#she then embraced sweet death as if she were a ghost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fioiswriting · 6 months

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Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew.

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded. He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt. It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation. A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges. And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled. Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger.

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders. Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it. He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own.

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell. Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost. King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you. Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you."

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor. You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back. It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you.

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead. It must have been your imagination. You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest. Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen.

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears.

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets. And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company.

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal. You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead.

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly.

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway.

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him. You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be. You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't."

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs.

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you. You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin. Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall. Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself - but you can't help feeling your heart clench. You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time.

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him. A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly. Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind. A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy. Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips.

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion. You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you.

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit. He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely.

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion.

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly.

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience.

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps.

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you.

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him. He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence. You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious.

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching.

He doesn't let go of you.

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him. It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his.

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you.

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him. You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow.

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other. Your hands are buried in his long silver hair. You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet?

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress.

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices.

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body.

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry. You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable.

You need him.

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears. You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him. It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you.

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting. For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness.

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you. You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy.

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth. You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie. You know you should lie. To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years. You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not."

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips.

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye. It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words. You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath.

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe. It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity. Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know."

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him.

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him. You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up.

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know." Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence. He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions.

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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undercover-smutlover · 7 months

Text

Captain John Price...🏷️

main masterlist📌

*·˚Don’t forget to reblog, follow, like, and comment on the authors’ or artists’ pages. Show them some love!

*·˚Broken link or @? Pop a note in the comments or my ask box.

Works by @miniwheat77

Sweet: Price is harsh on y/n until a mission goes sideways

Sensitive: The only person reader can confide in is her captain

Maneater + Gaz: Reader is a mechanic on base who takes a break with the boys

Give ’em hell Pt.1: Reader and Price are exposed to a weird chemical

Give ’em hell Pt.2: Repercussions of the weird chemical

Red Lipstick: Reader and Price keep one another company

Works by @captainfern

Lake Of Fire: Price isn’t happy about working with another team

Heart-Shaped Box Pt.1: You help Price feel better

Serve the Servants P.2 + Ghost: The aftermath involving Ghost

Breed: You and Price meet up off base

Marigold Pt.1: Price asks you to meet him upstairs

Marigold Pt.2: Crying becaouse you missed him

Works by @halcyone-of-the-sea

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam: Fisherman Price meets an unexpected person

Our Remains: You are hiding something big from John

Lions and Ibexes: Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

Works by @thanksbutno98

No Wandering Around: You go to work with John

Flash Drive: Erotic folder

Works by @xyziiix

ARDOUR: He could already hear the pleading edge in your voice

Three Is A Crowd: Well your Captain always liked proving you wrong

Price Eating You Out by @catsnkooks: Too blissed out to notice a guest

Civillian Reader Is Hurt by @lvlyghost: She believed he would save her. And that was enough

Jealous by @stormiwaves: “I like it when you’re jealous”

Angel of Small Death Pt.1 by @whynot-tryit: Price hires a team medic

Not Meant to Be Here, But Glad You Are by @paranoid-borderline-insane: You need to remember all the tips John gave you to survive

Breaking and Entering Pt.1 and Reprieve Pt.2 by @sprout-fics: No place safer in the world than with him

Doll by @blingblong55: It started as innocent stares

No Hero, Just Me by @firsttimewriter92: Price rescues reader from an abduction

Duty Over Heart by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world: Your lives were forever changed afterwards

Million Dollar Man by @qilinxingg: John gave a satisfied smile as his arms tightened around your small body

Price’s Young Housewife by @moongreenlight: Weekly manicures and pedicures that he’s put his card on file for

My Girls by @bearieio: happy just being able to share moments with your 3 favorite people

Hell on Earth by @ghostlywhiskey: His demeanor and lack of response to your attitude caught you off guard

Designer Dress by @halfmoth-halfman: You can’t think of a better place to start your new life

I Think I Might’ve Inhaled You by @agentmarvel: It eats at him daily, knowing his own indecisiveness is the root of anguish for both of you

Nobody Does It Like You Do by @bunnyreaper: In his embrace, firm and reassuring, you might actually believe him

Spread Your Wings by @crashandlivewrites: “Besides, I find my scene partner enjoys it more when there’s a lot more sensual physical contact involved.”

Mafia!Price x Assistant!Reader by @charliemwrites: In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of colour and delicacy in his world

A Warm Heart by @flowermiist: That clicks in John’s head, it really was you and he was almost amused to say the least.

He Opens the Mail and Part 2 by @the-californicationist: It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby.

Soulmate AU Part 1 by @shotmrmiller: your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

#undercover-smutlover #call of duty #modern warfare #cod smut #task force 141 #captain #captain price #john price #captain john price #favorite fics #smut

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yippeerrrs · 10 months

Note

PLEASEEE🙏🙏 DO A PART TWO OF THE READERXGHOSTXKONIG

"I'm here for you."

Pt. 2 of "i'm sorry"

I was waiting for my ipad but i just got this idea and i dont wanna put it to waste 😭😭

As you bump into simon, könig catches you, holding you tight. You notice his eyes are watery and that he's about to cry, you scoff.

"we're done könig."

You stand up, noticing simon you give him a weak smile and walk again. Konig is a mess behind you, he was hurt. He felt so many emotions passting through him. He truly was sorry, it took him everything to not break down in the middle of the base right there and then. He quietly gets up and everyone who was looking at your outburst moves to make way for the giant. Ghost stood there, dumbfounded and concerned.

Ghost went to könig's office, obviously curious and concerned.

"What happened back there?"

Ghost looks around the room, noticing it was dark and he could hear sniffling in the corner, where he saw könig crying.

"You alright mate?"

He asks, concern in his voice.

"i fucked up, ghost."

Ghost sits next to him, comforting him the best he can.

"There's plenty of fish in the sea colonel, you'll find some-"

Konig cuts him off, clearly irritated.

"There's no one better. I fucked up, she gave me a chance and i fucked up."

They sit there in silence for a while, ghost awkwardly trying his best to comfort konig.

You were pissed. You drove back home, fighting back your tears. He wasnt worth it. No. He was, but if he chose to cheat on you like that, sober. It was just not worth it.

You sobbed and banged your head on the steering wheel in a red light, you were angry, pissed. You trusted him, you were there for him in his lowest.

It suddenly started raining, hard. The pit pattering of the raindrops on your car muffling your cries. The light had turned green-- or so you thought. You drove through a red light and BAM! a speeding truck hit your side of the car and knocked you out.

There you were, dying. Ironically like the ones in the movies where the wife dies first, you chuckle as your memories pass by.

---

One, König holding up a chocolate bar so you wouldn't reach it, laughing at your desparate attempts on trying to grab it.

Two, movie night with konig after he was too tired to do anything after his mission, you two cuddled together and just enjoyed eachother's company while watching a barbie movie.

Three, König dropping all of his shields after you confessed to him, crying in your arms.

"Really? Meine liebe.. i'll be here for you forever, i won't ever betray you"

He whispered in your ear between sobs of happiness. You always thought if you were to die you'd die in his arms, and yet here you are. Dying alone.

"I'm sorry könig.."

You whispered in staggered breaths, finally letting yourself feel the embrace of sweet death.

"Would you really let her go just like that?!"

Simon hissed, slapping könig. König looked at him, fonally realizing what he had just done. He grabs his keys and starts to sprint to his car, planning to apologize. Simon following him close behind, Simon was also very concerned about you- worried even, you two had been best friends ever since you met, you had helped him through his worst times. He had a crush on you but the way he saw you look at könig.. he had to push it away to be a good friend for you, doing anything to keep you happy.

Konig drives off with simon, stopping by and buying flowers for you even. When he reached your house, his heart stopped. There were police cars and sirens. He went out in the rain, leaving the flowers in the car as he went to ask for an officer what was happening. But before he could ask the police turns around and asks him a question that gives his gut a feeling that it wasn't a good sign.

"Do you know the person who lives here?"

He nods, worried.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you König?"

He nods again, suspicion raising.

"She's in the hospital, i suggest checking up on her now."

König's heart drops, rushing back to the car even though soaking wet- he drives over the speed limit and gets to the nearby hospital, startling ghost.

"Woah mate calm down! What's wrong?"

The moment they park and ghost sees where they are, he gets the idea. Both of them feeling their heart pumping a little too much, scared. They go into the hospital, rushing to your bedside. König grabs your cold hand, his tears falling down.

"I'm so sorry.. im so so sorry shatz"

As simon sees the situation, he loses it all. He's pissed and he knows who to blame, whose fault this was. Who fucked up. This was when he snapped, losing all of his cool, he pushes könig.

"Why?! WAS SHE NOT GOOD ENOUGH?!"

Simon yells, angry tears falling and his mask drying it up. König stays quiet, knowing it was in fact his fault, his fault this happened, his fault he messed up, everything was his fault. He sits down next to your hospital bed and caresses your hair gently.

"I could've treated her better. You promised nothing would happen to her."

Simon's fists roll up as he looks down, tears falling as he finally let the reality of all of this happening. Before he could pounce on könig a doctor comes in, informing them that you had a miscarriage. The crash had taken your baby's life. But not yours, you had a chance to live still, they calculated that you would have to stay in the hospital for a couple weeks until they could let you go.

Simon was dumbfounded, confusion and anger on his face. As soon as the doctor left he walked over to könig, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

"You got her pregnant then cheated on her?!"

"I can explain!"

Simon scoffs, letting go of könig.

"Go ahead, explain."

Silence fills the room as könig looks away, not having an explanation for everything. Simon chuckles, still pissed.

"Get out."

"What?.."

"Did you not hear me?"

Ghost leans in, pissed.

"Get. Out."

König sighs, he looks at your unconscious body with tears in his eyes, mumbling an apology under his breath before going out of the room.

Ghost sits down beside you, holding your hand oh so lovingly as he wipes his tears and pulls you close for a hug, making sure you're alright.

"I'm here for you"

---

A/N

Okay i srs tried my best i gave up because damn this is wayy too cheezy and corny for me bye (end my life) please tell me how to write omfg.

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madschiavelique · 3 months

Text

⚝﹒𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬﹒⚝

⚝﹒author's note : just wanted to write a soft thing about frank meeting a dreamy reader and being in love

⚝﹒contents warning : mentions of blood, death (frank's past), mostly fluff though, afab reader, no use of y/n

⚝﹒word count : 1768

When you live in a world where nightmares haunt you, it’s hard to find the time to chase after your dreams.

They tormented Frank, these ghosts of the past. The dead, the deaths that piled up like an ugly heap, a scarlet stack of glassy eyes bleached white by the lack of a soul.

Their warm, sticky blood stuck to his fingers. No matter how many times he washed them, how hard he scrubbed his own skin, how hot he turned the water on; he would never feel clean.

All those times he came home, covered in the coppery smell of carmine liquid, he waited for the shower like a saving goddess. She would take him in her hot arms, the steam enveloping him in that reassuring mist like a mother's embrace.

The water cuddled him, caressing his body drop by drop, leaving a crimson river running down his skin and escaping into the black hole of the tub.

She reassured him, whispering in his ear the sweet words that could come from the pearls of purity and insouciance. But there were times where she'd come down on him like a storm.

And when he lay there, in his miserable bed, and the pouring rain came beating against the glass of his window, he couldn't sleep.

Because when you've learnt Morse code and used it enough times in your life to read it, write it, listen to it and understand it, even the rain screams at you to run.

He had lived a life, and he had taken more of them than he would live again later in the meanders of time. Would he ever find the strength to forgive himself? He had already found it, somewhere, somehow.

Would he ever find someone to forgive him?

This thought sometimes kept him awake. He usually came home exhausted, worn out by a day that had taken him through so many emotions and feelings that he wondered if that single day hadn't lasted a whole year.

Once he was clean, he'd collapse onto his bed and, far too tired to think, let himself drift off into the darkness of the night to the jars of stars that dreams shine in.

But nothing was bright. No lights, no candle with a flame the size of an almond barely illuminating you a room, not even a flickering firefly gently flying under the weight of its glow.

Nothing. The pitch black of the night, the black of his thoughts, the black of his title.

He was trying to rebuild his life, to leave all this evil behind, no matter how tenaciously it clung to him like his shadow.

Was it only his shadow, or was his reflection a part of the loathing ? Every vision he had of himself was distorted by the depth of his actions.

He had lost count of the times when facing his own gaze seemed harder than any fight, harder than being shouted at for something stupid, harder than staring into the sun for too long.

When other people's eyes met his, did they have any idea of the weight they carried? Of what those eyes had seen, of what those eyes had cried, of how those eyes turned all black and devoid of light when he clutched the grip of his guns.

Who would want to look into eyes as black as the room he went to bed in every night?

Life swept into his path the most pleasant devil he had ever met. His circle of friends gradually dwindled down to his own. But he didn't give himself any hope that it would last.

When you're used to losing, you expect everything to be taken from you without asking. You expect your hopes to melt away like snowflakes in the palm of your hand. But you'd have to believe that his heart was cold enough to prevent them from turning into tears from the heavens.

It was thanks to Matt that he had met you. It was no secret that Frank was an avid reader, as if reading what literature had to offer would revive the dead that the words on paper exposed to him.

So Matt had recommended a bookshop where, according to him, he could find a wide variety of books. At first Frank thought that the demon was sending him into a den of other fools who read the criminal and civil codes day and night as if their lives depended on it.

But the latter quickly confirmed that there would be someone there to help him. He didn't have much to lose, and when the time came to read a new book, he went there. He had no high expectations, it was a bookshop like any other.

There was nothing special about it. It had a window displaying the major releases of late, the familiar smell of book paper wafting through the air, and shelves full of intriguing covers.

But it had you.

Knees bent to the ground, arched towards the floor as you pointed to a page of a book a child was holding in his tiny hands, your eyes sparkling as you explained something he couldn't hear.

You hid your mouth for a moment, leaning over to whisper a secret to the child, and the little boy laughed softly as you lowered your fingers from your lips to let your smile shine through.

All the secrets in the world that interested him seemed to be held by you alone.

You straightened up, letting the child read quietly, turning to Frank with that same smile adoring your lips.

"May I help you?"

Frank had forgotten how to speak for a moment, but his wits quickly pushed him to start talking and not look like a moron with his mouth half-open in a fish-like fashion.

He told you what he liked, and with an unconscious charm that made him feel as if he were suffocating, you guided him to the first shelf, summarising the synopsis of a book for him with mad, bewitching simplicity.

Then, feigning dissatisfaction when you'd hit the nail on the head, he asked you if you had anything else to suggest.

Then came the second book, which he had already read. Then the next, which seemed too close to another. Then another. And then another. Until he couldn't come up with any more excuses he searched at every turn of shelves to hear you talk and spend any time in your presence.

When it came to the checkout and you handed him the book, your fingers touched for a moment as you wished him a good day.

He thought about it every evening that followed.

As the days passed, a rhythm settled in. He would finish a recommended book, come and see you, find premeditated ways of spending as much time as possible in the bookshop, and leave with another novel.

One day he plucked up the courage to buy you a coffee, and he thought his heart would burst when you accepted. Coffee led to lunch, lunch led to dinner, and dinner led to a bottle of wine at home.

And even when your flesh intertwined, your voices became whispers, and your lips kissed, he never had any doubts :

You were everything, and he was nothing.

He had lived with the idea of being nothing for a long time, had become accustomed to the thought, had become almost attached to it. Nothing is always alone, otherwise it wouldn't be nothing. So what was he now that he had a glimpse of you in his life?

It was one night, in his dark bedroom, as you sat on his bed facing him, that his thoughts glowed.

You had leaned over him and kissed his forehead so tenderly that he felt fragile beneath your fingers. You gazed into his eyes, as if no matter how deep they were, you weren't afraid of what you were about to find.

There was a moment of silence, a moment of darkness, a moment of nothing. Fear buzzed in his ears for the first time in a long time.

She won't choose me, because if I were in her place, I wouldn't choose myself. That's what he thought. He thought that you had seen in his eyes what people call "void", a farewell to every "goodbye", and that you were going to take time in the oceans to drown his despair.

He was petrified at the thought of you leaving. Until you told him:

"You've forgotten how to dream, haven't you ?" your whisper and your gaze came in a wave as your thumb stroked the frown of his forehead to loosen it, "It's been ripped away from you," you whispered as your eyes met Frank's. "Hasn't it ?"

And you... you looked at him as if there was something in him worth looking at.

You saw in him what he couldn't see anymore, half skinned like a piano key, between the living and the lived.

He took you in his arms, pressing your body against his as if you were the frailest thing he had ever seen, fearing that the smoothness of your soul would be pierced by the twisted peaks of the brambles around his heart.

Winter came, and you hadn't left.

The snowflakes fell in front of the car lights as if they lived only in the light. They fell to the ground like their only purpose in their infinitesimal lives was to simply lie on the ground and kiss it cold.

You looked up at the sky, it was night, and everything was full of thick clouds. They were all falling like the white feathers of a fallen angel, twirling in an incessant waltz until they grounded wherever the wind took them.

They were falling, and if Icarus had flown too close to the sun, then they had flown too close to the moon, and the latter, recognising them as no stars, blew them away to send them elsewhere.

And there you were right in front of him, in all that cold magic, reaching out with your gloved hand to pick up a little crystal star that you were looking at very carefully.

It was terrible that there wasn't enough time to take all the snowflakes one by one and look at them. Nature made such beautiful things that it seemed unfair not to be able to see them all.

You took his hand again to go home, and he prayed to anything that was still dear to him that you'd never fade.

And that night, his first dream was of you.

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padfootdaredmetoo · 8 months

Note

I love your Harry Potter x Peaky Blinders crossover!! The idea of Harry growing up as Tommy's son is amazing!! And just imagining book one with Harry having the attitude/life experience of growing up around the Peaky Blinders is incredible! Also the mental image of little first year Harry Potter insisting on wearing a peaky cap like his family is adorable!!!!!! If you ever wrote more of that universe I'll be eternally grateful<3

Hey Anon,

Again I'm so so sorry this took forever. Thank you for writing in and I'm happy that you enjoyed the story! Hope this blurb makes you just as happy.

