#i do not desire the speech of living men

[whiteladyofithilien]

Can you imagine the irrepressible delight that Aulë had when Legolas rocked up to the Undying Lands with a Dwarf.

#lord of the rings #lotr #tolkien #jrr tolkien #aule #silmarillion #legolas greenleaf #legolas and gimli #legolas #gimli son of gloin #gimli #lotr gimli #the hobbit #the silmarillion #silmarils #aule the Smith #dwarves #i do not desire the speech of living men

[rhenysz]

Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 1

Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all your life, many people say that death was lurking around your eyes, maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.

A/n: This took longer than expected and isn't even half as long as I would have liked, but I've finally finished the first book and let's get to the real story! Thank you for the positive feedback 🙌🏻 This chapter was more about the sisters' bond, the next ones will be different. I think the Reader has an emotional dependence on Feyre 😥

*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with the help of an AI, any grammatical errors please let me know*

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Scars, family abandonment, mentioned death.

previous x next

"Do you not think you're exaggerating?" Elain asked you with forced gentleness. The sound of her sipping tea tickled your ears. Dropping your own teacup on the living room's coffee table – causing some splashes to stain the surface – you placed a hand on your chest in mock indignation, perhaps not entirely fake.

"I'd rather be thrown to the wolves than face the conjugal bed, and I must say I'm terrified of those animals." Your lips curled downward, "Men, in this case."

Elain's eyes crinkled at the corners, and the curve of her lips lifted even as she tried to dispel the amusement she felt.

"I understand. But maybe you should consider, I bet Feyre would return in time for your wedding." She spoke with her eyes lowered to the tea.

No, she wouldn't return. You wanted to shout out to Elain. Hardly would that beast willingly let your sister go, that is if she wasn't already in the belly of those faeries.

"I have no interest in getting married, sister. And who in their right mind would be interested in someone with my condition?" Your voice was soft, not a hint of resentment showing in your features.

Having a man in your life was not something you desired. They were rough, lazy, and smelled bad. Not even the twisted relationship Feyre had with that man could make you want one too.

"Maybe... you just haven't looked in the right place," Elain commented. Looked? Have holy patience. You were hardly going to look at anything, let alone a man. Realizing her bluntness, Elain widened her eyes towards you, "I didn't mean it that way, sister, it was just a figure of speech—"

Your laughter cut off Elain's awkward attempt to apologize. Your shoulders shook with the intensity of your laughter. Elain sighed in relief and awkwardly joined in.

Feyre didn't treat you as if you were about to burst into tears.

After that interesting conversation with Elain, Nesta barged into the room, interrupting – rather rudely – to announce that a luxurious carriage was approaching.

You could hear the rustle of Elain's skirts as she tried to beautify herself even more. Despite Nesta feigning an indifferent facade, she was also discreetly arranging her hair.

Laughing to yourself, you wondered how you must look in your supposed light blue dress. A hand grabbed your arm and gently lifted you from the sofa. Nesta, you could tell the difference. Elain had rougher hands from gardening, and Nesta's hands were colder.

"Let's go. Can you manage on your own?" Nesta asked. You appreciated that she allowed you to have your own autonomy. Nodding, you reached for the edge of the sofa where your cane rested and grabbed it.

When you heard the door opening, your head turned towards the sound and you went, dragging the golden tip of the cane across the floor, which hit the furniture warning you to dodge, and slowly going after your sisters – who were walking significantly slower to wait for you.

His cane hit the front door step. Carefully, you placed your foot in front to descend. The breeze made your hair flutter, and it felt so good; the wind kissed your skin like a longing lover.

"Welcome to our home... Lady." You heard Nesta as you finally caught up with your sisters. A brief moment of silence followed, soon to be cut by an extremely familiar laughter

.Your heart raced, and your free hand crumpled the dress you were wearing. Your lifeless eyes turned, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Nesta," she laughed, "doesn't recognize her own sister?" The air was expelled from your lungs, Feyre. A burning sensation started in your eyes, and without you realizing, fat tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. No matter how or where, you would always, always recognize your sister's voice.

The crunching of dried leaves alerted you that someone was approaching, a calm breath was blown on your face. Your trembling lips also parted as you tried to find the right words. Nothing came to mind; it was as if your brain had turned to jelly.

"My snowflake..." Feyre stepped forward, using her fingers to wipe away your tears. She missed you so much while she was with Tamlin. Her chest weighed every time she thought of you, her dearest sister.

Closing your eyes tightly, you let out a sob and threw yourself into Feyre's arms. Discarding the cane without care, your hands reached the back of your sister, pulling her into a tight and emotional embrace.

Feyre staggered under your weight and laughed. She laughed as she nestled in your arms and continued to laugh even as she felt Nesta's eyes drilling holes into her head.

You couldn't physically move away from Feyre while your sisters talked with her. Your hand clung to hers in the hope that if you held on tight enough, she wouldn't leave again.

But not even all the happiness you were feeling could make you ignore Feyre's excuse. Taking care of Aunt Ripleigh? You distinctly remembered that it wasn't Aunt Ripleigh who tore the door off the old cabin.

As expected, Nesta was cautious, hovering over you and Elain as if Feyre would reveal her true intentions at any moment. She declined Elain's invitation to go to the garden, seeing Feyre there made her physically sick, so she withdrew to avoid conflicts in front of her sisters.

You were focused on Feyre and Elain's conversation, desperately wanting her to talk about what happened.

Feyre tensed when Elain casually mentioned – distracted by the flowers – that Nesta visited her at Aunt Ripleigh's. Another lie.

You felt Feyre's breath near your face: "How have you been?"

Fine. You were fine, but not well enough to disguise the suspicion in your expression. Feyre quickly noticed and stepped back slightly.

"Why are you lying to us?" You were direct, no more beating around the bush. You needed answers, and not even Elain's presence would distract you from your goal.

Feyre widened her eyes toward Elain and was relieved to see that she was far enough away not to hear. Biting her lips, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the exit, giving a brief goodbye to Elain, who was so fascinated by the new petunia seedlings that she didn't care.

You were guided through a few doors until you reached a room that Feyre considered safe from curious ears.

You crossed your arms over your chest and impatiently waited for Feyre, who ran her hand through her hair and sighed, not knowing where to start. Then she decided to start with the worst.

"I– I'm in love with the High Lord of Prythian."

If you weren't already blind, you could swear your vision blurred at that moment.

And then Feyre told you, told about how the other side of the wall was breathtaking, told about the peculiar creatures that existed there, told about her frenemy Lucien, and told about how she fell in love with the beast that turned out to be so loving to her.

And to your dismay, she detailed the night of passion she had before being – gently – sent home.

"I didn't need to know that. I have a vivid imagination, and I hate myself for it." You spoke with disgust; Feyre chuckled and approached you, taking your hand and bringing it to her face.

"I haven't told you everything," you murmured for her to continue. Your fingers traced the contours of her face. She looked so different but at the same time so familiar. Perhaps she had become healthy.

"There was a male who threatened Tamlin, he was handsome, maybe the most beautiful male I've ever seen," she commented absentmindedly, "he asked for my name... Clare Beddor."

Clare Beddor, the name weighed on your tongue. Clare, your former neighbor who was killed in such a horrendous way that no one could bear to look for too long, according to your gossip source – Elain.

Feyre had given a false name to the fairy assassin. And you could swear she didn't know what had happened to that poor girl. And perhaps you weren't the most suitable person to tell her about the event; Feyre seemed happy sharing her new experiences. And you? You would allow yourself to be selfish for a moment.

"I understand."

Your sisters and your father went to the seasonal ball, and despite Elain's insistence, that wasn't your place. Your place was anywhere as long as it was far from high society. You certainly didn't fit the standards imposed by them, even though those who looked at you were dazzled.

"A beauty never seen before."

"I would die for features as delicate as yours."

"It's truly a shame…"

Feyre promised to come back early, just like you; she didn't like crowds and pompous people. Feyre promised to come back early.

So you did the only thing that was possible – you waited. Waited while eating, waited while talking to some servants, waited while invading Elain's garden, and waited until you got tired and chose the living room sofa as a great place to rest.

