middle, both sides of you being pulled. Cori always had something to say about Rafe, how he’s an asshole, frat guy who will just end up breaking your heart.
Rafe, in turn, called her a stuck-up bitch. He told you his theory one night after a few drinks, how Cori must be in love with you if she can’t let you have a boyfriend.
You just rolled your eyes, pinning his crude comment to being drunk.
There were the times where the insults would stop for your sake, and you loved them both for it, for trying.
He might not show it, but you know Rafe is grieving along with you. He may not have liked her, but it’s not like he wanted her dead.
“I don’t think I can ever go back to my dorm.”
The one you and Cori shared.
“You shouldn’t have to. The university should put you in another one or even another building.”
“They’re probably all full until next semester.”
“It doesn’t matter. They can’t expect you to go back there.”
You shake your head slightly. “Believe me, they probably do.”
“Until they move you, you’re staying here.”
“Rafe-.”
He says your name in a chastising way. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, alright? And the guys have no problem with it.”
He glances at the guys around the room. “Right?” He calls out.
“Right,” they half-heartedly yell out.
“Hey, I get it. I don’t think you should go back to your dorm either,” Matt says to Andrea, his hand on her knee as she sits on his lap.
She simply rolls her eyes. “So, you’re going to protect me from this psycho?” She jokingly asks. “You can’t even kill a spider.”
“What are you talking about?” An offended look on his face.
Everyone joins in her laughing, even you breathe out a chuckle.
“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone.”
“Even if you could fight this guy off, I can’t leave Simone all alone.”
“Thank you, Andrea. It’s almost like if you don’t have a boyfriend, you deserve to die,” Simone sarcastically says.
You wince a little at her offhand comment.
“You can stay in my room, Simone. I don’t have a problem with it,” Chris says through the chewed-up chips in his mouth.
Simone visibly cringes. “No thanks.”
“I think they’re finally leaving,” Dan says, still peeking out the window.
“Then maybe we should get going.” Andrea eyes Simone.
“You’re leaving?” Matt asks.
You start to zone out at their back and forth. The distraction of the people around you only lasting so long.
The pain in your chest comes back. She’s gone and there’s nothing you can do about it.
You make it through the next few days. The school holds a candlelight vigil for Cori. You thought it would be a nice way to remember her. Instead, you were faced with people who barely knew her, acting like she was their best friend.
You left early.
Your parents offered to come visit you, but you refused, just wanting to get through the rest of the semester. They talked to the university on your behalf, demanding them to move you to a new dorm. The school agreed but said it would be a couple weeks, leaving you to stay with Rafe. He hasn’t left your side, staying true to his word. Which you have to admit, surprises you.
You love him but you can’t call him the perfect boyfriend. Except lately, he’s been everything you want and more. He’s been attentive and affectionate, and getting you anything you want.
When you needed some things from your dorm, he went instead. When you can’t sleep at night, he brings you closer to him, your head on his chest as his heartbeat lulls you to sleep. He always makes sure you fall asleep before him.
Usually when you two spend the night together, he would make some vulgar remark and pressed himself against your ass until you had no choice but to give in to him.
You never felt like he was forcing you, but saying no to him always felt wrong, like you weren’t being a good girlfriend.
But the past few nights, he’s put you first. You haven’t exactly been in the mood for sex, so he hasn’t brought it up.
Except one night, when sleep wouldn’t come to you and the vision of Cori lying cold in her own blood wouldn’t stop pestering you, a distraction felt like the best thing.
Rafe was hesitant at first, asking you whether you’re sure. But once you said yes, he was eager to please you. He pushed your underwear down, making circles on your clit with his tongue, sucking it lightly. You wrapped your fingers in the soft strands of his hair, moaning loud enough for the whole house to hear you.
After you came on his tongue, you expected him to want something in return. Instead, he just sweetly kissed you and let you fall asleep in his arms.
You don’t think you could be more in love with him.
“Are you sure you’re going to be alright? I don’t have to go.”
“Rafe, you’ve been glued to my side for the past week. You’re allowed to hang out with your friends.”
You can’t deny that you’re nervous to be alone for the first time since Cori was murdered. But Rafe deserves a fun night without you.
“I wish I could bring you, but Chris wants this to be a night with no girlfriends and-.”
“Rafe.” You cut off his long explanation. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around his middle, your body against his. You leave a quick kiss on his soft lips, smiling just to show him how okay you’ll be.
“I’m just going to get some homework done, then probably go to sleep.”
He nods, stepping away from you, your arms falling from him in the process.
“Don’t have too much fun,” he teases while slipping on a gray jacket.
You playfully roll your eyes before following him down the stairs to the door.
“I love you. Call me if there’s a problem,” he calls out as he steps into the cool, autumn air.
“Will do. I love you too.”
You close the door behind him, leaving you in the empty house. It’s weird to be there when there’s no football blaring from the TV or music blasting from someone’s speakers.
Rafe was the last to leave, deciding to meet the rest of them at the bar. You don’t think too long on being alone, deciding to distract yourself with the paper you have to write.
But after a couple hours, the words on your screen start to blur, dozing off in Rafe’s desk chair.
Before the peaceful promise of sleep can take you in, the doorbell wakes you up.
You blink, looking around the room. Before you can dismiss it as a sound from your subconscious, it rings again.
You make the trek all the way to the front door, swinging it open.
No one is there.
A chill goes up your spine at the cold air hitting you. You step onto the front porch as you shiver, looking around, trying to find your unknown visitor.
You bite your lip, retreating into the house. You push the door closed, making sure to lock it.
You don’t hear anything behind you but when you turn around, you’re faced with a dark figure, dressed in black from head to toe, except for the white on his mask. He towers over you, and you try to figure out if this is a joke.
Before you can ask, you notice the glint of the shiny knife in his hand.
He lunges towards you as a shriek leaves your throat. His hand almost reaches you as you run from his grasp.
You run up the stairs, knees almost buckling. His loud steps follow you and before you can make it to the refuge of Rafe’s room, you feel your attacker grab your shirt, pulling you closer.
He pushes you, your shoulder slamming into the wall. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you stare into the dark, empty eyes of the mask in front of you. Your breathing is labored as you feel pinned, his body up against yours.
You know you should try fighting him off, running away. But you can’t move, your muscles frozen as he slowly drags the knife down your chest, between your breasts. One wrong move and you’re a goner.
Something inside you snaps, the adrenaline rush helping you bring your knee to his groin in one movement.
As he bends over in pain, you get away, locking Rafe’s bedroom door behind you.
You use your body to keep the door closed as your attacker pounds on it. He gives up quickly, the house going quiet. You spot your phone on the desk, dialing 911.
You hang up after the woman tells you the police will be there soon. You try to steady your breathing, hoping the man is gone.
You jump when the doorknob jiggles.
A familiar voice yells out your name.
“Are you alright? Why is the door locked?”
“Rafe?”
A flood of relief washes over you.
“Yes, it’s me, baby. Open the door.”
You open it to find your concerned boyfriend. His brows drawn together.
The tears that have been building finally start to run down your face as you find comfort in his strong arms. You hide your face in his chest, no doubt soaking his shirt. He holds you close to him as he coos in your ear.
“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here now.”
All you can think about is finally feeling safe. You don’t see how the dim lighting casts a sinister shadow on his face, or the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
You try to tell him everything, but your sobbing gets in the way. It doesn’t take long for the police to show up, the red and blue lights shining into the windows, sirens blaring.
They search in and around the house, finding nothing. You give them the full story, a blanket draped over your shoulders.
Rafe stays as close to you as he can, keeping a watchful eye on you. They don’t hesitate to ask him questions also.
“You said you found the front door open?”
“Yes. You think that’s how the guy left?”
“So, from what your girlfriend said, you must’ve gotten here just a few minutes after the attacker left. But you didn’t see anything suspicious?” The officer asks incredulously.
“Just the front door wide open.” Rafe pauses, glancing at you again. “I’m sorry I didn’t see anything else. I was just focused on making sure my girlfriend was okay.”
“I understand.”
“I mean if something had happened to her…” He trails off, looking to the ground.
A pitying look falls over the officer’s face, replacing any suspicion.
“Are you gonna be able to catch this guy? I just don’t want this maniac coming back around here, or anywhere on campus.”
“Yes, we know, Mr. Cameron. We’re working on it.” He leans in closer to him and continues, “Keep an eye on her and call us if you see anything unusual. Thank you for your time.”
He nods to you before getting into his car.
Rafe puts an arm around you as the red and blue disappear.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Andrea’s arms wrap around you tight. She finally lets up as Simone puts a soothing hand on your shoulder.
Andrea continues, a worried look on her face, “That literally sounds so scary. Some guy in a mask chasing you?”
“Thank God you’re such a badass. Or you’d be…” Simone stops herself, not wanting to finish that thought.
“I just don’t know why he would come after me. Or why he went after Cori.”
You blink back tears, promising yourself that you won’t cry anymore.
“So, the police have no idea who it is?” Andrea asks.
You shake your head.
That’s what has been bothering you the most. What does a stranger have against you? You barely slept last night, that mask burned into your vision. You were worried you’d wake up with him right above you, his knife plunging into your heart.
Rafe calmed you down as best as he could, but even he can’t make you feel safe when there’s a killer out there.
As you stared at the dark ceiling, Rafe lightly snoring beside you, the conclusion you came to is the person behind the mask has to be someone you know. Or someone who knows you. How else would they have known you’d be home alone?
That thought scared you more than all this happening by chance. It means you’re being hunted, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“Fuck, dude! There’s no way we can throw a party tomorrow night,” Chris yells out to Rafe, his phone in one hand. “The university is placing a mandatory curfew. No one out after 9 o’clock.”
Everyone else in the living room hears him, their attention turned to him. You can tell Rafe is mulling over his options, that faraway look in his eyes. You cross your arms, having hoped for a different kind of reaction.
“A fucking curfew on Halloween! They can’t be serious,” Matt shouts.
“There’s a literal killer on the loose,” Dan says looking at everyone in the room. “One that broke into this house last night, when Y/N was here. Did everyone already forget that?”
“We haven’t. But I guess someone else did,” Andrea says, giving her boyfriend a slight glare.
Matt notices. “I haven’t forgotten. But come on, it’s Halloween.”
Andrea rolls her eyes, not amused. “There are other things to do on Halloween besides getting drunk.”
“You know we throw a party every year, people count on us for this type of thing. Also, we’re all Seniors. We’re not gonna be able to do this next year,” Chris jumps in.
“Grow up! Cori is already gone. Something could happen to any of us,” Simone says with a sneer.
A silence settles over the room.
Rafe is the first one to break it.
“We’ll all be fine, alright? We’re having the party. I’m sure we won’t be the only ones anyway.”
Excitement washes over Chris and Matt’s faces.
Chris pats Rafe’s shoulder, “Yes!”
Him and Matt start planning. Matt muttering, “We need to get the kegs, what else?”
Before they leave for the kitchen, Chris calls out, “And you girls can decorate!” Letting out an obnoxious laugh afterwards.
Dan just shakes his head, heading upstairs.
Your angry eyes are settled on your boyfriend, casually sitting in one of the sofa chairs.
“Really, Rafe? A party?”
His lips part as his eyes meet the floor.
Andrea and Simone shift uncomfortably next to you.
“Are you going to say anything?”
You try to show how upset you are with him, but you can tell it’s bleeding out.
He finally looks up. “Can we have some privacy?” He harshly asks as he moves his eyes between the two girls standing on either side of you.
They silently ask you for your opinion. You just give them a nod.
Once they’re gone, Rafe gets up, walking towards you.
“I don’t know why you’re upset. You love the Halloween party just as much as everyone else, maybe more.”
“It’s not really the time for a party. I won’t have much fun if I have to constantly look over my shoulder.”
He opens his mouth to speak but you continue, “It’s like you don’t care about my feelings at all. I was attacked last night after my best friend was murdered. Something bad could easily happen tomorrow night.”
“But it won’t. You won’t be leaving my side, alright?”
“Rafe, stop with that! You can say that and all, but even you wouldn’t be able to protect me from a guy like that.”
His jaw ticks.
“It seems like only Andrea, Simone, and Dan have any common sense around here.”
“Dan? What, you like him better than me now?”
You let out a sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Dan doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He only said all that because he knows if the killer comes for him next, he’s done for.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“What? It’s true. You’re the one saying that even I couldn’t take this guy down, so how does Dan stand a chance?”
You shake your head, the only thing you can do is let out a sarcastic laugh. This is the Rafe you know and try to love. You should’ve known that all the sweetness and understanding would come crashing down soon enough.
Now that you’ve had a taste of what he could be like, this feels like going from five-star dining to eating McDonalds.
Maybe Cori was right.
“I’m not doing this with you.”
You don’t want to even try and fight with him, knowing it never goes anywhere.
“I’m staying with Andrea and Simone for a few nights.”
He starts to say your name, but you ignore him, running up the stairs.
He doesn’t follow you.
“Should we watch A Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween?” Simone keeps her eyes on the TV screen.
“Maybe we should watch something with less murder,” Andrea suggests.
“A horror movie without murder. I don’t think they make those.”
“We could watch Hocus Pocus.”
“What, are we 12?”
“Hocus Pocus is fun, no matter how old you are, Simone.”
Their bickering blends into the background as you stare at your phone. You expected that Rafe would have texted you at least once since yesterday. Actually, you thought he would be calling and texting you non-stop.
Instead, radio silence.
You peek past the curtains, spying on the house across the street. You would have to be blind to not notice the huge party happening. You thought more people would listen to the curfew.
Your stomach twists knowing that Rafe is having fun without you, easily able to ignore you, not worrying or checking up on you.
This killer shouldn’t get in the way of you celebrating your favorite holiday.
“I think we should go to the party,” you interrupt them.
They stare at you like you’re speaking gibberish.
“What? Aren’t you scared the killer is going to come back?”
“The truth is, Andrea, the killer could break into here if he wanted to. Maybe it would be better if we were around more people.”
She’s not convinced.
“I don’t know, Y/N. I already got into a whole argument with Matt about not going.”
“I guess you guys don’t have to go. It is just across the street.”
“No, you’re not going alone,” Simone adds.
“We don’t even have costumes,” Andrea sighs out.
“We can wear old ones. I’m sure there’s something around here.”
You start searching through the closet of their dorm room.
Jack o’ lanterns adorn the front porch, along with plastic skeletons and fake cobwebs. The air inside the house is warmer and stickier compared to the cold air outside. Probably because there’s so many people. You swear it’s a bigger party than in the past.
You can barely see who anyone is because of how dark the house is. The colorful lights around the house have been used sparingly. The costumes don’t help much either.
“We should try and stick together,” Simone yells to you and Andrea. Her voice sounds muffled because of the loud music playing, having to work harder to hear her.
The three of you were able to find costumes, somewhat. Normally, yours would be more elaborate, but the best you could do is put on a red dress and devil horns and call it a day.
You and Andrea agree, the three of you moving as one. You trudge through the people around you, finding the drinks in the back of the house. They have everything from kegs to Jell-O shots.
As you all start pouring your drinks of choice, a voice startles Andrea.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming?” There’s an edge to Matt’s voice.
“I changed my mind. I am allowed to do that,” she says nonchalantly, sipping her drink.
“Yeah, after you said I was a horrible person for throwing a party at a time like this.”
You and Simone share a glance, trying not to stare at the heated exchange in front of you.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. I still think it wasn’t the best idea, but honestly who knows what’s a good idea. I’ve never had to deal with a serial killer before.”
“Yeah, me neither. But I doubt he’s here, so this is probably safer than being in your dorm.”
“That’s what we figured.” Andrea looks at you and Simone, giving a reassuring smile.
You don’t know what you would do if you didn’t have Andrea and Simone. A friendship like that is more important than any guy, and that’s something you’re coming to terms with.
“I really want to talk to you. Alone, if that’s okay,” he leans in closer to her.
She nods before looking at the two of you again. Before she can say anything else, Simone cuts her off.
“Go ahead. We’ll be fine.”
“See you later,” she says, taking Matt’s hand.
“At least someone’s having fun tonight,” Simone quips before chugging her drink.
You try to have a good time, but you can’t help but look for Rafe in every face you come across. You don’t even know what he dressed up as.
Maybe you shouldn’t have blown up at him like that. Especially, since you’re here anyways.
You also can’t help but scan the faces around you, looking for that mask. The same one that’s been on your mind since you saw it.
After a few drinks, you tell Simone you’ll be right back, declining her offer to go with you.
You think you can handle a few minutes upstairs by yourself.
As you wash your hands, you start to hear commotion coming from downstairs. You turn off the faucet, stopping to listen.
You realize that it’s sirens that you’re hearing. The music cuts out, a loud voice carrying through the house. You can’t tell exactly what they’re saying, but the decrease in noise tells you the party’s being broken up.
It’s probably best to stay in here.
You text Simone, asking her what’s happening.
You decide to take off the horns, leaving them on the counter, your head needing the break from the tight headband.
You check your phone again, still no response.
Once you hear complete silence, you leave the bathroom. You leave your purse and phone in the bathroom, thinking you’ll be back in a couple minutes.
You slowly step down the stairs. The lights are on and the only person you see is Dan.
He’s visibly annoyed, already starting to throw away plastic cups. He quickly notices you, sighing.
“Oh, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Before you can explain, he continues, “Have you seen Rafe? Or anyone who lives here? I swear they all disappeared.”
“No. I mean I saw Matt a while ago. He went somewhere with Andrea.”
“Of course,” he scoffs.
“Wait. Are you saying you don’t know where Rafe is? When was the last time you saw him?”
“Around the time people started showing up, I guess.”
“So, what happened? Did the cops show up?”
“Yeah, we got busted for throwing a party after curfew. Like I knew we would. We got a ticket, but I’m sure Rafe can deal with that. It’s the university I’m worried about. Who knows what they’re going to do.”
He looks up at you, finally, setting down the trash bag.
“Anyways, maybe we should try and find Rafe or Matt or someone.”
“Yeah.”
It’s all you can say. The fact that Rafe has completely vanished makes you uneasy, millions of thoughts swarming your brain.
You follow Dan back upstairs, deciding to knock on Matt’s door first.