Warnings: Mentions of death, boys fighting

You were tucked in your closet clutching a sticky half-drunk bottle of sweet wine. Tears were stinging your eyes as you thought over just how difficult things were. Sirius was trying his best to adjust, but his hollow figure and quiet nature was heartbreaking. He did his best to listen when you would talk to him but you would see his mind wander regularly. He’d cry at night, about James, Lily, Regulus, Marlene, no different than you or Remus.

The dinner was a disaster and you were wondering how you would make these two very different lives mesh together. Looking up at the yellowing lightbulb hanging from the ceiling you said a silent prayer. Your eyes landed on a small pink floral picture box on the top shelf of the closet.

You got up craving the familiar sting of comfort mixed with pain. Opening the box you carefully sorted through what was left of your friends and family from that lifetime. Photos, letters, ribbons, tickets, and candy wrappers. The box was so colorful, filled with laughing smiling faces, and yet things felt so dark and cold.

You picked up a letter from Lily, in the brief time she had after school had finished. She was upset that her sister had sent her a mean letter. It didn't matter how many nasty things or how much time Petuna had been removed from her life, these things always cut Lily deeply. She complained about how her sister had bought the house near her childhood home, and how Lily wasn't invited to the wedding. You recalled the comforting letter that you had sent her. Reassuring her that she would be your maid of honor when the time came.

You started to wonder if Petuna still lived in that house. From what you knew of her, you strongly doubted she would move after living on the same street her whole life. If she was there, Harry was there too. While Dumbledore had said you had to leave him there, you pulled the thick purple envelope from the stack of worn papers. You technically had custody….

You could drive there tomorrow and visit, just to ensure the boy was alright. No harm would be done by checking up on him.

You dried your eyes, and the pain of the current stressors in your life shifted to the back of your mind as you embraced your new mission.

You told Tommy the plan lying next to him in the dark. He’d found you in the closet crying not too long after you had made your decision.

“I’ll go with you.” He said kissing the top of your head. You thought of all the meetings and things he had planned for tomorrow.

“You don't have to, I could see if the boys want to go.” You thought of how Sirus would react and realized that might not be the best idea.

“Let's scope the place out before we kidnap the boy eh?” He chuckled. “Figure out what we are getting ourselves into, then tell Sirus.”

Guilt swirled in the pit of your stomach. You hated keeping things from your friends, however, Sirius was temperamental these days. He was trying to figure out what life without James was like. Once he picked Harry up there was nothing that would stand between him and the boy. Dumbledore’s warnings rang through your mind.

“We will sort it, we always do,” Tommy murmured before falling asleep. You tried to follow him, but for once you were the one left awake with ghosts swimming in your eyes.

________________________________________

You wore a nice dress and were happy that Tommy, a muggle was accompanying you. Thomas was their kind of people and it should put them at ease. You had called ahead and after a rather rude discussion, they had agreed for you to come by.

You watched their eyes absorb the wealth that oozed off of you and Thomas. You certainly caught them off guard. Once you saw the little face poke out from behind a wall at the end of the hall something inside you shifted.

The big green eyes of your childhood best friend peered up at you hesitantly. Dark bags lay under his eyes, his skin too pale. He had a large red mark on his cheek and a cut above his eyebrow. Anger swelled inside you as the boy visibly shook.

“Harry, say hello.” Vernon barked. “He’s a slow talker. Been to lots of doctors” Vernon fumbled in his excuses clearly caught up in winning Tommy’s approval. You moved past Petuna’s skeletal frame and watched the boy take a step back from you. His clothes were too big making him look even skinnier if it was possible.

You opened your hands to him and he reluctantly toddled towards you. You pulled the boy up to your chest bringing those haunted green eyes eye level with your own.

“Hey, Harry.” The boy gave a little nod showing that he had heard you. “I’m a friend of your parents.” You said softly. The boy’s face perked up with interest as a small stuffed horse came into your line of vision. Thomas handed the small boy a white horse.

“Should name him Shadowfax” you mumbled more to yourself than anyone else. It was a stupid reference, you didn’t know why you said it. The memory of listening to Remus reading the Lord of the Rings to the group in the boy's dorm crushed you. Who read Harry's stories at night? Did they read to him at all?

A wave of hysteria washed over you. Thomas with his cold mask in place put his arm around you and started to lead you out of the cramped entry hallway and out into the front yard. He opened the car door for you and commanded you to get into the car.

There was a short and curt conversation by the door but you were too absorbed in looking down at the boy.

The three of you sat in silence the whole journey back to Arrow House. You had brought lots of water and treats along for the ride and Harry wasted no time eating them. His hands were sticky with jam and you tried to wipe it off with a handkerchief.

The car parked and the realization of what had happened hit you. People, Dumbledore, would surely be on his way. So many questions and conversations would have to be had.

Harry’s laugh brought your attention back to the cab of the car. Tommy had taken off his hat and placed it on Harry’s head. The hat had slipped forward causing the boy to laugh. The sound was enough to cure any sadness. You let out a laugh as he pushed it back up his face for the thing to fall forward immediately.

What ever happened you could sort it out.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Harry was an abnormally easy child as long as you were holding on to him. Esme had brought over some clothes for him, and some toys. Tommy had handled all the phone calls for you. Leaving you to get Harry washed and dressed. You wrapped him in a big linen blanket before settling on the couch in Tommy’s office. You started to read The Hobbit to him in a soft voice.

The boy had one arm around his horse and the other hand fisted in your blouse. You felt his body go limp as he drifted off to sleep. The door to the study opened and you jumped at the sound. Sirius rushed into the room with the fire that used to surround him. His eyes were bright and teary. He sat on the couch next to you before putting his arm around you. His face hidden in your neck.

A sob shook through him and you tried your best to comfort him. Remus slumped into the spot next to him looking worn and unprepared. After a long moment of silence, you continued to read aloud from the book. After a long while Sirius finally sat up. Harry let out a squawk and you watched how everyone came back to life around you. Sirius and Remus both fawned over the boy.

You handed the boy to Sirius and for a moment you wondered if he would ever put Harry down again.

“I suppose he will come home with me then?” Sirius said while bouncing Harry on his lap.

“Wh-” Before you could answer Thomas had stepped in.

“Figured it would be best to do this the traditional way. A village and whatnot. You can take the cottage at the end of the property or stay in the house.”

Your head spun to look at him then back to Sirus to see how he would respond. Sirius got up and extended a hand to Thomas. They shook hands, silently ending a feud that had been hanging over you since you got Sirius released.

“I’ve gone over the paperwork you have done, to my understanding you have custody regardless of what this Dumbledore has to say. Remus can you look over it to see if I’ve missed anything.”

Remus gave him and nod and the two of them started to discuss the paperwork and magical law over Tommy’s desk. Sirius leaned against the back of the couch as Harry drifted off again. The firelight shining against Sirius’s face was soft and warm enough to almost hide the damage he had suffered. For a moment he looked like the boy that you grew up with, back in the common room.

His eyes opened and flashed to you.

“Wot?” You said quietly.

“I didnt think he would let you keep him here.” Sirius whispered.

“Why?”

“Well, it's all fancy, maids and nonsense.” Sirius waved his hand. Suddenly his reluctance to your new life made more sense.

“Thomas knows what it’s like to be a kid like Harry. He wouldn’t let it happen to someone else if he could help it.” Anger was starting to swell in your chest.

Sirius thought about things for a moment.

“What do you mean?” He asked in an interested voice, free of the usual judgment reserved for Tommy.

“Sirius, Tommy built all of this” You waved your hand around. “This isn't family money or status. He made his way in life, you might not like how he got here, but he is fair.”

Sirius thought about your words staring back at the fire before a smile crept across his face.

“Might have misjudged him.” He said quietly suddenly looking at his fingernails. You punched his arm getting even more frustrated when he barked a laugh. “I guess this place just reminded me of my parents a little, he’ll never be good enough for you.” He paused for a long moment before sighing. “But I will say he’s trying to be and I respect that.”

You smile at him and finally felt that he was home from Askaban. It took some effort but soon everyone had settled into Arrow house.

Dumbledore came and helped with the protective enchantments. You and him struck up an agreement that so long as Voldemort was gone Harry could stay. However, once he started his comeback Harry would have to go back to the Dursleys. You shook on it, knowing full well that you would never let it happen.

_________________________________________________________________

Harry got put through another round of hugs as his large family stood on the platform. He was glad that his cousins and most of the family stayed home having said their goodbyes the night before.

Polly crushed him in her arms leaving a smudge of pink lipstick on his forehead. He watched as Sirus struggled to stay calm, Remus looked a mix of excitement and his usual sadness. Harry had been up most of the night with his Godfather listening to all sorts of stories about Hogwarts. Harry was excited to see everything for himself, but he would have to admit he didnt like the feeling of being away from his family. Saying goodbye to Sirus was hard, and Harry could feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

You hugged him next, you had the same sort of anxiety radiating off of you. Your arms made a painful lump form in his throat. You kissed the top of his head.

“See you at Christmas, love. Whatever Siruis told you to do.” You put both hands on his shoulders and looked down at him with a hard eye. “Don't.” You smiled and Tommy came and gave him a quick hug.

Tommy placed his cap on his head and Harry froze.

“For good luck. Stay out of trouble alright.” He said it in a firm voice but winked at Harry.

He got on the train and felt a strange sense of panic wash over him. He was excited, his parents sat on this train just like he did. But as far back as Harry could think he had never been on his own before. There were always people at Arrow House, just outside his bedroom. Always games to be played with his cousins, always someone telling stories.

He was on his own.

He pulled open the glass door of a compartment. He tossed his heavy trunk up into the shelf above the seats. He pressed his face up against the glass and waved at his family before they faded out of view.

Someone knocked on the glass and he saw a redheaded boy, with worn clothes.

“Can I sit here?”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry was slightly hesitant. He was always hypervigilant of strangers, he knew what could happen and go wrong with outsiders. The heavy cap on his head gave him an added sense of security. His fingers came up and ran gently along the rim of the hat. No blades. But that could be easily fixed if Harry felt he needed some.

“Woah, you're Harry Potter.” He scrunched up his nose for a moment, before nodding. Sirius said it would happen. He thought the name sounded funny after being referred to as a Shelby all the time.

“That’s me,” Harry said wondering how the boy would react to him.

“Ron Weasley.” The boy stuck out his hand and Harry shook it. He thought of how Sirius had met James on the train and smiled brightly hoping that maybe Ron would also become a lifelong friend.

_________________________________________________________

Everyone was stuffed into the hallway, some kids looking nervous, others looking excited. When Harry saw a particular blonde-haired boy he knew right away they wouldn't get along. The boy had a mean sneer on his face as his eyes locked onto Ron. Harry was ready, his fists balled properly. He knew that he would have to assert himself quickly, it’s what Tommy would do if he was here.

The blonde boy moved towards them with a strut in his walk.

“Weasly. Surprised they another one of your lot in here.” Harry noted the posh accent and it made his blood boil even more. He hated people like this, whether that came from Sirius or Tommy, he wasn't sure. Harry made a quick assessment of the two larger boys that hung off of the small boy's shoulders.

If he was going to hit him he would probably take a beating, but that shows bravery, right? Harry listened as the boy started to list off, rather loudly about how poor Ron’s family was. He looked as Ron’s face got redder and redder, his own hands balled into fists. Harry figured he would know what to do then.

The boy took a sharp step towards Ron and by instinct, Harry took his hat in hand and started to beat on the blonde-haired boy. There was a satisfying crunch of his nose and Harry figured that a crooked nose would teach him not to be rude.

The other two boys started to lay down upon him, his ribs burned and he took it without crying or fussing.

He pushed himself up off of the floor and started to round on one of the boys. He doubled over when Harry hit him hard in the stomach.

“Boys! BOYS!” A stern Scottish voice called out. Harry took a step back and looked up at the woman, who surprisingly looked exactly as Sirius had described her. Minnie.

She grabbed his shoulder tightly, stepping in between the boys.

“You will behave for this ceremony, or you will be sent home.” She paused for a moment to let her words sink in. “Now we will talk about punishments after.”

She glared down at them over the top edge of her glasses before ushering them into the great hall.

Anxiety gripped him tightly until the hat shouted he would be in Gryffindor. Just like his parents, he took a breath and settled into the castle.

__________________

You were tired and missing Harry. Tommy was feeling the same way as he poured over his paperwork. You sat on the couch next to Polly as she tried to teach you how to crochet. You knew she was trying to give you a project to save you from empty nest syndrome. She understood why Harry had to go but she wasn't pleased about it in the slightest.

Your fingers kept getting tangled in the yarn and you wondered when her patience would wear thin enough that she would let you give up. The door swung open and all three of you jumped.

“He’s already in trouble,” Remus said as Sirius handed you a letter. Your eyes ran over the paper. A fight with another first-year?

“A fight with another boy?” You murmured.

“Malfoy” Sirius added in a dark tone.

“Oh,” You weren't sure how you felt but were relieved to know that you and Sirus had been summoned.

“Aren't they death munchers or whatever” Arthur had also entered the room and you were surprised he remembered that. Sirius snorted at the mistake.

“Good on him. He’s got to assert himself right away with that crowd.” Polly said with urgency.

“Exactly,” Thomas said with a nod. “He needs to show he’s not soft in case Voldy-whatever comes back.”

Esme and John came in and also started to make their arguments for not being soft in a school that size. What they should do to the Malfoy family in retaliation to show that his family would back Harry magic or not.

“Let’s go and see what’s this about before we start threatening people,” You said trying to get the yarn untangled from your hands.

You could tell that Tommy wanted to go, he was a father figure to Harry. You asked Sirus quietly as you walked towards the front door. He gave a nod and you called out for Tommy.

The three of you walked through the night to the cottage, as it had the only fireplace connected to the flu network.

___________________________

He got in a good deal of trouble for starting the fight. The boy’s father came through the giant green flames in the fireplace. Harry took a breath about to claim that his parents should also be summoned but seeing your face emerge from the flames he thought perhaps it was better that you weren't involved.

Sirius also followed through the fireplace. Harry could tell that he was not pleased. Then to his surprise, Tommt came through. He could tell that the Malfoys were already making judgments.

“Now-” Dumbledore started then Draco quickly interrupted.

“He started it! I was walking up just like everyone else and he attacked me!” His voice was whiney and Harry felt that the boy's behavior had already gotten him out of trouble with his family.

Harry took a breath and let his face fall like Tommy’s was.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem with Ron is, but I won’t sit around and watch people throw slurs.” He shifted his gaze from Malfoy to the fire. “Plus, three-on-one is a coward's move.” He smiled smugly as both the boy and his father got angry.

“My son was assaulted.” The man shouted viciously. Harry felt triumphant, he was calm and cool and they looked positively deranged.

“Your son deserves-” Harry started but Sirius clamped his hand down on Harry’s shoulder. Harry was conflicted on one hand he thought Sirius would be happy he was like his father, but instead he got the feeling all of you would be giving him a long lecture.

“Now, I want this boy expelled or I’ll be forced to go the ministry. He’s dangerous.” Malfoy spat at Dumbledore.

“I hardly think a conflict between 11-year-old boys needs ministry intervention.” To Harry’s surprise, it was Tommy who spoke. “Harry will apologize, and I assume that someone at the school possesses the magical ability to correct the boy’s nose?”

There was silence in the room. When no one else said anything he continued. “My son won’t tolerate whatever agenda that boy is pushing, so for everyone’s safety I would recommend he keeps his thoughts to himself before things like this escalate past broken noses.”

His eyes locked with Malfoy's father’s. Harry could feel the power radiating off of Tommy’s glare, he could tell that the other man would back down.

“Harry apologize.” You spoke clearly.

“I’m sorry I broke your nose,” Harry said in a flat tone trying to sound like Tommy. The two men were still glaring at each other when eventually the man gripped the boy's shoulder in a way that almost made Harry flinch.

“I’m sorry I spoke about your friend that way.” Draco looked scared and Harry felt sorry for the boy.

“Well, all that’s left is punishment,” Dumbledore spoke softly. “This will be determined by your head of house, and approved by me.” The man looked slightly amused and Harry wanted to know why.

“I would like to speak with Harry before we leave.” You stated and Dumbledore nodded. Sirius guided Harry into the hallway, where you and Tommy followed.

“Punishments here are no joke, so I would get that temper under control before your quidditch years,” Sirus said sternly. Harry gave him a nod.

“No more hitting. Older students-”

“Don’t tolerate whatever shit that boy was pushing. Not ever, not for a moment.” Tommy interrupted you. “That nonsense has hurt this family enough.”

Tommy bent down to look at Harry. “You need to be smart about how you navigate this, you're not like everyone else. The reputation you need to build here can’t be won with violence. A time is going to come when you will get a chance to fight. But this is the time to make friends, find out who you can trust. And learn everything you can about people like them.” His voice was low and dark. Harry didnt know what exactly he was referring to, but he believed him. He would be more careful.

Tommy gave him a hug and then he listened to you and Sirius before getting more hugs. He felt sad as his family departed into the fireplace.

________________

Harry got settled into his bed after talking with Ron. He could see the bruise forming where Ron had been hit, and he was glad that Ron’s family hadn’t been called.

He missed his bed. He missed how you would still come and read to him before bed. Looking up at the beams supporting the curtains he could see a little set of antlers carved into the wood. His heart lept at the thought that perhaps this could have been his father’s bed. With his thoughts wandering he realized that Tommy had referred to him as his son in the meeting. He felt conflicted about how much that meant to him. Sirius never crossed those boundaries, out of respect for him or his father he wasn’t sure. He was a Godson. You always said all the things a mother would say but still never assumed the title of his mother.

Tommy had said, son.