Inevitably, your eyes began to weigh, and before you realized it, sleep completely took you, plunging you into a deep state of peace, unable to hear the hurried steps through the house and the slam of the door closing.

Feyre promised to come back early.

Feyre hated goodbyes.

Perhaps, just perhaps, you should have already imagined that this would happen. Feyre was in love with the beast, and people in love tend to do foolish things.

That didn't ease the chest pain you felt when the next morning you were informed that she had returned to the fae lands in search of her High Lord. The feelings of betrayal and sadness walked hand in hand.

At the same time, you couldn't find the strength to harbor resentment towards her. Why would you? For the first time in her life, your sister was dedicating herself to something that truly made her happy. It didn't matter if she was leaving her family behind, right? No, that mattered to you.

Nesta hated dealing with your whirlwind of emotions; she hated that you depended on someone to be happy, and she made it clear when you woke up.

"Feyre is not responsible for what you feel. You are allowing yourself to stay in this state. Stop depending on her to live."

Despite being harsh, Nesta was spot-on with her words. Feyre was finally living her dream life; it was time for you to start living yours too, without anyone dictating how you should feel.

And thinking about this led you to where you were now, with your hands covered in clay – and probably not just your hands – trying to give some shape to that earthy mass on the spinning table in the studio.

Your mind wandered through all the possibilities of sculpture. Sculpting things your fingers had memorized or even inventing new forms to call conceptual. It would be ironic if your sculptures became famous.

Humming to yourself, your fingers gently moved over the clay's edges, shaping a small sphere; you pulled five points out and rounded the edges.

"They look like fingers." Merina's voice made you jump on the stool; Merina was one of the maids you had become close to, she had such a calm and gentle voice that, if you let her, could lull you to sleep.

"Well, I hope so. I'd be very upset if they looked like something else." You laughed, still molding your supposed fingers. Merina dragged a stool to join you, after, of course, looking down the hall to make sure no one was approaching.

She looked amazed at your hands giving life to the clay. Inevitably, her mind wandered, how? How were you capable? Feeling where your mind wandered, you chuckled softly and tilted your head in a silent invitation. Merina cleared her throat and asked:

"Why a hand?"

You subtly widened your eyes; that certainly wasn't the question you were expecting. A hum came from your throat before you answered Merina.

"It's with my hands that I see; they are my eyes to the world," you replied, licking your lips as you pondered, "I don't know how I manage it; I fear there's no logical explanation for it."

Merina didn't say anything, just grunted in response. Extending your hand, you searched the table until you found a small knife; bringing it close to the sculpture, you began making small fillets with it all along the hand's length.

Merina turned to you curiously, not understanding why you were deforming the piece. She gently nudged you with a – painfully pointed – question.

"Hmm, I've been thinking about it lately, hands with scars," you made one final cut and dropped the knife. Merina reached for an old cloth to help you clean your hands, "thank you. What would it be like to see with these hands? Would the texture of things be different? Or would the sensitivity be greater?" You rambled to her.

There were so many questions to consider, and in your opinion, you could already be considered a hands expert. That made you laugh.

Merina took the cloth from your hands and brought it toward your face, cleaning some clay splatters that had strayed there.

"I hope you don't have the answers on your own. It must be a horrible pain to have your hands torn apart." She commented, lowering the cloth.

A horrible pain? Makes sense. Whoever has hands like that must have a melancholic story behind them.

"You're right."

As promised, you lived your life the best way possible, and sculptures paved the way to your heart. Over time, your clay skills became refined, even daring to sculpt the features of your sisters; Nesta was your biggest supporter, even if she didn't admit it, there wasn't a day she didn't pass by to make sure your stock was full.

Each sister had their own shelf containing everything you thought resembled them. Elain had sculpted flowers and cakes, Nesta had books and red jewels, and Feyre had an arrow – just a sculpture, but it was the one you dedicated the most time to, whether smoothing the edges or trying to paint in the right places.

Because even though Feyre was a million miles away, you would love her all the way, and even if she never came back, you would find your way to her through the heart.

You wouldn't wait for her, but you wouldn't forget everything you had been through together.

And you might not even believe she would come back, but that tingling you felt in your fingers when you heard a knock on the door made you doubt your mental state.

It may be that besides being blind, you're also becoming deaf because hearing your sister's name from Elain's lips after so long is not a sign of good auditory nostalgia.

"Feyre?"

TAGLIST:

@dearestdaffodils @going-through-shit

@valeridarkness @wallacewillow0773638

@harrystylesfan2686 @carnationworld

@applerubyy @saltedcoffeescotch

@esposadomd @justdreamstars

@microwaveallthedemons

#~rhenysz #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #slow burn #eventual smut #eventual romance #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron

[rabbitrah]

One of the frustrating things about many political leaders and Jewish organizations pushing this line of thinking that "anti-Zionism = antisemitism," is that many people will believe "Zionism=Judaism" and then make the leap that "more religious = more Zionist." I hadn't realized the extent of this until a family member, who is anti-zionist, said something that made it clear that he thinks that religious fervor/devotion/orthodoxy is the cause of Zionism and the genocide of the Palestinian people. THIS IS DANGEROUS FOR MANY REASONS.

First of all, it's incorrect. Haredim, or strictly orthodox Jews are MUCH LESS LIKELY to be Zionists. No group is a monolith and there are different groups with different stances, but the most outwardly devout religious communities in Israel are not Zionist, and instead are mostly non-Zionists (neutral, pragmatic), with a smaller minority being anti-Zionist (believe that the state of Israel should not exist).

With few exceptions, HAREDI MEN IN ISRAEL DO NOT SERVE IN THE MILITARY. The majority of them never serve in the IDF and unlike other young people in Israel, their right as conscientious objectors is actually protected by law.

I know this is a very small and complicated part of a very large and complicated issue, but this is a clear example of how Judaism does not equal Zionism, especially at the more orthodox end of the spectrum.

We're stuck in this quagmire where

Jewish Zionists suggest that Judaism and Zionism are the same.

Non-jews who are also Zionists believe it

Non-jews who are anti-Zionists believe it

The desired result by Zionists is that anti-Zionism will be considered hate-speech and written into law.

The unintended result is an increase in legitimate antisemitism. Add to this the fact that Orthodox Jews who live outside Israel are more likely to be targets of antisemitism because they are more visibly Jewish, and I want to cry out to God at the unfairness of it all.

I probably didn't do this topic justice and I know there are many people who could say it better than me, but I haven't seen it said at all. I see people saying "anti-Zionism isn't antisemitism" but I didn't see the added explanation that orthodoxy is inversely correlated with Zionism, which I think is really important point.

#txt

[peterparkersnose]

I Need You More Than I Wanted To

pairing: Din Djarin x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: needy din, lowkey out of character but idc, pining possibly one sided, lots of begging, angst, description of y/n’s body, masturbation reference if you squint HARD, sappy speeches at the end, arguing, lots of angst (bc angst is my favorite)

a/n i’ve had this idea in my drafts for MONTHS so i’m so happy i’ve gotten around to writing it.

summary Y/N overhears a damaging conversation between Din and Greef Karga

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read time: 11 mins 8 seconds

Din’s heart ached like no other watching you these past few days. The silent suffering, the longing, and the pain he has been observing was hard to watch; the hardest part was that he was the reason for this.

He knew you like the back of his hand. For years the two of you have been traveling the galaxy, searching for as many credits as possible and managing to have a fun time while doing it. Living life with you is how Din preferred it. It was carefree. The two of you made a great team and wanted to live lavishly one day. That was the dream, at least. The two of you saved credits like crazy, but it never seemed to be enough to purchase a palace. Once the kid came along everything changed. The sudden dream of living large seemed to fade over the horizon. Something clicked. The two of you were now parents.

When Greef mentioned to him about you when the two of you visited the new Nevarro, Din was sure he was just messing with him.

“Are you two finally together?”

The question confused Din.

“You know, the way she looks at you. That’s love.”

Din was shocked. Had he really been that clueless?

“That’s impossible,” Din responded. Greef laughed. “You're telling me that if she made the first move, you wouldn’t reciprocate it?”

A strict “No” came from Din. “Never.”

The child cooed and the two men turned around. There you stood in the doorway, waiting for them to finish their conversation. The exact conversation you had just overheard.