He tries a few times, even calling out his name.
Nothing.
He hesitates at first but turns the doorknob anyway.
“Matt?”
The room is dark, but you think you see the outline of someone on the other side of the room.
“What the fuck? What am I stepping in?” Dan asks, looking down. “Can you turn the light on?”
You fumble with the light switch, the yellow lightbulb finally turning on.
That’s when you see it. Or him.
“Oh my God,” you say with your hand over your mouth, your lips opening involuntarily.
“Oh shit.”
You both stare at Matt’s mutilated body, slouching in his desk chair. Red soaks his shirt while his arm hangs down, blood dripping to the floor.
Dan looks down at his feet again, immediately stepping back.
It’s puddle of the same crimson that drips from Matt.
You stare at it, realizing that it can’t be from Matt. Your chest feels tight, and you look back at Dan with glassy eyes.
You drag your eyes to the door, knowing that once you look behind it, there’s no going back.
Clenching his jaw, Dan swings the door back.
“No. No. No.” You break down as you find Andrea sitting against the wall, lifeless. Blood stains her lips and chin and you can see where she was stabbed, the white lace of her bra now red.
You tear your eyes away from her, not being able to look at her like that. The girl who could make anyone laugh, gone forever.
You rush into the hallway, the air in the bedroom suffocating you. You feel like you’re going to pass out.
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Dan mutters to himself.
Tears have filled his eyes too. He takes a deep breath, collecting himself.
You’re bent over, trying not to throw up all over yourself.
“Y/N. We need to get out of here.”
Your eyes are still on the floor, Dan’s voice sounding like white noise.
He grabs your shoulder, “Y/N! We need to go now!”
You finally look over to see Dan’s wide eyes.
“We need to find Rafe,” you say, your voice cracking.
You can tell Dan wants to say something else, but he settles on agreeing.
“We can’t spend too long on this. If he’s not in his room, we’re leaving,” Dan tells you as you walk to Rafe’s room.
You don’t bother knocking, barging into his room.
Empty.
“His window’s open,” you unconsciously observe.
The curtains billow in the wind.
“That’s probably how the killer got in. We need to get out of this house.”
When you don’t budge, he screams, “Now!”
You snap out of your daze, trying not to think about how your boyfriend could be lying dead somewhere.
You and Dan run to the front door. You can almost taste your escape.
Dan swings open the door so fast, he doesn’t see the dark figure on the other side of the door.
You stop in your tracks and before you can say his name, Dan is yelling out and clutching his abdomen.
It only takes another second for the killer to drive his knife right into Dan’s neck.
You watch in horror, screaming as Dan stops moving.
The gloved hand pulls the knife back out, leaving Dan to fall to the floor with a thud.
Your fear affects you the same as the last time you were in a situation like this. Your feet won’t move even if you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins.
You expect the figure in front of you to run at you, killing you too. Instead, he stands there, tilting his head, as if he’s playing with you.
This is a game after all.
You finally start to budge, deciding that going through the back door would be better than going upstairs like last time.
You see his foot move, fingers adjusting his grasp on the knife. He’s getting ready to chase you, but you take your chances running away anyway.
You sprint through the kitchen, almost reaching the back door. Just as your fingers find the metal of the doorknob, a hand grabs your neck, pulling you back.
You try your hardest to rip the leather clad hand from your skin, you end up pushing against him, moving your body so you can use all your strength to shove him away from you.
His hand slips from you, breathing becoming easier. You use this advantage to run again, this time to the front door.
What you don’t anticipate is how slippery the floor has become. You lose your footing, hands and knees hitting the hard floor. You fall right into the puddle that has grown from Dan’s body, blood covering your exposed skin and the smell of copper filling your nose.
Dan’s lifeless body being this close to you makes you falter, fear clouding your mind.
You’re snapped out of it when you feel a hand on your ankle, trying to drag you towards him.
You let out a scream as he moves your body across the floor. When he lets up a little, you turn around to face him, kicking his leg.
He only falls back a little, but you crawl away from him. You try to stand up, but it’s hard to get traction on your heels from the blood on the floor.
You crawl around Dan’s body, not giving it a glance.
Just as you reach the open door, the killer is faster than you, blocking it with his body, looking down at you.
You take your next best option, finally able to stand up and run up the stairs. You left your phone in the bathroom, you could lock yourself in there and call the police.
You reach the hallway, the bathroom not too far from you.
But you’re just not fast enough.
He catches up to you, not letting you go this time.
He grabs you, pulling you into him, arms wrapping around you tight. The mask rubbing against the side of your face.
His fingers reach up to your neck, roughly tearing off the necklace that you haven’t been able to take off since Cori’s death.
He throws it to the floor, clattering on the hardwood.
Tears stream down you face as you know what’s coming next. You close your eyes tight as you anticipate the sharp blade penetrating your skin.
“I got you, baby.”
You feel everything stop, your blood turning to ice, and your breath catching in your throat.
“You’re okay.”
You slowly open your eyes at the familiar voice. You feel your stomach twisting into knots.
He continues to softly mutter in your ear.
“You’re mine now.”
You feel him shift, reaching up to take off the mask, his hood falling off in the process. You feel something in you break as you find his dirty blond hair and blue eyes.
There’s no more denying that it’s him.
It’s your boyfriend under the mask.
He throws the mask to the floor but keeps his knife in one hand.
Sobs erupt out of your mouth, it’s all you can do.
You feel him nuzzle into you, his lips on the top of your head. He tries to shush you, comforting you in his own twisted way.
That’s when you feel it, something poking your backside. It’s not his knife. You tear yourself away from his arms, wanting to get as far away from his as you can.
You try to still your trembling lip.
“What is wrong with you, Rafe?” Your voice is hoarse, but you struggle through the words.
You stare at him, still having a hard time processing everything that has happened in the last half hour.
His brow furrows like he doesn’t understand why you’re upset with him.
“I just wanted to protect you,” he says with a heaviness.
“Protect me from what? You’re the one who hurt… our friends.” Another sob leaves your lips.
“They were trying to get between us. Trying to… take you away from me.”
You can see the tears starting to fill his eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought killing Cori would be enough. She always said you that you were too good for me. And sometimes… I thought you loved her more than you loved me.”
He tries to blink the tears away, but they fall down his cheeks.
You’re speechless, the words not forming so he continues.
“But then Andrea, and Simone,” he pauses, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t leave you alone, and they didn’t have to say what I knew they were thinking.” Something settles in his eyes, darkness filling his voice. “So, I did what I had to do.”
“Wait, Simone? You-.” Your voice catches, the realization hitting you that she didn’t get away.
“I caught her outside before she could leave.”
Your tears fall into your mouth. All you can taste is the saltiness of them.
“Why Dan?”
“Dan always had a thing for you. I just didn’t think he would ever try doing anything about it,” Rafe spits out angrily, his eyes hardening. “Then all of a sudden, you’re telling me that you like him better.”
Your eyes shut, not believing what you’re hearing. “That’s not what happened. You still think that’s what I was saying?”
“That is what happened, Y/N. See, you don’t even realize how they were getting into your head.”
“No one was-.” You stop yourself, finding it to be no use arguing with him. “What’s your excuse for killing Matt? I barely even talked to him.”
“Matt was a tragic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But getting rid of him was for the best, I don’t need any loose ends.”
“Did you kill Chris too?”
You don’t even want to ask.
A sickening grin makes its way onto Rafe’s face.
“No. Chris is passed out in his room, thanks to what I slipped into his drink. I need someone alive to pin all this on.”
You take a second to think about his words.
“You’re going to frame an innocent man?”
“It’s either me or him. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.”
The nausea has gotten worse.
“Also, Chris is a douchebag, even you have to agree with that.”
“You’re sick, Rafe,” you say quietly.
The look on his face tells you he didn’t hear you.
“You’re sick,” you say with vitriol.
He steps closer to you, so you quickly step back.
“Stay away from me!”
He puts his hands up defensively, the knife still between his fingers.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I did this for us.”
“You just chased me all over the house! And what about that other night?”
“I thought scaring you would bring you closer to me.”
You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry until you have nothing left in you.
You feel hopeless until you look over and see Rafe’s room, the plan of how you’re getting out of here already forming in your mind. Just lock him out and leave through the window.
You see his eyes follow yours and you dash for his door, trying to close it on him.
But just like he’s faster than you, he’s also stronger than you. He pushes the door open so hard. The doorknob cracks the wall.
“You still think you can get away from me? This is me going easy on you.”
“Rafe, please.”
You don’t know what else to do.
As you inch closer to the window, he grabs you away from it, your back being pushed against his chest.
“You want to know the other reason I chased you?” His warm breath tickles your ear.
I also thought it was fun. You being the helpless victim and all. Playing with you, leading you right where I wanted you.”
The knife in his hand is back at your chest, he trails it along your exposed skin, blood being left in its trail.
“Stop, Rafe. You’re scaring me.”
“Good.”
He moves the knife to your shoulder. You gasp as he cuts the strap of your dress with the blade.
“You know, it took everything in me not to bend you over and shove my cock inside you that night. And I could’ve, you were so scared, you would’ve let me do anything I wanted to you.”
He takes a second to glance over you, how your chest heaves, drinking you in with his hungry gaze.
“It’s not like you’ve been giving me much to work with. I’ve had to use all of the restraint I have, hoping it would mean you trusted me more. But instead, you blow me off, treating me like I’m second best,” he says the last sentence through clenched teeth.
Moving you closer to the bed, he pushes you down, pinning you down with his weight.
“I should’ve just taken you while you were sleeping next to me. Pinned to the mattress, no choice but to feel me deep inside you.”
You look up at him, his face blurry as you blink back the tears, lashes drenched.
“I would’ve done it if I had known it was going to be the only way for you to realize you’re mine. And only mine.”
He keeps the knife at your shoulder, pressing it into the skin, just enough to draw blood. You hiss at the pain, and he watches the deep red come to the surface.
He doesn’t waste a second before his mouth is on your wound, licking it, giving it a kiss.
He moves away, your blood staining his lips.
You’re horrified at the image.
But the taste is worse.
He presses his lips to your own. You try to keep your mouth closed, but he pushes his tongue inside, the taste of copper filling your mouth.
The feeling of leather on your thigh alarms you. He squeezes your skin before reaching under your dress, dipping a finger into your underwear.
“Please, Rafe. Stop,” more sobs rack your body.
He ignores your pleas as his lips find your neck. You push his shoulder, trying to get him off you. But he stays put, his finger continuing to rub you.
He adds another finger, pushing into your cunt. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. He moves them inside you, harsh in his movements. While he works you open, his mouth marks up your neck. Kissing, licking, and biting. Anything to get a reaction out of you.
You try to ignore the pleasure building inside you and you’re glad when he takes his fingers out of you. But that feeling doesn’t last for long.
Your stomach drops as he pushes your underwear down, fumbling with his jeans.
“Rafe!” You try pleading again, kicking and shoving, anything to get him off you.
Instead, Rafe puts all of his weight on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the bed.
His lips part as he thrusts inside you, a strangled cry leaving your throat at the feeling of him stretching you open.
He keeps one of his hands on both of your wrists, bringing the other to your mouth, moving his fingers past your lips. You can taste yourself on the leather, and a hint of copper. Your stomach twists at not knowing where, or who, it’s from.
He pushes them down your throat, making you gag. His pace gets harder and quicker as he trails his spit-soaked fingers to your throat. Fear runs through your veins as he wraps his fingers around your neck.
“You’re mine,” he says through quick breaths. “And if you ever try to leave…”
He stares at your teary gaze, his thrusts becoming easier with how your body ignores your horror, betraying you instead.
“Just know how easy it is for me to do this.” He squeezes harder around your neck. “I could wring this pretty neck anytime I want.”
He lets up and a sob leaves your mouth.
You look up at him, trying to find the man you fell in love with.
The man who never let you leave his sight without a kiss or let you pay for dinner.
He looks like him, but there’s something different about his gaze, a darkness that wasn’t there before.
Or maybe you just never noticed it.
He pauses his movements as he flips you around, treating you like a ragdoll that he can use and do whatever he wants with.
A moan escapes you as he pushes back inside you. You can hear his skin slapping against yours, his pace almost unbearable. His moans have gotten louder, and you feel his hand on your head, keeping it glued to the mattress.
You can feel your orgasm approaching, horrified, but also not fighting against it.
You have no fight left in you.
Something snaps inside you, and you feel the pleasure wash over you. A whimper leaving your throat.
Your walls squeeze around him, and a groan escapes his lips. He stills, spilling into you.
He replaces his hand with his lips, kissing your hair and breathing you in.
“I’m not ever letting you go,” he whispers against you.
~
Tags: @fangirlwithlou @softcoreparadise @thebuttofcaptainamerica
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ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part ii // blood.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader
summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.
a note from lucy: this was meant to be posted earlier and it was also meant to be longer but ive been through so much these past few weeks i couldnt bring myself to write much more. for those waiting on dealer!Joel, its coming. it might just take me a little while. thank you all for your patience. i love you all, look after yourselves.
playlist
wc: 1692
Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to , cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eatin, oral sex - m receiving, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?
series m.list | m.list
You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite. — Madeline Miller ‘Circe’
‘Strangle me with Aphrodite’s very pearls. What a beautiful creation. Funny how we will all die but seek love for a pitiful salvation.’ Words engraved, etched into the gravestone of…this. This creation of torture. Of serpents’ forked tongues and gnashing lions teeth. Silence so large and gaping it made your heart dare to beat only in the ricochet of the shiver down your spine. He was the sharp blade of a knife, you were the wetstone he used to perfect its slide of slice. Bleed ichor from your veins while he grazes blunt teeth over the shallow skin upon your collarbone.
You didn't care. ‘Give me that pointed, glimmering blade’, you thought, its vermillion stain now smeared too with gold. ‘Give me that blade. Some things are worth bloodshed.’
He was a killer. And his bounty was set on your spirit. Your calm. Your superiority over him. In his field, he was a master of his art. His armour gleamed as a trophy for his succession of rank. His clan– Here…he was a novice once again. Knew not a drop of knowledge of your craft, nor the whispering properties of each flower bud, fruit pit and herb stem in your garden. Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme were nothing but cooking materials to him. And even that was a stretch to his mind.
You wished to be Anothny’s Cleopatra to him. Not a wicked witch of the western tides. Toughened beauty, once black coals under pressure, now gleaming in diamond and its own giant covalent structure. Him swooning over your flesh for months and his tongue speaking within your mouth. There was no turquoise over your eyes, nor the stain of the madder root over your lips to paint him with. His face was still an image that belonged to your mind. Not the reality you lived now with him tangled in your sheets. Rippled muscled under a tapestry of scars and skin.
He did some things. Mainly doted care to the child whom you sense properties in. A magic akin to your own, yet not all the same. His was one of energy, a flowing combination of entities, living a breathing through you, him, the mandalorian and each living being on this island. Mauve further. It was a balance that even you did not know the tipping point of nor the origin of its birth. It was shaking. It crumbled under the erosion of water to salt pillars until its foundations skimmed to their very bare bones.
It took with it the light of your sanctuary and morphed into Tartarus, so your soul may burn in forged cast iron chains. They were white hot in the black soot tinders. Glowing violently in your corneas while they singed sight. Scorched touch. Seared taste. The battle of yours and the child's power.
You watched in awe one night, the lights out, but a single sliver of silver from Artemis’s glow caught the sharpened tip of a knife you know strapped to your thigh under the skirts of your dress. Would his blood sizzle when it touched the blade, as you only imagined it ran hot and thick with the brazen burn of his anger. Ichor? No. He was no god. But his touch was of divinity. And left a tingle of power in its bone cramping wake. Wailing for more.
Only just the night before you had dropped to your knees in the doorframe of your chambers. Took off his armour beforehand in wordless undoing. Your tragic hero ending. And then gave him your mouth. Not words. Nor cunt. Just the mouth. Tip of the tongue, the lips and teeth. The stretch of his cock still wrung out your throat. Slick and wanting while it mimicked the way your cunt hugged the tip so well. Tased of salt and something more. Something forbidden or taboo. And he took his time with slow shallow thrusts at first, a large gloved hand cradling the curve of the jaw that went slack to let him buck deeper.
This morning was one of the first times you lamented over the now restricted motion in your jaw. The ache still nagged into the later hours, when The Mandalorian returned from your gardens, the bloody and mangled caracas of a rabbit thumping down on the table. He sat at the head of the table opposite you, cleaning the blood from his knife on his cape. You thought if you saw his eyes — be it hickory, azure, or pine — you would have crystallised in that very moment and that very form. Cured oak table under your fingertips, feet planted into the terracotta floor. His irises setting your thrumming heart dead still.
This was the man you let into your bed.
He remained there, sat still in his chair while the child babbled in the kitchen with you. You took that rabbit. Skinned it. Dressed it. And roasted the meat in a marinade of white wine and spices from the edge of your fenced garden. Later you would hang the pelt and let it air — make something for the child. Mittens maybe.
For now, you took your time circling the table to place each plate down: cheese, seasoned greens, a cup for the vessel of wine to his side. The silverware gleamed menacing in dim candlelight while he awaited each plate, unmoving in his armour while each delicacy was gifted to him upon his high table. And when you retired to your seat, the child had taken his too and started his feast, sticky plum jam smeared over his lips as he dribbled innocently and unaware over his rabbit leg.
But upon your silver plate was a single strip of black cloth, folded over twice on itself.
Your eyes lifted to meet him, wide in wondering question. Only to hit a barrier of beskar when you see his visor still covers his face. Not a scrap of food had been helped onto his plate by his still gloved hands. His boots that traipsed dirt through your door were still on his feet, caked in mud on the soles.
“What’s this?” Nothing. Not a word past his lips. “Am I to figure it out for myself?” He cleared his throat, raising his head so his chin jutted out towards you.
“Your eyes.”
“My eyes?”
“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.”
You pouted, pressing your tongue to the flesh on the inside of your cheek, then kissed your teeth.
“You mean to dictate my freedom in my own home.” You scoffed and slung your arms across your chest, crossing them. “At my own table? You are sick in your own head, Mandalorian, if you think I am one to bend my will to the whims of others. Especially in my own house.” And he repeated,
while his shoulders drew taught under his pauldrons with the armour gleaming in the silver glare of Selene’s chariot. And he planted a seed in your stomach, turned in it, and made you feel sick. You preferred him between your legs, his name between your teeth and tongue.