Perhaps that would make his parents happy. Maybe they could see how many people loved him. He hoped they knew.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders imagine #harry potter #harry potter crossover #harry potter Peaky blinders crossover #harry potter x peaky blinders

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memoiremunson · 2 years

Text

Bejeweled - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your loving boyfriend, Eddie Munson, reveals the story behind the ring on his fourth finger and opens up to you about his mom.

A/N: I really love to read people's different interpretations about Eddie's mom and wanted to contribute my ideas! Hope you enjoy! <3

Word Count: 1,251

Warnings: death, grief, crying, angst, kissing

● - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ●

You and Eddie were wrapped up in his bed, school clothes strewn across the messy floor of his room. The skin-on-skin contact was a warm welcome after the long, overstimulating day at Hawkins High. The air was filled with a comfortable silence as the two of you listened to the patter of rain on the metal roof. The rain worked as a soft lullaby, a soundtrack to the steady breaths and beating hearts the two of you emitted.

Eddie lay between your legs, large hands finding purchase on the expanse of your back as he wrapped his arms loosely around your frame. Your bare chest cushioned the sleepy boy’s head, allowing him to nuzzle into your sweet aroma. His soft breath against your skin would often be interrupted by the gentle press of his lips.

Meanwhile, your hands worked to thread the knots in his black curls from the course of the school day, ever so slightly grazing your nails over his scalp. You break the stillness of the atmosphere by humming the song that had been stuck in your head all day.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?

Eddie is able to feel the soft vibrations you emit from your throat at the level of your chest. He imagines the sound rattling around furiously in the cages of your lungs.

“My mom used to love that song.”

You instantly still. You almost missed the words as you brought your humming to a stop. Despite being together for a couple of months, Eddie had never really brought up his mom. It seemed to still be a very sore spot in that tender heart of his.

Wanting to proceed cautiously, you try to think of what to say.

“It’s been stuck in my head all day.” As you say this, you resume your tending to his mane.

He hums in acknowledgment, letting out a sigh.

He then breaks his calm embrace, lifting his head and moving his right hand up to ghost over your face. His knuckles brush the apples of your cheek as his eyes dance across the features of your face before settling on your eyes.

“I love you.” Those three words had terrified him before he met you but here he was opening the wounds he tried so desperately to tie off and conceal.

“I love you, Eds. so much.” You then brought your hand to hover over his.

Eddie then breaks the intense eye contact to press a gentle but firm kiss to yours. It acts as a seal of his deep love for you, a love he felt deep in his bones, sometimes, he felt them physically ache as he watched you laugh or throw him a smile.

You’re the first to break away as your lungs run out of air. Bringing your foreheads together, you rest to fully breathe in the moment. Your fingers then delicately feel the ring that almost never seemed to leave his fourth finger on his hand. He gently pulls his head back to meet the movement of your fiddling with his ring.

He watches, almost transfixed, by the way you run your fingertips over the jewel placed in the middle of the band. His eyes glaze over slightly as he reminisces about the scarce memories he has of his mother.

He parts his swollen lips to speak.

“It used to be hers.” His lip slightly wobbles as his voice goes weak.

“She - uh - it was a family heirloom … reminded her of home … before she ran off with my dad.” You listen intently as he recalls his past.

“Wayne gave it to me … after the funeral. He said that she w-would’ve-uh-” A tear slips out of his eye but you’re quick to catch it, “she would’ve wanted me to have it.”

You can’t help but begin to feel your throat constrict as you watch your 20 year old boyfriend turn into the little boy that was left on the doorstep of Wayne's trailer.

“It’s a beautiful ring, baby.”

He lets out a wet laugh. “Yeah, it is.”

“That song, she uh- used to play it all the time on our record player, she played it until it jumped, and even then she wouldn't stop playing it.” His eyes shine as he recalls the way his mother would laugh and sing and smile at her beautiful baby boy while Elvis’s voice played.

You smile at him, absorbing every detail you could about the wonderful person that brought your Eddie to this world.

His face turns serious again.

“I think that’s … that’s what I miss most about her. Her love for music.”

This revelation slightly surprised you as you had always assumed he got his affinity for musicality from Wayne teaching him guitar when he was younger as a way to bond when he first moved in with him. But this was new, better almost.

“She seemed like a romantic. Like someone else I know.” You poke slight fun at the boy, earning you a smile that showed off his adorable dimples.

You had always suspected that Eddie got his romanticism from a lack of love in his past as a form of trauma. But now, you had realized that it stemmed from his mother. She was the one who had instilled the heart of gold in her son.

Gone too soon, with so much love left to give. Eddie was now able to carry her love on. The thought brings tears to drop down your starry eyes. You feel lucky that you are able to experience the love her son had offered you, now knowing the root of where it came from.

“She would’ve loved you, sweetheart.” This makes your heart drop in the best way possible. It was only so tragic that she wouldn’t be able to tell you herself, but her son’s words would do.

“Oh, Eddie.” Your heart gushes, overwhelmed with how vulnerable he’s being with you and at the sadness of it all.

“Yeah … she definitely would’ve loved you.” You feel your eyes begin to let out more tears before he chuckles lightly, interrupting your flow.

“Ok, ok, enough being sad now,” he said with a lighter air to his tone as he let out a breathy laugh and shook his head, curls bouncing a little, “can you keep playing with my hair and singing?” He asked you with those puppy dog eyes that made you crumble every time, only this time his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

“Of course, Eds. Lay back down.”

He got situated back into your arms and laid his head atop your breasts again.

“Thank you for telling me about your mom.”

The swell of his heart began to grow again as he said, “I’m glad I can tell you about her.”

You let the silence drift over the both of you for a moment before resuming your previous activities.

And at that moment, he knew you were the one. Simultaneously, you silently vowed to protect the boy you held so lovingly in your arms. You would fight a million demobats or Jason Carver types before they could touch him. Call it maternal instinct or teenage hormones, but one thing you knew for sure is that you loved Eddie Munson with every inch of your soul and no one could take his precious soul away from you.

Thank you for reading, Angel! <3

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martellspear · 25 days

Note

Hey! I love your blog and your dedication to Elia Martell as a character. I have read your fics on ao3 and absolutely loved them. And I was wondering if you had any recs for us Elia enjoyers out there? Canon-compliant or AU it doesn't matter I just want to consume Elia content like there is no tomorrow <3

hi, anon!! thank you for your sweet words, they mean a lot and i'm so happy that you enjoyed my fics 💗. i haven't read many fics - studying is getting in my way -. but, i'll share a list of my favorites ones and my bookmarks.

* warning: it's LONG

First of all, I'd recommend checking Failed_to_Deanon, she's insanely talented and has a lott of elia-centric works

A Farewell by Ramzes - one shot

In the morning of Rhaegar's departure for the Trident, Elia Targaryen makes a surprising discovery about her husband and their marriage.

The Sun Rises Again by amn_elfire - fanfic - 10/?

After her death, the Seven give Elia the task of saving her people from Rhaegar and Lyanna's folly with the opportunity to avenge her children by sending her back in time to before her betrothal with Rhaegar was ever arranged. Or With her prior memories still vivid in her mind, Elia sets out to prevent the events that led to the deaths of thousands while never forgetting who was at fault for the deaths of her children. But she isn't the only one.

All Too Well by starboundheart - fanfic - modern!au - 1/?

Five year after a fairly clean divorce, Rhaegar decides its time for a family vacation - to Summerhall. Under the guise of his children needing to know each other. But as always, the man has ulterior motives. Or does he?

Elia's House of Ghosts! by biohazard603 - fanfic - 3/?

i can't wait to read this one!!

Elia buys her first house! She has always been drawn to that old abandoned tower, the Tower of Joy, and now it was finally hers! Too bad she doesn't know or remember the ghosts that were there first. or Modern AU where Elia buys a haunted house.

clear the board, reset the pieces by lostchildofthenewworld - fanfic - 9/9

All they ever wanted was the opportunity to go back and do it right, to allow themselves to be happy.

The wolf burned like the heat of the sun for her alone by Redroses123 - fanfic - 10/?

Rhaegar has to get rid of his wife so that he can be with the woman he loves. He does this in mad Targaryen fashion. Elia finds herself hitched for life to the second son of Rickard Stark. Maybe it's a blessing in disguise she doesn't understand yet. How will this change fates design. NOT FOR RHAEGAR FANS

Repercussions of the First Sin by Sunspear22 - fanfic - 27/?

It started with a blue crown...

The Bereaved Dunes by aurasjournal - one shot

this one is so beautiful

In the Bereaved Dunes, where shadows weep, A tale of love and sorrow, bound to keep. Elia, my sun, in your memory I tread, Through sands of despair, where tears are shed. I should've taken you far away, my dear, To Dorne's warm embrace, where skies are clear. But fate had other plans, a cruel twist of hand, In the Bereaved Dunes, where sorrows expand.

What if you go, what if you stay by Biggestscarinyourback - fanfic - 4/4

She listens to the eyes of violet and sits down. Her husband's eyes are almost this colour too, she reflects again. But not half as bright, certainly no laughter in them. His are darker, cold as they are soft, a confusing contrast that gives her no reprieve. They should have been burning, The Last Dragon they had called him and yet he lacks any and all fire in those eyes, as far as she has seen. The blood of the dragon runs hot, they had declared, she has it too, running in her veins, burning. A bittersweet look into Princess Elia Martell's life amongst dragons and lions, from the day of her wedding to her tragic demise.

Lazarus in the Sun by Anonymous - fanfic - 3/?

The Princess of Dorne is a marked woman. With her husband victorious at the Trident yet somehow still missing, now more than ever does Elia Martell find herself stuck between a rock and a hard place: to stay in King’s Landing with herself and her two children at the hands of a madman, or to take the jump and escape? A spur of the moment decision turns into a years-long deception as Dorne wrenches her way out of the Seven Kingdoms on the back of a lie. And though peace is finally taking root once more in this corner of the world, no sooner do the gods laugh when an unexpected figure from the past comes back and unsteadies the ground beneath them all.

Hourglass by spearsndragons - fanfic - 11/?

Elia dies and awakes on the day of her wedding. Armed with the memories of her previous life, she is determined not to let them come to pass. She will make the Seven Kingdoms regret they ever underestimated her. In another part of the Red Keep, the Gods of Old Valyria send Rhaegar back in time to fix his wrongs and ensure the survival of House Targaryen. Rhaegar knows his madness and hubris led to the destruction of everything he loves and cares for. Never again. OR AU: The Gods and fate reverse the hands of time. Elia seeks retribution and Rhaegar endeavors for redemption. In one life, they were husband and wife. In this one, they might just be each other’s biggest adversaries. But, while Elia and Rhaegar plan to prevent the tragedies that befell them, they find out they are not the only ones who were given a second chance. And not all who came back are their friends.

we fall apart as it gets dark by sunstealer (TheSunsetStar) - fanfic - 2/?

this one is SO dear to me <3

The apparent abduction of Lyanna Stark sets off a chain of events: Brandon Stark and his allies march to the Red Keep, where Brandon demands Rhaegar's head. A duel is called by Aerys, and fire serves as his champion, leading to the death of Brandon's father and Brandon's own imprisonment. It's only after these events that a letter arrives at Winterfell, written by Lyanna herself, explaining that she left of her own accord. The deaths of the Lord of Winterfell and the Heir of the Eyrie, along with Aerys' demand for the heads of Robert and Ned, ignite a rebellion. Elia, isolated in Kings Landing without her children, must play her role as the dutiful wife. However, complications arise when the man who once demanded her husband’s head becomes her constant companion, the Kingsguard sworn to her. Will she stay true to her duty or follow her husband's example and forsake it?

Sunset Embers by spearsndragons

Five years into King Rhaegar I's reign, the realm prospers under his progressive leadership. However, the same cannot be said for the king's family. Behind the walls of the Red Keep, Rhaegar grapples with his inner demons, and House Targaryen continues to be haunted by the war's tragic end. Water magic resurfaces across the sea in the Golden Empire of Yi Ti for the first time in centuries with the arrival of the Emperor's new wife. She works to uncover the forgotten history of the world, only to realize that her own past refuses to be buried. OR Dark AU: Is this love or a curse? To yearn for freedom while willingly chaining ourselves to someone, finding solace in the very shackles we can't bear to break?

wherever the wind blows by TheSunsetStar - 1/1 (part of a series)

Rhaegar comes back to her, bringing along a wife and child. Ashara comes back to her, grieving the loss of a child with wolfsblood. Oberyn also returns to her, having just returned from his journeys across Essos, offering words of apology. Everyone returns, yet her daughter never does. or in her desperation Elia gives her daughter to Varys and never sees her again.

Reckless by sunstealer (TheSunsetStar)

"Get out," she tells him. "Leave." "You're not going to talk to me?" His voice comes out hoarse; she wonders why. "You've done enough!" she lets out. He looks disappointed when she says it, his eyes clouding over. She almost apologizes for snapping at him. But she reminds herself that he shouldn't be here at all, he shouldn't be here with her. "Goodbye, Rhaegar," she says gently, not allowing any trace of emotion to surface in her voice. The name sounds foreign coming out of her mouth, as though it belongs to someone else. She wishes for the days to go back to before he met Lyanna. Before everything turned sour. Before it was too late. or Rhaegar returns to her but things are difficult now.

Baelon the Cruel and His Queen of Love and Beauty by sunstealer (TheSunsetStar) - fanfic - 6/?

Baelon Targaryen, the second-born son of King Aerys and Queen Rhaella, and the twin brother to Crown Prince Rhaegar, possessed an ethereal beauty expected of one with Valyrian blood. Yet, behind his captivating face, an aura of cruelty and ruthlessness lingered, casting an unsettling shadow over his reputation. And his sudden appearance at the Tourney at Harrenhal unknowingly changes everything. (or just a crack fic about Rhaegar's 'cruel' twin brother and his shenanigans at the famed Tourney at Harrenhal)

Right Where You Left Me by TheSunsetStar - fanfic - 19/19

elia is dead in this one, but she's so important to the story and i love this fic, so it makes the list :)

Rhaegar's life is spared by the valiant intervention of Arthur Dayne, moments before Robert deals the fatal blow. With their lives preserved, Rhaegar and the remaining Targaryens seek refuge on Dragonstone, eventually making their escape to Essos. Regrettably, Rhaegar is forced to leave his eldest daughter behind. Left in the midst of her adversaries, Rhaenys grows up surrounded by those who view her as an enemy. As time passes, she becomes entangled in the treacherous game of thrones, particularly in the aftermath of Cersei and Jaime Lannister's public execution for their incestuous relationship. Caught in a web of schemes and deceit, Rhaenys finds herself compelled to employ similar tactics in order to ensure her own survival.

#a song of ice and fire #elia martell #asoiaf #fanfic #house martell #fic rec

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ponyosmom35 · 5 months

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ghost loves her enough to let her go

Simon ghost Riley x reader

Liability chapter fifteen!

summary: A glimpse into the months following readers departure.

warnings: angst, mentions of death, anxiety, panic attacks

Liability masterlist:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

immersing him in a profound sense of darkness and solitude. Grief clung to him like a relentless specter, as he found himself entangled in a web of guilt and regret, endlessly replaying countless scenarios of "what ifs" in his tormented mind. With each passing hour, the pit in his stomach deepened, becoming an ever-heavier burden. Despite the overwhelming ache of missing her, Simon recognized, with a heavy heart, the necessity of letting her go and allowing her the space to grieve.

Time passed slowly. One day turned into two, the next thing he knew it had been months. She had escaped a life that no longer suited her, and Simon was determined in ensuring she had the chance to embrace the existence she truly deserved. From the moment she departed, he had committed to being the steadfast force that would not beckon her back into the tumultuous world they once shared. It was an act of protection, driven by the deep understanding that her well-being required distance.

Simon's initial encounter with her on the military base had been a clash of emotions. Clouded by anger and skepticism, he had rejected her presence. However, her undeniable beauty and unwavering confidence caught him off guard, planting the seeds of an unexpected connection. Slowly, he recognized the resonance between them—the two sides of a shared coin. Her warmth, bright smile, and unyielding personality were irresistible, revealing a woman who demanded respect and kindness, traits not bestowed upon just anyone.

As their connection deepened, the journey became a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. Reveling in the moments spent together, even during the inevitable arguments, Simon found himself grappling with the fear and uncertainty of an unpredictable future. The realization that their union put her at risk haunted him, and the desire to savor every moment with her clashed with the dread of potential consequences. Memories of past vulnerabilities and the instinct to protect her at any cost led him to a heartbreaking decision—cutting her off completely.

In the solitude of his nights, Simon paced back and forth, his mind swirling with memories. The pile of unsent letters, a silent testimony to unspoken emotions, loomed over him. An overwhelming sense of emptiness filled his lungs, and the specter of his family's tragedy cast a haunting shadow over his fears for her safety. Tormented by nightmares, he grappled with the haunting possibility that she, too, might face a similar fate.

Three months after her departure, Simon summoned the courage to pick up the phone, tears betraying the emotions he had fought to contain. As he waited for the call to connect, his trembling fingers mirrored the racing beat of his heart. When her voice finally reached his ears after a prolonged absence, a torrent of emotions overwhelmed him. Yet, he steeled himself, determined to maintain the necessary distance. It was a heartbreaking act of self-discipline, driven by the belief that he was not meant for the complexities of loving relationships.

The moment the call ended, Simon buried his face in his hands, grappling with the emotional storm within. Deep breaths, attempts to slow his racing heartbeat, and a physical retreat to the corner of his room marked his struggle for control. Every fiber of his being yearned to reach out to her again, but the knowledge that he couldn't kept him isolated in a room charged with emotional turmoil.

Night after night, he wrestled with anxiety and grief, seeking solace in a fitful sleep. Sweet dreams of a life together taunted him, only to dissolve upon waking into the cold reality of their separation. The pain intensified, fueled by the realization of what might have been.