Your mouth slightly dropped. The expression on your face was shocked. You quickly blinked and closed your mouth, trying to mask your disappointment. But Din knew. Maybe it was enough to fool Greef Karga, but Din knew he had just hurt the person he cared for the most deeply.

“H-he wanted you,” you said silently, not expecting your voice to quiver. You set down Grogu on the red velvet couch. Din nodded. Your lip quivered as you stared at him through the visor in pure shock. With hurt in your eyes, you excused yourself to the shared quarters the two of you were given for the time of your stay.

“And that…” Greef began. Din scooped up Grogu in his arms. Grogu made a noise and grunted, seemingly wanting to now leave his father and attend to his heartbroken mother. He squirmed in Din’s arms until he let him down.

“That was the look of heartbreak.”

The next few days on Nevarro were filled with a cold distance. Neither you nor Din wanted to discuss the elephant in the room. Simple words were exchanged in the interest of the child, but that was about it.

It was your last night on Nevarro.

Din had been at the cantina with Greef Karga and some of his associates, celebrating the newly liberated Nevarro. You had gone to bed early, staying with Grogu.

You were surprised Din even agreed to go out, he hated outings such as drinking with friends. If things weren’t so heated at the moment, he would have much rather preferred a night staying in with you and watching some stupid show on your datapad and eating whatever your heart desired.

The sun had been set for hours. You were lounging in your satin red sleep robe that was complimentary given to you upon your arrival. The beautiful braid you had your hair up in all day was now gone, your hair was curled due to the all-day friction. The ladies assigned to your care were more than delightful. With the satin robes and braids you could never master, it was like you never wanted to leave. You lay on the king-sized bed you had been giving to Din the last few nights. The couch was beginning to hurt your back, and he was nowhere to be found. 

Grogu, still not asleep, was patting the lavish sheets with his hands. You smiled, watching the curious creature discover the new textures. Your eyes wandered to the marvelous carvings coated in gold paint that covered the pillars in your room. Eyes beginning to droop, you were suddenly awoken by a cold hand on your exposed thigh. 

“Buir!” he squealed. Recognizing the Mando’a right away, your thinned-lip smile turned into a frown. “I know,” you sighed, extending your hand towards the child and brushing the top of his head. “He’ll be back soon.”

Grogu crawled up your legs and onto your torso. Grogu began grabbing some of the strands of hair that lay on your chest, you slowly separated his hands from the grasp. “Good job on speaking, buddy.” you smiled, now sitting against the bedframe. Grogu sat in your lap, reaching for your hair once again. A genuine smile arose on your face as you watched your son rest in your lap. The thought of Din left your mind, but only temporarily. He seemed to haunt your dreams as he haunted your days. You fell asleep with Grogu in your lap. 

Din’s clanky armor trudged up the many stairs to the guest bedroom. It was almost like a full workout, he was ready to get into the shower and then get into bed. 

Din absolutely hated his time out; barely being able to sip his drink and listening to the arguing of men about topics he didn't even care about was not his idea of a good night. He didn't want to admit it though—he yearned to spend the night with you. You consumed his every thought, and with every sip of his strong alcohol, he just kept feeling worse and worse. The image of your face re played in his head all week. With the disappointment and hurt he never wanted to inflict on you, the guilt was building up in his stomach like no other. 

Slowly, his ungloved hand waved against the sensor. The door whirred open. Din hoped he didn’t wake you, it was already almost morning, even though the sunrise was hours away. He could hear the morning bugs begin to chirp on his way home. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he set his helmet down on the chair in the corner. He turned around to find you- his heart seemed to skip a beat. 

Laying in the silk robe you were gifted, your legs were parted awkwardly as you slept. You lay on your stomach with your face delved in a pillow. The slow movement of your back going up and down gave Din the confidence that you were okay. One arm lay at your side, the other cradled Grogu against your waist. His breath finally caught up with him once he realized he had been staring for too long. 

The only thing he could seem to think about in his shower was his best friend. The woman who had always been there for him. She was merely a partner until Greef suggested otherwise. The thought of even diving into anything romantic with you never crossed Din’s mind until then. His hand held his seemingly limp body on the wall, holding him upwards as the water washed over him. The thought of you sprawled out on the bed, on his bed was just… 

The thought went straight to his head, making him feel emotions for you he never had before. Your body, the way you lay, how you were protecting his son even in slumber. Everything about you seemed so appealing in a way Din had never felt for another woman. 

“You know, the way she looks at you. That’s love.”

Greef’s voice haunted Din’s mind as he slept. He woke up gasping for air on the couch. You turned to look at him but only for a moment. You made eye contact. It was rare you saw him without his helmet, and even rarer to make complete eye contact. Din wasn’t one for eye contact. Looking down, you continued to fold Grogu’s extra robes that were freshly cleaned and delivered to your room earlier this morning. You were packing to leave. 

Din sat upright, his hand holding his forehead. His head was pounding. Looking up, he noticed a glass of water and a few pills sitting on the table in front of him. Presumably set up for him, by you. His heart sank. Even in pain, you somehow still cared for him. He turned to look at you again. You were still getting Grogu ready to leave. He was jumping on the bed, making gargling noises as you tried to dress him. Din took the pills and finished the water and set the glass down with a clank, so you knew he had seen your gesture. 

“What time are we leaving?” he asked, standing up to finish his packing. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; his hair was disheveled and he was in need of a shave. He ran a hand over the patchy stubble on his cheeks. To his surprise, his bag was sitting packed on the same chair where he rested his helmet last night. His helmet was sitting on top of the bag. 

You sighed. “Din,” you croaked, saying his name for the first time in days. He looked over at you. The same pain was there, but the look of exhaustion followed it. “I-I’m not going.” 

His brows raised. A slight panic set in. “What do you mean, your not going?” he asked in a more hostile tone than needed. You drew in a sharp breath and looked back at the same gold detailing you were looking at the night before. “Grogu is packed,” you simply said, scooping the child up in your arms. He squealed at your embrace, cuddling up in your arms. It was the last time you were going to be with Grogu, at least for a while. “Greef invited us to breakfast,” you said, swiftly walking past Din to the door. Your attempt to leave was unsuccessful.

Din grabbed your arm and pulled you back. Grogu let out a whine, as he was shuffled in the hassle. No words had to be said, the stares you were giving each other were enough. Din tilted his head slightly. The feeling of you was slipping through his fingers. Memories of you two fighting bounties, saving credits for a future, and then raising Grogu together hurt him more than ever. You were already too far gone. He had done damage that seemed irreversible.

A single tear rolled down your face. 

It was never meant to go this far. 

“Let me go,” you begged. Din didn’t realize his grasp on you was getting tighter as the seconds went by. “I don’t want to,” he whispered, closer to a mumble.

With reluctance, he let go of your arm. 

“What about the villa?” he called after you as you were about to exit the room. You stopped cold in your tracts. “Don’t bring up the villa-” you scolded him, turning around. The once-thought dream of living lavishly with Din, as a retired pair on a fancy planet scorned your broken heart. “You're really just going to leave? After everything?” he asked.

“You were my everything.” you bitterly cried out. Grogu squirmed in your arms. You sat him down on the bed.

Those words punched through Din like a thousand knives. “I didn’t mean-”

“Then what did you mean?” you ask, approaching Din. “I heard your conversation loud and clear, Din. I understand your intentions.”

“Y/N I had no clue,” he tried to defend himself. “Liar!” you screamed. Din was taken aback by your anger and took a few steps back. “I have spent the last many years of my life following you around blindly. We lived together, slept in the same bed, shared meals, shared laughs, and now share a child! I held you during cold nights! I saw your face, we’ve seen each other nude more times than I can count, you cared for me when I got hurt on that one mission to Tatooine. You cared for me while my leg was broken and I was helpless. We were everything without a title, Din! There is no way you never saw or felt anything. I simply don’t believe it. I can’t believe I thought I could see the true heart of a cold, selfish Mandalorian.”

Din was almost at a loss for words. He stood for a moment, finding words to say as he watched you realize every single word you had just spewed out at him. Your hand began to shake as you sat down, covering your mouth and staring at the carpet with wide eyes.