“You must wear it if you are to eat with us.”
Eyes fell to the plate, that cloth once more. Would it be poisoned? The fabric snared with nettle to sting your eyes. Here you had two choices. Stay, blind yourself, yield to him somewhere other than your chambers. Or stand and leave. Either way, it was an act of submission.
You did neither. Instead, you stood, kicking your chair back behind you before swanning over to the seat next to him, taking the other leg of rabbit and sinking your teeth into its cooked flesh, all the while your eyes on him. To tartarus with xenia, he outstayed his welcome long after he passed the threshold of your home. Helios could come and smite you for all you cared, the fates could snip your golden immortal line of yarn. No horror could compare to the satisfaction you had as you stuffed your face with food you'd slaved over for him. His refusal was your gain and soon you moved onto the plumbs, sticky sweet juice dribbling down your demented smile.
You wafted the half chewn and mangled fleshy bone in his face, smirking with your mouth full.
“Go on, Madalorian.” You crooned, “have a bite. Give in a little.”
His hand snatched your wrist the moment the words left your stained lips, gloved fingertips making something click in your bones. You bit down the pain with a swallow, smirk remaining triumphant across your features.
“Put it down.” He grimaced, curling his helmet covered lip at the state of you. Unkempt and wild, shrewish in your dignity.
“Or what?”
He let go. Sat back, pushed out a huff through his nostrils.
Then he stood. You watched unphased and delighted with yourself as he took the child who cooed up at him. And listened out for his heavy footsteps as he climbed the stairs to his and the child’s room. Then silence. All the while you tossed the stripped bone to his plate and licked your fingers.
You didn’t know what you would rather prefer. Him to come back down. Or stay and retire to bed. Regardless, he’d take you eventually. Here or up in your bed chambers. Unlace your corset or nightgown. Use you as his nightcap before slipping off. Without getting a look upon him. Not a sliver of his visage to hold to in sleep.
He did come down. And with a heavy hand bent you over the head of the table, a gloved palm pressing your face into the wood.
Physically you were here. Mentally, you were back against the silver birch. His cock splitting you in two once again while you smiled sadistically in candlelight. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you.
Between your thighs where he belonged.
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[Image description:
The image on the left is a vintage advertisement for makeup. In all caps at the top it says “Makeup” in bright red letters. At the bottom, in red italicized letters, it says, “by Virginia Vincent”. The drawing is of a fair-skinned person from the shoulder up with platinum blonde pin curls, blue eyes with long eyelashes, red blush, and bright red lipstick. They are turning and looking over their shoulder with a smile. They are wearing a bright red beaded necklace and are holding a navy blue and rose gold compact and a bright red lipstick. The background is blue.
The second image is a digital drawing of Hannibal Lecter from the NBC series. The top of the picture says “Murder” in bright red letters in the same font as the vintage ad. At the bottom it says, “by Hannibal Lecter”. Hannibal is also shown from the shoulder up, head turned in the same way, looking toward the reader. He is wearing a blue suit and tie. His hands are in the same position as the makeup advertisement, but he is holding a deep red human heart and a sharp kitchen knife.
End image description.]
#image description under the cut! :)#please reblog/like if u save! do not repost without permission/credit tho!#im really proud how this came out! digital art is so hard ToT#hannibal#dabour’s fanart!#favorite#hannibal nbc#nbc#hannibal lecter
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Heart of the Great Wolf
46 - And Wait for the Snows
Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)
Length: 19.6k
Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, implied child abuse, character deaths, sexually violent language, disturbing imagery, body image issues, references to torture, smut, oral (f receiving), slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, handjobs, breeding kink, p in v
Notes: A lot happening in this chapter, but we'll get a chance to breathe soon enough, I promise. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here
The Crow's Eye would not consider himself to ever be a victim of circumstance. No, he made due no matter what was thrown his way. Those around him may not like the path to get there, but they had no say in the matter. Not anymore. When he was a boy, of course he had to do what his father bid and listen to his older brother, but he gleefully had three younger brothers to torment as he pleased.
Which he did. Not sure if the youngest of his brothers truly recalled those days, but they certainly still hated him as such. What choice though did he have? None. He didn't do it because he was told to, or even because they at all interested him. His brothers were all stupid, weak, and pathetic and if his youngest brothers were going to learn their place in this family, he was going to force them to learn they would never be above where he stands.
Then the second youngest died, still a child from some infection. Leaving the brothers to only four left and as he grew up, the more he learned he was the best of them. He answered to his father and elder brother for now, but the Crow's Eye was patient. He would wait. Bide his time until it was all prepared and then it would all prove to be his.
It took many decades to find that opportunity, but once it presented itself he took it with no remorse and now he was the only one left to prove he was worthy of being in charge. Five brothers to four, and now to three and he stood as the eldest. He had many plans to put into place and enacted them all swiftly. Scrapping his late brother's pitiful ideas, and sending his men every which way to get organized for once in their pathetic lives.
Truth be told, even though she was the focus of part of his new plan, he did not give a single care about the Targaryean girl. He didn't care what she was doing, what she looked like, or what she wanted. If she were smart, she'd give him what he wants willingly and he'd let her keep the dusty slave cities she pretended to rule over. He let his men assume that making her his Queen was his goal, but laughable if they truly thought he needed her.
He had heard stories, screaming that she was the blood of old Valyria but which one of them had traversed the poisoned lands? It was not her. Gold could be wagered on how sure he was that she never once had to lift a finger. Just stood around looking pretty and making big speeches as if that was what made a leader.
No, spilling blood with your bare hands made you a leader.
What use was she to the Crow's Eye if she relied on men and magic and dragons to win everything in her honour? Put her alone in a room with him and give each one of them a knife and who would win? Well, it wouldn't be the one whose never even held a sword before. But he let his men think all that anyways. It was easier to get her dragons if she thought she was wanted with them. He'd dispose of her later.
It wasn't as if women did not interest his desire. No, in fact he showed women exactly what he liked about them and it wasn't dainty girls who spent more time looking and sounding impressive and alluring. Either learn what true men what, or spread your legs and shut your mouth before he grew tired and cut your tongue out for you.
Much like the Flowers girl. She was pretty, and she fucked well, but she talked too much and thought that's what would endear him. Now she had no tongue and in some months time, would gift him a brand new bastard before he disposed of her too. None of these women had a single clue what would make them invaluable and he knew he was never going to find one who did at this rate.
His plans were all working, he needed the Targaryean for her dragons, so he begun organizing to soon send his brother off to accomplish bringing her to him. But the Crow's Eye was no fool. He had walked in the ruins of old Valyria, seen the vastness of shadowbinders in Asshai. Without those dragons, she had nothing to offer him. And once he tamed them, he had no use for another bed warmer with a large mouth.
No one knew what he has seen. No one knows where his exile had taken him, what he had done and what he had been stripped of. He had dreams of flying as a boy, and finally he was able too unlike a single soul anywhere else. Even when it had been taken away from him, his people were all fools to think any could keep up with him.
Until that was, he sensed it. On his ship and the night was quiet as the water were calm and yet he felt it. The pull in his mind. It was not clear right away, but it was there. Someone out there had been gifted as he had once been. Given the Greensight and whoever it was, their connection to it was strong. Unusually strong, as if there were the powers of two people inside what he sensed was one mind.
He was cut off from his strongest of abilities, Bloodraven had seen to that. He had found little use of it alone anymore, but if he could feel it coursing through his veins so far away, the Crow's Eye knew he needed to find them and maybe he could find a way back in by force. It took time. Weeks, then a month, then a little more time passed and finally he found it.
And his plans changed. He still needed the dragons, and he still needed to show Westeros he was the only man worthy of ruling them, but he finally found it. The only one he'd want by his side. The only one who had power that couldn't be found anywhere else.
The one with the Sight, just so happened to be a small stag. A green eyed Baratheon girl the realm once thought was dead. But she lived, and now ruled in the North beside her bastard born false King. Had he been a highborn, maybe he'd have considered the boy's feats impressive. But he was a bastard, a Snow, pretending to be worthy of being a King, and even worse? The girl had brought him back from the dead before he took her as a wife.
She was something else. Something no woman could conceive of being. But, he did not consider the circumstances to be in his way. The bastard King would be taken care of when the time was right to strike, and once she sees the magnitude of who The Crow's Eye is, she'd leave behind Snow in an instant. Power recognizes power, he knew it.
But even better, she was a fighter. She knew what spilling blood with her own hands was like, she fought and killed men in war, and she grabbed that dagger in their pulling visions and plunged it into his eye without hesitating. When his mind returned to his body, he was more sure then ever. He tried seeking her in the Green Sight again and again, but she always had her Great Wolf by her side. As if even in her dreams the damned bastard was still protecting her. Then she cut him out. She grew stronger and he found himself unable to seek her out no matter what he tried.
But he would not give up now. Only power was worthy of standing by his side, and the girl had power. Even the red woman had seen it. Coming to him this night as he looked to the darkness of the open water. An accent so many from Asshai thought they could seduce with, but the only things he cared about were what her god and blood magic could do for him. “She will not be easy to sway to your side. The wolf's claim on her is strong, stronger then any man I've known. He will not give her up.”
A lift of his eyebrow, and a smirk over his face came about. “He is a bastard, he is worth nothing. Trust in me, I have enough of my own. One dies, I'll fuck another into a girl to replace them. I do not fear him.”
The red woman however, held a look he could only describe as grim and knowing. “Then you would be a fool. I have wished to see of the Lord within you, and the flames show me nothing. I asked for the Lord's chosen warrior, and he shows me no sight of you. I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only snow. You are not his chosen warrior, and thus such are not men to be trifled with. They will not give her up easily.”
But he was the Crow's Eye. He had never let lesser men then him best him at anything, and he would not begin now. “Ask your Lord to show me how to get to her, and we shall see what it takes for the bastard to give her up. Until then, I have a Kingdom to take. Bring me what I ask, or stay out of my way. You are not here for your looks. Cease to be useful, and we shall find out how much your Lord protects you from me then.”
She did not react, and he did not expect her to at this point. He did not care her fire god did not think he a great warrior. The only war that existed was the one before his eyes. As she walked away, he already knew taking her would be a challenge. Her King father on one side and her Great Wolf pretending to be a King on the other, he needed to be careful.
But Stannis Baratheon could not watch over his daughter all the time, and eventually, Jon Snow would slip up. He couldn't protect her forever, he was nothing more then a bastard after all. She would grow tired of playing pity eventually.
He had told her in the last Green Dream he found her in, to come find him. He hadn't given her his name, but he wanted her to want it. Want him and find him without anything to go by. Prove she wanted better then to warm a bastards bed in a frozen wasteland. If not though, that was fine. He would still take her by force when the opportunity arose.
He was Ironborn after all. Taking what he wants, when he wants it, was what he was born to do.
The hand finding it's way caressingly at the back of your neck instantly had you lean back with a hum, eyes fluttering closed for only as long as it took for the hand to turn to a warm body sitting down next to you.
Colder and colder as the North became, the more work was done to keep Winterfell warm. Hardly a room you could go into with fires blazing everywhere, but it was nothing compared to the natural warmth soothing beside you as Jon joined you. The servers had begun putting food out ten minutes ago but you hadn't glanced away from the journal in front of you even once.
Showing Jon the papers you had found in the Lord Commanders quarters of the Nightfort, Jon had wondered what you'd want to keep it between you both for now for, until he got to the last. The direwolf sigil said it all. It sounded serious, and now it was his family directly involved in whatever this was. He kept them stashed away, knowing you had copied it down and ever since arriving back days ago, every spare moment alone your eyes would find the symbols and work through it with something weighing your head down until it ached in your neck.
Jon's voice now, was comforting in your ear as the hand slipped from your neck down the top of your spine to rest “I need you to do me a favour.” Turning instantly, it seemed he knew just how to capture your attention as he held back a smirk right away at your serious eagerness. “Have one meal with me where you haven't drifted off somewhere else.”
Shoulders deflating, Jon rightfully took that as a sign. Reaching over you to pry the edge of the book from your fingertips and close it. Watching with a hidden away amusement as he then picked it up, and started moving it. Sensing what your response would be, Jon shifted so his hand left your spine and nudged gently at your ribs when you reached for it. Placed now out of your sight behind where he sat somewhat to the side to face you.
A murmur on your voice unconvincing. “I'm not distracted every meal.”
Hand coming up to your jaw, Jon let two of his knuckles gently run along the skin he could find. Grey eyes wide and shining as he looked at you with nothing but a fondness. “What news did Arya tell me this morning then?”
The longer you did not answer, the more playfully mischievous Jon's eyes turned. Turning from him to roll your eyes, he also did not believe the huff which sighed out of you. Relentless Jon seemed to be that evening, interrupting whatever he put on his plate to add to what you assumed you finished to yours. Turning with a raise of your eyebrow, Jon hardly responded before biting into something. “No arguing, eat.”
You knew the easy quiet which followed was carried with Jon watching you with sharp eyes to ensure you were obeying him. Many including him had previously complained you seemed to not be eating enough, but now Jon was sparing no time in breaking that habit entirely from you. He was good at it, mostly though, because he was unquestioningly giving you orders without saying as much.
Orders which Jon knew you'd listen to if spoken in that tone. “Tell me if I'm mistaken, but I'm beginning to suspect you might actually enjoy ordering me around a little.”
Jon didn't even need to look your way to do it. “I don't like ordering you around. I like it when you're good for me.”
Eyes flying wide open as the fluster wormed it's way from your chest to your cheeks you knew the smile on you was shining in embarrassment. Muttering not low enough Jon almost wouldn't be able to hear, “Seven hells, Jon..” Only just catching your gaze, you could see the absolute enjoyment in his dark eyes in watching you get so easily flustered by him.
Rasping low but with as much tease as there was something raw and held back in affection, “You'll be thankful I'm trying to prepare your appetite now. I was always hungry as a boy, meaning soon enough he'll be too.” But you didn't continue, hands paused mid motion to look at him. It came so easily from Jon when before in these very halls never once did you discuss anything close to children together, it was always a known impossible.
You knew Jon likely could sense the weight in your throat at your moment too long of quiet, before you almost diverted the emotions to sit back down in your gut to explore at a later time. Quietly turning back to your plate and muttering only for him to hear. “I don't know. Not being hungry could be an indication she's going to be just like myself.”
Jon didn't hesitate to mutter quiet but quick, “He's a boy.”
A smile almost broke out instantly, a rolling of your eyes as you bit your tongue to keep it all just slightly at bay. Neither of you had told nor seen anyone about it yet, but even through Ghost you knew he couldn't possibly be able to tell that. But Jon had only argued when you brought it up. “I don't need anyone to confirm it for me. I know it's a boy.” He had yet to explain himself on such, but you rolled your eyes playfully all the same.
Whatever retort died on your tongue at the sound of footsteps coming along the corridor. Jon and yourself glancing to one another, a knowing in both eyes that for now, it was being kept to the two of you. Jon knew one could call him selfish for it, but he enjoyed having this between only you two, no one else sharing or watching.
Jon liked that the only business your future child was thus far, were yours and his. A little family in the making Jon thought impossible, and he wished to be selfish about it a bit longer. Though, there was something else he wanted to do, wanted to tell. But those two would also not speak it to a soul, though Jon was aware he had not informed you yet that he had blurted it out to Sam before he even told you.
Tomorrow you were planning on going back to Gilly's reading lessons and Jon hoped Sam would not stare at you in knowing. He just did not want the world to know yet, he liked the quiet life you both were trying to form and that included quiet about your son.
Arya's voice filled the quiet room however the moment she opened her mouth, a talent of her very own before even walking fully into view. “How many winters have you both been through before this?”
Glancing to one another, eyes squinting in thought trying to look passed the decade long summer to before that. Slowly answering as the numbers formed as he spoke them Jon replied in hesitation, “Four, maybe five. But I was too young to remember the first two, so three”
All but flopping down, Arya had her fur cloak wrapped around her so firmly it looked like a blanket, as she stared incredulously at how neither you nor Jon even had fur anywhere near your persons. Her voice in the same disbeleif. “Was it always this cold, or is this winter special because the world wants to end with it?”
The talent Arya had in making Jon smile at subjects usually pulling him back down to seriousness, Jon replied as he even more amusingly to you, found himself almost instinctively putting food on her plate for her. Though, all of you knew she'd pile more on top and somehow continue to stay that minuscule size.
“This is your first winter, it takes getting used to. Always make sure you're tending to your fires, and stop forgetting your gloves when you go outside.” Arya instantly piped up that she hadn't forgotten, only for Jon to reach to something at his side and with a dramatic slap, flopped her gloves right onto the table separating them.
Neither spoke for a moment until she reached for them, stuffing them away quickly as she narrowed her eyes in a jesting glare at him. “I had them on, I just..left them somewhere.”
Without even a blink, Jon answered flatly back. “Right. By somewhere you mean the dresser in your chambers?” Once more both wolves stared the other down, only causing you to look away in an amusement before turning back to the food on your plate.
You were almost certain there was more food on there now then when you last looked. Utterly relentless he was. And you were by his estimation, only a month in. You dared not think how he was going to start to fuss once the sickness starts. You had tried to avoid Robb those mornings to prevent him fussing over you, but there was not a chance you'd be able to sneak away and get sick without Jon seeing or being told.
As much as you trusted and appreciated both of them, the moment Olly or Theon knew you were trying to hide from Jon getting ill of any kind, they'd tell him without the passing of a single heartbeat to heartbeat.
Between the siblings bantering to the side, you had only just noticed as silent and graceful as ever did your mother find her way to sit by you. A warm shall wrapped firmly around her and a low tone as if speaking through the wish to shiver. “At least sending you here all those years prepared you for the cold. Brightwater Keep is as warm as a place can get before reaching Dorne.”
A doubtful huff of a laugh left you, quiet in tone as she was, you'd both be drowned out by the two wolves were you not know slightly faced away from them. “If how warm Kings Landing could be, I have an idea. You were right by the Honeywine though, I can't imagine it could get that warm even in the middle of the summer season.”