Watching the woman he loved move on without him became one of the most agonizing experiences for Simon. Updates from mutual acquaintances provided bittersweet glimpses into her life, with every detail amplifying the longing within him. In a moment of vulnerability, he chose to lie to close friends, painting a facade of moving on and finding happiness elsewhere. It was a defense mechanism, though deep down, he clung to the hope that their paths might converge again.

Immersing himself in work became Simon's refuge, a conscious effort to relegate his emotions to the background. The demands of the job provided a necessary distraction, a way to silence the constant ache of her absence. As days turned into weeks, he grappled with the acceptance that their paths were likely irrevocably diverged.

In a renewed surge of determination, Simon focused on what he deemed his forte—being Ghost. The intensity of the work consumed him, gradually dimming the thought of her in his mind. Buried in tasks, he reverted to the silent and ruthless operator, a coping mechanism to shield himself from the persistent yearning for a love lost. It was a cold existence, but at least it spared him the constant pain of her absence.

a/n:

anddd that completes part one of this story! again like I've said before this part of the plot is before the events of MW2! Part two is going to pick up there! I want to thank every one of you for taking the time to read my story, writing is a passion and I've had a lot of fun writing this. It's been months since I've been able to write a single word, so I'm definitely writing as much as I can right now! Love you all so so much!

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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journey to kintsugi ▹one

— A/n 📝Reblogs and comments make all the difference. I do not allow my work to be translated or uploaded to any other place. My tip jar if you enjoy this story a lot and feel like it. ☕️ You can read this chapter on AO3. Word count: [5.5k] — Warnings⚠️ mature content—violence, mentions of death, gore — canon-typical themes; Minors DNI.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMain Masterlist | Official Playlist | Series Masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ▹ My Little Outlaw

It'd been a while since Joel dreamed, but for some reason, he was now drowning in them.

Images of the past, present, things he's certain he never saw before — they all flash before his eyes, taunting him, making this ocean too hard to float or sink an anchor in. He's swimming against the current. The biggest problem is when he submerges out of his own free will — times when curls and memories of breakfast are so vivid and real around him that he allows himself to just be.

While he dreams, Ellie dodges ghosts left and right.

The ghosts want her to feel like something cold and see-through and inexistent too, but Joel's hand is as solid as it's ever been when it squeezes hers. Ellie has this. She also has your words. "Okay. I'll come back."

Her hand squeezes Joel's. She wonders if you really will.

To Joel, darkness tastes like citrine. He's always hated it, but he embraces it this time.

Before, he hated it.

Every time he dreamt and tasted the last memory of real happiness he had and woke up—orange juice. The smell. Taste. Laughter.

Citrine.

Now, he embraces it.

He hears Ellie's voice somewhere in the back of his mind.

Everything inside him hurts. His scars, his guts, his head — they all ache, pinning him to the reality that he's still alive. Somehow.

Under the cloak of pain and sweat, he's aware on some levels of what slips between the cracks. He's aware there's a house, food that Ellie brings and feeds to him, and the cold howling outside, as angry as he wished to be — if only he had the strength. If only the memories assaulting him were less sharp, if they were poking at something other than his heart.

He hears things, too.

Noises, clicking, pots and metal — voices.

One more voice alongside Ellie's.

The first time he hears it, Joel feels electric. His whole body wants to spur awake, to get up in one single motion and march in direction of whoever or whatever is here, but he's pinned under an invisible force.

No strenght, he remembers. It makes him want to cry.

Maybe he is. There's a wetness on his temples now that he notices it, and Joel wants to scream, but what stops him is what he hears next.

Laughter.

Ellie's laughter.

It's a sound he would recognize blind and gone out of his mind. He'd recognize it in his sleep, and when it comes, it washes away the slimy skin which grew when he felt the powerlessness of his own body.

There's a lump that remains in his throat. The desire to cry sits with, laying by his side like a clingy lover.

He lets the tears fall, unsure of whether he has a choice or not, and tries just to get a peak.

He can open his eyes, at least.

His vision is blurry, but Joel gets a better sense of space with his eyes open. For one, his body's lying comfortably on a couch. Second, the sting and burn he felt for these past days on his bruise seems to be... fading. Dull.

Third and most important, there is a second voice.

And there's laughter.

Joel wishes to watch, but the relief that floods him is more effective than any lullaby. Joel is back in darkness the next second, and it's her who welcomes him.

Memories, sweet as nectar, and fierce as the winter wind flood him.

Orange juice, his favorite movie, the sound of explosions, and the taste of blood. Joel drowns in them.

"You came back." Ellie sounds as surprised as she feels.

She's here. Staring at Ellie with those piercing eyes and that same mermaid scarf wrapped around her neck, covering the lower half of her face. Her hair is tied up neatly and quite beautifully, and Ellie realizes that she's waiting out in the cold.

"Sorry." She steps to the side. "Come in."

Iara steps inside, and Ellie closes the door behind her.

"How is he?"

Ellie preens at being able to answer that without crying. This time. "Fever went down. He stopped shivering in the middle of the night, too. I don't know if — can people dream when they're, like, really sick? 'Cause I think he's even dreaming. Different than before. He used to talk in his sleep, but it was usually just random shit, like 'over there' and 'this one' and stuff like that. Now he's—" Ellie cuts herself short before something personal of Joel's slips to someone who's unknown. "Well — I think he's dreaming."

"He probably is." Iara gives Joel's body a one-over. "No more shivers. That is good."

"Yeah."

"Have you slept?" Iara directs her gaze back at Ellie.

If it was anyone else, Ellie would have a retort on the tip of her tongue. "No." For some reason, lying to Iara seems just as easy as it seemed lying to Joel. "Couldn't really... sleep, y'know? Plus — I kept waking up every time he said something."

"Did you eat?"

Ellie shakes her head again, feeling suddenly like a kid. "How old are you?" All she knows is that Iara is a woman. A grown woman.

And now, she's a smily one. "Why the question?"

"Just making conversation." I feel like a kid around you. "Didn't really think you'd come back."

"You asked me to."

"I did." Ellie had. A nervous chuckle leaves her. "Didn't think you'd show up, though."

"Why wouldn't I?" Iara starts walking inside the small cabin, taking our her bow and arrow from her back and setting it down. "Like you said, I've been helping."

"Right. Which — I haven't said thank you for that, have I?"

"You don't need. I helped you because I wanted to."

Ellie laughs. "Yeah, that deserves a thank you. Most people nowadays are either a piece of shit or they're an opportunist piece of shit, and you seem to be neither, so... definitely thanks in order."

Iara chuckles drily. "I'm a piece of shit alright."

"Hmmmm. Nope. Can't see it."

"Your standing on my good side." Iara gives her a side smile, and it makes Ellie laugh again. "But I'll take the thanks nonetheless."

"Oh! Right." All of those words and nothing said. Ellie clears her throat. "Thank you for the help."

Something flashes across Iara's eyes. There's a second of a wait before she nods. "Of course, Ellie." Iara takes a look around. "So — where's the rest of the deer?"

Together, they pick go outside to pick up what they had stored under the ice. It had been only a day since Iara left the cabin with the promise of coming back, but Ellie already feels used to her presence, as if the hours they spent together after the incident the previous day equaled a lot longer.

At first, the woman is quiet.

They had arrived in relative silence with the deer and the weight of what had just happened still on their shoulders. Ellie was shaking a lot, and it made the vials of penicillin fall when she retrieved them from her pocket. Then, the silence had been broken with, "here, let me help," and Ellie was back to crying again.

Despite her best judgment. No matter how much she willed the tears away when the bottles hit the floor and panic flooded her, fear that they were broken because of her, because Ellie had been reckless, stupid, and now all of it had been in vain that Joel would die — Joel will die and I'm gonna be alone I'll die alone this always happens to me — that's when her field of vision was covered by that face.

The woman's face, so close to hers. Her eyes diving through Ellie, reaching far inside to ask, "Ellie they're not broken. Look. Can you see?".

That was when she snapped back to herself.

Came back.

"Fuck, I don't know what's wrong with me — what is wrong with me?! I have to get it together, I gotta get it fucking together. Get it the fuck together, Ellie!"

As soon as her hand made contact with her own head, sitting it with the heel, a hand gripped tight around her wrist. "Hey, hey — take it easy, take a second, Ellie. Getting it together is not suppressing feelings." The hand loosened, but she missed the pressure and contact almost immediately. Somehow, she knew and kept on holding Ellie — kept her hand close. She went on, voice a little lower. Gentler. "Suppressing things... That's just — self-harm. You're no longer in danger. Things are registering. Your body's adrenaline is fading, giving place for other things. Okay? Can you breathe for me?"

Ellie needed a few tries to get her lung working, it turned out, but eventually, she did.

Breathed, then cried, and was held.

The tears lasted for a lot less than she would've imagined if she could have ever perceived this kind of danger even happening. It hurt, but — nothing more happened, and for that... she had this woman to thank.

Only — Ellie had no idea who the woman was.

She knew for some reason, she'd helped her with her first couple of hunts. The food and the false sense of security did eventually help her to catch her own prey, but — all the help. And yet, Ellie could barely open her mouth. Could barely breathe through the knot in her throat.

Somehow, the woman knew. All she did was let go when Ellie's tears stopped, sat by her side, and whispered. "Iara Lupi."

Her voice brought Ellie back again. "What?"

"I know your name and you're sitting here probably thinking about how you're with a stranger." Deep, sharp, and black-painted eyes stared into Ellie's. "My name's Iara Lupi. Even if it's in terrible sheets, it's nice to meet you, Ellie. You're very brave." It comes out so earnest and simple that it shocks Ellie, her jaw falling a little. Iara Lupi only tilted her head. "How old are you?"

Ellie was fourteen and stunned.

It had been simple after that.

They talked all throughout the night.

Ellie pretty much laid all the past months of her life out on the wooden floors, splashing all of the chaos on the walls while Iara taught her how to store her prey in order to save it for later, how to administer the syringe and penicillin, even going as far as helping Ellie to make a decent fire and cook the meat properly.

Joel never had the time to teach Ellie how to remove the skin and guts and make the most out of the meat. Jacksonville and everything else had gotten between that, and in only a couple of hours, Iara not only taught but also made her do some of the processes herself.

Iara offered some bits about herself, too.

Just like Ellie, not a lot. Nothing of her past, no details about the commune she lived here in the mountains, but enough. She never asked Ellie why Joel and she were in these mountains. Where they were headed, or anything intrusive. She did ask, "So — was your dad okay before this infection?"

And — awkward. How many more times would they go through this? Ellie explained Joel was just... a friend. He was taking her somewhere she needed to be, and that was it. That had been enough for Iara.

They were back to talking about life in the mountains, and how life must have been before.

No real awkwardness. Instead, there were stories about the people that made up her life. Some things about herself, about her horse — Gale, the black beauty Ellie would get to meet the following day — and enough to make Ellie feel... human.

It was one of the best conversations she's had in a long time.

A real one.

It was almost like—

no.

She couldn't make the comparison, because it'd kill her to poke at those corners she left in the dark. They reeked of grief. Of love. Of lost.

Ellie was content knowing Iara would leave at the end of the night to never come back, but something she said obligated Ellie to ask her to come back.

"You didn't have to stay."

"I know. But it's the least — connection's what keeps us alive on any given day. 's what we need. Humans just... don't want to be alone. Least of all, alone on a terrible day."

It tugged at Ellie's strings. All of them. So she'd whispered, "So come back."

"What?"

"You could — if you want to. No need to help from the shadows like a forest spirit or somethin'. You can come back and help me with the rest of the meat. I don't know if I'm—" she had almost stopped, choked by the initial signs of the knot starting to form again; somewhere in her brain the words needy childish why would she want your company started chanting but she just—huffed. "You can come back. That's all."

"Okay. I'll come back."

Easy like that.

Ellie kept watch of Joel's night clinging to the gun and the lingering warmth left behind by your presence.

When she dozed off, Ellie's mind drifted through these same mountains.

Through the thick woods, a mountain tiger watched her, and she felt him approaching — Joel's presence behind her and the sight of the wild animal ahead.

She felt safe. Almost... tucked in.

As much as he enjoyed the dreams and recalling the soft feeling of her curls between his fingers because now there was no alarm bleeping him awake, Joel knew when he woke up that surrendering to those roads in his mind was a dangerous path.

He forced himself to swallow the stale taste in his mouth and assess his body.

He'd woken up sometime late at night when everything was cold and dark. Only the electric lamp worked between his body lying on the couch and Ellie sitting on the ratty armchair, but the temperature was holding on alright all things considered inside the abandoned cabin.

Joel counted his luck.

As his mind closed around the thought at least we're not freezing cold his eyes get caught in Ellie's, and her delighted exclamation of his name is a little drowned by the fire he feels in his veins when the next second clicks and it dawns on him that they're not alone. His eyes leave Ellie and find yours.

Ironically, Joel freezes.

Feeling hot from head to toe, his muscles become still.

A deer in the headlights and good god, what gorgeous headlights they are.

Your eyes are painted.

It hits Joel that he used to hate it. The weight of beauty products on a person's features — even if it accentuated their beauty, he preferred the naked skin.

It suited you.

Suddenly, it was a wonder why the hell it ever bothered him in the first place.

"Hey—" Ellie. Her fingers snapped twice, pulling his gaze back to her like pulling on a string. "I asked are you cool? Are the stitches hurting or anything?"

Joel ignored the obvious pain he felt because it was nothing compared to the hazy, feverish last few days. "'m all good." Was this standing next to Ellie the person who had helped her?

Sometime late in the night when all of the forest outside echoed with silence, Joel woke up.

Medicine had been coursing through his veins for enough hours to start fighting back against the bacteria, and he woke up with a startled gasp and a panicked sense of not this again not this again—

Ellie had calmed him. Told him he was medicated, they were safe, there was more food. She told him how much time passed, how she managed to survive and then asked him to 'now... I'm gonna tell you something that—I feel I need to. I want to. 'Cause I trust you, but... I need you to breathe' and Joel was smacked by the sense of deja vú.

He listened to the story — David, the lying, the cannibalism, the gun pointed at her head—and fuck.

Joel did need to breathe. It'd been hard, but Ellie had gotten through with her story, and then further explained to him about the mysterious figure who acted in the shadows until just then.

He had been... amazed. To say the least.

Not only at Ellie's bravery, but her sheer, almost liquid luck.

Ellie being alive by now was a fucking miracle.

And the longer she stayed alive, the more she seemed to be learning through experiences and others how to keep herself alive and—

Isn't that exactly what Joel could aim for?

He swallowed down the caveman instinct of 'hunt them down and end them', because it was useless to even dream that high, and also because this gift, both of them still being alive and whole, was a gift he intended not to waste.

Ellie suddenly speaks, breaking him out of the memories of her midnight tales. "This is Iara," she pointed to her side.

"She just... came out of the fucking shadows. Or at least that's what it felt like. And, at first, it kinda really spooked me out 'cause of her scarf that—it's black and it has these, like, scales painted on them, the mermaid type, y'know? And I thought I was fucked 'cause if she was problem too, I — I wouldn't know what to do. My gut was telling me, yelling at me that the David guy was bad news. The same way it told me she wasn't when she spoke."

Joel was not certain what part sidetracked all of his thoughts the hardest — Ellie sharing her feelings and thoughts, laying them so open on the table for him like this was a thing now that they could do, or the mythical appearance of the person who apparently succeeded in doing the job Joel's been trying so hard at.

(And failing, so fucking often, his mind offered in a vicious whisper.)

"The wolf," Joel said, for some fucking reason. Maybe it was the way your name's stuck to his head since Ellie told him, and the memory of her reading about her favorite animal, speaking of the Latin where "the origin of the word comes from, dad," sparked in the infinite maze of his mind like a flare, Joel kept thinking about wolves. About what was the face of the one Ellie glowed when talking about.

And there she was.

God.

""Pack." Iara smiles at her correction, and Joel's only a little sick. That's why everything's spinning. It's the tiniest hint of a smile, actually, but as someone who's used to ugly frowns in the mirrors, he can spot a smile from miles away. "I'm glad to see you awake."

"You are? Why?"

She lets a short breathy laugh out of her nose and looks over at Ellie who — is smug.

"Told you," says Ellie.

"Particularly grumpy. I can see it now." Iara nods, leaving Joel to feel left out.

They share a shrug, and Ellie directs herself at him. "As cute as the I'm mean and I've got an asshole voice to prove it would be," the part she says with a voice makes Joel narrow his eyes. If only he could get up. "She's medicated you twice already, used sharp knives around me and, well—there's the whole... helping thing. If she wanted to kill us or rob us to take us alive, she had golden opportunities. Now!" Ellie claps her hands together. "Can you please tell her it's alright if I look at her poisoned darts? Iara says just because I have a gun it doesn't mean I get to see him, and she's convinced you wouldn't like it, but it's fine, right? I handle a gun. And you've let me drink. Can I just take a, y'know, closer look?"

It might be kind of mean to let her finish the whole speech, but Joel lets only a heartbeat pass before shaking his head. "She was right." He smiles at the look of absolute shock on Ellie's face. "You were right, she is smart."

"Oh, c'mon'—"

"I don't want you to look at all." Then, those wolf-like eyes are back on him. "Is she always like this?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Wow." It's said with admiration. To him. "Well. You ready to eat in a conscious state, Joel?"

Nothing about Joel's body was ready.

Regardless, he nodded. "Yeah." Getting up would be a tricky thing—

but it isn't. Ellie is next to him hooking her arm in his to help him sit before he can even finish the plan of sitting he was trying to come up with.

The thickness in the air is either from how much Joel is feeling at blinking out of unconsciousness slowly to a scene that resembles a normal thing instead of a tragedy was—new.

Inside, he felt some relief. Even if temporary, it was a nice thing to feel — a comet in his pitch-black dark night.

Ellie telling him everything. The consequent hug after all of it, and how having her in his arms made Joel want to break down into tears.

That feeling echoed until now.

Then, it's overshadowed by when their pot opens and the smell hits them.

"Woah."

Ellie's right on that — smelling good cooking is in the list of things Joel least expected.