“Do you think I chose this? This is how I was raised, Y/N!” he argues. Your gaze moved from the carpet and back to Din. “I cannot take a spouse unless they are a Mandalorian, you know this,” Din begged, grasping for straws. He wanted you more badly than anything else in the world, but the creed that was so deeply indoctrinated in him was fighting the feelings.

“Blinded by your creed.” you spat out. Din seethed. The creed he was in the process of abandoning anyways. 

“Why do you think I’m leaving it?” he blurted out. He didn’t want to admit it, but he said it out loud. Never had he ever admitted before to himself, let alone another person that he was done with his origins. The religion he was raised in, the culture that had brought him in and saved his life was now being thrown out… but for what? The convincing Bo-Katan did and saving him from this cult-like creed saved his life, truly deep down. Even if the efforts were small, they awoke something in Din. But was he really ready to shun his culture completely? Din never really came to terms with it, I guess, until now. 

“You have hurt me deeply, Din Djarin,” you said with your lip quivering, stating your final words. With that, you took Grogu and went to breakfast. You knew using his full, true name always hit him in a spot where it hurt most.

As you were about to walk down the spiral staircase at the end of the hallway, you heard your name being called clearly from the other side of the hall. You turned around, seeing Din jogging down the hall to you.

“Din! Your helmet,” you cried out. He had left the room without it. As he only trusted you and Grogu to see his natural face, anyone who he didn’t trust could turn him into the leaders of his clan. It touched him that you seemed to care for him on some level to still care about his helmet insecurities.

Then again, the reigns the creed held on him were loosening day by day.

“Wait,” he said, huffing as he approached you. “Please.”

“I want to go eat breakfast,” you said sternly.

Din’s arms loosely fell over your figure, his hands slowly touching your arms as they cradled Grogu.

“Don’t go,” he begged.

You looked up into his glossy eyes. Often you would forget how much taller he was than you. Sighing, you looked away.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.”

Din’s knees seemed to collapse under him. He gave in to the buckling of his kneecaps and grabbed both of your hands, begging on his knees for you.

“To live all these years blindly, to not see what was truly in front of me will haunt me for the rest of my days. I am lost without you. Like a galaxy without stars, I am incomplete. I hope you can forgive me for my foolish words, I did not know what I was saying. You are everything to me. The mother of my child, my partner in crime, my light in the dark, my moon to guide me at night, my motivation, my companion, my love. Please forgive me. I need you to stay. You are all I have, you are all I need. A life without you is not worth living.”

To end his plea, he kissed your hands and wept.

Your right hand moved from his grasp to cup his cheek. It was wet with tears. “Don’t cry,” you whispered, wiping a tear away. “Din please,” you said, tearing up as you watched him sit and beg for you.

As his were moments before, your knees seemed to fail you and you joined him on the ground. Your hands grasped his hair as you engulfed the sobbing man in a hug. The soothing sounds of you shushing him like a baby filled the empty hallway.

“I won’t leave, I promise,” you whispered. This seemed to only make him cry harder. The realization Din had of how lucky he was and how close he was to losing you terrified him.

You would have never thought that you would be holding a sobbing Mandalorian. This was living proof of how much he loved and adored you. “H-how could you ever forgive me?” he asked, looking up into your gaze.

“I already have, my love.”

And with that, the two of you delved into your first kiss. It was wet and filled with passion, but also had a theme of hesitation from the two of you.

In all honesty, it was Din’s first kiss ever.

He moved his lips against yours, following your lead. The passion that moved between the two of you was something you had never felt with anyone else before. His hands wandered to your waist as he feverishly begged for more, but knew the limits of the setting the two of you were in.

Moments before the inevitable breakaway, your kiss was interrupted with a cool paw on your leg and a “Patu”

You rocked back on your legs to see the tiny green baby looking angrily at the two of you. A small laugh came from you and Din as he picked Grogu up and fixed his robes.

“Go get fixed up,” you said sweetly, kissing Din on the cheek. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“One question?” he asked, just as you were standing up to leave.

“What time are we leaving?”

“12.” you smiled, ruffling his already messy hair.

-

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @mandoloriancookie @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry @scoliobean @avengersfan25 @nyotamalfoy @milly-louise @mxtokko

@peeta-is-useless @kirsteng42 @salliebley @bubsonnobx @lexloon @untitledarea @qualitypudding @bitchwitch1981 @kittenlittle24​

#peterparkersnose #din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin fluff #din dijarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin headcanon #din djarin x reader #din djarin one shot #din djarin angst #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin masterlist #din djarin x female oc #the mandalorian one shot #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandolarian #din djarin smut #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian angst #the mandalorian fan fiction #mando x reader #mandalorian imagine #mando fluff #mando angst #grogu #star wars

[oncomingnight]

Yandere! Theoretical Physicist

Hello everyone, I hope you've been having an amazing day and night as you deserve. Last night, I watched Oppenheimer and it's my favorite movie of the whole year. It's the type of movie you just have to see in the cinema when you have the chance, the cast is absolutely phenomenal and the soundtrack is beyond incredible, as expected from Christopher Nolan. Now, time to talk writing! I decided to make this very specific original character, I don't think this post will get a ton of recognition but i just wanted to experiment a bit. I hope you all enjoy and never hesitate to send me a request or talk to me in my ask box. I'm here for you all :)!

Every child is naturally curious, constantly grasping at everything and questioning subjects adults have long learned about. But Hans was a particularly curious little boy, asking extremely specific and quizzing questions, stunning his parents that couldn't even muster up a joking answer. This behavior perfectly explained the educational and career path he chose later on in life.

Your husband was a highly renowned man, but that never changed his outlook on life. He was still the charming and disgustingly romantic man that hid a surprise bouquet of roses behind his back each time the two of you had a date night.

Hans isn't ignorant towards his obsessive behavior, he's known for obsessing over his theories so being overly attached to you isn't something he's particularly concerned about. You're his wife...who isn't obsessed with their wife?

Well, other women and men have no effect on him romantically or egotistically, so, sometimes when other people brag about their spouses he's just sitting there like:

"Mhm. Well, yesterday my wife-"

His friends will invite him out for drinks and will try to get him to stay till midnight and he will immediately reject. "Yeah, no, I've gotta get home to the wife."

There's nothing he loves more than eating dinner with you in his office. The atmosphere is messy, ink-stained paper, pens misplaced, discontinued files, but you make it seem like the most peaceful room in the world with your presence. As much as he enjoys his job, it's nice to get away from thinking about such grand things and relaxing with the loveliest woman to ever live.

You.

As he's giving speeches in governmental spaces, he looks for your eyes to find a piece of solace. At times his thoughts can get a bit scattered when he's in front of large crowds, so, your companionship is everything he'll ever need to keep him in check.

There's a running rumor that all theoretical physicists eventually snap and go crazy. For him, this isn't necessarily true..?

I'm a liar.

Well, he has done questionable things to many people that he has and still considers threats. He's put them through extricating "experiments" in the basement at the bottom of your shared victorian home. Experiments aren't necessarily his forte but he'll take any excuse to teach those people a life long lesson.

One night, the two of you were at a birthday party in the home of another highly renowned scientist, a friend of his. Hans decided to leave your side for not even a full minute to go and grab a plate of food for you. He rarely leaves your side but when he just so happens to do so, a random nobody trying to make a name of themselves walks over and attempts to sweep you off your feet.

Oblivious to their flirting, you participate in the conversation with friendly, simple and curt dialogue. What you don't notice is Hans staring at the two of you from the kitchen that is on the other side of the room. He was absolutely furious. On the rare occurrence he leaves you alone, someone comes and takes advantage of the situation for their filthy desires.

He walks on over with a tray filled with tea cakes, tiramisu cubes, mini crepe cakes and cheesecake bars. He wraps his free hand around your waist, squeezes and sternly asks:

"And you are?" The way Hans purposefully makes himself look more intimidating than he already is results in the third party to feel like an immediate outsider, causing them to blurt their name then scurry away.

You harmlessly tease him about being a bit jealous which ignites his dimple ridden smile before he smoothly remarks:

"Please tell me, Bärchen, would that be so terrible? You can't blame a man for fighting to keep a woman like you."