The sudden voice piping up from Arya drew both your attentions over to her, something if you flicked your gaze over more slightly, you'd see a bit of an amusement in Jons eyes. “What's that?”
You know why Jon was amused. It was getting a bit easier for Jon and Selyse to get used to one another so regularly. While he was used to your quiet, Jon also knew how to pull more wildness out of you in a way that wasn't so clear even existed in your mother. Not any fault of hers, but she simply was a bit on the more consistently serious side then the Starks would've been used too.
It did however, make her and Arya's interactions amusing. Two very different people in every manner now bound as family by law, and clearly she had no read on how to get along with her yet. Typically then, you'd act as the median in between to make it easier to connect loud and eccentric with quiet and stern but she still answered with ease. “The Honeywine is a river sat right in the heart of the agricultural valley in the Reach. Most farms all try to compete in buying land right by it, since whoever produces the most, there normally will sell for high prices come the harvest. It's where a large majority of the food in the South is imported from.”
Nodding, you tried to ignore that as you ate, with both the other pairs of eyes keeping on each other, you had to not glance down noticing Jon returning to your plate what you had subtly tried to put back. He and Ghost both, honestly. At least the food Jon kept throwing at you was cooked and not normally still with it's skin and covered in blood. Though if Ghost could cook it you wouldn't put it passed him either to then bring you cooked food whenever he returned from a hunt. Turning into a game this was.
Arya meanwhile, asking with a genuine curiosity. “How do they decide who gets what?”
It almost felt like you were back in the days of Kings Landing, you being the one asking the questions to your father preparing to take over at some point in the years future, but now the two of them played those roles. “Typically that's left for the Master of Ships to sort out. Each Kingdom has their own unique needs, and how much of what they ask for can also depend on either their gold, or the value of the export they trade us in return. The worse the offer, the less they get.”
Not one to mince her words either, Arya's brows narrowed. “That sounds like a horrible job.” A laugh came from you before your mother could answer, affirming it was. “That was what you did, in King's Landing?”
Nodding, you ripped off pieces of whatever you had picked up, once more ignoring Jon watching you through his own meal as you explained more. “Mostly. There's a lot of learning what grows where and what place without it demands said crop, what they have to offer in terms of resources and how readily they can produce it to trade on a regular basis. How much each Kingdom makes in gold and what of that goes towards their agriculture, mining, whatnot. It's half the days in a week looking at too many numbers, and the other half either down by the ports ensuring everything is running to standard, or arguing with the Master of Coin because your own spending allowance was once more cut down.”
You knew for a multitude of reasons the image bothered Jon. The man himself you were referring too, and a once long ago dislike of how a man such as Petyr Baelish would treat you. When in truth you were certain Jon's head may implode if you told him just how many men in power in that rats den they call a capitol, would try and find ways to take advantage of your young age and lack of influence on the people.
Renly would used to jest that Janos Slynt seemed to treat every one on the small council with respect except for you. What he may tell to any else in a calm and reasonable tone, he would puff up with ingidnance and spit it at you as you barley would raise an eyebrow towards him.
Just as you all had begun to stand and make their leave, Jon grasped at your wrist, giving a small tug towards him before you could fully leave the seat. A gesture to the two now leaving as if to implore you to give him a moment when out of earshot.
But by the time they had, he didn't quite jump into whatever it was. Running a hand through the loose strands of hair at the side of your head, you tilted more towards him with a small question asking in your eyes to his. Jon only responded with a shake of his head in no, letting him toy with your hair and eyes drift innocently along until you knew where he wished he could see better.
Meeting back, Jons gaze flickered in something upsetting for a moment, letting a frown slip to follow. Quiet as any, so guards nor servers passing by would hear him. “I know you don't like talking about it, but I'd like you to answer me honestly.” Your brows narrowed as a bit. “Did they used to starve you? The Boltons?”
Head tilting back slightly in surprise, you opened and closed your mouth twice before pushing past the uncomfortable stammer collecting your thoughts. A nod left but so did the words you knew Jon preferred to hear instead. A strain in your voice, you didn't expect. “It was worse when I was in the Dreadfort. They kept me in the dungeons for months, fed twice a day but it would be generous to call both combined enough for one proper meal.”
Letting the hand toying with your hair, find it's way to the skin by your cheek and jaw gently. A concern in his eyes as he looked back down to your stomach and up again that you hated seeing on him.
Trying to explain it away, knowing Jon knew better. “Roose Bolton always argued against treating our prisoners well during the war, it only made sense he wouldn't show me the same courtesy. Wanting me to know how little he cared for Robb's methods.” Jons voice more of a rough husk as he asked about when they brought you to Winterfell. “They had to feed me more, trying to dangle me in front of our people and pretend as if they were treating me well. Didn't have much of an appetite, but I suppose at least Roose Bolton always ensured wine was in steady supply to force down my throat, just enough to keep me from lashing out.”
Jon didn't move or say anything beyond the angering clench in his jaw. Only letting something hiss out as he looked down to your stomach again. “Only for that?” When you didn't respond right away, Jon found your gaze again, the anger far closer to the surface then even seconds ago. “Did they tell you that's why they were forcing you to drink?”
Tilting your head a bit, you knew he could see that you were not following his logic, but answering best could be anyways. Words stretching at first as you put the thoughts into form out loud. “No, that would have required Roose Bolton to tell me anything. By then I knew what I was there for, and what I was to do. Just play my role with no fuss, don't try to ask any in the castle for help, just be quiet and play nice.”
Oh something once more was too close to the surface for him. Exhaling roughly, you could see Jon was keeping his mouth closed knowing too easily something might spill out of it in anger should it open even for a breath. Your hand closest to him instead reached up, raking gently through his curls hoping the sensation would calm down whatever had worked him up so quickly.
Leaning close enough to him he likely would feel your breath across his skin as you spoke, you whispered with nothing but a tenderness. “Jon, that's passed us now. We're here and they aren't, that's all that matters.”
Interrupting the end of your sentence, Jons head whipped up to find your eyes. Yours innocent and confused against his more intense and angry ones. “What did you say to me, the first time I took all your clothes off?”
You felt even more confused, and by now couldn't even recall whatever nervous ramblings came from your mouth that afternoon. Grasping at straws, it was evident in your tone you were making it up. “Something along the lines of not knowing why you'd want to do that with me in the first place?” Your attempts in a lighter tone to ease up this new tension failed.
Jon was no calmer as his eyes narrowed more at you. “No, when I saw you bare for the first time what did you tell me in that moment?” Eyes wide a bit as you could not put the memory to any words spoken. Saying you remembered being nervous, but Jon jumped in finally. “You started apologizing to me. Right away, you tried saying you were sorry you didn't look like other girls, thinking you weren't impressive enough or small enough.”
You could've been right back in that room, the manner in which the same embarrassment filled your veins now as it did then. Jon intimidating you with a memory right into being as nervous fully clothed and married as you were bare and a maiden. It was horrible to spit itself out, but you said it before you had the reason to be able to stop it. Muttering without looking at him directly, “Hopefully was small enough the second time around.”
But he only stared at you. Something angering but confused and disapproving melting into his features as he barley shook his head at you. “Do you really think that's what I want?” Your silence said it all, that you really weren't quite sure what your mind wanted you to say versus your insecurity. Head dropping with a sigh, Jon raised it as he grabbed your arm gently. Pulling you to stand with him as the other arm grabbed your journal and tucked it away somewhere on him. “Come on.”
You followed him in quiet, his arm slipping to your bicep to almost pull you close as he soothed his rough palm over it back and forth. You knew better then to question him when he was walking you in a silence demanding privacy. By the time he reached whatever destination he had in mind, he ushered you into it with the door closing and locking behind him. Intentionally that was.
A more open room, a large tub in the middle typically used by those not in the family, as each room proper all that one individual to them. But you weren't sure why you were in here and not simply brought to Jons. Only, by the time you turned to ask what this was about, Jon had decided on the path he was going to approach making his point from.
A path in which, you truly, should have been able to predict by now.
Turning back to face you, properly Jon ran a hand over his mouth almost with a frustration trying to get wiped from his expression. Eyes glancing around the room behind you, Jon let out a sigh before coming up to you. Head dropped a bit as his eyes trailed down to your stomach, likely still wishing he could see anything by now.
Both hands coming gently to hold at your hips, your own hands found their way up his chest and along his collarbones and winding to the back of his neck to wrap around. One hand removed from you, Jon gently ran two fingers down your stomach by the back of his knuckles still not looking away. Your voice gentle as it tried to call out to him. “Jon,” A half heard grunt barely left him to indicate he was listening. “I don't say those things hoping to upset you.”
Gruff in tone, he still didn't tear his eyes away. “No, but they do.” In thought for a moment he hadn't shifted his stance at all by the time he said it. “Take this off.” Your head jolted back just a small bit in question but Jon with his other hand still on your hip tugged slightly at the material of your dress. “Off.”
Repeating his command, you felt your heart race just a bit as Jon took enough of a step away from you to give you space. Nerves flowing through you all the while as he didn't move to do or say anything else, but watching with dark, tense eyes as your hands begun to undo things in front of his watchful gaze.
First the longer, drapier material covering most of you, second then moving to your warmer dress, letting it fall to the ground pooling at your feet. The shift let on you was dark, but short enough the cold of the air begun to hit you right away. Inhaling as he looked you over, something on the edge of greedy seemed to slip through Jons voice. “You wear more layers then you used too.”
Those nerves turned ragged almost in an instant, wishing to shuffle on your feet but stood in stillness not wanting him to think they were there. Your voice however, low and muttering did not quite exude confidence. “It's also colder then it used to be.” Staring at your shift he said nothing but the message was spoken. You were not done yet.
Looking away from his tense eyes, you carefully pulled down the straps of your shift down your arms and it too pooled to the ground of piling clothes. That time Jon didn't need to imply anything, you read him loudly and clearly. A shaking exhale left your lips as you gentle pushed down the last of the material on you hiding your most intimate of aspects from him, now bare in the cold of the room against Jon still fully clothed.
Jon kept you standing there. His feet taking him a few steps backwards to lean against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he still only looked at you. The flustering in your heart running rampant in your veins like a flooding wave, on an embarrassed edge against his unblinking, dark stoicism. His voice rasped deeply from something trapped within his chest. “Some nights I wish I was a worse man.” You said nothing, trying not to look like you wanted to start shivering. “Could have kept Ramsay prisoner, put him in chains, gag him and make him watch me take you apart. Show him what it's like to enjoy something he tried to ruin.”
Your breathing picked up, but attempting to hide the fact was impossible as bare as you were. The rising and falling of your chest made it obvious how much Jons eyes kept training back to your breasts.
Jon though, thought little of stopping. “I'd keep you there, take you as long as it took, all night if I had to. Take you apart until you were the beautiful crying mess I know I make you.” The desire mixed with a hint of humiliation had you wanted to shift around nervously again. He was extremely talented at it. “And the only thing that would make me stop, is when I was sure beyond any doubt I put a child in you. Finally when he realized it too, then I'd kill him.”
Little grey was left in his dark eyes, almost now sitting angry and black in colour. Your own voice but a fleeting high pitched whisper. “But you are a better man then that, Jon. I know that.”
Shaking his head, Jon barley let his eyes close as he spoke. “Some days I wish I wasn't.” Biting your tongue as he opened back to stare intently at your form he was rough in a strain as he spoke. “If I were that man, darling, I wouldn't have even let you leave my cock that first night until you were pregnant. I wanted to, I wanted to tie your arms up, tie your legs spread out for me against the bars too, and fuck you until I was sure, then I'd fuck you more just to be safe. If Ghost hadn't brought you to me when he did, I was getting so close to finding you myself and fucking you where you stood.”
Your breathing was noticeable now if it hadn't been before. It should scare you, the possessive thoughts spilling from his mouth like they were rambles he couldn't stop. If Ramsay spoke to you that way, it would terrify you. But it came from Jons mouth, and it only made you feel humiliated as no doubt you could feel blood rushing to flood between your legs as he had barley even blinked. And he still couldn't stop himself from speaking.
Hands clenching as they were crossed over his torso, Jon almost wasn't even aware how much he had begun to let it all spill out. “When I saw you like this for the first time, almost every night after until you came back to Winterfell, I couldn't stop myself. I'd see you, remember how you felt, how you looked. How you were so nervous but you still lay back on my bed and spread your legs knowing I wanted to see you, see how wet you were. Every night after that I came in my hand thinking about how you looked that day.”
“Do you know how often I think about how you looked that night in Castle Black?” Shaking your head, his answer wasn't even what you expected. “Never. I think about everything else, but I've never thought about how you looked. Because I hated it. I still do.” The dark edge on his voice and you started to wonder if Jon even realized how much he had begun to ramble angrily. “They starved you to keep you weak, and you've managed to trick yourself into thinking because it makes you small like other highborn girls, that you should stay that way. But I hate it. I've never seen anything as beautiful as the way you looked at afternoon, and I miss it. I miss when you weren’t scared for me to see you. I miss when you let me just tell you how I thought you were perfect and you wouldn't argue about it.”
Swallowing harshly, you turned away with futile hopes of the flush in your skin going way or the stuttering breaths disappearing. Feeling his eyes watching your jaw twitch trying to hold something back you didn't even know what it wanted to say. The muscles in your neck almost shook trying to remain collected knowing that Jon knew better then that.
Only a mutter, but in the quiet of the empty room, you trusted he could hear you. “I know you didn't care I didn't quite look as pretty as other girls.” The hint of smile almost found your lips, “And it was easy with Robb. We were south at war for three years, there was no looking pretty there when you lived in army camp to army camp. But..” One more you tried to swallow that heavy stone of nerves back down but it was too large. It refused and thus a cracking in your voice came out as your face turned more into a stone like expression trying to smother it. “The girls Ramsay kept around..they were so..”
Not looking Jons way, you missed the wide eyed brightness in his eyes. How easily your own insecurities turned his frustration over them into something more gentle then Ramsay was even capable of pretending to be.
But you continued. Hands wanting to hide what of you was still exposed to his eyes, but forcing your arms flat at your sides, only the tensing and twitching of your fingers giving away to Jon how much you wanted to cover up. “If he was going to marry me, then to him, I'd better have walked into the godswood looking like a girl he'd want to actually fuck.” Shaking your head, eyes closing as you could see the image in your head, you felt a long gone wave of regret. “The way he'd speak so rudely about Roose's new wife, it was like if I didn't look just like the girls he kept around himself then I may as well be as grotesque to him as he saw Walda.”
It was far too late to change, but you still felt the regret. The way you barley gave her a chance, when in truth she made the best of the marriage she like so many had no say in, and in return you refused to even try to be anything of a real friend. The girl probably died thinking you hated her. But still, the way Ramsay spoke about her? Rambling on about how he wasn't even sure how his father managed to fuck her, as if her weight had anything to do with such an act.
It was easier to not fight back against the way he wanted you to look, but perhaps you still hadn't quite come back enough to remember Jon wanted you before you were forced to look that way. He had seen you after seven days on the run, no longer looking dainty like they forced you to look. But he was always still there, wasn't he?
Whispering in your ear about how he had made you something no one but Ramsay would ever be charitable enough to want anymore. Had ruined you in ways more then you've ever allowed yourself to think about. By the time your eyes flickered back up, it was only the tender softness of Jon's grey eyes bright as he looked at you with something so easily detectable as heartbreak. Forcing yourself not to look away that time, you stayed with nervous eyes on his.
Approaching you finally, Jon once more let a hand rest along your hip while the other tilted your chin up so you could properly meet his eyes. Something upset was trying to hold back within them. Your hands just barley found the courage to rest along the belt sitting low on his waist keeping things still strapped at the ready. Digging your fingertips slightly into it trying to seek any freedom between it and the leather under it. “I'm not about to get any smaller or firmer now.”
“Good.” Your eyes flickering up to his with a hesitation to doubt him right away. Jons face far more wanting to smile then before. “I'll keep you pregnant if I have to, just so you understand how little I care about you looking that way.”
Shifting to hold at your hips, Jon begun suddenly to move you, turn your back so you were standing how he just had been and pushing you backwards slowly. Your hands grasping onto his wrists. “Jon?” But nothing was said until he stretched his reach to gently push you against the back wall. Not leaving your touch until he saw you relax a little.
Instead though, of matching how he had you take everything off, Jon knew just how to keep the upper hand while riling you up for him. Far back enough you'd have to push off the wall to reach him but knowing he wanted you to say just like that. The belt along him and weapons attached came off, but nothing else. Only watching you with a shine in his dark eyes as his large hands swiftly moved his layers enough that by the time he came back to you?
One hand pressed against the wall beside your head, the other just managed to pull his cock out alone, leaving everything else on as he crowded your bare self against the wall. Leaning so his lips brushed yours as he spoke. “Give me your hand.”
Tenderly, you reached out as Jon guided you to wrap it around the hard, and thick girth of his cock, squeezing you tight enough more then what he knew you'd do alone, before moving that same hand to hold back at your hip. His breathing increased slightly, as did your nerves but peering up at Jons eyes? He gave a single, small nod and you knew once more, he had given you a command he expected to be obeyed.
Normally, he guided you until you were comfortable enough taking over, but you started stroking his cock. Firmer then you would have held him on your own, trying to recall the help he'd give you. To grip him tighter, to go just the right pace beyond the more slow and gentle way you'd handle him. Your eyes wanted to trail down but Jon leaned in, keeping your eyes up on him with a narrowed expression until he closed the rest of the gap.
Gripping the back of your neck, Jon captured your lips with his, deepening it as he kept you pressed further into the wall. Biting at your bottom lip before switching back to his kiss, and then once more biting at you again until you gasped.
Allowing Jon to slip his tongue inside your mouth as you instinctively gripped his cock a bit tighter, and a growl crawling up Jons chest and vibrating into your mouth as he brushed his tongue along yours. Both hands coming up to cup your cheeks, Jon tilted your head more up to him as he stood a step closer. Your hand having to twist somewhat to find the right angle to stroke his cock at, that you thought he'd like, but his tongue only left you long enough to bite at your lips again and once more forcing his path in your mouth as you mixed between pleasuring him and being at his lips mercy.