"Is this because of the herbs you brought?" Ellie asks.

The lady nods with a hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth.

"Cool. We haven't eaten anything decent since Jacksonville."

As much as Joel would love to tell her to mind her manners, but it's the truth.

During the first few bites, the conversation is stifled and awkward. A lot of what happened between his last moment of consciousness and now keeps coming back to him, and it's distracting, but the taste of the food turns out to be even better.

After a guttural groan as she bites on the mix of rice and meat, Ellie turns to her side. "What is this?"

Iara chuckles. "Thyme. Some other herbs. Nothing much."

"Okay — don't say that. This is amazing," Ellie insists.

Joel's head is nodding along. He feels the eyes on him, and seeks for the courage to stare back at you. "She's right."

"This is even better than your brother's food," Ellie tells him.

Joel has to fight back a smile. "Eat your food." She's right. Her grin tells him she knows that, and Joel shakes his head.

He did wish it was Maria cooking that day.

It probably would've been something like this. Delicious.

When Ellie asks about her — Iara Lupi, Joel has trouble thinking of her name, all he sees is sharp electric eyes, that gaze on me, wolf, wolf, wolf — conversation changes.

Smoothes out. Joel just focuses on eating, on doing so slowly as to not seem like an animal, but his ears are all theirs.

He only notices he's being talked to because Ellie kicks his chin.

"Huh?"

"She asked you a question," says Ellie.

He looks up — wolf.

Lupi.

It makes sense.

"'m sorry — what was that?"

"I asked how much does it hurt?" Not does it hurt, because that's obvious to her. How much.

Joel eats the word 'why' because that would be rude. He shrugs his shoulders. "A little. 's more — aching. Y'know?"

"Makes sense. It's still really swollen," Lupi nods.

"Would it be more if I'd applied it that way?" asks Ellie.

Lupi laughs in her little bowl. "Yeah, little one. The needle and medicine straight to the wound would've had a little bit of reaction. It was already sensitive."

"She taught me how to apply the medicine," Ellie informs, looking at Joel. "It has to be intramuscularly—" she stops, checking on Lupi who nods at the information. "Right. And some medicine you apply it intravenous. Which is harder, 'cause I've got no fucking clue how to find a vein."

"Most people have no clue," Joel offers as comfort.

"And the next time..." Lupi prompts.

"Right! If the vial is intact, I can check it for instructions. 'Cause they put it in there how to do it," Ellie parrots the information that was likely given when Joel was out of this world.

"You taught her well," Lupi's eyes are on him as she says that. Joel stops with the fork midway to his mouth. "She's an excellent shot. Clean and throughout."

Pride swells up his chest. Joel smiles at her, and Ellie looks almost embarrassed at the compliment.

"I can be better," she mumbles.

"Practice," says Lupi.

"Lots of it," adds Joel.

Looking at Joel, Ellie points her fork in your direction. "Her aim is perfect. Like — remember I told you about the dart? It was right in the middle of his fuckin' neck."

Right then, something happens — as Joel looks over to her, there's a flicker of something extra in her eyes that's gone in a blink, but the ghost of happiness lingers in her face. The corner of her mouth, the lazy drop in her eyes. She's content thinking about the man who harmed Ellie with a dart in his neck. A poisonous one.

Joel decides that while he's not certain she can be trusted yet, he can like her.

"I need to have it," Lupi says, finally. "Very little room for mistakes in this life."

Joel nods at that.

Very little room for mistakes in this life.

He'd made his fair share of them. More than he should have, more than he wished. Still — if there was room, it's mostly gone now.

Her aim is perfect.

It dances around his mind for the rest of the evening, that knowledge.

Instead of letting it steal all of his focus, Joel sets his mind to focus on the image ahead of him. So many times over the years he's obsessed over the memories he only has bits and pieces of because at the time he wasn't present for them, it makes him livid to even think.

So he doesn't.

Instead, Joel listens to Ellie making small conversation.

Their easy banter and interaction make Joel relax even when he wants to stay alert.

Ellie calls her Iara with fluidity. Easily.

Joel's stuck in the ways she feels bigger than a room. All he sees is the wolf.

Her presence is big, and his mind plays 'her aim is perfect' over and over until their food is gone and Ellie's satisfied her fill of questions.

The only time she directs herself at him again is to ask about his wound. Usually, Joel would bristle at the reminder of his failing and his age, but her question lacks any tone of malice.

After he winced to get up — a singular tremble of his lips — Lupi fixed her gaze on him. "Does it irradiate?"

Joel frowns. "What?"

"The pain, when you move. Does it flow to the rest of the body?" she elaborates.

Joel nods. "A lil'."

"Is that bad?" asks Ellie.

"No. Infections are nasty. The longer he gives himself to heal the better it'll be." She starts gathering her things and Joel feels uneasy watching it.

"D'you think we're safe here?" Joel asks her.

Lupi slows down for a second, looking between him and Ellie. Weighing if she tells the whole truth or the partial one, probably.

"He'd be a fool to come looking for trouble." Lupi's hands close around her bow. "But... you're asking if he is a fool."

"I am."

"He is." At least she's honest. "If you were a little up higher, you'd be in our territory and that would deter him. You're not in shape for that walk, though."

"This was the fastest thing we could find," says Ellie. The given circumstances goes unsaid.

"There's a couple more abandoned cottages in this mountain." Lupi looks away and then breathes in deeply. "I brought... salve." Her eyes are so expressive, and Joel wonders if the painting in them amplifies that. "If you want it. You could put some in the area and by tomorrow it'd hurt less. You'd be able to walk there."

"It'd still be difficult," Joel states, sensing that in her tone. Lupi nods, and it makes him think of the possibility of something shitty happening along the way. His eyes go to Ellie who's listening with attentive eyes.

He doesn't have a night.

As minimum as it is, there is a window where Ellie's left alone again, and he hates that.

"I could take you there, too." The offer makes him look at her again. "I can handle your weight better than her. I know the place."

The obvious discomfort in her could mean numerous things. Horrible things. And yet—

Joel knows she's only projecting it so loudly because she hates how it looks. How much she's asking them to trust her intentions, and although it's only been days — for her and Ellie, hours for had and Joel — they're not people who trust easily.

The thing is — Joel does.

Not trusts, exactly. That's too big of a word. But he wants to.

The only approval he needs comes from his little outlaw.

One glance with Ellie and Joel knows — okay.

Looking back at her, Joel nods. "I'd like that."

Take them far away from that fucking town and those fucking people.

Joel needed time.

He needed to be not in pain. With a hole searing and burning in his stomach.

Lupi nods back, and looks around. "Shall we?"

Ellie speaks up. "You — sit down." Talking to him. Gods, he's gone—soft. Something. Joel huffs but complies. "I'll get our stuff. The less you move the better."

When they empty out their hiding place with backpacks on and guns in hand, Joel accepts Lupi's silent offer to be a walking cane through gritted teeth.

He thanks the universe for the cold distracting him from how unnerved her presence makes him.

Her aim is perfect.

She had no reason to help them. But...

Joel steals a couple of glances at her wild hair, inches away from him, walking through the snow with certain steps and quick eyes — it's undeniable.

That's the help he'd need.

Was it the universe?

If Joel did this all alone — and he could, despite how hard it would be and how impossible it seems in his head, he fucking would finish this mission with or without aid — while it'd be complete, something would break beyond repair.

He knows that. Feels it in his bones, as if it's part of his blood.

He doesn't want anything else broken.

How would be ask?

What would be her reason to fucking go?

Lupi barely had reasons to come back.

She settles them inside a cottage two times smaller than the abandoned house they were in, but three times in better shape. Ellie thanks her again, and Joel notices in her step that Ellie seems to be looking for something — probably the same thing he is.

Joel finds it in the last remnants of his consciousness to ask her.

He's sweating again after the trip up, and feeling a little delirious.

Lupi's talking in hushed tones to him about the salve and Joel knows he still has a voice.

So he uses it. "Lupi."

Her eyes snap towards him like daggers. Sharp, cutting through everything. It's warm, but not the stinging kind like his bruise. The blanket type.

It's the first time he called her by a name, he takes note.

"Would you come back again?" Joel needs her to say yes. He feels it in the knot climbing up his throat. "You saved her. I... I need to thank ya."

"She already did." Lupi straightens her back. "But... I can."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. To check on you." Then, something happens. The left corner of her mouth flickers, and Joel may be dreaming, he must be, but it seems to hide a smile. Her head nudges in Ellie's direction. "This one will be fine."

It forces a chuckle out of him.

Ellie fully laughs behind her hand. A short burst of laughter.

"Okay." Joel accepts it gladly.

She'll be back to check on him. He might have a chance of making a miracle — Lupi's right, Ellie will be fine. Somehow she will.

Hoping it's not all a dream, he lets his eyes close, feeling oddly comfortable inside his sleeping cot.

Citrine embraces his mind, deep in his subconscious.

When he comes to himself, Joel's in snowy mountains.

The first splash of color he sees comes from a pair of large, yellow wolf eyes.

🏷 @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart — @corvusmortem-blog — @sirtommyholland — @expir3dl0v3

#usernexusnyx #joel miller imagine #joel miller series #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller self insert #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller headcanon

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anouri · 1 year

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Marie Howe, from What the Living Do: Poems (1999)

#one of the greatest delusions of the average man is to forget that life is death’s prisoner #she then embraced sweet death as if she were a ghost #words #marie howe #and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking #burden of consciousness #truth is like a blanket #mine

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ahqkas · 9 months

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001. THE MAIDEN VOYAGE OF RMS TITANIC

❛ i can't help but feel somewhat like my body marred my soul. handmade beauty sealed up by two man-made walls ❜

PAIRING! simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! Onboard the RMS Titanic, social boundaries blur as a high-class woman's gaze meets that of a man from the lower echelons. In an instant, their eyes lock, kindling an unexpected fascination that lingers until their next encounter

WORD COUNT! 2.6k

WARNINGS! nothing major, the plot is building !! mean mother and bad relationship w her, brief mention of death

NOTES! ahhh so excited for this series even though idk if someone's interested enough to read the whole thing ,, enjoy the journey and thank u for sticking around if u do !!

SERIES M.LIST! NEXT PART!

The sky is nothing but a canvas of light, letting the artist use their talent and imagination to create something unique for a human's eye to catch and cling onto, like a child to its mother. The sight was something natural, yet it still warmed hearts of people around. Even though the eye is plain and the beauty of the nature is too brilliant to be seen by it, it still manages to capture a lot of attention and curious gazes of those who show enough interest and let themselves be pulled in. Just like the beauty of the glorious ship, Titanic.

The world is simple, but the beauty of it is complex and difficult to crack.

The giant of a boat robbed many of their breaths away and caged them with her unforgettable appearance like a simple flower in the meadows. She was constructed of thousands and hundreds with the deepest care to make her look as appealing as she was pictured to be, to steal away hearts with all of her glory. The luxurious ship was meant to be an eye catcher, so that's what they made her to be. Many men even died in the process of her building, but their sacrifice was worthy the heart shaped stares she was bringing upon herself. They put their tears, their blood, and their sweat into perfection and now she was swaying on the gentle waves in the deck of Southampton, England, waiting to outshine the stars themselves. The unsinkable ship, as they said. The ship of dreams.

The distant singing of seagulls wavered through the air along with the chorus of chaotic goodbyes of people who already boarded the ship to their loved ones below, shouting about how they're gonna miss them or how they'll bring a gift from New York once they return home to their awaiting embrace. Lingering words and held breaths painted a canvas of poignant parting, heartbeats echoing their farewell. It was messy but sweet at the moment, the promise of returning in the air as the last warning of departure was echoing in the air from the captain.

Goodbyes were bittersweet yet freeing sometimes, and you wished you could say your goodbye to the life you've been living since the day you were born. The cause of your anguish was simply because of your social status, standing between the snob and rich people like you belonged in the place like them.

You didn't.

You weren't like your mother, who only respected and liked people with the same social status like her (the high class, or better said the first class) and you certainly weren't like her in the way she couldn't even look in an eye to a person with a lower class than her. She spoke of them lowly, like their hands have never touched gold and silver like hers did every day. She thought of them lowly, like she was something more than them in the society.

You weren't like your fiancé, König, who you could learn to love in the depths of your big heart if it wasn't for his constant actions to please your mother. He wasn't really that bad but he wanted to fit in and that changed his way of thinking and acting. He started agreeing more with your mother on things he didn't before and the way he did things resembled hers in some way. You couldn't like him anymore after he changed and that left you fluttering your wings in the golden cage your mother trapped you in with her mindset.

However, you were like your father. He was an old man, but he wore his heart on the sleeve of his expensive suit and the words he let out of his mouth were carefully thought through before he let them reach the ears of others. There was nothing but kindness in his blue eyes full of wisdom and he made sure you'd take all the good from him once he was long gone. John was the opposite from your mother, he didn't think differently of other people and treated them all with the same kind of respect until they did something to change his mind. You couldn't put a finger on the thought of how your courteous father ended up with someone as nasty as your mother. It seemed like everyone who walked upon the planet got their piece of love, the question was in which form you'd receive it and if you accepted it.

The voice of your mother, fake sweetness dripping from it like the sticky ice cream had streamed down your tiny hand once the sun shined bright and the warmth of the weather was too much for the cold treat, reached your ears and it sounded like a chalk on a board. Many would say the singing from the gulls was annoying and unpleasant to ears, but you supposed they haven't heard your mother's voice yet.

"At least act like you want to be here, [Name]. You're a lady so act like it. Smile."

Her judgmental words always knew how to get into your heart. No matter how thick walls you built around the muscle to protect it, her cruelty found its way to pierce a path and get through. The words of almost inhumanity made your poor heart bleed, then heal enough for you to forget how mean she can be before they attacked again and that process repeated and repeated without any signs of stopping.

'Who said I even wanted to be here.'

You could only thought in your head because according to her, it was unlady like to speak your mind up and another lecture from the woman you called your mother would only bring you a headache.

'With you from all the people.'

König placed his hand on the small of your back in a silent plea to keep moving forward and you did so, slowly continuing in your path of exploring the ship. His touch brought you comfort in the young days where you've been in love and all over him but those days were long gone. If only he didn't betray your trust like that. And again, you could only blame your mother for that. You saw him nod his head at your mother's words and the urge to push his hand away was stronger than before.

John was walking in front of you with your mother's arm in the crook of his elbow, his other hand resting lovingly at the top of hers, thick fingers occasionally brushing against her knuckles from time to time. He was a gentle man and when he loved, he loved hard and to no end. A personality trait you always admired in the old man.

The man looked over his shoulder at you and König, his eyes twinkling with amusement and excitement while he sent you a wink before he turned his attention to your mother once again. "Give her a break, my love. This was all a sudden opportunity so understand she's a bit . . . well, let's just enjoy the trip."

The old man was all over the opportunity of being on the surface of the giant Titanic and he made clear everyone around him knew it. His love for big ships and ocean was as old as his love for your mother and the excitement he held in himself now was like a child's on Christmas. You didn't want to ruin this moment for him so you forced tight smiles at the people you passed by as you walked on the wooden floor. You had to admit though, even you were robbed of your breath when you saw the unsinkable ship for the first time.

The corset of your dress felt like it was tightening with every step you took and the thought of suffocating there on the spot was welcomed into your restless mind. It would be better than the play pretend game you were showing to people around you and most importantly, you'd be free to fly away from the cage and never return back.

You wanted to turn around, say you didn't feel well or that you forgot to unpack the paintings you took with you, come up with something to convince your parents and fiancé to leave you for a moment so you could clear your head.

A friendly breeze welcomed your uneasy mood as it calmed and ran along your skin like a gentle touch of fingers drawings shapes on your face. You closed your eyes with minimal effort as they felt heavy and let yourself enjoy the simple moment of nature. The salt air entered your nostrils while the wind caressed your skin, your thoughts finally shutting off as the voices and footsteps of your family became more and more distant.

It was just you and your heart now.

Your head moved on its own the moment you felt shivers run down your spine, making you shudder and tense your fingers as they gripped onto the railing you and König were leaning against. The feeling reminded you of an innocent animal, watched by a sinful carnivore. A prey stalked by its predator. Your eyes opened by an instinct and connected with ones that made you feel that way.

And your breath was taken away just like before when you saw Titanic for the first time this day.

Within the Titanic's elegance, an enigmatic stranger appeared in your sight. Shadows clung to him, whispers of intrigue trailing his steps as he returned your stare. Curiosity beckoned, locking gazes and weaving a connection impossible to break and it’s not like you wanted to end whatever was happening.

You weren't a stranger to unwanted attention, you received it all the time as a little kid who danced ballet for the selfish eyes of your mother and you received it even now years later when people saw you with the large man of your fiancé by your side. The attention was all but wanted and you had the urge to hide from that but his attention on you felt somehow different. You didn't feel the tinge of egocentric gaze from him and you certainly didn't feel like he thought any better or worse of you. You were simply just a stranger to him, one that seemed to catch his eyes.

It's probably because it wasn't a look of judgement on his masked face, but rather one of curiosity and intrigue and you welcomed the sudden attention in. The owner was a man, a large one, though he wasn't as big as König, it was clear he was still towering over most of those people amongst him from the C-Deck. Even from the distance you could sense the mystery he was giving off and that made you curious yourself. He wore a dark colored jacket with the hood over his head as he was leaning against a railing like you, his wandering gaze never leaving your form. The weather was fine, warm enough for you to feel good in the short sleeved dress, so the hood threw you off a little but what caught your attention the most was the mask. The skull patterned clothing was hiding his nose, jaw and lips from your gaze as you drank in the appearance of the stranger. He was intriguing and if you could, you'd crack the mystery of him.

You couldn't see well in the distance he was standing in but you were pretty sure his dark eyes never left your figure, even as you turned your head away from him and broke the eye contact. The contact was intense, something you've never experienced before and to your surprise, you wanted more of it even though it sent shivers down your spine. It was like he was pulling you in and you didn't fight against it.