He'd be so entranced as he watched you get ready for any occasion. Putting on moisturizing cream? He's sitting with his face in his palm and observing. Slipping a dress on? He's watching with a teasing smile before offering to help.

He'll see you getting ready, slowly walk up to you as he gently runs his veiny hands up and down your arms before leaning his head onto your shoulder and whispering:

"You look so beautiful, but I'm sure you know that already, hm? Let me help you." "You know how that ends, Hans. We can't run late this time, what about your speech?" "They can wait for me. Let a man show his adoration, m'kay?"

Even when the two of you live together, he finds a way to hide gifts around the house so he can surprise you with them at the right time. There doesn't even have to be a special occasion for him to show up with an edible arrangement, a beautifully boxed gift and a bouquet of yellow roses.

He had to work long and hard to get to the place he's in today, to get the recognition he deserved. He uses his money in an incredibly smart manner. Purchasing new decor for the house and...you might not guess it....booking trips and spoiling you with presents and trinkets.

He never really flaunts the amount of money he has in public, but, your wedding costed an immense amount and he was unapologetic about it. Hans knew you deserved the royal-like marriage celebration you'd always dreamed of, and he was eager to deliver.

This post was inspired by a German actor that I have an IMMENSE crush on. His name is Matthias Schweighöfer (the blondie)

#yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oneshot #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #male yandere #obsessive x reader #obsession #obsessive yandere #obsessive love #male oc x you #male oc x y/n #male oc x reader #male #romance #male smut #oc x yn #oc x reader #oc x canon #oc x oc #yandere fluff

[chrollohearttags]

favorite song • e. jaeger

“I’m on the stage right now, singing your favorite song. I look in the crowd and you’re nowhere to be found as they sing along.”

synopsis: influencer (y/n) forms a close friendship with the infamous rapper, EJ after working together and Eren wishes it could be more. Too bad someone else is in the way..

content warning and themes: angsty vibes, early stages of their relationship, mentions of abuse and cheating, mentions of alcohol, light mentions of sex, kissing, comfort at the end because I truly love them. (also, a couple spoilers for the next reverb chapters)

📝: y’all know these two are just very special to me 😩🤞🏾 like I’m so hopelessly in love with a relationship that doesn’t exist and I couldn’t stop thinking about that Toosii song (legit had it on repeat as I wrote this)

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Atlanta, Georgia. One of the most infamous cities in the country and a staple in the music industry. From the illustrious strip clubs where the rappers came to play and the countless, legendary musicians to be birthed from the famed A-Town..it was iconic. It was also one of EJ the Don’s favorite places to perform. The crowd’s energy was always top tier, the fans were live and he always enjoyed himself.

“Thank you, Atlanta! You know I fucking love you guys and I appreciate all the love you show me…” nearing the conclusion of his two hour set, the artist began to give him obligatory speech, thanking all of his loyal supporters and everyone who turned out tonight. From the insane songs that triggered two huge mosh pits to the slower joints that had brought forth the baddest bitches in the crowd..serenaded underneath dimmed lights as he strummed the guitar and sang to them. It was an entire vibe and like all of his shows, he never wanted it to end. But alas, it was getting later into the night and he was becoming jaded. However, he couldn’t leave his loyal fans without something special!

“This next song…this next song is one that’s very near to my heart..just like the person I wrote it for. They can’t be here tonight but I hope wherever they are..they hear it.”

upon taking a seat on his stool, a stage hand came out and handed Eren his electric guitar..a jet black Fender with chrome and red accents and hand painted roses; named Carla after his mom who gifted it to him on his twenty first birthday. It’s the most precious thing he’s ever received and now he was about, he was about to play a ballad to the most precious person in his life right now. Propping the instrument up on his knee, he’d take the pick that was pursed between his lips and begin to strum slowly..tattooed digits tapping at the E Minor and D strings, creating a soft yet high pitched tune. It was something that he didn’t normally do during his performances but there was a first time for everything. As he began to sing, accompanied by the instrumentals and backtracks, sounding out across the packed arena, he began to croon out the words to a track he titled ‘Everything’, in which he pours out his heart, how that person meant everything to him and everything that he loved about them. It was so beautiful, authentic and yet…maintained bits of signature rap style. The crowd was cheering; ladies fawning from the front row, men nodding their head and everyone was enjoying themselves. The one person he needed there however…was nowhere to be found. The person who inspired it and who burst into tears when he first played it. That person…was you. His precious (y/n). A girl adorned by many and the object of desire for for thousands of men. Captivating the world with your flawless pole skills and ethereal beauty. A one of a kind woman, as rare and priceless as any jewel. You were truly his everything.

but sadly, it could only be confessed in the form of this song, as he was certain you were somewhere in the arms of another guy. Laid up in bed, carrying on a loveless relationship with someone who didn’t see your worth. He hated it. He hated that he couldn’t be the one holding you right now and making all those doubts and insecurities disappear…he even recalled the last time he spoke to you. A little over three weeks ago…as he sat begging and pleading for you to be with him instead.

FLASHBACK

“I don’t get it, (y/n). Why the fuck do you even stick around? It doesn’t make sense..”

“I wish I could tell you why…but I can’t. I guess I’m just scared.”

“Scared of what?! Because if he’s putting his hands on you, I’ll splatter his brains as soon as he comes through that door.”

it was a conversation you’d never expect to have but an inevitable one nonetheless. It was going to come to this eventually…after all, you were sitting at the kitchen counter of your high rise condo, sobbing your eyes out and picking up pieces of shattered glass from a broken vase, slammed to the ground by your no good, sorry ass, abusive, cheater of a boyfriend. Why a woman as beautiful as you would ever think to stick around and put up with such bullshit, was beyond anyone. Including the man standing in front of you. The one who would wipe tears from that pretty face all the time..who had watched you cry as he held you.

“Look, (y/n). I can’t tell you what to do but I’ll be damned if I sit here and let you get treated like this. You deserve better than whatever the fuck he’s doing. Why won’t you just leave?!”

something far easier said than done..truth was, being in a relationship with a high powered executive while trying to make it up the ladder in the entertainment industry was not for the weak. And trying to break away was a whole lot harder!..the repercussions you could face; not only would he have you blackballed from every event or potential job you’d ever think to have but he’d have everyone turning on you. It’d be career suicide! Howvever, Eren didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn what that piece of shit thought he was capable of…he only cared about your well-being and watching you cover up your sadness with sips of liquor was driving him insane. He loved you and wanted to protect you with his life. He wanted to wake up every day next to you, smiling as he saw you in your most pure form; no makeup and all that natural beauty and make love to you every single night. He wanted to be the one who’s name you cried out as you clawed his back and begged him to go deeper. He couldn’t stand this..stepping closer, Eren cupped the sides of your face, tilting it upward so that you could see him. See him in all the vulnerability he had to offer.

“Listen..I just want you to be happy. Fuck all that other noise. Just leave with me and we’ll figure i—“

“Stop it, Eren, I can’t put you in this mess. He’ll ruin everything you worked hard for and that’s not fair. I’m not worth it!”

hearing those words nearly shattered his heart into a million pieces. Never had he felt the way he had about anyone in his young twenty five years the way he did about you. No one made his heart flutter and his soul feel complete the way you did and he couldn’t let you think anything less of yourself than what you were..

“..baby, don’t you realize I’m already in? I’m not going anywhere, even if you push me away right now. You mean more to me than any of this. I don’t care if I ever touch a Grammy, an awards show or any of that shit. You’re all I want. Please..”

and in that moment, you could do nothing more than helplessly fall into his arms. Stuffing your tear ridden face into the comfort of his chest and that black tee he was sporting and as always, he was right there to hold you close and coddle you in his grasp.

“Eren…”

PRESENT

so as he strummed those notes, singing out with all that he harbored..lights from illuminated cell phones swaying back and forth..

“And if you let me, I’ll be your everything..”

he hoped that somewhere, somehow..you could hear it. Not just with your ears but your heart and truly feel the message. That it would motivate you to finally go where you belonged. With him.

“Can you hear me, (y/n)? Are you listening…because I’m playing this song just for you. For us..I’ll always be with you no matter what.”