A mercy he granted not your neck. Dragging his lips down your jaw and neck, Jon spared no time biting down roughly, breaking the skin just perfect enough to indent his mark and sucked at the sensitive flesh. Your back arching off the wall into him, your thumb running along his tip before using your palm a bit to help run it all along his cock. Trying to make the sensation for him a little less raw.
Both of his own hands moved downwards, grasping roughly at your breasts you already too felt his nails dig into the sensitive skin as his teeth did your neck. A growl leaving him as your hand ran up and down his length a bit faster, and a bit tighter. His fingers grasping at the small buds of your breasts and twisting without build up from ease. A cry leaving your mouth until Jon pulled from your neck. Eyeing his work before pinching and yanking at your nipples, watching your eyes flutter closed trying to not cry his name out.
Muscles in him straining, his cock throbbing in your hand desperate to cum. Jaw clenched as he muttered your name roughly, nudging your nose with his to gain your attention. Slowly down only a bit, just as you did Jon reached down. Covering your hand with his and forcing you to stop and squeeze him more. “You feel this? How tight your grip is now?” Nodding, Jon kissed you, a rough force pulling back with an equally as rough bite. “That's not even half of how tight you feel around me.”
A whine peeking from your held back sounds, Jon nodded as your eyes half open gazed up at him, now only following him moving your hand along his cock. Something was teetering on his mind, but a shaking exhale, Jon groped roughly at the breast his other hand was still on before leaving.
One hand reaching down to your bare thigh, yanking it up in his arm along his hip as the other all but forced your hand from him with a throw. Finding your eyes, Jon gave no chance to think. In one smooth, but soaking tight thrust Jon slid inside of you. The cry leaving as you grasped his shoulders, he was as deep as he could go and the burn that time a little more noticeable. But still certainly wet enough you felt embarrassed he now knew how quickly you were ready for him from stroking his cock alone.
His now free hand cupping the back of your neck, he turned you to look up at him and you clenched tightly around as the core in you built into a burn. Eyes blown out, lips parted, Jon already looked so close and his rambling spoke just that. Hardly needing to pull out halfway and slide slowly back inside of you, “The next time you try and tell me you don't look good enough-” Eyes squeezed shut as he hissed out, you grasped his shoulders as you tried to move against his cock each time he slid back so deep.
“Next time?”
Trying to prompt him back to you, Jon more firmly slid the hand on your thigh down more, gripping behind you tightly, one ass cheek in his hand Jon forced your hips against his. His cock brushing against something sensitive inside of you. Fingertips gripping the plush skin, trailing more towards your ass as if tempting you with the idea of taking you there again too. Nodding, Jon watched as your eyes struggled to stay open looking to sweetly up at him. “Next time you talk badly about how you look, I'm bringing you out to our men and show them what they will never have. Cunt, ass, mouth, I'll fuck all of them just so they understand how beautiful you look taking me.”
Leaning close to your lips, Jons breathing was heavy in your mouth before he rested his forehead against yours with a growl. Your hands rushing up to wrap around the back of his neck, raking gently into his curls. Pulling him more to your neck, Jon pressed you more against the wall as you coaxed him gently. “Anything you want, please- just cum inside me, Jon. Please,”
He only nodded, thrusting roughly barley four more times as the leathers against your bare skin scratched, but he crowded you. Sinking his cock deep as he could, Jon groaned your name in your muffled neck. Spilling deeply inside of you, the hand still at your ass forcing you hips to take him as deep as you could. Almost hot in the cold air around you, his seed filled thick inside of you, flooding your cunt, his muscles tensed as he did so.
Just to find the sadistic tendencies in him, as soon as Jon finished spilling inside of you, he pulled out completely. Not gentle or even with any warning, but your walls so sensitive and begging for your own release and he refused anymore then what he filled you with. Grabbing your jaw, Jon pulled you to meet his lips in a rough, biting kiss. Panting against them as he spoke lowly. “Do you want to cum?”
Biting your lip slightly you nodded against him, but Jon only sighed out another rough exhale. Rasping against your lips, “Prove to me you understand then. I won't let you anywhere near an orgasm until you prove to me you understand without doubt how much I'll always adore your body.”
You hated that he meant it, and you hated how much you loved when he'd refuse you just to add too the lesson he wanted to teach you. “I promise, Jon. I'll prove it, I will.”
Cupping one of your cheeks, Jon swiftly readjusted his clothes to look nothing out of the ordinary as you pressed bare against him. Smile so handsome and so perfect on his face, “Show me by the end of tomorrow you've learned your lesson, and I'll take care of you, alright? I promise.”
Only a breathless laugh was capable of leaving you, but he shared it right back only brighter and better on his face. This certainly had not been on the list of things to do by the end of the night.
Any other life, and you might have felt ashamed at how easily you let him treat you however he wanted, but you also knew he wasn't cruel to be mean. He just enjoyed dangling you on that cliff's edge, both of you knowing at some point he'd pull you back to safety, but loved the fact that until that time, you had to rely entirely on him to get to that point. It was probably a good thing you knew so little about sex most of your life, had you known being with Jon could be like this, you would not have been an innocent maiden nearly as long as you were.
Only, it was what he told you after as you both waited for sleep to take you in bed that same night, that changed everything. As for a brief moment you thought he had changed his mind, but it wasn’t that, not at all. Almost as if he had worked you up earlier, keep you on edge as if to prepare you for something else entirely.
“I'm beginning to get used to this pattern where you don't explain what you're doing to anyone.”
Your eyes drifted up from where they were trained on the papers before you, only to flicker them away with a withheld sigh and close to have rolled your eyes. The tip of the quill tapping at the very top of the ink bottle for the past ten minutes without even noticing the degree of time passing. Your tone was flat just as your expression. “Not quite sure where you were the first time we met, but I rarely tell anyone what I do at the best of times. You are only noticing it now.” Pausing you looked to the book in his hand with question. “I seem to recall asking Olly to fetch me that.”
Unlike your dutiful steward, Theon chucked the book on the table somewhat by where you sat before taking a seat on the side adjacent to you. “You did, but I was speaking to Wolkan when he came in, and gave him a break from taking orders from you.”
Your eyes peeled back to your work, a great effort being made to avoid the appearance of rolling your eyes with a smirk, but not from keeping the comment off your tongue. “Some people are happy to take reasonable orders without complaining, Greyjoy.”
You could leave it to Theon, when alone in the room dropping all formality except for mocking. “Just because he doesn't complain to your face, doesn't mean he isn't complaining, Baratheon.” Only trying to rile you up, you let a small smirk let out before pulling the quill from the ink bottle, and instead choosing to go from tapping on the glass, to lightly twirling it between your fingers, eyes narrow on the page. Theon's voice breaking the quiet with more genuity. “Thought you said nothing in those papers you found was of use.”
Managing to maintain the twirl of the quill, you continued to look at the same words you kept re reading for the entire time since transcribing it. Muttering in a bit of distance in your tone, “That doesn't mean it isn't valuable in some other way. We already have it in our possession, so we may as well understand what it said.”
Asking if you had leaned who wrote it, once more the line you hoped sounded as if it came easy as the truth sounded. “No. There were dozens of Lord Commanders who have little written record of. It could very well be any one of them.” Glancing up, you dragged the book over to you without further comment. Page after page you quickly sifted through before finding what you were looking for. In quiet for a good moment before glancing back up, a questioning gaze on Theon. “What?”
“Something around here seems odd. Ever since we left the Nightfort, something's been off with Jon. You as well, but mostly him.” The worry and concern was genuine, and it didn't feel good but it was easier to deflect it now as if for nothing. Not what you said to Theon, but the knowledge of knowing you that the world wasn't going to let you find the answers here.
Certainly the Stark who wrote of these images seemed to agree. Whatever he had found, was not here nor the Wall. Whatever the green in the heart of Winter was, he found something of a woman in white. Jon had said none have gone beyond the mountains of the Frost Fangs and returned, and yet the page you were looking at was the beginning of a trek this Lord Commander had made. A trek which begun in description of going beyond those same mountains and there were more pages after that, all written in succession. And returned to the Nightfort.
One person had gone there and survived, but the why was thus far no where near close to an answer.
Glancing back at him, you knew Theon deserved a more honest answer and you didn't like keeping it from him, but you spoke a half lie regardless. “A lot on my plate is all.” It was dismissive enough he didn't pry, and still, you felt the guilt for purposely leaving him out of it.
“Are you avoiding telling anyone about it?”
Jon barley had spared a glance up before returning back to the too many things in front of him to count. His response half hearted, “There's nothing else to say, Sam. I told her, we haven't told anyone else. That's all there is to it.” Asking why not, Jon once more found his eyes trailing to what he truly wished he didn’t have to be planning. “Why not what?”
Sam it seemed, was as interested as this news as he was so far with many steps he saw of Jons relationship with you. “Tell people. You're King in the North, don't you think people want to know the King's wife is pregnant?”
That one got Jon to look up at him with something more nervous then before. “They would, but we want to keep it between us for now.” The shortness growing in Jons patience grew shorter still hearing Sam mention he knows, Jon looked back down away from him. Opening his mouth before closing it again, Jon let an exhale out as he found the attempt one more time, far calmer. “I never thought I'd have this. Have her. The last night I had her to myself before she married Robb, we sat in the godswood making up a story about other lives we could be together. I thought I was giving her up for good.”
Walking more towards the side of him, Sam had found both the understanding in him but also knew that maybe Jon was just vulnerable enough to say the truth right after that one. “And it has nothing to do with how you've been staring at maps north of the Wall all day?” Jon knew when he said nothing, that was as good as an admission in Sam's quick mind. “Jon-”
“Bran's still out there.” His eyes were a bit wider, knowing the grey in them were shining against the dim light around the room from the fires. “You told me they went beyond the Wall to try and stop this, stop them from coming.” It was quiet, but it was loud in his head saying it. “What if the answer I'm looking for isn't here? What if it's out there?”
There was only one brazen enough to stand outside the King's study and listen as if he had any right, but he was one to walk in and make his spying known. “It isn't an easy answer to come too.” Howland Reed had taken not more then two steps into the room before turning. Making a point as he closed the door on the guards simply station outside. Saying nothing else but quiet when out of earshot of listeners. “Brandon Stark isn't the only one beyond the Wall, remember. I watched my children leave their home, not knowing when I would ever see them again. Knowing they had too, because they were the only ones who could help him.”
Sam had not noticed the glance between the two men, the knowing as Jon and Howland both knew the answer Jon was trying to rationalize. Before he told you the night previous, Jon had went to the one man who understood dreams as such first. Still, he appreciated Sam arguing for his sake anyways. “You can't be suggesting he goes out there, he has a Kingdom to look after, he has a wife-”
Jon turned to stare at him into the quiet, Howland Reed however finished a different sentence to the initial thought. “Tell me Samwell, what use will it be ruling over the North if we have not done everything possible to stop the storms before it takes us anyways.” Sam's own words were interrupted as the man stepped calmly but further into the space Sam stood, your name coming from the older man. “She is not the only one with strange new abilities tied so closely to the North. She returned from the dead, and she brought Jon back from the dead.” Head nodding to Jon. “Warging, skin changing, green dreams, none of these are powers any yield but from the North. And all of them point further north then Winterfell or the Wall alone.”
Jon knew his silence without a shred of question, confusion or doubt on his face only added to the realization that this was not the first time this idea was brought up around him. Sam asking directly, “How long have you-”
“The night before we left I started to figure it out, and the time we've been back here I finally put it all together.” Pleading with all he had, Jon felt the same twisting in his gut as the morning after the attack on Castle Black. The knowing that it was not a plan which sounded good, but just as horrible to think the consequences of. “Sam, you didn't see what happened at Hardhome. You don't know what they're capable of. If I don't do everything I can to stop this, it will happen all over again but this time to my own people. And it won't stop with the North once they're gone too.”
He hated it, but he knew too much. Jon had been in Winterfell, he had been in two forts along the Wall and he had been beyond it. And never closer to real answers of what was going on were given to him then those years he spent out there. It had begun with watching Craster offer his baby, his own son to the Others, and watching one take the baby away, and it got worse and worse until they attacked Hardhome.
Books were only going to get Jon so far, and hiding away hoping they could, was not going to save his people when the time comes. What was the point of calling himself their King, if he hides away in his castle?
Sam though, he asked the question Jon dreaded. The one he and Lord Howland ultimately argued over the day prior before Jon knew he would come to you about it. Sam asked what about you, if Jon goes beyond the Wall again and the answer was right there in his face and he knew he was asking too much of you but there was no other choice. “She's coming with me.”
The symbols, the signs, all pointing to the same place but it was the dream he had that was it. You had spoken of what they were like when so vivid. The question of when was answered easily in his mind.
You were a month pregnant, Jon had to do this now. He couldn't wait to make sure everything possible in the North was taken care of. You had to come with him, and Jon didn't know how long this would take. He knew how long it would take for the two of you and Ghost to get to the Frost Fangs, but nothing beyond that.
If he and you made it, Jon needed to ensure he got you back to Winterfell in time to birth your son here in these walls. But if you two weren't coming back, he didn't want you to get so far into your pregnancy that losing it again would feel like losing another child. Either you two made it to the Heart of Winter and back, or this ended when you both got there, but Jon had a plan in that case.
If he left in the next coming days he may be able to get you there before you reached five months, or just at that time. Meaning if this was it, at least you wouldn't be tormented knowing you got closer that time.
No matter what happened he told himself, you were still together. He'd have you, Ghost, and to whatever end it was, he'd have his son as well. But judging by what he had seen, that's what they wanted. They had without even the human words made it clear. Jon alone was not enough. But it finally was asked in that room, the pressing question. “What are you going to tell people?”
Whatever the answer to that Jon was trying to figure out, he knew he had to do what his brothers did for Sam. Thinking Gilly was dead, they all told him she could've made it out before the attack on Mole's Town. Jon didn't, he hadn't wanted to give Sam false hope. But he knew he was wrong. He understood why his brothers gave Sam that hope.
In fact, you had said it yourself. People need a selfish reason to keep going, otherwise they'll fear they are fighting for a lifeless cause. Jon wouldn't lie, but he knew it might be a mistake to tell them the degree of danger this might lead too. But if it ended without you all coming back, Jon at least needed them to understand that if he didn't come back, it was because the Others weren't coming either.
Jon wondered if this was how Bran felt. Knowing he had to go beyond the Wall regardless of the fear which may come and the danger he'd find. Bran had the bravery when he was a boy of eleven, so Jon as a man, had to have the same.
It had been the story of a Stark going beyond the Wall which did it. From his parting conversation with Stannis, to the entire ride returning to Winterfell that story stuck out in his mind. None knew what truly led to the end of the Long Night. They told stories of battle, but Jon had seen what battle with this army brought and it was only death.
The First Men had warred with the Children of the Forest for thousands of years until they had made a pact in peace to end it. He also knew that somehow, enough was understood between them, that only a man in Craster, had come to an arrangement that kept him and his wives safe, at the cost of any infant sons he had.
But if something needed to be exchanged for peace, Jon was not a man about to send the innocents he's fought to protect, to do it for him. He needed to do it himself. Jon knew too, it was why his Uncle Benjen had refused to let Jon even think of coming with him beyond the Wall. He was headed to the Frost Fangs, and was never seen again. But the Others were still coming, if his uncle survived or not, that hadn't been enough.
Jon knew, he needed to be enough now.
She was trying not to freak out, Jon and yourself could tell. Were she still just a young girl, likely Arya would have let herself be as emotional she felt but now it was trapped inside of her and fighting to not come out, to be brave. “You can't separate us now.”
Your silence remaining as calm as could be in the room, knowing the two of them could easily let this fly off the handle if one lost their cool. Meaning it was on your shoulders to prevent as such. “That isn't what this is. This is about survival.”
Her eyes wanting to shine with water, but held back. The sorrow however, remained. “We're family, we survive this together, not apart, not when I came back just to find-”
Jon moved from where he had been standing in front of her, moving Arya back some as he guided her to sit on the edge of her bed. Crouching in front of her so she could look more down at him this time, nothing but a steadfast assurance shined bright in his eyes. The low rasp just as comforting despite the words. “We need each other. To survive this winter together, but we can't do that when it's only us. Bran is still out there, Uncle Benjen is still out there. We aren't a family together if they're still trapped somewhere in the North.”
A quick glance up towards you, you were the collected confidence for her as Jon was the soothing support in front. He had been the calm one telling you, so you had to be the calm one as he tells her now. Arya's tone weak as she looked back to her brother pleading, “Can't I go with you? You know I can handle myself now-”
Shaking his head, Jon reached a hand up to cup the side of her head. “I need you here. These aren't just my people, they're yours too. So I need you to stay here, and lead them until I return.” Her head tried to tilt in beg, but did not wish to sacrifice the soothing feeling of his hand. Jon, read such words not needing spoken a single one out loud. Leaning in a bit more, his eyes more stern without anything harsh. “You're a Stark, and my sister. You're the only one I trust to take care of the North while I'm gone.”
It took Arya a good moment before nodding. Jon giving her the space then to breathe without moving away from her in proximity. Both of you felt the heaviness of leaving her behind here, but perhaps, you felt different because it wasn't the first time. Robb and yourself had this very conversation with Bran when you went south. But for the two of them now, it was the first time they've had to have this new dynamic of separation.
Walking a few steps forward, you came closer to where Jon knelt. The sensation of one hand of his gently wrapping around the shin closest to him with a warm caressing feeling. Neither of you quite sure if it was for you, or for his sake. “Everyone else is staying here, you'll have them to help you the whole way. Keep their spirits strong instead of letting it shatter, someone has to be here to ensure your people don't lose hope the longer we're gone. They need to believe, and you have to lead it.”
It cracked out in a desperation which Arya seemed to backtrack the moment it spit from her mouth. “When are you coming back?”
But Jon would not lie, not to her. “I don't know.” Don't let that thought shake you, you told yourself. A deep inhale, and Jons hand tightened on your shin. He felt the same. Stay strong in front of her, because she had to have hope to lead with it. A tender tone, low and calm as Jon used his other hand to gently hold at the back of her neck to make proper eye contact. “But we are coming back, Arya. This isn't a goodbye forever.”