König sent you a concerned glance from the corner of his bright eyes as he stood next to you with his arms crossed on the ship's railing. "You okay? It seemed like you zoned out for a bit here, Schatz."

You turned your head towards him, ignoring the way you still felt his eyes on you before giving your fiancé a tight smile that wasn't convincing at all. "I'm fine. Just tired, I suppose."

"You should rest. We have a dinner planned tonight and your mother will throw a fit when you show up all distracted."

He was right, of course he was, and you didn't like the way he was talking about her. It was like he already made his mind up about his soon to be mother-in-law and the picture of her was pink and sweet. Just the opposite of what she truly was.

You feared she had König wrapped around her finger.

"Okay," you mustered a dismissive reply to his concerns, your head turning oh so slightly in the direction of the masked stranger and your breath hitched in the back of your throat when you caught him looking at you again, his eyes trained on you like you'd disappear if he blinked. The gaze he was offering you felt like he was appreciating you and you felt truly wanted for the first time in your entire life.

What a strange man.

The stranger below was staring off at the A-Deck, his brown eyes drinking your appearance in as you walked away with the large man from Simon's sight and he fought off a disappointed sigh that threatened to spill from his covered lips. You were enchanting like that, a gentle breeze fluttering the short sleeves of your dress with a peaceful expression on your pretty face as you appeared in his life. A sight indeed.

A Scottish man next to Simon waved his hand in front of his friend's face, his own sporting an expression full of cheekiness as he grinned. He wasn't dumb and he saw the way Simon was looking into the distance of the deck above, his eyes trained on one woman in particular. Simon has never acted like this, no matter how the women were attractive or how many drinks he had that night.

"Aye, mate, I think we're losing you there."

Simon Riley was simply down bad, as the Scottish man would say.

A nudge to Johnny's ribs caused for his teasing eyes to pull towards their another friend, Kyle Garrick or rather Gaz as he preferred to be called, as he shook his head in a manner to mock Simon's sudden interest. "You can forget about her right here, pal. She's clearly off limits, one way or another."

All three of them knew to what exactly was Gaz indicating. You were standing amongst rich people and the expensive dress you were wearing that shined in the sunlight with its brightness was of an enough proof. You didn't and wouldn't talk to people like them, whenever you decided on it yourself or because your high status didn't allow such action without having eyes turned on you. And then there was the person next to you, the huge mountain of a man who seemed to care about you with such delicacy Simon was almost pissed off. Of course you'd be taken.

"People like her aren't friendly with people like us."

Simon knew Gaz was right but his mind and heart still wanted to reach for you, to get to know the persona he suddenly became intrigued with.

"Whatever."

But his thoughts were filled with you to the brim, the image of your face imprinted behind his eyes like the finest painting ever painted. It was clear he wouldn't forget about you in some time. And maybe it was for the better.

You didn't know that simple indirect interaction would have a huge effect on your life, both his and yours.

TAGLIST ! @lols-wdym @taylor-clifford-65 @ananas26t @poohkie90 @razzles-boiler @kaysav608 @blvebanisters @sanzuandmikey @snowy-skyways

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storiesbyjes2g · 4 months

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3.62 The pit stop

The night ran away from us, and I wanted to let Dad go to bed. Sophia also needed to go home, but there was something I longed to do but never had the courage to do solo. Had I asked Mama to accompany me, she would have been thrilled, but she would have made it about herself. I had no specific reason for feeling that night was the night, but I wanted to take the chance and hoped Sophia would be open to it. She made me brave.

"Hey, ummm...I know it's getting late, and you need to get to bed, but would you mind if we made a quick stop in Newcrest?"

A glimmer appeared in her eyes.

"Your mom's house?"

"Ha! No. Well...not exactly."

As we left Dad's house, she gave me a suspicious look. An unusual feeling of guilt came over me when we got to Newcrest. It felt weird being in the same city as my mom but not going to see her. I watched Sophia closely for any signs of unease as we reached our destination, the cemetery.

"What are we doing here?" she asked curiously.

At least she wasn't afraid.

"I've been wanting to do this for a long time, but I haven't been brave enough to come alone."

She nodded and grabbed my hand. Though I hadn't been there in many years, I found my grandparents' graves as if I had visited every weekend.

"This is my family," I said. "My grandparents, my mom's dogs..."

She peered at all the graves, reading the epitaphs, silently getting to know everyone.

"Gammy—that's what I called my grandmother. She died a day or two before my child birthday. I don't remember her because I was so young, but I know I loved her. I can remember that, but not her. Isn't that weird?"

"Not at all. Love is powerful like that."

"Yeah... I guess it is. My mom brought us here once. Well, twice, but I was way too young to remember the first time. I've wanted to come back here ever since to see if I could meet her. Maybe she could tell me about our life together."

Sweet Sophia threw her arm around my waist.

"I hope she shows up."

The bitter cold cut through us as we stood around waiting for something to happen. To pass the time, I read the epitaphs on the graves too, since it had been a while. I noticed there were only two dog graves, not three. Mama must still have Tofu in the house with her. I understood why she'd keep her, but that couldn't have been healthy. Not only was it a constant reminder of her death, but also what if her ghost showed up? Was it really helpful to carry on with a ghost as if nothing happened?

Speaking of ghosts, one dog came out of the grave in a cloud of smoke. He stood on the plot for a while, taking in his surroundings and paying us no mind.

"Who is that?" Sophia asked.

"I don't know. Never met that one. I vaguely remember the one I used to know."

Out of nowhere, someone grabbed me from behind and threw their arms around me. I thought Sophia had become unexpectedly emotional, but it turned out to be my Gammy!

"Is that my baby??" she shouted.

"Gammy?!"

I embraced her back, squeezing as tight as I could, not believing my eyes. She looked just like she did in all my pictures...minus being transparent, of course.

"What are you doing out here in this cold??" she scolded.

I laughed. That was such a grandma question.

"I came to see you, Gammy!"

"You sure picked a doozy!"

It was strange that I couldn't recall her voice, yet it sounded oddly familiar.

"You've been on my mind a lot lately," I said, "but I don't really remember you. Only that I loved you a lot. I thought if I came here, I could meet you and you could tell me about life before...ummm... Oh, this is my girlfriend!"

Sophia waved.

"I'm Sophia! It's really good to meet you."

"Well, aren't you beautiful," Gammy said. "And so polite and well-spoken! You did good, handsome!"

My face was already red from it being so cold, but if it wasn't, I'm sure I would have blushed. This was so freaky! I'd been a fan of this woman my whole life without knowing her, and now she floated before me, giving out compliments like candy.

"I've gotta call Mama! She's gonna freak out!"

Gammy swatted at me.

"Uh uh! She can come see me anytime! I want you all to myself!"

I put my phone away.

"Yes ma'am!"

"Tell me everything! Where do you live? What do you do? How did you meet this pretty young thing??"

I began my tale in Mt. Komorebi, right after my birthday, right before I almost knocked down Sophia from running inside to get out of the storm. I told her about falling in love with yoga and moving to San Sequoia with Dad all the way to moving in with Sophia.

She high-fived Sophia.

"YES, girl! These men don't know what they want. Sometimes we gotta tell 'em what they want! I am not mad at this! Not at all! You got you a real one, baby! She's gonna keep you in line!"

We all laughed. She was so spunky. It was easy to envision Less and I having a blast with her.

"Your grandson doesn't need keeping in line, though," Sophia said.

Gammy gazed at me.

"Don't I know it. He's a proper gentleman, just like his daddy. How's he doing, anyway?"

"He's good. Getting ready to retire. And...uhhh...he's making friends."

"Good for him! Watcher knows he needs something good after your mama shred him to pieces!"

Mama's other dog woke up and began barking. His volume was incredibly loud and terrifying! I'd never been so startled in all my life.

"What the hell is that??"

"Shush, Hunter! We have company! Ol' loud self!"

"Was he mean?" I asked.

"That ol' Casanova? He's just loud and don't know how to act! Your mama spoiled him rotten and didn't teach him a thing!"

She was so colorful. Her powerful presence made it clear how I could still love her with no memories. She was just one of those sims that made a huge impression.

"I see y'all over there freezing," she said. "Go on and get outta here, now. Come back and see me when it's warm!"

As much as I wanted to whine and say something akin to "five more minutes," I couldn't deny how good dusty ol' Oasis Springs sounded. Besides, I promised Sophia it would be a quick stop, so I threw my arms around Gammy again and said goodbye.

"I'm so glad I got a chance to reconnect with you," I said. "I'll be back. I promise."

"Maybe next time you come, she'll be your wife!" She turned toward Sophia. "You like how I did that? I got you, girl!"

So meddling was a family trait, huh? Got it.

While leaving the cemetery, we overheard Gammy fussing at Hunter, and it was the funniest thing I'd heard all day.

"She was so fun," Sophia said.

"Right? We have to go see Mama tomorrow and tell her about this."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Look, I know I said I wasn't ready, but honestly, it doesn't feel right trying to hide something this big from her. Everyone but her knows about you now. I'll deal with whatever she throws at us."

She held my hand.

"If you say so."

Need to catch up? See what you missed or start reading here!

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #amina pope #this was the greatest day of my gameplay life!

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go-river-flows · 1 year

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Sweet Visions of a flower

Summary: Syulang (OC), an orphaned girl after the destruction of Hometree. She is constanly reminded of this by her amputated left leg and constantly dreams of her deep trauma. Even when she gets adopted by Toruk Makto and his wife, who she resented for over six years before forgiving him.

Part 3 or ?

I let them up into my tented canopy, The boys looked around as young Kiri, sat between her father’s legs. Jake Sully’s eyes stayed looking at me, as I tried avoiding eye contact.

“I'm sorry, this must sound…rude. Can you tell me your name again?” Jake Sully asked. Though I was hesitant, I told him my name.

“Syulang.”

“Syulang,” he repeated, falling silent. Though he was repeating that name in his head over and over again like a mantra. “You know, I never forgot about you.”

I scoffed lightly, holding back an incredulous laugh. I know it was a lie. I looked at his children and the human one, who now sat down next to me looking at my false leg. His curious eyes got bigger as he looked at it with great intrigue, staring at the mechanism and weaving.

“I see the great Toruk Makto got busy,” I didn't mean it to come out so rudely. His eyes widened a little bit. I mentally cursed myself for inviting them in. “You don't have to lie, I already know the truth.”

I didn't have to look to know he grimaced at that.

“You know, as leader of the clan, I have to lead the people. Take care of them. So can you tell me why you’re not with the clan?” he asked calmly, almost gentle. It made me want to cry, I tried repressing those memories, the destruction of Hometree. The death of my parents, friends. My injury. The aftereffects of war. It was all too much. I have nightmares. I prayed to Eywa to forget, but she never helped.

So I told him about just that. He sat and listened. His children too. They gathered sitting near listening to the story. I was only ten when this all happened, imagine how traumatised I was. How I couldn't stay with the clan as it was a constant reminder of the many losses we suffered, and how both my parents were killed, not just one, but both. How I cried myself to sleep for days, how my Uncle Pawk couldn't calm me. I decided to leave. I feel ghost pains in my left leg. Toruk Makto listened. After that, he thanked me for talking to him, he gathered his children and they left to go back home. That night I had difficulty sleeping so I went to cuddle with my big cat and her babies.

The following day I woke up against my thanator, her soft purring and warmth much like a mother’s warm embrace. I thanked her for her comfort as I began my day as usual. Drinking some river water, washing my face, hunting fish for the day, washing my body in the lake. Then Lo’a and I went hunting for some meat.

After hunting and bringing back a carcass of a fwampop, also known as a Tapirus. Thanking Eywa for the life of the creature. I pet Lo’a’s head as well, thanking her for being by my side. I cut up the meat and wrapped them into portions with leaves, packing the rest of it in a covered hole I used as storage. For the rest of the day, I did my chores, weaving new baskets, collecting fruit, herbal plants and organising my canopy.

What I wasn't expecting was the call of an ikran and its rider, landing on the branch just above my home. A huge gust of wind knocked over my many baskets, which bumped my water pot over the edge of my canopy. Shattering it as it collided with the ground a few metres down, nearly smashing on my resting thanator, who made a startled sound looking up at me. Arrgh, I growled in anger, punching the tree trunk, annoyed. A familiar face popped into view from above my tented canopy, just showing their head looking guilty. If not for the situation I would have found it funny. Toruk Makto, Jake Sully. Oh Eywa! I hissed at him, wanting to scratch his eyes out.

“You owe me a pot,” I snarled at him. Slumping down in defeat, “I just cleaned up, you stupid Toruk Makto!”

His face scrunching up into a guilty yet apologetic expression, a small voice calling out as another face popped into view.

“Hi Syulang!” Neteyam greeted chipperly. I greeted back with a grunt. “Oh wow, it's messy in here,” he stated at the obvious mess, making me grumble with my ears pinned back, arms crossing over my chest with irritation. There came another call of an ikran, it too landing on the branch above, however, gracefully and blowing gentle wind through my canopy home.

“Can we come in?” Neteyam asked. I looked up at the boy and gave a singular nod. “Dad, help me down.” I watched as Jake Sully lowered Neteyam into my canopy. Then a smaller boy, Lo’ak. Who ran over to me, diving into my lap, hugging my torso as I kept my arms on my chest, my ears twitched in annoyance. Finally Jake himself entered my canopy as another Na’vi made themself known. The warrior and Toruk Makto’s wife, Neytiri, with a babe wrapped around her front. I stood in shock, greeting her. Little Lo’ak still with arms wrapped around my torso hung when I stood.

“Sister, I see you,” formally greeting her, hand to my head and gently bowing. She did the same.

“Lo’ak, let go,” Jake pried the little boy off as he giggled. I noticed in the corner of my eye, Neteyam was picking up the baskets, gently scooping the fallen contents, returning them into it's respective basket even though he didn't have to.

“Ma Jake told me that there was a young girl living all alone out here,” Neytiri spoke, my eyes shifted to Jake again staring him down as he still held the same apologetic expression, he soon joined his son picking up the baskets, cleaning up my canopy. “I had to come to see for myself. If you were who he said you were. Syulang, I see you. And I want to thank you properly. All those years ago, I heard of a child with a broken leg, dragging my father from our fallen Hometree. Throughout the chaos, no one had asked your name. They only talked about a girl from our Omatikaya Clan. Young, brave, fearless, who sacrificed her own leg for a proper burial for my father, Eytukan. My dear, I thank you. Eywa thanks you. I see you. Come back to the clan.” Neytiri wrapped her arms around my shoulders, bringing me into a hug. I shook my head no.

“No, I will not. If Toruk Makto told you everything, you would know the reason why,” I told her. Jake’s ear twitched at his title.

“I know, I have heard. I cannot ask you to forgive, but I plead with you to come home. Your mother, your father would want you to be with your clan,” Neytiri begged. I wanted to cry at the mention of my parents. “You don't have to be an orphan, we can take care of you,” Neytiri proclaimed, “Our family have talked, we want to take you in.” She looked at her husband, who gave a soft smile. “You can stay with us in our nest,” she gently hummed. A part of me does. I miss having a family, I miss my mother’s touch, I miss my father’s reassurance. My heart pounded hard, I sighed trying to take it all in.

Pulling away from Neytiri, I though about it. I looked at the two boys, at Jake Sully. My feelings about him have always been mixed, but yet he looked at me with sad and understanding eyes.

“Okay,” I quietly mumbled. Their ears perked, Neteyam, Jake and Lo’ak’s eyes lighting up.

“We’ll pick you up tonight, pack your belongings,” Neytiri offered, her hands rubbing my arms in a comforting manner. The boys had finished cleaning up and were standing together.

“Before you go, take some things,” I left my canopy, sliding down the long thick rope. Strolling past my thanator, I opened up the storage hole, pulling all the fresh food from inside. The preservatives remained, just in case. The two adults had climbed down from my canopy, finding me halfway in a hole. Their footsteps alerted me.

“These are from my morning hunt, and some fruit preserves for the children,” I handed them small closed packaged leaf containers, fashioned into a jar, “These last for a long time.” My ears perked, Neytiri thanked me with a smile. Jake picked up all the wrapped meat, thanking me too. “There are more in this hole, enough to feed a large family, but they are mostly preserved.”

Not long after, Toruk Makto, his wife and children took off back home. Their ikrans screeched in the distance. I began packing most of my belongings, retrieving my bow and arrows. Covering the food storage hole as well. I wove a large basket for Lo’a’s cubs just in case. I decided to keep my canopy up in the tree in case I would return. Finally rolling up my mat, I lay to wait for Jake and Neytiri. Eclipse is coming soon. I looked up at the darkening sky, watching the stars glimmer when I noticed a constellation of new stars. Sitting up properly to take a better look, I realise what it was.

How many years ago was it now? A new star descending from the sky. It scarred the land as aliens destroyed the land. The burnt and greying land, a reminder of the destruction that the sky people brought. Not long after, they arrived at our doorstep. Pink flesh, small and carrying weapons, designed to slaughter. Our Olo’eyktan and Tsashik stood and greeted the sky people with contempt, hesitation. Fear. They came in false bodies, wanting to teach the people English, to learn about our culture, everything. To assimilate. There were those who rejected them, and those who welcomed them. But they broke our trust, destroyed everything we held dear. Demons.

Sky demons. They have returned. I ignored my mind at that moment, I grabbed my two sling packs and archery equipment, dropped from my canopy to the ground in a rush. Gathering the cubs into the basket and climbing onto Lo’a’s back. Connecting my queue, I told her to run. Run as fast as you can. She sped away as fast as she could whilst holding our weight. The cubs whined in fear as the scorching heat reached us, though we were far away, we could see the flames emitted from the foreign metal creature. The great winds it produced as it landed, burning everything in it's radius, red and orange disintegrating Eywa’s creations. The anger I felt, the agony I felt. I roared out in anguish, the only thing I could do was run. The call of ikrans above me snapped me out of my furiosity. Voices yelling out my name.