#cherry’s drabbles 🍒🌷 #aot #eren fluff #eren jaeger #eren x black fem!reader #musician eren #musician x influencer au #eren x black reader #eren drabble #aot drabbles #aot imagines #eren imagines #eren x y/n #eren x reader #aot au #aot fluff #fluff drabble #aot angst #angst drabble #eren jaeger imagines #eren jaeger x black reader #aot x black reader #eren aot #musician au #fluff #I’m a lil rusty I know #cw smut #cw abuse #cw cheating #cw alcohol

[arting-block]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 11th Doctor x F!Reader

❝𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦.❞

Summary: The Doctor doesn't need sex, just you

Warnings: Grinding, P in V sex, hints of sub!Doctor

Words: 1K

A/N: HAHAHA I'm back!! I had this scenario rotting in my brain and I needed to get it out. This does take place in Stranger in a Strange Land, but this fic can be read as a stand-alone!

The Doctor has no need for romance. Eons spent traveling the cosmos trying to save everyone from destruction leaves little room for trivial things. His need for sex is even lower. 

“Please,” a breathy whine, a slight gasp. The Doctor’s hands gripped the cloth of the bedsheets in hopes he could gain control of his erratic heaving. Everything’s too hot, too much. Despite the tops of his shirt being undone and his jacket laying on the floor, his bodily temperature keeps rising, “There’s people in the other room—”

His voice ended with a pitched cry as your fingers went to the zipper of his pants. Light pressure from your fingers sent his mind into a frenzy. A mix of cold dread and pure excitement pools in his chest all the way down. The Doctor could easily stop your hands. One word and you would step back. 

Sex isn’t important, he doesn’t crave it. Plenty of beautiful men and women have thrown themselves at his feet and he spared them no glance. From powerful queens to cheeky immortals. Hell, even his own companions have tried and ultimately failed to garner any carnal desire from him. 

The Doctor tightened his hold on the bed when you moved to hover above his lap. Your perfume invades his nose and your hand cups his burning face. He couldn’t help but stare helplessly at your face. Your beautiful, terrifying face. 

“Yet you don’t want me to stop,” it was a casual statement. No tremors or wavers in your voice; it was the truth. You place the palm of your hand on his flushed chest, sliding up and around the back of his neck, “I can taste your desire.”

He curses your ability to understand his body. How your hands ignite a path of fire wherever they caress. How your searing kiss to the tender spot on his neck makes him emit pathetic noise at the back of throat. How you press your clothed core on his lap and he jumps. His hands find the curve of your waist, pushing downwards for any relief to your cruel torture. He hates how your breathy laugh makes his pants tighter. 

“Please,” another whine.

Your smile shows no mercy, “Please what, Doctor?”

The way his name slips out of your mouth with a hint of cruelty, a dash of need, sends him in a spiral. You hands busy themselves with unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, making sure to trail your hands down his chest to his pelvis. The palms of your hands are cool against his flushed skin. He feels everything from the drumming of his two hearts to the slick accumulating on top of his pants. 

The Doctor doesn't need sex.

“I need you, love. Please—” your hips ground on him once more, nearly jumbling his speech “ —fuck me.”

Who were you to deny your beloved Doctor?

Grabbing his flushed face, you preoccupied his senses with the taste of your lips. The Doctor melted into you, eagerly meeting your kiss with equal vigor. His mind was close to blanking, something he never thought possible. It seemed the longer you indulged him the more dopamine seemed to numb his consciousness. 

You tangle into him until there’s no distinction from your body to his. Every gasp he emits makes you shiver. Every moan you slip makes The Doctor want to flip you over and show you how cruel you’ve been.

Pulling back, you take a look at The Doctor’s disheveled appearance. Pride swells in your chest seeing the almighty Doctor submit to your whims with just a kiss. The air tastes of his need and your spine tingles from The Doctor’s unspoken trust in you. A silent prayer; trust that you will alleviate the ache in his chest and underneath your lap. 

Sex was never something he needed. He can live without the intimacy of another. He’s done it for centuries so why not a century longer?

“Doctor,” your eyes close and brows furrow. The sound of your whine permeates the fog of his mind and zero in on the bliss on your face. 

The tension in your face relaxes and you allow yourself to give into the pleasure. The Doctor can't help but marvel at your expression. 

He can’t go a century longer. Not after meeting you—fucking you until neither of you can choke a sentence. The moment you allowed him to bury himself between your thighs, he knew sex wasn't something he craved. Sex in itself wasn't what he wanted.

No, what he wanted—needed—was you. How could he not? His body craves the love you pour into each drag of your finger. Your lingering kiss on his jaw that tingles for seconds after. A cheeky grin and a promise sealed with a wink. 

The sight of your undoing, all because of him is what he wants. Tossing your head back, screaming his name until you finally stop trembling. How you cling onto him like he’s the only solid thing in the world. 

Selfishly, he only wants your pleasure and nothing else. 

“I love this,” a hushed confession; a bright smile on your face, “I love you.”

Your words send fire into his blood. No matter how many times that phrase has been uttered, it still makes his two hearts stop. 

Air hits The Doctor’s length and you are delighted in the hiss he lets out. You move your soaked underwear to the side and allow The Doctor to buck his hips up. The head of his cock nudges your entrance and you have to bite down a groan.

“How do you want it, hm?” you dip close to his ear to ensure he never misses a word. Lining up his length towards your center, you delight in his stuttered breathing, “Slow and gentle?”

You dropped your hips downward and watched as The Doctor’s head tilted back, baring his throat to you. Your cunt stretches to accommodate the intrusion, but the pleasure it brings lights the fire in your stomach. Reaching for the back of The Doctor’s head, you force his head up.

Wild green eyes stare back at you. You imagined your expression is no different. 

“Or do you prefer I fuck you instead?” 

#fic: siasl #fic: stranger in a strange land #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x y/n #doctor who #11th doctor x y/n #11th doctor x you #11th doctor smut #eleventh doctor smut #11th doctor x reader smut #11th doctor x y/n smut #eleventh doctor x y/n smut #11th doctor x you smut #bbc doctor who #doctor x reader #doctor x you #doctor x y/n #doctor x reader smut #doctor x you smut #doctor x y/n smut #the doctor x reader smut #the doctor x y/n smut #the doctor x you smut #the doctor x reader #the doctor x y/n #the doctor x you

[bigfan-fanfic]

Yellow Light, Blue Light (Male!Reader x Connor DBH)

so, there's barely any connor (dbh) content, so what abt an scenario where connor waits for his boyfriend to come for work and they both live with hank and sumo? i mean like since connor started to feel love he gets so excited when seeing his boyfriend coming back with new things to show him and the three of them + sumo eat dinner together like a family (it sounds so wholesome 😭💞)

Nobody would ever be able to make him admit it, but Hank would've been lonely without Connor around.

So at the terse point where Markus' revolution created a new way of life in Detroit and across the United States, Hank very casually offers that Connor stay with him.

Their relationship often fluctuates confusingly, as Hank sometimes does feel like he takes on a fatherly role to Connor, especially in dealing with emotions now that he's accepted that he's a living being

But then they become more mentor and protegee at times, and then there's the most often state where they're very close friends and the one of the only men robots people Hank currently feels okay with hugging.

Yeah, the bucket of bolts is a hugger and now that Hank can't pretend androids aren't alive anymore he doesn't have the heart to push Connor away when the man hugs him.

It's also a little confusing for Hank because Connor doesn't particularly mind whatever terminology he uses, while other androids with their new autonomy still argue about whether "man/woman" or "human beings" are desirable and acceptable terms or microaggression or outright hate speech in reference to them.

In any case, it comes as a surprise to Hank when things go back to his comfort zone and Connor asks him about very familiar emotions.

It's immediately clear to Hank that Connor is experiencing love for the first time, and when Connor asks if he might need repairs (despite several diagnostics coming up with no problem), Hank practically needs to go to the hospital for a collapsed lung from laughing so hard.

Hank doesn't quite understand what a human-android relationship would entail - he still hasn't had the courage to ask if Connor's like a Ken doll down there, and he doesn't know he really wants to know.

But Connor seems fulfilled, and happy. In his weird analytical Connor way. And it makes Hank happy, in his own grumpy way, that Connor keeps asking him for advice, for help.