Crackling of fire the only thing filling the room for a moment before a deep inhale finally smoothed out the scattering worry in her tone. Finding a confidence in her nod and a return of determination in her eyes. “You're right, it can't be forever. Because if you have to come back, then you also have to make sure you bring Bran back.”
A small chuckle left Jon, pulling one from her as swell. The ease of which made them look almost as young as they were when they first had to part ways for a long time. By the time a hug was shared, you however, begun to feel the opposite. Your own goodbyes were not going to be as simple or heartfelt.
Some were easier then others.
Gendry had the exact reaction you expected. He was a Baratheon in blood after all. And what did Baratheons do best towards one another? Get angry and yell. “So your fathers in the North where at any moment he could find me again, and when I actually find a different person in this family I don't hate, you take off too?”
The narrowing in your eyes was almost childishly annoyed, but so was his anger. Neither of you were really approaching this with a formality, but then again, none in your family did that correct. “Stannis has no reason to come to Winterfell, and by chance he does, go wandering through Winter Town. He won't step foot in there, he doesn't have the patience for how crowded it is.” Glancing down you could tell his hand was twitching by the hammer. “I can't tell if you're currently thinking about using that on my father, or me.”
Looking between, Gendry all but tossed it back down a foot or so away from him. Turning from you to grab at a rag by the mostly empty armoury by that point. “I'm still deciding.”
Sighing, you glanced around and walked further into the space to avoid the trailing ears which might be struck by curiosity. Whispering more as you barrelled into his space to swiftly move in front of him, cutting off his path to force him to face you. “You wish to be angry I'm leaving, that is your right. But this has nothing to do with taking off or leaving you behind. I have to do this, and you don't have to like it, but you do have to accept it.”
Breathing out, the breath cold enough for both of you it flowed visibly after each word or exhale, even beside the warmth of the hearth. His tone was irritated, but his expression spoke that of something far less with said intention. “Fine. But you have to promise me you'll come back. It can't just be me and your father left, that's a disaster waiting to happen.”
Neither but you two quite grasped what had made the Queen in the North and the new blacksmith laugh so genuinely in the quiet with one another, but it was easy for you two all the same. You could see her face though, and despite the awareness that Jon would not like it if he knew this, you had to press on something anyways. “Take care of Arya while we're gone. She'll pretend like she is handling it better then she's going to really feel, and she will need someone who cares about her at her side more then ever.”
Nodding with a seriousness, you held back that splurge of questions and thoughts. Teasing him was not the time, and it wouldn't be for a good while. Gendry was as serious as ever. “I will. I'll look after the kid too. Don't imagine he'll be too happy about this.”
No one was. Not you, Jon, Arya, none. But there was no use in not doing something because it didn't fit your idea of a perfect life. You had never had that, and neither had Jon. Until the snows stopped, you wouldn't get a proper chance to start it, so you would suffer until the end.
Theon though, you had no idea where to start. What to say. Out of everyone you had not wished to truly leave behind again, it was him. He was the only reason you even were alive beyond that horrored year coming back. The only thing that kept you going in any meaningful way because as pathetic as states you both were in, you were all the other had.
If by the slow approach you had walked into the room with didn't say enough, it was the quiet dismissal of his men from the room which spoke volumes. Or the quiet closing of the door as you leaned against it, hands crossing your front. But he knew you well at this point.
Well enough that it was bad news, and news he wasn't going to be part of. “Just say it.”
Your eyes flickered up from nothing back to him, and you hesitated. Mouth opening and closing a number of times before sighing. Walking in as you without any proper decorum, walked to the table he had been hovering around.
The guilt was heavy, and you hated that on the outside, he seemed to take it the best. But he also didn't quite take it with much emotion either. He wasn't saying it, but Theon had suspected something like this was coming and if there was any proof he was as much a Stark as Greyjoy, he had down the pattern of Starks withholding their emotions to remain distant in the face of hardship.
You wished he would get upset, because if you didn't come back, you knew Theon enough he would be the guilty one leaving things this way. But as it was, he refused to give anything away. He kept it as inside as you were. It was the easiest, but it was also the worst. “Theon-”
He had cut you off hardly through your explanation, he had heard enough and you felt something shatter in the degree to which he was instantly shutting you out. “I heard you, your grace.”
You two stood across the room from one another, and he wouldn't even look your way, not at the silence as you looked wide eyed at his distance or the shattering in your heart that the one person you needed to talk this through with, responded so badly he wouldn't even look at you.
He had turned to you after a breath, “Is there anything else?”
Oh there were many, but not a single one he wanted to hear. In a single conversation, the only one you had relied on for months had shut you out in one fell swoop. If you were still teenagers, you would've stood there arguing with him until you understood each other, but you wouldn't argue now and he knew it.
The night had found itself in a close, and just as it was going to be for a good while, eventually there was none left but you and Jon. “There really isn't any other way?”
Your eyes pleaded with him, the inevitable would come but he had the advent of being stronger at keeping the same dread more inside. He stayed calm so he could too calm you, sitting next to you on the bed he was sure as anything. He hadn't thought of this fleetingly, it had been on his mind a while now and there was no more mistake of it.
Running a hand along the hair at the side of your head, Jon let it drift to cup your cheek as he leaned in to you, you doing the same as your own hands found his shoulders and back of his neck. “We both know we have to do this.” Nodding your head, barley contained was a swallowing of something too fearful close to the surface. Jon shifted quickly, cupping both of your cheeks to gently guide you to look back up at him. His tone soft and eyes even softer, despite it all nothing but love sat in the greys. “All my life I've tried to protect you, and you gave me a new life to finally do just that. But if we don't do this, I won't be able to protect you no matter what.”
Running along the back of his neck, a choking feeling was overwhelming your senses as much as Jons very presence so close soothed them. Breathing out what wanted to be a cry, Jon pressed your forehead to his, running one hand once more along the hair at the back of your head as your fingers found his curls. Whispering gently, “So far only one person’s ever come back before.”
Nudging your nose with his, Jon still kept your own fear at bay. “Maybe we'll be the second.” A laugh in a single huff left you, bringing a far brighter one out of Jon. Grey eyes bright as he looked better at you, the hand on your cheek letting his thumb run across the soft skin he found. “I know you're scared, darling. I promise I am too, but if this is what they want, we have to give it to them. I told you we belong together, you, me, our son, all three of us belong together, even if it’s out there. If they wanted me alone-”
Shaking your head, you grasped onto the curls loose around him tighter, Jon shifting to keep you close as well. “You can't go alone. You told me I have to let you protect me, right? You can't do that if we're apart can you?”
Jon only smiled the slightest bit, the thumb on your cheek drifting to your lips with a gentle murmur. “No, I can't.”
Inhaling deeply, you finally looked up at him. Nothing ever but the man you love. You were brought back scared and alone in this world, and only found purpose when you brought Jon back too. You knew, you had to risk it. There was not a single guarantee you both would come back, but Jon had told you. Maybe you two were always supposed to fight this battle together. Even if you were going to be marching into your last before your new lives had a chance, but you'd do it together.
“Do you know what you're going to say tomorrow?”
Jon nodded, moving from beside you on the bed to pulling you up with him. This time, the manner in which he handled you was only gentle. Far from the roughness of the other nights acts, but you had a feeling Jon had planned it this way. Tease with roughness in your last days, and spend the final in Winterfell with the last true gentleness you both will face for months.
Undoing the laces keeping your layers together, he rasped in your ear. “Mostly. I've written a raven for your father. Ser Davos had said he would tell him, but I thought he should hear it from one of us as well.” Your eyes fluttering shut, a lightness in your chest lulling you into something relaxing as you sounded almost a tad breathless. Jon so carefully taking things off of you without any rush.
You should have felt more concerned at what your father would think, but in truth you knew it was safer not too. You and Jon were doing this no matter what, it didn't matter who disapproved. It was to protect them all from what seemed like the end no matter what. “And what about your new best friend?”
Jon paused for a moment, no doubt his face twisting in confusion as he looked over your shoulder, until the hint of an amused smile was sat on your lips. Chuckling deep in your ear, Jon once more moved back to undressing your heavy layers. “He can't get the North to be more neutral then if I'm not even around to side against him in the first place. And I know you're joking but,” His hands pulled down at the material now loose at your torso, letting it fall as the first to go. Gently grabbing your hips he rasped in your ear. “I already have a best friend, and I married her.”
Heart skipping a beat before floating within your chest, you leaned back into his touch which was so perfectly warm against your back, as you reached across your stomach to hold at the opposite sides hand on your hip while the other reached behind you to gently graze your nails at the skin on the back of his exposed neck. “This is normally the part where I’d ask who the lucky girl was, but I'm not sure if you used to have another proper friend that was a girl besides myself.”
Pressing his chest more against you, Jon somewhat tried to tug you closer. His face leaning down to lay a single kiss below your ear as his breath danced hot across it. “That's because the only girl who gave me the time of day, was the beautiful Baratheon one who tortured me for years.” Questioning the word tortured with a laugh, Jon laughed right back. The sound of it, now that was the truly beautiful thing. “First time I saw you, I wanted to throw up thinking I was going to have to live with such a pretty girl in my home. And then I thought that every single time you came back for almost eight years.”
Quick on the draw you leaned your head back against him relaxed, contrasting to the jest in your teasing finally slipping through. “What, did a new pretty girl come through Winterfell to catch your eye then?” You had no doubt he both was smirking, and rolling his eyes at you simultaneously.
Jon didn't even bother entertaining you on that one, muttering in a mocking of irritation, “May I continue?” Waiting enough for a nod, Jon returned to attending properly to you. Pulling the sleeve of your dress down one arm then the other, he pushed at the material to also drop down to the pool by your feet.
Little left, you swiftly turned in his arms. Your hands grasping at his sides, leaning up to meet his lips with an innocence. “Your turn.” Just a short and chaste kiss, you felt him try to chase you on it before you went right for the belt normally keeping his weapons all on him.
It was always quiet when you did this part with him. You undressing him from the day, whereas Jon found things to talk with you about when he did yours. You were never sure why, maybe it was being used to the familiarity that Robb normally took the reigns in your struggle of such consistent conversation, or perhaps you were more used to the silence between Jon and yourself.
Taking as much care as he did you, it struck you in a flash of your mind how much you were going to miss this. Everything was going to be different soon, and you were sure clothes for that sort of cold did not include gentle intimacy in the undressing procedure. You felt somehow prepared by Jons side yet entirely blind as to what you truly were about to walk in on.
How much this would set you apart should you not be ready to handle yourself that far North. You felt uncomfortable the second it came into your mind, that shade of red. Comparing to that wasn't fair to what she truly was towards Jon, but it poked at your mind all the same. Would the ability to compare change the light he saw you both in?
Not having realized the narrowing in your face as you got him to his final, softest, simple layers did you move from him naturally to put some of his things across his desk. He didn't even want you walking around with anything more then a small knife at this point, would you be a burden if he had to do everything for you out there?
No doubt she didn't need Jon to do things for her basic survival.
You almost shook your head thinking about it, not quite noticing the wide eyed curiosity trained on your every move as Jon stepped towards you carefully. Once, twice he called your name but it was the gentle pull of two fingers at your cheek turning you to face him that did it. His eyes soft without the judgment you worried of. “Where's that beautiful head of yours gone off to?”
Then came that clearer doubt. The way he looked at you? It was foolish to think he'd turn heel and think you useless now of all times. Your insecurities always so desperate to compare yourself to what you feared they should like better. Almost slipping right before Jon, the thought that from what little such visions showed you, she was so very clearly much prettier and fitter then you. Even now, especially the longer you and Jon were out there.
Shaking your head though, you always felt guilty when you did this. You knew what she had done, and still you worried as if she was something ever good to him. He rarely talked about her though, sometimes it was difficult to fill in the blank spaces of your knowledge without the worry of not matching up taking up that mantle.
Jons hands pushed away your thoughts as he dragged the sleeves of your shift, thin on your shoulders and the second your hands were free of what you had been holding, Jon wasted not a second in pushing them down your arms. The silky material slipping easily after such a movement, only to have Jon kneel slightly down to pull the rest hiding you from him off, his hot breath tickling your shivering skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your mound, then your hipbone, and finally so gently on your scar.
Pulling back, Jon held at your hips to keep you both steady but he only looked at it. Still, there was nothing there. You would be well into the cold wilderness by the time there was anything to look at, but it did not seem to matter to Jon at all. Not disturbing him, you carefully moved to let loose his curls, raking your fingers through to smooth out them out. Voice only a whisper, you tried to coax him back to you. “She's too small to sense you're there yet.”
Leaning forward, Jon pressed another gentle kiss before standing up. Cupping your cheeks he pulled you into a deep, but soft kiss. Barley pulling away with a smile in his voice, “That doesn't mean I won't try. Maester Luwin had said that babies in their mothers wombs can can hear her voice, which means he might be able to hear my voice eventually too. I want him to get used to it.”
You tried pulling away with a shake of your head. “Well, I'm sure she will love that.”
“He will.”
You weren't sure yet if this was just a game between you both. Yourself insisting on a girl, and Jon insisting he already knows it's a boy. Running your hands under the material of his shirt, they rested against his torso almost comfortingly. Feeling some of the scars under your palms, it got a little better each time knowing they were there without that gut wrenching feeling of horror.
Catching your eyes as he pulled back, Jons eyes were bright, painted with something far too soft to handle as he looked at you. A deep rasp as he pressed another kiss to your lips before mumbling against them. “Let me take you in front of the fire tonight.”
By the time you had even knelt on the soft fur in front of his fire, everything on him had already come off swiftly. The differences of such earlier days in your youth compared to now, were night and day. A wave of nerves would come from both of you, not yet confident enough to take anywhere near significant amount of clothes off in front of the other. And yet now, there wasn't the air of a confident man, but merely one comfortable in his own skin when alone with his wife, bare as you were in the cold, winter air but not even slightly bothered by it.
Already, his thick cock was hard and ready, as if it took nothing to work him up to such a state and yet Jon swiftly moved to sit with you down on the fur. Ignoring that by this point, most men would already expect you to take care of them in such a state. But he only ran his hand along the strands of hair by the side of your head, gentle eyes with a hint of an adoring smile easy on his face.
A gentle rasp as he also moved his thumb to brush briefly at your cheek. “All my life I've wanted to have this with you. My wife, the mother of my children, being able to just be together here in our home.” The hand not somewhat keeping you sat upright in place, reached to grasp at his wrist. Thumb running just along his strong, steady pulse.
Leaning to brush your nose against his, Jon returned the gesture right back as you murmured to him. “And we have that, right now we have that. And no matter what happens, we will always have had this together.”
The hand in your hair moved to cup the back of your head, pressing your forehead to his. “I want to tell you I know we're coming back, believe me, I do. I hate that I might be taking all of this way from you for a second time. You don't deserve this.” But you shook your head.
Taking turns easing the others woes it now was in your palms. Your hands resting along his neck and collarbones, running up and down hoping it was anyway soothing. “We deserve to be with each other. We deserve to be together, and we always will be.” You hesitated, but in truth there was no reason to hide it from Jon of all people. “Robb and I promised we'd stay together, and we didn't get that chance. I came back without him, but you have me and I have you. I won't let that slip away this time. Where you go, I go. No matter the path.”
Furrowing his brow, Jon struggled to mutter out, “Does it make me selfish for wanting that?” The answer of no on your lips was so easy you knew it took Jon off guard. Inhaling, he shifted. Pushing your back against the soft furs, as his top half now hovered over you, one hand beside each side of your head as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. “Good. I've let you go too many times, I'm not allowing you to walk away ever again.”
Barley getting it out before his lips captured yours again, you whispered, “Sounds rather possessive.”
Another kiss pressed to your lips, “I'm a wolf, darling.” Another kiss, deeper that time, and his voice dropping lower then before in desire. “I've been possessive of you since I spent three days and nights taking care of you.” Finally pressing most of his top half down over you, Jon properly kissed you, deepening it without a chance of easing you into it.
For once though, it was not done with greed. It felt more of need. A need shared between two souls desperate to stay together, losing parts of themselves each time they were forced apart, and now the need to stay together overwhelmed until it burned like the fire blazing beside you.
Your hands wrapped around his shoulders and the back of his neck. One hand raking through his curls, pushing some as you did so, out of his way as he kissed you. The other side, tickling long what it brushed of your skin, as Jon guided you to stay with his pace.
Stealing your breaths and sighs, he kept all of them to himself. Brushing his tongue along your bottom lip before ever so gently sliding in your mouth the moment you parted for him. Shifting so his body properly now hovered over you, running his tongue along yours gently before pulling back. You chased his lips just as Jon was weak enough to come back on his own for more, unwilling to part too soon.
One hand now keeping him propped up, the other running down your side before wrapping behind you. Pressing against the small of your back, Jon arched you up into him as he leaned down more to you, switching between licking into your mouth and letting his kiss turn somewhat sloppy simply unable to pull away from you each time a small whine broke from your lips.
One of your legs moved up as he arched you more into his chest, rising up along his hip he instead slid that same hand down to wrap around your thigh, keeping you hoisted up by your lower half now into his. His cock brushing against your inner thigh and core, but he seemed to ignore it despite each feeling sparking something tingling in the spot begging to be touched more.
Now leaning a bit more on his knees, Jon used the leverage to cup the back of your neck and keeping you pressed against his kiss. The greed still not there as much as an urgency deepening it as all could be heard was the fire crackling beside you both and your breathing running harsher with every passing brush of your lips together.
Slowly before you could truly notice it seemed, Jon begun to raise the leg his arm held to him higher and higher. Barley tearing himself from your lips enough, you could see the saliva connecting you both snap as his lips parted in a breathless need as he dragged your leg so your thigh sat up over his shoulder. Not giving you the chance to protest, Jon did the same with the other and held each there over his shoulders with both strong arms. Kissing down from the stretched position he had you in, between your breasts and long your stomach and scar before reaching your mound once again.
Pressing his forehead against it, Jon shamelessly groaned. As husking of his voice he sounded it too was slurred by what felt like ramblings of an accent so thick Jon likely didn't even notice he said anything, but you heard it muttered against you as hot as his breath was. “Gods, I love the way you taste..”