“SYULANG!!!”

“Keep going!” I urged Lo’a, “To the Hallelujah mountains!” Lo’a turned off to the right, running as fast as she could, jumping over fallen logs, not stopping for a moment. We kept going even though the heat retreated.

“SYULANG!!!” the voices screamed out. I looked up, as an Ikran flew over me. I waved up at the rider, Neytiri, who was watching in stunned awe. She lands not too far away and hops down from her ikran rushing to me, Lo’a growls at her as I disconnect tsaheylu, I carry the basket of cubs with me as Lo’a is on my tail.

Neytiri, grabs the basket from me looking down into it. Lo’a produces a low yowl.

“It’s okay Lo’a, we’re taking them somewhere safe,” I kissed the top of her head, she nudged me. The other ikran also arrives behind us, Jake rushing over, checking me over.

“Ma jake, take her things. We’re taking you up to High Camp, we must hurry,” Jake, pulls my bags from me pulling them over his shoulder.

“Hold on,” I turn to Lo’a giving her a hug, resting my forehead on the top of her head, “I’ll look for you. Keep going to the floating mountains.”

“Come, Syulang,” Neytiri pulls me toward her ikran. She climbs up first, pulling me up to sit behind her. “Hold on tight.” I wrapped my arms around Neytiri’s waist, her Ikran ascended quickly, almost giving me whiplash.

We flew for a while, into the fog. Toruk Makto flying beside us. It was strangely calm here. Quiet. I haven't been in the sky in a long time. It felt freeing, I looked at my false leg, it was a part of me that I couldn't simply let go. It's what keeps me living. If I didn't have it, I wouldn't move freely. I’ll forgive Jake Sully. I'll forgive my Toruk Makto. I understand now. For seven years I harboured deep resentment for the man, every time I saw him I would scowl, eyebrows furrowing in indignation. I think It's time to let go. For the first time, I smiled at him with tears. I forgive you. And he smiled back.

Arriving in the High Camp, we were greeted by the surviving Omatikaya clan. Some gasped when they realised who was with Toruk Makto and his wife. Pawk pushed through the crowd as Neytiri slid off her Ikran. Holding her arms out for me to slide into.

“Syulang!” Pawk ran to embrace me. The clan collectively gasped at the realisation. Pawk looked me over from head to toe, before he cupped his hands around my face, tears falling from his face. “You're all grown up. You look like your mother.”

Neytiri tugged at my hand and Pawk let me go with Neytiri. She held my hand pulling us through the crowd, the members parting to make a path. They stared in stunned silence. Some looked at me as if they just remembered their missing clan member, the others looking at my legs.

Neytiri brought me to her mother’s tent. Stopping at the entrance as Mo’at pushed open the opening flap. Coming face to face with her daughter. Her eyes widened as they fell on me.

“Come, come in,” Mo’at rushed us in, closing the flap. As we knelt down in front of Mo’at, she pulled me into a hug. “My dear little one. I see you.”

We talked for a long time, in that conversation she asked me why I left the clan, why I couldn't have come to just talk to my Tsahik. I told her everything, my trauma, how I resented Toruk Makto, and how I had come to forgive him. Some tears were spilt and some breaks were in order. After it all, I was exhausted. Before I left to get some rest, Mo’at retrieved something for me. “I believe this belongs to you,” Mo’at said, unwrapping a cloth. In her hands were three necklaces, and I broke down in tears one final time. My mother’s, father’s and even Rumut’s necklaces. I cried until exhaustion overtook me, I fell asleep in Neytiri’s arms.

<–Previous Chapter | Next Chapter –>

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angel-ranger · 19 hours

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as promised, here is a whistlestop tour of my (belated) thoughts on idgie and ruth vs shauna and jackie. for @hellmo and @fueledbyseggovia.

jackie and ruth

• ruth, meaning "friend"

• jackie, meaning "supplanter"

• names in contrast yet so intwined

• ruth, above all else, is everyone's friend

• and jackie, above all else, supplants her true self in order to be everyone's friend

• people are drawn to them, smiles so honey sweet, eyes so expressive

• they're the types of people with souls so bright they light yours on fire, be that as a a fire you use to warm a home, or to burn it down

• they follow the rule book on how to be a good girl; a good woman

• ruth follows a man she doesn't love and bears his child, whilst jackie dates the popular boy everyone expects her to, and both end up being used and betrayed

• expectation weighs heavily on them

• fear of judgement fuels this

• so they do as they're told to play the role of the good girl, the good wife

• people consider them to be frail, but don't be fooled by the gentle and placating outer shell

• they give as good as they get

• they care about everyone, even if they may not care about them in return

• they're loyal to a fault

• they exist as one half of a whole

• soulmated to something wild, someone so in contrast to who they are

• bearing the weight of the world on their shoulders, it's no surprise they crumble under the weight it all

• as fortitudinous as their minds are, time runs out for everyone

• they are victims of fate; of "this was always going to happen"

• they are victims of the cruelty of nature

• leaving for them was never a choice, and if it were ever presented to them as such, they would never take it

• the only reason they would ever leave their loved ones behind is through death

• and a lady always knows when to leave

• the only difference being, whilst both left on their own terms

• ruth left laid in her bed, listening to her love tell one if her tall tales, surrounded by love and family and warmth

• jackie left laid outside in the dark, alone, surrounded by nothing and no one, surrounded by heartbreak, betrayal, and the cold

shauna and idgie

• neatly summed up, shauna and idgie are reckless. independent. childish. dependable. devoted

• they rarely think before they act - always a doer

• definitely of the opinion it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission

• and fortune favours them in loving people so forgiving

• wild women by nature, quietly loving at heart

• natural storytellers

• they're simultaneously impossible to read whilst wearing their hearts on their sleeves

• they've only ever been in love with one person in their life, and they continue to love them once they're gone

• i don't think they'd even know how to stop

• they're independent, not because they don't need anyone, but for the longest time they didn't want anyone

• they'll forever feel like half of a whole.

• they'll forever wish for more time

• time to fix mistakes, time to show their love, time to grow

• but

• where shauna is haunted by jackie's death; followed by the ghost of her; moulding herself into what she assumed jackie's future would be and sacrificing her own

• idgie embraces all the bits of ruth left behind, and creates her life around them, continues her legacy in a way ruth would have loved

• where shauna is scared of all the jackie she can see in callie

• idgie rejoices in all the ruth she can see in buddy

• where idgie is proud of all the parts of herself she sees reflected in buddy

• shauna is terrified of her reflection in callie

• where idgie couldn't wait for her future with ruth

• shauna couldn't wait to have jackie out of hers

• but not like that

#yellowjackets #jackie taylor #shauna shipman #jackieshauna #idgie threadgoode #ruth jamison #fried green tomatoes

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reginarubie · 1 year

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For that lovely anon who asked the “Until I found you,” song, Jonsa story:

Here you have the canon one, know I mean to make the next installment of Jon and Sansa do end up together by Sansa POV with this song so you shall have the modern version too!

(I know you had sent me another ask, but I can’t find it for the life of me in my ask box, I have too many unanswered asks, but I did not forget about you!)

I was lost within the darkness until I found her [I found you]

To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. “Sweet lady,” he said, “no victory is half so beautiful as you” — Sansa II, AGOT

He wanted it. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. — Jon XIII, ASOS

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." — Jon IV, ADWD

Of sudden, he felt the warmth spreading from his chest to his limbs, up his neck, turning almost into a scorching heat burning him, and darkness inside of him from within.

Someone was chanting, chanting in some kind of ancient, malicious tongue that seemed to curl around his heart like an iron fist and squeeze until there was no longer life inside of him and no breath inside of his breast.

Someone was singing, the voice so far and so soft that Jon wondered if it could be his mother, singing to him from the recess of his mind.

Does she know about me?

The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother.

In his dreams his mother had always been beautiful, with kind eyes and a soft voice, noble born and she loved him. He wondered if that warmth spreading into his limbs and vanquishing the cold could be her love. Maybe, in death he'd known the embrace of a woman who loved him, that kind of love than could not die, that kind of love one could not deny, the kind of love for which duty and death were nothing but empty words with no power over him.

You know nothing, Jon Snow., Ygritte seemed to accuse him from somewhere in the recess of his mind and Jon could almost feel her probing hands on her, and wished once again Ghost was there, to stand between them.

Ghost, he remembered the blades and the cold.

Traitor.

Half a wildling, half a wolf, the blood of Winterfell. Somewhere deep in his being a wolf howled and it was as if he was suddenly shoved back inside his own body after having floated above it, around it, without anything binding him to the empty vessel he had left behind.

I loved another, echoed in his mind, the warm hand of the Red woman gripping at him, probing at him. The dead need no lovers, Jon Snow. But suddenly her heat was gone from his flesh and Jon felt the burn of the air feeling his lungs again — like the bite of the cold across his flesh — and he shivered as he roused with a sob.

The room was all wrong, he decided as his eyes adjusted to the dim light and the wooden canopy. Everything was wrong.

Davos' kind eyes, fatherly in some way he couldn't quite explain, were the first thing his glance could focus on.

———————————————————————————————————

“You swore an oath!” Edd tried to plead with him. I'm the sword in the darkness, I am the shield that guards the realms of men. He remembered his oath, but he also remembered the darkness and emptiness of death.

“My watch has ended,” he countered, his voice rough and dark and rasping. He doubted he'd ever talk quite right again, or feel quite warm enough from the chilling cold that the bite of death had left behind, claiming some part of him.

“Where will you go?” there was defeat in Edd's voice and Jon almost felt sorry for him. I cannot remain here, not after what happened. Jon knew all of his men by heart if not by name and that those very same men would plunge knives in his back…

“South,” he said on the spurn of a moment “get warm,” he added with a forced smile, that had nothing of the few genuine ones he had found himself dispensing to his men, to his brothers.

He could see in Edd's eyes. What about Winterfell?, Stannis had offered him Winterfell, but Stannis was dead. And Jon was just a bastard, besides, Winterfell belonged to Sansa. It was hers by law and by justice.

I know all about Lady Lannister and her claim, better Sansa and her new name than the bastard who had been killed by his own brothers. Even if she was forever lost, to death or to the coldness, then Winterfell would be lost with her.

You know nothing, Jon Snow.

His fingers curled around the hilt of Long Claw. Honor made you leave, honor brought you back. Then the horn was sounded. Visitors.

Who would come?, who would reach the end of the world and not think of turning back and return where the sun shone and away from this land of death and coldness?

Hair as red as liquid copper, tangled into a semblance of a braid, framing a lovely if pale face and sparkling blue eyes, shining with barely concealed tears.

His heart skipped a beat.

You know nothing, Jon Snow.

Sansa was shivering, but she was real in his arms. Her cheek was ice cold, but as she nuzzled against his face it seemed to spread warmth into his chilled bones. Her arms were trembling and her back was racked by soft sobs.

You are alive, her breath seemed to say, to chant, you are home. And his heart beat at the beat of one single word. Home.

——————————————————————————————————

You fell, I caught you. I'll never let you go like I did.

She's somehow grown more lovely too. He couldn't tell how that was possible. Sansa had always been, at the edge of his mind, someone far lovelier than any maiden in a song. She had been born to be a princess, though he had hated that they had betrothed her to Joffrey.

Daintily she ate the broth Jon had, had brought to them. Beautiful. That's not the right word either, his mind supplied, the right word sitting at the tip of his tongue.

Radiant.

Sansa had always been radiant, but all the more when she was happy. She had looked radiant as she had walked beside Joffrey inside the great hall of Winterfell, so many years past, as Jon bristled in the corner.

Now, she looked even more radiant.

He couldn't feel cold anymore, he realized. It was as if by returning Sansa had also returned some chunk of his own being back to him.

Home.

“Where will you go?” her tone had been even, but Jon could feel the concealed dread and fear in her.

As if Jon could ever let her go, now that they had found one another again.

“Where will we go,” he corrected her watching her slowly realizing the implication of his words as a soft beam opened, timidly, on her rosebud lips — had her lips always looked so pink? — his eyes unable to tear away from the soft peak of her pink tongue as she spoke, “if I don't watch over you Father's ghost will come back and murder me,” he jested.

That was safe.

He was her brother, and Sansa had suffered enough — she had not said but Jon could see it in the depth of her blue eyes — he wanted to be her safe space, from now on.

He smiled to her.

“Where will we go?” she asked again, then, her voice ever softer, as if Jon was being caressed by a cloud of warmth. She had always had the easy smile of the Tullys — they all did — and yet her smile had always been far more enchanting that Robb's or even Arya's.

“I don't know,” he admitted, looking down to his lap, “can't stay here, not after what happened,” he added, looking back to the hearth.

But I will keep you safe, he wanted to say. He didn’t.

“There's only one place we can go,” Sansa murmured, her eyes never leaving his face, “home,”.

He should've been surprised. He wasn't. Sansa was every inch as stubborn as any other of his siblings. His lord father used to say that he knew better than to fight with a Tully.

Jon knew better than think he'd be able to refuse Sansa anything.

“Should we tell the Boltons to pack up and leave?,” he asked, hoping his voice sounded teasing but conveyed the fact that Jon would never bring her back to the Bolton's clutches.

“We'll take it back,”

And there is was. The Tully's head-strongness. Sansa had been perhaps softer than their siblings, but ever as forthright and singleminded as all of them.

“Winterfell is our home,” she said passionately — and when had she learned to talk like that?, who was he joking...Sansa had always had a way with words, a way to get exactly what she wanted — “it's ours,”

I am not a Stark, he almost said. He had made shield of that knowledge since he left home.

“I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first? If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow.”

“It's ours,” she had said, and how could Jon deny her?, how could Jon ever deny her “and Bran's, and Rickon's and Arya's. Wherever they are, it belongs to our family, we must fight for it!”

As if Jon had not fought, and fought and fought and lost.

“I want you to help me,” she said stepping closer, as if she had not heard him tell her he had fought and lost and he didn't want to fight anymore “but I'll do it myself if I have to,”

Jon would bid her goodnight, hope the sleep would bring her better counsel, but he knew that look in her eye. He knew it like he knew the summer snows and the walls of Winterfell and the names of every Stark king buried in the crypts.

You do not belong here, boy.

Winterfell is ours.

——————————————————————————————————

“Jon doesn't have the Stark name,” Davos pointed out. He was a good man, Jon granted, and he was sure he was willing to help them in any way, because for some reason he had chosen to follow him after Stannis had died.

I am not a Stark.

Winterfell is ours.

“No,” Sansa agreed and Jon felt it like a punch in his gut “but I do,” she added in the same very breath.

She couldn't be suggesting what Jon was thinking, could she?, had she spent enough time with the Lannister to have taken to some of their queer customs?

“Jon is every bit Ned Stark's child as I am,” Sansa decreed, her voice dispelling his doubts “the North will fight for Ned Stark's son,” she said.

———————————————————————————————————

Would you bed your sister, Jon Snow?

A beacon. Jon could not define Sansa in any other way as she walked down the very same steps Jon had descended to met her halfway when she first had reached Castle Black, a bundle in her arms, clad in a dark blue dress and a his old furlined cloak.

“New dress?” he almost cringed at how hopeful his voice sounded as he looked at her. Sansa smiled, sincerely touched by the fact that he had noticed, as if Jon had not noticed every detail about her. Always.

“Yes,” she said looking down at herself, as she would do when they were children and she wanted to show them her newest design with the pride that only a girl so young could feel “do you like it?”

Jon knew nothing of dresses. Say something, he beseeched his mouth, his mind, anything, make her smile, she's beautiful when she smiles.

“I—I like the wolf bit,” he said, going even as far as make an half-aborted gesture to her chest, where the beautiful design of glass pearls composed a beautiful snarling direwolf.

Anything but that, he wanted to slap himself back to death and let the earth swallow him.

Make her smile, you fool, he berated himself, not make her awkward and uncomfortable.

Sansa's smile was timid, but genuine and the blush on her cheeks was well worth the embarrassment, he decided, looking at how lovely she looked in his cloak and with her cheeks flushed so.

“Good,” she said, giving herself composure and smiling openly and truly at him “because,” she opened the bundle of fabric and presented it to him, “I made this for you,” she stated, her eyes sparkling.

It was a cloak. She had made him a cloak. Jon could scarcely breath.

You may now cloak the bride and take her under your protection.

“I made it like the one Father used to wear,” Sansa stated, clearly in an attempt to fill the silence that had suddenly stretched between them “or as far as I can remember,” she added, downplaying all the effort she had surely taken to remember the design and bringing it back to life.

There was the Stark direwolf branded into the leather of its fastenings.

Jon doesn't have the Stark name.

No, but I do.

He looked up at her, “Thank you, Sansa” he said, hoping it could convey how grateful and proud he was that she would wrap him in Stark blazons and name him a Stark by action.

He didn't care for Edd half disgruntled, half disgusted look or for the sappy smile on his lips, the smile he had no intention to fight; he didn't even care if he look a sappy idiot, or a giddy greenboy, nor for the cold as he shed his old cloak and wrapped himself in the one Sansa had made for him.

For him.

———————————————————————————————————

They had taken back Winterfell.

You think that's obvious?

Oh, I think that is a bit obvious!

If Ramsay wins, I'm not going back there alive. Do you understand me?

I will never let him touch you again, I'll protect you. I promise.

“Jon,” her voice had never been so cold, he turned to look at her “where is he?”

He didn't ask, she didn't say. Jon knew better than to confront her about it, she had been far gentler than he'd be, after all. And she was far more beautiful that she had any business of being, but Jon knew well enough, by now, that that would not stop her from growing much more beautiful still.

“Jon,” her voice was unsure, but soft and it left him wanting. The need cutting much deeper than the hunger he had always felt for Winterfell.

I am having the Lord's chambers prepared, he had told her. He had expected Sansa to take them, no question asked. They both knew who deserved them, by virtue of her birth, and by her actions — the Knights of the Vale had won the battle and they had rode North for her — but, in hindsight, he should've expected her to offer them to him instead.