Hank isn't really sure how it ended up that Connor's boyfriend started living with them, but honestly he doesn't really mind. It's... nice to have another human in the house, and to feel the house being alive.

And to have someone else to walk Sumo when he feels lazy.

It's also kind of adorable to see Connor on the back foot scrambling around to make food for when his boyfriend gets home from work on their anniversary of moving in together.

"Connor. Con- Con! You don't need to measure the salt out to a grain. Jesus, Connor, don't give me the puppy eyes - I'll back off. Just... calm down a little."

He's a little surprised when he opens the door (Connor's dealing with the food) and you hug him. He's even more surprised that he doesn't mind.

Hank always gets a kick out of seeing just how much Sumo gets excited when Connor's boyfriend gets home - almost as excited as Connor does.

Connor acts all casual about making dinner, letting you unwind and relax and pretending like he wasn't just measuring every ingredient out to the gram.

Hank good-naturedly ribs you both about being so affectionate, playfully accusing you two of practically sitting in each other's laps at the dinner table.

Connor smirks - full on smirks and just says "Well, Hank, since I don't need to eat, shouldn't I have something to do with my hands?" and Hank chokes on his food and laughs and bares his teeth in a grin as he calls Connor a sick little bastard and it's mean words but the intent is fun and you all laugh together.

It's interesting - Hank notices how Connor sometimes acts more 'human', and sometimes doesn't do those mannerisms programmed into him by Cyberlife, like imitating breathing or blinking. It makes Hank a little proud, even more than the uneasiness. It doesn't make him less of a person, just... different.

And seeing you love him anyway. Hell, seeing Connor love you back, clearly and obviously - Hank can't help but smile and needs to listen to some metal in order to get his head back on track.

Besides, Connor's boyfriend is a pretty cool guy - he's helpful even if Connor generally insists on doing the chores because he doesn't need to sleep, and he even likes to introduce things to Hank as well as Connor.

They feel like a family. A weird, silly, neurotic family, but family all the same.

#male reader #dbh connor x male reader #dbh connor x reader #dbh x male reader #dbh x reader #dbh headcanons #headcanons

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

46 - And Wait for the Snows

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

Length: 19.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, implied child abuse, character deaths, sexually violent language, disturbing imagery, body image issues, references to torture, smut, oral (f receiving), slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, handjobs, breeding kink, p in v

Notes: A lot happening in this chapter, but we'll get a chance to breathe soon enough, I promise. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The Crow's Eye would not consider himself to ever be a victim of circumstance. No, he made due no matter what was thrown his way. Those around him may not like the path to get there, but they had no say in the matter. Not anymore. When he was a boy, of course he had to do what his father bid and listen to his older brother, but he gleefully had three younger brothers to torment as he pleased.

Which he did. Not sure if the youngest of his brothers truly recalled those days, but they certainly still hated him as such. What choice though did he have? None. He didn't do it because he was told to, or even because they at all interested him. His brothers were all stupid, weak, and pathetic and if his youngest brothers were going to learn their place in this family, he was going to force them to learn they would never be above where he stands.

Then the second youngest died, still a child from some infection. Leaving the brothers to only four left and as he grew up, the more he learned he was the best of them. He answered to his father and elder brother for now, but the Crow's Eye was patient. He would wait. Bide his time until it was all prepared and then it would all prove to be his.

It took many decades to find that opportunity, but once it presented itself he took it with no remorse and now he was the only one left to prove he was worthy of being in charge. Five brothers to four, and now to three and he stood as the eldest. He had many plans to put into place and enacted them all swiftly. Scrapping his late brother's pitiful ideas, and sending his men every which way to get organized for once in their pathetic lives.

Truth be told, even though she was the focus of part of his new plan, he did not give a single care about the Targaryean girl. He didn't care what she was doing, what she looked like, or what she wanted. If she were smart, she'd give him what he wants willingly and he'd let her keep the dusty slave cities she pretended to rule over. He let his men assume that making her his Queen was his goal, but laughable if they truly thought he needed her.

He had heard stories, screaming that she was the blood of old Valyria but which one of them had traversed the poisoned lands? It was not her. Gold could be wagered on how sure he was that she never once had to lift a finger. Just stood around looking pretty and making big speeches as if that was what made a leader.

No, spilling blood with your bare hands made you a leader.

What use was she to the Crow's Eye if she relied on men and magic and dragons to win everything in her honour? Put her alone in a room with him and give each one of them a knife and who would win? Well, it wouldn't be the one whose never even held a sword before. But he let his men think all that anyways. It was easier to get her dragons if she thought she was wanted with them. He'd dispose of her later.

It wasn't as if women did not interest his desire. No, in fact he showed women exactly what he liked about them and it wasn't dainty girls who spent more time looking and sounding impressive and alluring. Either learn what true men what, or spread your legs and shut your mouth before he grew tired and cut your tongue out for you.

Much like the Flowers girl. She was pretty, and she fucked well, but she talked too much and thought that's what would endear him. Now she had no tongue and in some months time, would gift him a brand new bastard before he disposed of her too. None of these women had a single clue what would make them invaluable and he knew he was never going to find one who did at this rate.

His plans were all working, he needed the Targaryean for her dragons, so he begun organizing to soon send his brother off to accomplish bringing her to him. But the Crow's Eye was no fool. He had walked in the ruins of old Valyria, seen the vastness of shadowbinders in Asshai. Without those dragons, she had nothing to offer him. And once he tamed them, he had no use for another bed warmer with a large mouth.

No one knew what he has seen. No one knows where his exile had taken him, what he had done and what he had been stripped of. He had dreams of flying as a boy, and finally he was able too unlike a single soul anywhere else. Even when it had been taken away from him, his people were all fools to think any could keep up with him.

Until that was, he sensed it. On his ship and the night was quiet as the water were calm and yet he felt it. The pull in his mind. It was not clear right away, but it was there. Someone out there had been gifted as he had once been. Given the Greensight and whoever it was, their connection to it was strong. Unusually strong, as if there were the powers of two people inside what he sensed was one mind.

He was cut off from his strongest of abilities, Bloodraven had seen to that. He had found little use of it alone anymore, but if he could feel it coursing through his veins so far away, the Crow's Eye knew he needed to find them and maybe he could find a way back in by force. It took time. Weeks, then a month, then a little more time passed and finally he found it.

And his plans changed. He still needed the dragons, and he still needed to show Westeros he was the only man worthy of ruling them, but he finally found it. The only one he'd want by his side. The only one who had power that couldn't be found anywhere else.

The one with the Sight, just so happened to be a small stag. A green eyed Baratheon girl the realm once thought was dead. But she lived, and now ruled in the North beside her bastard born false King. Had he been a highborn, maybe he'd have considered the boy's feats impressive. But he was a bastard, a Snow, pretending to be worthy of being a King, and even worse? The girl had brought him back from the dead before he took her as a wife.

She was something else. Something no woman could conceive of being. But, he did not consider the circumstances to be in his way. The bastard King would be taken care of when the time was right to strike, and once she sees the magnitude of who The Crow's Eye is, she'd leave behind Snow in an instant. Power recognizes power, he knew it.

But even better, she was a fighter. She knew what spilling blood with her own hands was like, she fought and killed men in war, and she grabbed that dagger in their pulling visions and plunged it into his eye without hesitating. When his mind returned to his body, he was more sure then ever. He tried seeking her in the Green Sight again and again, but she always had her Great Wolf by her side. As if even in her dreams the damned bastard was still protecting her. Then she cut him out. She grew stronger and he found himself unable to seek her out no matter what he tried.

But he would not give up now. Only power was worthy of standing by his side, and the girl had power. Even the red woman had seen it. Coming to him this night as he looked to the darkness of the open water. An accent so many from Asshai thought they could seduce with, but the only things he cared about were what her god and blood magic could do for him. “She will not be easy to sway to your side. The wolf's claim on her is strong, stronger then any man I've known. He will not give her up.”

A lift of his eyebrow, and a smirk over his face came about. “He is a bastard, he is worth nothing. Trust in me, I have enough of my own. One dies, I'll fuck another into a girl to replace them. I do not fear him.”