Before you could breathlessly point out he hadn't done anything yet, Jon kissed down to your clit. As if teasing and licking and kissing as if it were your breasts, Jon barley cared about any patterns or even any decorum. He sucked and nibbled at it with such a sloppiness it made you far more worked up and wet for him then even before.
Greed was when he held your hips to his mouth, this was a need of something too raw inside of Jon for words to express. Licking at your clit until your back arched, but Jons firm grip on your thighs over his shoulders kept most of you in place. Hands spread beside you trying to grasp at the short furs below you, gasps and small whines of need high pitched from your mouth with pleases you did not understand what for.
Burning from your clit up into your core and stabbed like an edged blade through your blood stream but you couldn't keep grounded long enough to try and let the fire inside simmer. The embers blazed in the wind right to igniting wild in you, a coil twisting so quickly as Jon ran his tongue desperately along your clit before slowly making his way down just enough to tease you before coming right back up to the bundle of nerves.
Something growling in Jons chest vibrated against you, finally causing one hand to reach down. Grasping at his curls the only thing which dragged you out of the darkness and so much more at his mercy. “Oh gods, Jon please..”
Eyes so dark they were nearly black, Jon almost glared up at you before grunting as he sucked at your clit harshly. The gasp leaving you so high pitched and so desperate, it had him nearly rolling his eyes into the back of his head as he returned to you, even just taking care of your clit he felt out of his mind at how much he adored it.
In a split second, Jons hands gripped your legs tightly as if he could sense it. Arching unknowingly into his mouth, your clit felt as if it took that spark of fire and burned it right through you with more begs of Jons name. Hardly as your orgasm begun, did Jon run his tongue flat along your folds and deeply buried himself proper into your cunt just as you grew that much more wet around his now desperate for the taste, tongue to lick along your walls inside of you.
Cries without words pouring from you, his hair a lifeline keeping you tethered to the ground and not floating into the air away forever but he kept running his mouth and tongue so deeply inside of you, tasting your wetness with a grunting sound and yanking your legs more up to his mouth. His dark curls all you could see as he held you to lean down more into your cunt with a vigour.
Not letting you go, he drank deeply from you as if consumed by the taste, an unwillingness to ease up despite your breath not having caught up. The high feeling in your mind as if you hadn't truly come down yet and Jon growling words you would not hear into your cunt made you that much worse, but you'd never protest against him.
His facial hair burned raw against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but it mixed with the warm wetness of his tongue brushing deep inside of you with need. A contrast that had your eyes fluttering closed unable to handle seeing beyond what of his dark curls were buried between your legs, holding you to him.
It twisted inside of you faster and faster then you could convey with words but you knew you must have been soaking his mouth as he was soaking your core with every drink he refused to give up. No effort Jon even had to put forth before he dragged you to your finish so soon after the first you felt tears forming as you burned from within. Growling more into your cunt, Jon refused to let you go even after your orgasm settled and the ringing in your ears left.
Not until he was satisfied, hands tighter and tighter, bruises would be left on you by the morning but he could not seem to pull away. He never refused your peak, he dragged you from one to the next with babbling pleads of his name which Jon took as a beg for mercy, and proceeded to deny any semblance of it. One to the next, you felt your heart straining at how much you could not be allowed to come down.
You had no concept of how much time had even passed by the time he pulled away. More then five he had given you, but you weren't sure beyond that. The fog in your head taken over by his touch. Shoving your legs off of him wide, Jon spared no time in pulling from your core and rising up to press you back into the furs. Hands sliding underneath you to grasp at your ass, one handful roughly in each of his large hands as he licked his way into your mouth. Gifting you the taste he had taken from you over and over in the long time he kept you there.
Not pulling away enough to keep his lips from brushing against yours Jon rambled, “I'm bringing you home, alright? I promised you a son, and you promised me a daughter. So I'm bringing you home, darling. No matter what, we're coming home and we'll have as many as you want.” Nodding against him, you cupped both of his cheeks and surged back to seek his lips again.
Barley convincing himself to let go of your ass long enough to shift along you. Lining up his leaking, throbbing cock with the core he had soaked you to, Jon growled against your lips once more. “We didn't come back for this to be the end.”
Nodding, you cried out as soon as the burn stretched you. Sliding his thick cock deep inside of you, your walls tight and warm and knowing despite that you gave him no resistance from how utterly soaking you were. Muttering to his kiss, “I love you.”
Moving his hands, Jon once more pulled a thigh up to his hip, the other grasping at a hand in his hair and pushing it down beside your head. Interlocking his fingers with yours he gazed down at you with dark eyes. Your face twisted in a pleasure he could not look way from, as his own jaw clenched trying to keep himself together.
Sliding so smoothly in and out of you, Jons cock was so soaked that were you to hear it over your own breathless cries you'd have been embarrassed. Dragging slowly, you almost wanted to beg him to speed up, but the sheer prospect of it made you just as upset were he to change how gentle and slow he moved what so ever.
Keeping your eyes on his, something sensitive along your walls Jon moved against so steadily each time he thrusted slow back inside of you, dragging you back into a burning desire all over again but without the words to speak such a desperate language beyond begs of his name.
Nodding down at your need, Jon leaned back down to capture your lips. Murmuring between kisses to ramble, his own face twisting, jaw clenching and a groan wanting to leave his mouth each time he slid as deep as you could take him at a cruelly slow pace. “I love you so much.”
Biting your lip as a whine wanted to slip by, the twisting of a coil inside you so tight that it would snap in a single second at any point you felt your eyes sting at the pleasure his cock could only ever show you alone. “I'll always love you, I'm yours, gods I promise I'll always be yours..”
His hips sinking into you so deeply, both your bodies with a sheen of sweat not even from the fire, but he pressed his forehead to yours. Never allowing himself to go rougher, or pick up the pace he nodded against you before pulling himself up. Keeping your back flat, he let go of your hand to hold both your hips. Watching his cock at the slow speed sink deeply inside of your cunt, and each time as slow he pulled out of you and the amount you soaked his cock Jon closed his eyes rambling nothing but swears rough and harsh in his throat before looking back. Each drag of Jons cock inside and of you was as deep as he could sink and pulling out almost entirely but the tip before once more gliding back inside.
Never sped up, never got rougher, and it wasn't even lust in his eyes, almost a wonder as Jon watched his length disappear deep inside of you. As if even now, he could not believe this was his. But it was, and you wanted him to always take you exactly when and how he wished. You would hand your body over for his pleasure only if Jon had asked that of you, and you'd never fight him for it. You'd offer yourself up to be something to touch and fuck for his own need and he was the only man you'd beg to do to you as such.
But he wouldn't want you to say that, so you tried to gently match his pace, dropping his head and gripping your hips more firmly. It took a strain on his muscles to never change his gentle slow push inside of you, and how he almost regretted each time he came close to pulling out. “You're perfect darling, you've been so good for me..my perfect, beautiful wife..mother of my children..”
Jon did himself in, groaning with his head dropping and eyes sealing closed. Jons cock throbbed warm inside of you, but it was not too early nor late. Opening his eyes, Jon watched you with almost too innocent of eyes for what he was doing. Dragging you right along that line with him, you clenched around him just as Jon sunk as deep as he could inside of you. Covering your body with his and pressing his lips in need to yours, Jon finally let go as well.
Spilling his seed deep inside of you as you were so tight cumming around him, it was as if he couldn't leave your warm walls. Not that Jon wanted too, at all. Pouring his cum thick inside of you, he knew coming home was necessary. He needed this for the rest of his life, and not short either. He needed this for as long as he could and not a second sooner. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and curls he hid his face in your neck as soon as he moved from your lips as you leaned to hide in his hair.
Slow thrusts moving to nearly nothing but Jon never let up. His cock still so slow inside of you, making you shake and cry gently in his ear as much as he wanted to keep cumming inside of you.
Once more, Jon wasn't sure how long he was inside of you that night. But pressed against one another on the furs in his chamber in front of the fire? Neither of you could think a better way then to slowly take one another until sleep found you.
Jon only pulling out once you were asleep, and carrying you gently to the bed. As soon as he had climbed in beside you, you curled into his chest and his arms wrapped protectively around you. Unlike many times before, sleep found Jon easy. Relaxed in your embrace as you were nuzzled into his chest, neither of you for once, dreamed of any sort.
They had all debated if they agreed with it.
Arguing back and forth what they thought should truly be done and there was none who found such firm ways to think on it. Claims that the King and Queen in the North should stay in the North, but once more it could only be argued back that the it's the North all the same, he's the one who has been there and knows how to survive out there.
There were more crammed into that meeting hall then ever before to hear it, and the plans laid out but Jon gave no room to give the idea he could be convinced otherwise. “The answers don't lay here, it's out there. And it's waiting for us to come their way. But if we only stand here, don't do everything we can to protect our people, they'll come for us anyways. When dead men and worse come hunting for us in the night, is the King you want to stand by one who holes up in his castle? Hiding behind high walls as their army turns our homes into a graveyard?”
Whispers had begun to spread. They didn't have to like it, but they had to accept this was necessary. They had to accept that they named Jon their King, and a King does everything in his power to fight for his Kingdom. No matter the cost.
You would leave to Castle Black, Jon knew the best of paths from there and he made it clear to everyone in that meeting hall once the tunnel was closed behind him, none were to follow for any reason. “If I bring an army at my back, they'll fight us like an army. And we cannot afford that, not anymore. I need all of you here, protecting the ones you love. Not dying beyond the Wall where your bodies will be burned and left behind.” Your name coming confident from his mouth, you had stood by him as sure as he and they all needed you too. “We will find the answers beyond the Wall ourselves, not sending out people into their deaths to do it for us. And I will find my little brother, and your children too. Meera and Jojen Reed, Brandon Stark, wherever they are, we will find them and bring them home too.”
By the time you had reached Castle Black, it had been nowhere near the week long scramble to escape the last time had been. Hardly any had come, but the spectacle in the courtyard of was loud and busy as things were swiftly prepared. It was Tormunds home you were venturing into, and he was the last to see you both off with a goodbye.
The North had pled that they needed their King, but as you both walked through to where the tunnel's gate awaited to rise, you both had the confidence they needed to see regardless of what end this path led too.
They wanted their King and Queen with them in the North, Jon and you wanted to be home together to start a true family as you scarcely dreamed of having, but the white cold was approaching, and the dead with would ride with it. Jon had put it in the perfect terms to his people, regardless of wants and fears of what you were leaving behind.
He said it exactly as Jeor Mormont once said it to him, because the Old Bear was never more right about it, then now. “I will not stand meekly by and wait for the snows.”
Jon had gone to see his father, and perhaps the last time, see the mother he never had a chance to know. She had watched over him his whole life here, but she couldn't now, and Jon had to hope she knew at the least, however much she loved him in the short time they had with each other, he'd never forget the short time as a man he's known he was her son. A final goodbye to Rickon resting peacefully by their father, Jon had said goodbye to him too.
Jon wasn't a man of many words, but he hoped Eddard Stark understood, he was still now and forever, the only father Jon had, wanted or needed.
You nor Jon knew when you would come back, or what you would even find once you reached the heart of winter the Others called from. But you would find out one way or another, be it peace or death, you would find out. Your purpose was Jon, but Jons was his people. And a King did everything in his power to protect his people regardless of his life, or yours. Both of you on a horse, and standing tall beside Jon with Ghost doing the same. Follow Jon to whatever ends this led.
The tunnel gates opened, and you, Ghost, and the White Wolf by your side, finally did not look back.
#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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I’ve been rereading Game of Thrones during my doctor waiting room times, and recently I came across this bit:
She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo's copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash.
I wondered if it might foreshadow Dany witnessing or causing Aegon/Young Griff to burn to death in the fight for the throne. Presumably Aegon/Young Griff would have darker skin from his Dornish heritage, and silver hair once the blue dye is washed out. What are your thoughts ?
I do think you are on to something there, and that the image of the burning heart in particular underlines the parallel to Stannis and his Azor Ahai prophecy (of the steel-tempering heart). There is a continuum of familial murder in Stannis' story. He kills his brother, he would have killed his nephew, he will kill his child. All under his banner of the flaming heart.
Dany is only a bystander in her brother's death, and her son's life wasn't intentionally traded - but still within this dream you quote she finds herself already moving past this grief on her path toward her dragon identity, urged on by her silver-haired ancestors.
She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin.
"… want to wake the dragon …"
Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. "Faster," they cried, "faster, faster." She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. "Faster!" the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew. [...]
Dany released her wrist. My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had known somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui's tears. No, she had known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame.
She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet … she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as if he had never been.
Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon's eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange.
(AGOT, Daenerys IX)
Dany has lost her brother and her son, but we know what she clings to above all. She always tells us.
The copper-skinned lord shows up again in the HOTU prophecy.
Then phantoms shivered through the murk, images in indigo. Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name. . . . mother of dragons, daughter of death . . . Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies . . . Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . .
(ACOK, Daenerys IV)
This entire passage is brimming with imagery related to false promises and prophecies leading her family members to doom. (I count Stannis among them.) The people cheer the cloth dragon but the real thing is a portent of death and destruction, kinslaying and self-destruction.
That copper-skinned lord relating to Rhaego alone doesn't feel very satisfying when we know he would have never looked like this. He was deformed in the same way many Targaryen stillborn babies were, blind and winged and scaled. Aegon is unlikely to look specifically copper-skinned, but he is bound to cut an impressive figure in the same way she imagines Rhaegar to do. She imagined her son would. He who could bebher family but will be her rival.
Whether this image specifically represents Aegon, as the hypothetical true heir Dany will want out of the way, or some idealized sense of Targaryen conquest, he is destroyed from within by the same flames Dany feels inside herself. In the context of the Dance of Dragons, of the Baratheon line and Stannis destruction of it, the fate of her brother and son, the burning city - and because GRRM already repeated it to keep it in our minds - I do think it's likely to come back in her confrontation with Aegon.
Who else could make this image come to life?
#anti daenerys targaryen#asoiaf speculation#rhaego#aegon vi targaryen#kinslaying#fire imagery#stannis baratheon#parallels
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angsty blurb w/Trevor🤭
you asked and you shall receive…
─ warnings | angsty asf, don’t say i didn’t warn ya! cheating, trevor is a fraternity ASSHOLE, just mean ass shit
you’d heard the stories about trevor but you’d chose to ignore them — and now, tears streaming down your eyes you really wish you hadn’t. giving him the benefit of the doubt multiple times after he’d shown you exactly who he really was, trying to ignore the warning signs.
as you sat there on his couch, tears cascading down my cheeks, you replayed every moment, every warning sign you had chosen to ignore. it started with little things, subtle remarks that cut deeper than they should have. each time, you brushed them off, convinced that beneath his rough exterior lay a heart of gold. the lies, oh the lies! they wove a web so intricate, so deceptive, that you found yourself trapped before you had even realized. he promised change, redemption, but now you realized it was all just another layer of deceit.
"her, trevor?" your voice came out quiet but fuming. "her?"
she was the complete opposite of you — looks, personality and everything else. and yet, despite the glaring differences between you, trevor had chose her. the realization cut like a knife through your already wounded heart. how could he betray you with someone so unlike you in every aspect?
her presence haunted you, her image etched into your mind like a scar you couldn't erase. you couldn't help but compare yourself to her, picking apart every flaw that made you feel inferior in trevor's eyes.
"i-i didn't mean for it to happen," he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation. "it was a mistake, i swear. you know you're the one i love."
"you don't fuck other people when you're in love, trevor!" you shouted, your voice coming out shaky as you watched his expression change from emotional to slightly agitated, as if you were the one who was inconveniencing him.
"come on, don't be so dramatic," he scoffed, his voice laced with contempt. "it was just a mistake. you're blowing this way out of proportion."
his words hit you like a slap in the face, his lack of remorse fueling the fire of your anger but also deepening the wound. how dare he dismiss your pain so callously, as if his infidelity was something trivial?
"you did it more than once, trevor. you're a fucking traitor," your voice broke as you spoke, feeling all the emotions from the last 8 months come down on you. how did something so perfect, become something so terrible?
eight months of love, laughter, and shared dreams now felt like a cruel joke. the memories of happiness now tainted by the bitter taste of betrayal.
his expression remained indifferent, as if your pain meant nothing to him. it was a cruel realization that he was never the person you thought he was. the man you loved had been nothing but a facade, a mask hiding the true nature of his deceitful character.
with a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, meeting his gaze with determination. "i'm done, trevor," you declared, each word dripping with finality.
"oh trust me, you'll be back. like you always do," trevor's voice came out so bitter, you almost didn't recognize him. is that all you were to him? a mug, a girl who always came back? who was always there?
for a moment, doubt threatened to creep in, whispering its insidious lies in the nooks of your mind. had you really been so blind, so naive to believe in his empty promises over and over again?
but then, something inside you shifted. anger surged forth, fueling the flames. you refused to be reduced to a mere afterthought, a pawn in his selfish games.
"no, i won't," you countered, your voice firm. "i won't be, i deserve more than being treated like an option, like a backup plan for when it's convenient for you."
with that, you turned away, leaving trevor standing there, his words hanging in the air like a bitter echo.
↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !
↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡
#nhl imagine#nhl#nhl fic#hockey#nhl fanfiction#nhl oneshot#hockey fic#trevor zegras#trevor#trevor zegras fluff#trevor zegras imagine#trevor zegras imagines#trevor zegras fic#trevor z#trevor zegras x reader#trevor zegras x oc#trevor zegras x y/n#trevor zegras smut#hockey imagine#nhl hockey
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Dukeceit Week (spicy edition) day 3 Puppy Play/Knife Play
It ain't a party with Brains until I bust out the blood and gore!
Image ID under cut.
[ID: An illustration of Remus and Janus from Sanders Sides. Janus is spooning Remus from behind, with his chin resting on Remus' left shoulder and a sly smile on his face. Janus' right hand is cupped against Remus' ribs, his left hand holding a dagger with a gold-snake designed hilt. The dagger blade is soaked in blood. Remus' mouth is wide open in a smile, his long tongue hanging out and dug into the dagger. The tongue is split halfway down the blade. Remus's expression is one of ecstasy. They are both in their canon outfits, sans Janus' bowler hat.