“I am sorry I didn't tell you about the knights of the Vale, but—”

And in that moment Jon knew he loved her. He loved her with the kind of love that went beyond duty and honor and the bindings those imposed on any man, much more a bastard who had wanted nothing more than prove his worth.

“We need to trust each other,” he told her.

Trust me, he wanted to beg her, I kept you safe, didn't I?, have faith in me.

———————————————————————————————————

“You are my sister, but I am king now,” Jon protested.

He knew she had concerns, but she should not have voiced them before the lords, before the lords she ought to have kept her tongue at bay and then broached the subject in private.

Publicly they were to be an united front.

“So what?,” Sansa demanded walking past him “I can't question your decisions any more?” she asked “Joffrey never let anyone question his decisions, do you think he was a good king?”

Jon stopped in his tracks, suddenly as if slapped. He knew of some of the things she had suffered at Joffrey's hands. Not all, he was sure, but some things she had shared with him.

They had wanted to beat any kind of defiance out of her, they had failed, but Sansa had, had to learn to hold her tongue and lie to survive.

I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey, she told him to have affirmed more often than not, never letting her guard down, my one, true love.

She had learned to keep her opinions close to her heart and guarded and to never speak her mind least she wished to see her head removed.

If Jon thought over it, now, her protesting in open court made him feel both like an idiot and preening with pride. Because, she had felt safe enough to do that, to do what she had learned not to do at the Lannister court. She trusted him enough to speak her mind freely, because she knew he would never turn against her.

“Do you think I am Joffrey?” he spat, and if he sounded more pathetically in search for her validation, Jon didn't care. He needed her to tell him, tell him she trusted him. That she knew he was not Joffrey.

That with him she could protest before all the lords of the Realm and beyond and he'd thank her for her consideration — which he hadn't, but he had been blinded by arrogance and misplaced hurt pride before.

“I think you are as far from Joffrey as anyone I have ever met,” Sansa said, rising to his need and delivering her faith in him.

Jon exhaled. Thank the Gods.

“You're good at this, you know?” she asked, and it seemed she was not done complimenting him either. Part of Jon preened at her consideration, part of him filled with dread, knowing he was latching onto her “At what?,” he asked and her smile in reply was genuine.

“At ruling,”

“No,” he teased, looking out. Hoping she would protest.

She did.

“You are,” she said, “you are,” and Jon looked back at her, “but—”

And that made him smile. So she had faith in him, but less in his abilities. He chuckled.

“What?”

“What did Father used to say?,” he asked her “anything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit”

“He never said that, to me”

And how should I be smarter?, by listening to you?

Would it be so terrible?

Didn't she know he did nothing but listen to her?, could she really not see it?

——————————————————————————————————

Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.

“You're abandoning your people!,” Sansa accused “you're abandoning your home!”

— you're abandoning me. She didn't say it and yet his treacherous heart skipped a beat as if she had.

And why, why did she have to look that beautiful?, he was sure it was some cruel joke of the Gods. The way for them to remind him he is nothing but a bastard, and bastards are born of lust and betrayal.

I am not a Targaryen, he chanted in his head, I am not a Targaryen. No matter the stirring deep in his soul for Sansa. The truth plain to see and yet hidden in the darkest of his mind and heart.

He was hers.

The North is a part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it. No matter the odds.

“I'm leaving both in good hands,” he assured her, watching as her beautiful eyes sparkled with barely concealed fear for him.

“Whose?!”

“Yours,” he was merely a murmur, but it echoed as if the hall had suddenly grown silent over the relentless chaos it had been before, and Jon wondered if the lords knew. They must've, because he could not tear his eyes off hers, “you are the only Stark in Winterfell,” he told her “until I return, the North is yours”

I am yours.

He nodded to her, and she gave him a so ever minute nod back.

———————————————————————————————————

It had been the hardest thing he had ever done. Falling in the dragon queen' bed. She was beautiful, if with a beauty so raw and dangerous that Jon felt suffocated.

You won't have to worry about the King in the North anymore, he had meant in jest, to cover how uncomfortable her purple gaze was making him feel, I've grown used to him.

She couldn't be as different from Sansa if she tried, and therein lied the crux of it all. Jon could never escape the truth about his unholy love for his sister, but he would never taint her soul with the stain of his sin.

The dragon queen could prove a distraction for however small, and she clearly was taken with him. He hated manipulating her that way, but he had felt like he had no choice.

When he had roused from his dreamless sleep, on her ship, Jon had not been alone. She had been there, perched onto the mattress and looking over him, as a dragon would lay over a hoard in the songs.

Am I your prisoner?, he had asked her, not yet. Her reply still echoed on his mind — she had taken his ships and had stripped him of his weapons, virtually he might have been a guest but he knew he was nothing short than an hostage — he had never been an hostage gambling with his life, the life of the woman he loved — for however unholy that was — and the life of his siblings.

But someone else had, and she had survived all of her abusers and found her way back home. To him.

The dragons had proved less mighty than Jon had hoped, but still they would've been useful. Daenerys had lost one — which meant that if they survived all of this, she had one less weapon to turn against the North — but she still had two, two who could be valuable assets if nothing, at the very least, to keep under control the numbers of weights that would fight against them.

It was a hard gamble, but one he had to make. No matter the odds.

I'm loyal to my beloved Joffrey, my one, true love.

“What about my queen?” he had seen how elated Daenerys had looked at that, and he had felt sorry for her, for the way he was using her, but he had soldiered on “I would— I would bend the knee, but—”

Everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit. If he never publicly bent the knee, but showed his loyalty in other ways, Daenerys would never demand the proper rites were observed and Sansa could use it, once this war was over, to free the North of her.

Her hand was too little in his, and its hold was almost suffocating in his lungs. It did not surprise him when, later that week, after they had departed by ship for the North, she summoned him to her cabin.

He had known what she wanted from him, and he had given it to her.

There was no one single thing he would not do, to keep the North and Sansa safe.

——————————————————————————————————

It was good to be back home.

You're a man now, he had told Bran feeling his heart burst at the sight for his little brother. Almost, Jon had looked at Sansa, he had done nothing but look at her since breaking through the gates of Winterfell, and her aloof demeanor had softened as a genuine smile had graced her pink lips.

Gods, had he missed her.

It was the most natural, easiest thing he ever do, fall back into her open arms, feeling her curl around him and his whole being unfolding and collapsing into her.

Gods he loved her.

“Trust me,” he wanted to tell her, he hoped she would hear it anyway in her bones, as his blood sang for her.

“— I made sure we survived winter,” Sansa stated “but I did not account to feed two armies and two dragons,” she pointed out and Jon almost flinched.

Daenerys had indeed reached Winterfell without provisions and even her men had been clothed rightly for the cold only once they had reached White Harbor.

She had taken the gold from the Battle of the Golden Road, but she had burned the grain, instead of taking a whole year of harvest to feed her people come winter.

Leave it to Sansa to point that out. His clever girl.

“— what do dragons eat, anyway?”

Gods, had he missed her snarky comments. Though they could without her antagonizing the dragon queen with an ill temper and two dragons to her disposal.

Daenerys' reply had been as cold and chilling as when she had told him he was not yet her prisoner “Whatever they want,” she said, her cold, purple eyes fixing dangerously on his sister.

Sansa didn't give a single inch, facing her rival head-on, her Tully blue eyes shining with defiance.

Jon needed to put a stop to it. To diverge Daenerys' attention from Sansa, he knew his sister could wear down what little control Daenerys had on her own temper just by pointing out the clear mistakes in her policy and making of her the laughing stock of the lords of the Realm.

“I don't need her to be my friend,” Daenerys stated coldly, her eyes never wavering. She was giving him a warning. Jon had no doubt she felt as she was showing him consideration by issuing such a warning before acting whereas elsewise Sansa would've already been dealt with “but if she can't respect me—”

He did his best to school his expression and keep a close reign to his fury. He had beaten to a pulp the last person who had dared threaten Sansa, and had almost strangled the last man who had showed his misplaced lust for his sister.

Thankfully he was saved when her attention was caught by the news her dothraki guard reported about the dragons.

He hadn't known. Had he known he could ride one, he would've done with all of this farse, taken the dragon and left Daenerys to her miserable war for the Iron throne.

But he hadn't known.

Still, this meant that, if Daenerys ever asked more than the North could concede, and she turned her fury North, Jon could defend the North.

“He said he would stand behind Jon Snow,” she pointed out at his fury against lord Glover “the King in the North”

Didn't she understand he was doing all of this for them?, for her?

“I told you we needed allies!” he beseeched her, watching her dance like a dark flame and enticing him with her dance.

“I wasn't aware you were abandoning your crown!” she accused, because therein lay the problem.

“— I brought two armies home, two dragons!”

“and a Targaryen queen!” she accused turning around to face him again, and all of her beauty hit him again, like a wave against his lungs.

I will drown in those eyes, Jon sighed “She'll be a good queen,” he needed her to believe it “she's not her father,”

“No,” Sansa agreed, her voice lower than a whisper, a breath against his lips, making him almost lean in “she's much prettier,”

Jon smiled up at her and wondered if she could see his smile was poorly-manufactured. If she could see how hard this was for him.

“Did you bend the knee because she'll be a good queen, or because you love her?”

Apparently no. He felt himself flinch “Don't you have any faith in me at all?,” he asked, and Sansa deflated at that, the scale-looking fabric of her dress shining in the candle-lit chamber.

“You know I do,” no buts, this time. It was an absolute statement. She trusted him.

———————————————————————————————————

He leaned to the side and felt his stomach churn, as his lungs burned.

I'm talking about the Seven bloody Kingdoms!

He looked to the statue of Lyanna Stark, his mother, and suddenly another wave of nausea hit him.

He had slept with his aunt, he had slept with his aunt and he didn't eve love her.

He loved his— apparently he was a Targaryen, after all, because the love he bore Sansa whilst believing her his sister came back to haunt him tenfold — she's not his sister.

Not his sister.

She's his.

———————————————————————————————————

“Tell them—” he asked of Bran. His cousin looked taken aback for a moment in that distant, aloof way of his.

The battle had been terrible, the war council even worse.

You are the queen, what you command we will obey. He hated how smugly Daenerys had looked at Sansa.

The Seven Kingdoms will know peace, under their rightful queen.

Then, he told them. He half expected Arya to throw a fit, but her schooled expression betrayed nothing. Sansa, instead, was more of an open book.

I am not a Stark.

“Jon,” she was the first to speak, Jon looked at her, halfway hoping she would point out he was not her brother and look relieved by it, and halfway hoping she'd not press the issue “I am so sorry,”

He had not expected that.

And suddenly she was in his arms, and Jon felt her warmth engulfing him and filling him.

“I am so sorry,” she chanted into his ear “you're still a Stark, you're still ours,”

Jon hid his face against her red hair and the fur of her cloak — his cloak, he realized, the one he had given her at Castle Black — “and I stil love you,”

His heart skipped a beat at that. It had sounded so unnecessary and yet it had filled Jon with acceptance.

———————————————————————————————————

“Don't go there,” Sansa whispered, in the darkness of the hour of the wolf, “I don’t want you to go there,” she added.

Jon smiled softly at her, “Sansa,” he murmured “You know I must go,”

“Men in our family don’t do well in the South,” she protested and Jon pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I am not a Stark,” he reminded her gently. Sansa huffed out.

“You are to me,” she proclaimed “Jon, she won’t stand for it,” she told him “you’re the strongest threat to her rule,” she pointed out “just like Ramsay would have never risked Rickon living, I beg of you, see reason”

“She loves me,” he said, that Sansa didn’t appreciate.

“Well then,” she stated coldly, disentangling from his hold, “I suppose you want to go with her South,” she said briskly.

It made Jon chuckle “Don’t be jealous, now,” he teased her, because now his whole heart rejoiced at her blatant jealousy.

“You really think that low of me?,” Sansa protested “that I mean to keep you caged here because I am jealous?” she demanded “by all means, go with her,” she said “I am only concerned for your welfare”

“I know, sweet one,” he murmured softly “but I will not have her stay in Winterfell any longer,”

The glass gardens looked beautiful and Jon was sure there was supposed to be a batch of winter roses somewhere, but he also knew that Sansa had devoted all land she could to parley and potatoes and rice.

She huffed “I still don’t like you going South, they will fight over your every limb until they rip you apart, and I will be forced to avenge you,” she said.

Jon chuckled, their shoulders brushing as both sat on the stony bench “My avenging wolf,” he teased her, “I promised you I would protect you, let me”

Sansa had stayed silent at that “You’ll return,” she stated with a surety that had him almost smile. Almost.

“I will,”

They both knew only his bones would return North if he set foot beyond the Neck. But it was a sacrifice Jon was willing to make, if it meant Sansa got to live safe and protected. Yet Sansa let him embrace and Jon fell into her.

__________________________________________________________________________

“— they don’t get to choose” Daenerys stated, with a coldness that was eery. A beautiful, dark conqueror, clad in her victory and without mercy.

She’s everyone’s queen now.

Try telling Sansa.

Why do you think Sansa told me the truth about you?, she doesn’t want Dany to be queen.

She doesn’t get to choose.

No, but you do!

“—be with me,” and he had done it. After all what was a curse more upon his name, but that of kinslayer?

“You are my queen,” he stated as he leaned close, his free hand curling around the hilt of his dagger.

I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey, my one, true love.

“Now,” he promised as their lips touched “and always” and then, he plunged his knife in her heart.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“I wish there had been another way,” the tears in her eyes almost broke his heart, i the same way knowing she had done what she believed right to defend him, even if it had broken him instead.

“The North is free thanks to you,” he said knowing it true, but not less tragic because of it.

“But they lost their king,” she said and he could see she was indeed heartbroken over it.

I was lost within the darkness until I found her,

I found you

“Ned Stark’s daughter will speak for them,” he stated, knowing it deep in the marrow of his bones. All this time, he had been waiting for her.

Even after Ygritte, when he had thought duty had won over any kind of love. He had known.

Sometimes duty must be the death of love.

He had known he had loved again, perhaps, down in the darkest pit of his heart he had always known he had loved her. He hadn’t realized it but it had not been Lyanna Stark’s voice to bring him back.

It had been the memory of Sansa singing to herself as she brushed Lady’s coat.

“She’s the best they could ask for,”

She embraced him then, and Jon would’ve rather died than let her go, and almost didn’t let go of her.

But the Gods were just and no kinslayer could’ve hold something so good in his arms.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Tormund watched him, side-eyeing him for all his worth.

So who it is that you have to convince?, this dragon queen or the one who fucks her brother?

“What?” he demanded.

“You love her,” it was not a question, it was a statement. Jon’ eyes fell naturally on Sansa. She had come to Castle Black when her summon had been ignored.

He had needed time.

“Aye,” he didn’t hide it, not from Tormund, not from anyone else. He had told himself, he would never fall in love after Ygritte, but it had been a lie.

The dead need no lovers, Lord Snow.

No, Jon had thought and even though he had not known it consciously yet, he had not been waiting for Ygritte to raise again and haunt him if he ever betrayed her.

No. He had known he could never give himself to anyone but her. He would never fall in love again, unless it was her, until he could’ve had her.

The lady in the silk dress, to whom he could bring flowers. The lady he had wanted Ygritte to try and be. She had always been Sansa. And he always been waiting for her.

He had always known he would only fall into her, and he had not yet stopped falling. He doubted he ever would.

Suddenly Sansa was before him, her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted, her hand proffered toward him “Would you not dance with me?”

She had, had some to drink, but Jon had never seen her so giddy before.

He had accepted her hand before he could think better of it and had let her guide him —who was he joking to say he was the one guiding her?, she had always taken the lead in their relationship — and he had twirled her around as the wildling raised songs of the First Men around them, drumming their fingers on their instruments or clapping their hands.

He had been lost all his life, stumbling in the darkness. And then she had come like a dark flame, pulling him in and loving him, letting him love.

HOLD YA — I WILL NEVER LET YOU GO AGAIN,

She looked ever so beautiful and lovely and Jon really wanted to kiss her, steal her breath away and never let go.

He looked at her softly “What are you doing here?” he asked, as he spun her around and twirled her, her beautiful gown dancing like rays of liquid silver and snow around her.

“Don’t you know?” she asked, and in her eyes Jon could see her true question. Do you really not know?

“The Lords will never accept it,” Jon told her softly “I am a kinslayer”

“You are a hero,” she countered, “besides, the lords would simply be grateful I have stopped ditching their efforts to have me married and give them an heir,” she teased him.

The mead she had drunk though, must’ve caught up with her because she stumbled her next step, falling into his chest — or perhaps, by the mirth in her eyes — she had done it on purpose.

“I’ve caught you,” he said stupidly.

Sansa smiled “So you did,” she smiled “I want it to be you,” she told him boldly “I do not want to force you”

Jon almost swore. She was born to make his will crumble, but really, hadn’t Jon always known?

How could he ever deny her anything?

“I know you loved Ygritte,” she said “and the dragon queen… but I thought—”

Jon silenced her by pressing a kiss against her lips, chasing the beautiful flames dancing on her skin and painting her face in a golden halo, her hair brimming like liquid copper

“Everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit,” he reminded her, “I found you,” he said “I’ve loved you,” he added “if you’ll want me,” he told her “If you’ll let me, I’ll love you more still, I’ll hold you more—” his voice broke off “why do you think I killed her?, she would’ve turned against you. And I could not let her” he told her “It had always been you, if you’ll want me”

This time she was the one pressing the kiss atop his lips “I want you”

Jon nodded “Then I’ll be yours,” he said “and you’ll be mine”

Sansa’ beam was something to be seen “Until the end of our days?”

heaven when i held you again,

how could we ever be friends?

i would rather die than let you go.

“Until the end of our days” he said.

#jonsa #Jonsa story #ask the hag #anon asks #jonxsansa #Jonsa fan #the hag’s prompts #Jonsa prompts #sansaxjon #Jonsa fam

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