The only colours are the respective yellow and green from the canon outfits, and the red from the blood. The skin and hair are coloured grey. Janus and Remus are inside of a cartoon heart, coloured with a pale green-yellow gradient.
End ID]
@imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper
#Sanders Sides#Janus Sanders#Remus Sanders#dukeceit#dukeceit week#demus#Fanart#this was my plan to lure in people with silly art and then BAM hit 'em with the gore /j#ngl tho I really love how this turned out? like considering the deadline I had on this#I drew-lined-coloured it all today ON TOP OF having work and a writers group meeting as well#well done me#anyways its half past midnight i'm off to bed#blood#gore#guro
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Lacking
Gator Tillman x Fem Reader
7:29
A/N: This is because @dr-aculaaa has basically become a co-writer on this. I keep dropping my HC’s in their DM’s and they keep dropping their own so here we are, a shared dream ❤️
Warnings: Sex, back at it again with the knife play, male masturbation
18+ NSFW No Minors Allowed
The girls at Dottie’s know you. Mostly from your multiple midnight pickups of some idiot brother causing problems, but also because of Roy.
Everything ties back to Roy.
When you roll up outside the bouncer lets you in and the wall of multiple perfumes assaults you before the neon pink lights can. In the lounge area a few girls you recognize mingle, barely clothed, and one of them, Julie, waves at you.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in here alone, babydoll.” She grins and pushes her blonde hair back with a single talon tipped finger, but she’s just as dangerous as the over stuffed heart pillow next her.
“Uh, no. I mean, no offense I’m just looking for Gator.” You shove your hands in your pockets and only have a slight moment of doubt. You knew you were coming in here tonight so you’d ditched the work clothes. That leaves you with jeans, a plain t-shirt, and your ‘nice’ Carhart jacket. Only your finest for the Midwests biggest sulk.
“Gator?” The blonde tucks her sheer robe around her and leans forward, eyebrows shooting up.
“Yeah.”
“You owe him money or something?” She continues to sound surprised and you wonder if he’s ever had a visitor.
“No, I just need to talk to him. Business stuff.”
“Business stuff.”
“Roy stuff.” That makes her go quiet. One of the other girls points down the hallway ahead of you.
“He’s at the very end, last door on the left.” She doesn’t look you in the eye. In fact all the girls seem to have found somewhere else to look while you unzip your jacket and head off to his room.
You’d found out where he was staying from Donny, problem brother number 4. His frequent trips to the bunny ranch had given him a few glimpses of Gator coming and going.
“I don’t even think he’s fucking any of them.” Donny tells you over the roof of the car you’re working on. He stopped helping you get this front seat out the minute you’d asked your question.
“Okay.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?” He sounds concerned and you roll your eyes. He’s never cared about your life before, why now when you ask about some southern interloper.
“Why?”
“Aren’t you two like, a thing?” He says it too casual and you know he’s gathering intel. You know brothers 1 through 3 are standing in the office, just waiting on him to run in and spill it.
You just huff and throw a wrench at him. “Don’t you have some crayons to chew?”
His door looks like all the other doors in the hallway, minus a gold number on top of a red heart. His also has locks on the outside, which gives you an incredible image of some poor idiot mistaking his room for one of the girls. You chuckle to yourself and knock; a pause and there’s no answer, another round this time louder. You heard a scuff of something behind the door so you know he’s in there.
“Gator?” Another knock, still no answer. “Gator it’s me.” He’d know your voice. It should make him open the door and give you that disgruntled stare. He should open it and ask you just what the fuck you’re doing there.
He probably would if he could hear you though.
Through the crackled music in the hallway and a heavy front door, through a bedroom door and a pair of noise cancelling headphones he couldn’t hear a bomb go off if he wanted to. Slouched down in a small armchair, his attention focused solely on his phone, he doesn’t hear you.
He’s been too busy switching between videos on pornhub for an hour, none of them right. He does see the humor in the situation of looking up fucking porn here. Living where he lives, surrounded by girls making a living, but none of them spark a single feeling. They’re all fake nails and too much perfume and bleached hair and unmarked skin unnaturally smooth. If nothing else they give him a headache a mile wide with their incessant need to fill the silence, something he desperately craves.
Something he isn’t finding in these videos.
These women will laugh but it’s high pitched and giggly. They moan and sigh but it’s forced, and if he ventures into anything rough it’s staged and over the top and he looses any urge to jerk off. He’s on the verge of just saying fuck it. Of pulling up his shorts and climbing into bed but he keeps scrolling mindlessly, still looking for something that reminds him of you.
He won’t find it, he never does. He’ll settle on something finally and just mute the video to watch it passively while his mind wanders in the silence created by those headphones.
Lucky for him, you’ve gotten his front door open. The locks aren’t complicated, just enough to keep everyone else out but apparently you have a knack for picking them. The door swings slowly open into a darkened, smallish apartment. It’s a kitchenette and a place to put a couch and two closed doors on either side of the room. Of course it’s spartan and small, you expect nothing else. When you close the door quietly you hear that scuffing again behind the second door and decide that must be his room. You want to snoop and see if he’s hidden any part of his personality away in the few pieces of furniture but a heavy sigh makes you move faster across the small space.
“Gator?” You ask at the door before you twist the nob, fully aware that he could and would pull a gun on an intruder. While that doesn’t scare you like it should, you aren’t in that kind of mood tonight.
His back to the door is what catches you off guard. The blue glow of his phone screen clashing against the red light seeping in from the neon sign outside highlights his face in pretty hues but that’s not what stops you in your tracks. The scuffing of the chair moving back against the floor slightly, his shoulder moving rhythmically, the huff of air he lets out. You hover behind him and watch the woman on the screen frantically ride a faceless man and you laugh. A light thing, almost all breath but you make a sound he doesn’t react to. “Oh Gator, what are you up to?” You ask lowly and he still doesn’t react. You keep your distance but tilt your head and see his eyes screwed shut. You glance at his lap and his big hand fists his big cock and you make up your mind.
Jacket dropped on the floor and pocket knife out you stand directly behind and when he lifts his head, sensing a body behind him, you lean against him and press the spine of the blade against his throat. He jumps and drops his phone, hands immediately up and open showing he’s not holding anything.
“Caught you lackin’, didn’t I?” You whisper next to his head when you pull an earbud out and toss it on the bed.
“What the fuck?!” He hisses at you. Recognizes your voice but when he tries to turn and stand you tighten you grip around his throat.
“Nope. You get to stay put.” You lick his cheek and he flinches at the sudden wetness. “Aren’t you supposed to have eyes on exits?” You tease, blade digging into the side of his neck.
“Did you fucking break in?”
“Only because you didn’t answer. I see why.” With your free hand you tilt his head back to look up at you. “Busy boy.” He swallows and you see his cock twitch out of the corner of your eye. “Don’t stop on account of me, that video looked thrilling.”
“I wasn’t even watching it.”
“I know. Didn’t like what you saw?” Your free hand leaves his jaw to wander down under the collar of his black tee, his chest hair soft under your cold fingers, his tags clinking softly under the cotton.
“No.”
“Well use your imagination Gator. Keep going.”
“I’m not-“
“You’re not what?” You cut him off with a hard press of metal. He still hasn’t figured out it’s not the sharp side of the blade and he sucks in a gasp. “Not gonna do it?” His eyes slip shut and he keeps his head tilted back into your stomach. “I really think you should.”
His hands drop to his thighs but he doesn’t move to touch himself again. You sigh.
“Do you need help?” You twist the knife so the flat of the blade makes contact and he tenses. Leaning down you grab his hand and wrap both around his cock, still hard and hot under your touch. “Same thing you were doing.” You say it like he should know better. You let go and your hand rest on his stomach, your lips on his ear to whisper at him. “What do you think about?”
“Fucking.” He says with a single huff of laughter.
“Me?” Your fingers gather the hem of his shirt and dance along the hard plane of his stomach where it flexes under your touch and his hand moves haltingly up once. “I think about you.” Your hand moves up further and his moves in time, a slow drag of his curled fingers over his hardened length. From the corner of your eye you can see his eyes are open to the darkened ceiling, head tilted back and jaw flexing next to your head. He’s holding himself back for some reason. “I think about you in my room. I think about you holding me down and about you ignoring your phone.” You press a kiss to his ticking jaw. “I like thinking about keeping you in there.”
He hums deep and picks up the pace of his hand and you watch him move. You push his shirt up to his chest where you can slide your fingers through the thick hair there and it earns you a contented sound from him. Where your face presses into his jaw it creates a stamp of heat that you want to lick. Your tongue follows up from the tip of your knife to that heated patch of skin and you can feel the shiver under your hand laid against his chest.
“Do you think about me hurting you?” You ask wetly against his cheek while you give a slight press of your place against his pale throat.
“S-sometimes.” He stutters and circles his hand around the head of his cock, smearing precum on the stroke down. You tuck your head into his neck while your mouth waters at the sight and the end of the blade tickles your cheek. Gator lets out short quiet breaths, little huffs around his stream of curses. His heart beats faster under your palm, your fingers rubbing circles into his pec like you’re trying to sooth him. “Only sometimes?”
He nods once and squeezes his eyes shut, a long aching groan from his chest when he bucks up into his fist, his left hand coming up to grab tightly at the back of your neck.
“Come on Gator.” You mumble into his neck, watching him grip his cock harder, faster. “Who else do you think about?” You know the answer, you just want to hear him say it. He’s getting lost in you wrapped around him and the metal against his neck and your whispering in his ear. He grunts and tugs on the back of your neck when you go to pull back. “Tell me. Who else?” You get out of his grip and fully stand, his hand hooking into your shirt to twist the cotton around his thick knuckles. You can hear the quiet desperation when he finds his voice amid the haze.
“No one.”
“Good.” You toss the knife so you can lace your fingers over his throat. You cradle his head back, thumbs behind his ears, and hold him still while his hand pumps faster. His eyes snap open, pupils blown out while he stares up at you grinning down at him. Watching him unfold below you keeps you transfixed on his stare, on his jaw going slack, on his lips parting, on the hitching gasps rushed up and over your face. You keep his head pressed into you while he cums white hot lines up his chest, staining the edge of his black t-shirt. His body tenses and relaxes and his head stays pressed hard into your stomach, eyes wide and clear while he groans on the last of his release.
“Good boy.” You tell him, breathless. An errant finger running lightly up and down the underside of his chin. His chest rises and falls fast and his hand drops from his softening cock to lay on his thigh. You keep him between your hands for a moment too long probably but you can’t help the tightness the slinks it’s way around your ribs. It coils along each one and makes your breathing shallow and you hope he isn’t aware enough yet to see the change in your gaze.
His head drops when you take a step back and let him go with a chuckle but his hand fisted in your shirt keeps you in his reach. “Where do you think you’re going?” He says in a quiet voice, warning on the edge of it. You laugh and tug back but he’s got his whole fist in the shirt now. He twists around in the chair to look at you over his right shoulder and you watch the sticky spend on his stomach smear on his arm still laying on his thigh. The neon red that bleeds through his blinds catches his eyes and makes them shine in the dark. “You got a fuckin’ mess to clean up.”
Wind rattles the window for second and you sigh thinking about having to drive home in falling snow again. You can hear the shower still running through the thin wall, surprised you can’t hear Gator still grumbling about having to take a second one tonight. For all of his ornery slamming of drawers looking for a new shirt he still asked if you wanted to join him. Tucked up in the corner of bed against the wall, phone balanced on your knees you shook your head silently.
Now you kind of wish you had, the sticky feeling of sweat and saliva laying thick on you. Your neck throbs where he laid his teeth on you after you cleaned him up, your lips swollen from him kissing you too hard. Your hands ache from the grip you had on his hair while he laid between your thighs, and those sting from his big palms coming down on them when you’d clamp them around his head.
You continue to scroll through your messages, even after the shower stops and you hear him rummaging around. You haven’t bothered to get dressed yet, still wound up in the sheets and comforter. He pauses when he walks back in, wet hair slicked back against his head.
“You’re still here.” You expect disappointment but instead get mild surprise.
“I can fuck off if you’d like?” You offer and he averts his gaze and shrugs. “Then what do you want?” A challenge then, since all he does is shrug at you.
“I don’t care! Fuckin’…stay there if you want.” He gestures at you and looks around at his floor. “It started snowing so you can drive in that shit if you want.” He finds his phone kicked under the bed and bends to get it, tossing it and your knife you’d dropped on the mattress. Your phone lights up again, another message from a bothersome brother asking where you are that you ignore.
“I’d like to stay.” Those snakes that slither along your ribs and coil when you think of him almost purr at your confession. Your phone lights up again and before you can turn to look he’s snatched it up, wide hand swallowing the display before he tosses it on the chair.
“Okay.” He grabs his own phone and looks at the screen once before he scoffs and throws it to join yours. Wordlessly he pulls at the bedding to get it straight again and you follow, the chill quick on your skin, but Gator stops you. A hand under your arm to pull you into the middle of the bed before he climbs over and drops onto you without warning, your breath rushing out of you when his heavy frame pins you to the mattress. He yanks the covers over you and nestles his head into your chest again, a repeat of your own room and you wonder what kind of beat your heart hammers into his ear. He pulls at your hand until you get the idea and let your fingers tangle into his damp locks, the movement pushing up his clean scent. He nuzzles deeper while you watch the shadow of snow on the wall, his slowing breathing lulling you into a strange feeling of safety you rarely feel.
It all ties back to Roy because Roy owns everything. Dottie’s should be called Roy’s because those girls belong to him the same way Gator belongs to him.
Well, maybe not exact.
Julie had let him know as soon as you’d walked down the hallway that you’d shown up, just the same as your second eldest brother had let him know when you left the house an hour earlier. Roy has fingers in every pie in every windowsill of this shitty little town. He’s known about you, but he didn’t know you and really that’s his fault, he’ll own it. He’d told Gator to get some strange to try and work of that excess fury, he’d had no idea the two of you had been cut from the exact same cloth though. The bias and weight, the same fucking blend.
So he sits in the parking lot of the whore house he owns, with the people he owns inside while you interlope in a bed that he owns. And if he has to wait all night he will, just so he can spot the look on his boys face first thing in the morning when he’s realized what kind of earth shattering mistake he’s made.
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Snow and Dirty Rain (Merlin)
Richard Silken, "Snow and Dirty Rain" // BBC Merlin
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
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it's finally here! the fourth and final part!!!
this one was hard, I had the most trouble with the last three pictures. I really wanted to include Elena and Mithian as well as Geoffrey, but they just... didn't really fit. it was objectively awful. sorry for that. so I reached out to @shana-rosee , and they threw me a few ideas! it was their call to have Geoffrey last - and they might not have realized it, but it turned out great for the symbolism, as I'll point out below. so thank you for that! (/gen) but yeah, today it was just bugging me and I NEEDED to get it done, and I think it turned out pretty good!
so the first image is alluding to part 3, where the line "if this isn't a kingdom, i don't know what is" is assigned to Arthur. for "the hunter's heart" I had the unicorn horn, because it showed that Arthur was pure of heart. for "the hunter's mouth" I had Leon, (yay! Leon!) because he's Arthur's advisor, and speaks for him.
I was DETERMINED to get Leon, Hunith, and Gaius in this one, and I'm so glad I did.
Tristan and Isolde have their line to represent, honestly, what they did in the show - a reflection of Merlin and Arthur, and how their great love (filled with magic, secrets, and war), ends in tragedy.
Hunith and Gaius are there to represent "the space between the trees", as they are Merlin's sanctuary, his parental figures, the ones who know about his magic and love him - not in spite of, but for it. and of course I had to have Gaius casting a spell for the gold line!
for the last three, it got a little complicated, but I figured it out.
for "the words frozen," I did the moment that Arthur and Merlin became officially forever connected - when Uther assigned Merlin as Arthur's servant after he saved his life. the knife in the throne, the speechless moment that followed.
for "the creatures frozen.", I had the most difficult time with. Shana suggested the Lamia, which was a great idea, but I didn't think that it quite fit with the rest. so instead, I did Dragoon at Camlann. that lightning is the moment that even a fraction of Merlin's true power is shown. Dragoon is representative of Merlin being allowed to be his true self, and the consequences that come with it. Merlin can literally freeze creatures using his words - a la spells, or, more fitting, dragonspeak. people also freeze in terror or awe at the very mention of the name Emrys. so yeah, I think it worked out quite well!
and lastly, for "Explaining will get us nowhere." as i said, Shana suggested Geoffrey here, likely because of his love of the library. that reason was actually why I considered putting him under "the words frozen," but I realized putting him last was much better. why?
well, because Geoffrey of Monmouth was a real person. who, you ask, exactly is he? well, just "one of the major figures in the development of British historiography and the popularity of tales of King Arthur." yeah, in case you didn't know, Geoffrey the record keeper in BBC Merlin was an allusion to the man who helped carry Arthur's tale throughout the years.
so, why "explaining will get us nowhere?" well, because, if you accept BBC's Merlin as the true canon, then Geoffrey recorded it wrong! lol.
(in line with this, if you haven't read it already, go read @katherynefromphilly 's We Begin Again series. it's absolutely incredible, well worth the long read, and will leave you wanting more! in a good way, I promise. in it, Merlin in the present day goes out of his way to fix everything history got wrong, and it's incredible. also I distinctly remember there being fish in little pond things indoors, which was a super cute detail.)
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so, that's the last of my Snow and Dirty Rain/Merlin series. I went a little overboard explaining things, but it was just so fun finding and linking the symbolism!! I hope you all enjoyed!
(p.s. I'm planning to make more of Snow and Dirty Rain, but with twelveclara/whouffaldi from Doctor Who. if you're interested in that or other things I make, check out my richard siken or original post tags in my blog.)
#bbc merlin#original post#richard siken#poetry#merlin#arthur#arthur pendragon#merlin emrys#dragoon#dragoon the great#leon#leon the long suffering#sir leon the long suffering#tristan and isolde#hunith#gaius#merthur#geoffrey#geoffrey of monmouth#snow and dirty rain#I'm sorry I didn't include you elena and mithian#I love you I promise#content creator#sort of#we begin again#love that fic sm
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