The red woman however, held a look he could only describe as grim and knowing. “Then you would be a fool. I have wished to see of the Lord within you, and the flames show me nothing. I asked for the Lord's chosen warrior, and he shows me no sight of you. I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only snow. You are not his chosen warrior, and thus such are not men to be trifled with. They will not give her up easily.”

But he was the Crow's Eye. He had never let lesser men then him best him at anything, and he would not begin now. “Ask your Lord to show me how to get to her, and we shall see what it takes for the bastard to give her up. Until then, I have a Kingdom to take. Bring me what I ask, or stay out of my way. You are not here for your looks. Cease to be useful, and we shall find out how much your Lord protects you from me then.”

She did not react, and he did not expect her to at this point. He did not care her fire god did not think he a great warrior. The only war that existed was the one before his eyes. As she walked away, he already knew taking her would be a challenge. Her King father on one side and her Great Wolf pretending to be a King on the other, he needed to be careful.

But Stannis Baratheon could not watch over his daughter all the time, and eventually, Jon Snow would slip up. He couldn't protect her forever, he was nothing more then a bastard after all. She would grow tired of playing pity eventually.

He had told her in the last Green Dream he found her in, to come find him. He hadn't given her his name, but he wanted her to want it. Want him and find him without anything to go by. Prove she wanted better then to warm a bastards bed in a frozen wasteland. If not though, that was fine. He would still take her by force when the opportunity arose.

He was Ironborn after all. Taking what he wants, when he wants it, was what he was born to do.

The hand finding it's way caressingly at the back of your neck instantly had you lean back with a hum, eyes fluttering closed for only as long as it took for the hand to turn to a warm body sitting down next to you.

Colder and colder as the North became, the more work was done to keep Winterfell warm. Hardly a room you could go into with fires blazing everywhere, but it was nothing compared to the natural warmth soothing beside you as Jon joined you. The servers had begun putting food out ten minutes ago but you hadn't glanced away from the journal in front of you even once.

Showing Jon the papers you had found in the Lord Commanders quarters of the Nightfort, Jon had wondered what you'd want to keep it between you both for now for, until he got to the last. The direwolf sigil said it all. It sounded serious, and now it was his family directly involved in whatever this was. He kept them stashed away, knowing you had copied it down and ever since arriving back days ago, every spare moment alone your eyes would find the symbols and work through it with something weighing your head down until it ached in your neck.

Jon's voice now, was comforting in your ear as the hand slipped from your neck down the top of your spine to rest “I need you to do me a favour.” Turning instantly, it seemed he knew just how to capture your attention as he held back a smirk right away at your serious eagerness. “Have one meal with me where you haven't drifted off somewhere else.”

Shoulders deflating, Jon rightfully took that as a sign. Reaching over you to pry the edge of the book from your fingertips and close it. Watching with a hidden away amusement as he then picked it up, and started moving it. Sensing what your response would be, Jon shifted so his hand left your spine and nudged gently at your ribs when you reached for it. Placed now out of your sight behind where he sat somewhat to the side to face you.

A murmur on your voice unconvincing. “I'm not distracted every meal.”

Hand coming up to your jaw, Jon let two of his knuckles gently run along the skin he could find. Grey eyes wide and shining as he looked at you with nothing but a fondness. “What news did Arya tell me this morning then?”

The longer you did not answer, the more playfully mischievous Jon's eyes turned. Turning from him to roll your eyes, he also did not believe the huff which sighed out of you. Relentless Jon seemed to be that evening, interrupting whatever he put on his plate to add to what you assumed you finished to yours. Turning with a raise of your eyebrow, Jon hardly responded before biting into something. “No arguing, eat.”

You knew the easy quiet which followed was carried with Jon watching you with sharp eyes to ensure you were obeying him. Many including him had previously complained you seemed to not be eating enough, but now Jon was sparing no time in breaking that habit entirely from you. He was good at it, mostly though, because he was unquestioningly giving you orders without saying as much.

Orders which Jon knew you'd listen to if spoken in that tone. “Tell me if I'm mistaken, but I'm beginning to suspect you might actually enjoy ordering me around a little.”

Jon didn't even need to look your way to do it. “I don't like ordering you around. I like it when you're good for me.”

Eyes flying wide open as the fluster wormed it's way from your chest to your cheeks you knew the smile on you was shining in embarrassment. Muttering not low enough Jon almost wouldn't be able to hear, “Seven hells, Jon..” Only just catching your gaze, you could see the absolute enjoyment in his dark eyes in watching you get so easily flustered by him.

Rasping low but with as much tease as there was something raw and held back in affection, “You'll be thankful I'm trying to prepare your appetite now. I was always hungry as a boy, meaning soon enough he'll be too.” But you didn't continue, hands paused mid motion to look at him. It came so easily from Jon when before in these very halls never once did you discuss anything close to children together, it was always a known impossible.

You knew Jon likely could sense the weight in your throat at your moment too long of quiet, before you almost diverted the emotions to sit back down in your gut to explore at a later time. Quietly turning back to your plate and muttering only for him to hear. “I don't know. Not being hungry could be an indication she's going to be just like myself.”

Jon didn't hesitate to mutter quiet but quick, “He's a boy.”

A smile almost broke out instantly, a rolling of your eyes as you bit your tongue to keep it all just slightly at bay. Neither of you had told nor seen anyone about it yet, but even through Ghost you knew he couldn't possibly be able to tell that. But Jon had only argued when you brought it up. “I don't need anyone to confirm it for me. I know it's a boy.” He had yet to explain himself on such, but you rolled your eyes playfully all the same.

Whatever retort died on your tongue at the sound of footsteps coming along the corridor. Jon and yourself glancing to one another, a knowing in both eyes that for now, it was being kept to the two of you. Jon knew one could call him selfish for it, but he enjoyed having this between only you two, no one else sharing or watching.

Jon liked that the only business your future child was thus far, were yours and his. A little family in the making Jon thought impossible, and he wished to be selfish about it a bit longer. Though, there was something else he wanted to do, wanted to tell. But those two would also not speak it to a soul, though Jon was aware he had not informed you yet that he had blurted it out to Sam before he even told you.

Tomorrow you were planning on going back to Gilly's reading lessons and Jon hoped Sam would not stare at you in knowing. He just did not want the world to know yet, he liked the quiet life you both were trying to form and that included quiet about your son.

Arya's voice filled the quiet room however the moment she opened her mouth, a talent of her very own before even walking fully into view. “How many winters have you both been through before this?”

Glancing to one another, eyes squinting in thought trying to look passed the decade long summer to before that. Slowly answering as the numbers formed as he spoke them Jon replied in hesitation, “Four, maybe five. But I was too young to remember the first two, so three”

All but flopping down, Arya had her fur cloak wrapped around her so firmly it looked like a blanket, as she stared incredulously at how neither you nor Jon even had fur anywhere near your persons. Her voice in the same disbeleif. “Was it always this cold, or is this winter special because the world wants to end with it?”

The talent Arya had in making Jon smile at subjects usually pulling him back down to seriousness, Jon replied as he even more amusingly to you, found himself almost instinctively putting food on her plate for her. Though, all of you knew she'd pile more on top and somehow continue to stay that minuscule size.

“This is your first winter, it takes getting used to. Always make sure you're tending to your fires, and stop forgetting your gloves when you go outside.” Arya instantly piped up that she hadn't forgotten, only for Jon to reach to something at his side and with a dramatic slap, flopped her gloves right onto the table separating them.

Neither spoke for a moment until she reached for them, stuffing them away quickly as she narrowed her eyes in a jesting glare at him. “I had them on, I just..left them somewhere.”

Without even a blink, Jon answered flatly back. “Right. By somewhere you mean the dresser in your chambers?” Once more both wolves stared the other down, only causing you to look away in an amusement before turning back to the food on your plate.

You were almost certain there was more food on there now then when you last looked. Utterly relentless he was. And you were by his estimation, only a month in. You dared not think how he was going to start to fuss once the sickness starts. You had tried to avoid Robb those mornings to prevent him fussing over you, but there was not a chance you'd be able to sneak away and get sick without Jon seeing or being told.

As much as you trusted and appreciated both of them, the moment Olly or Theon knew you were trying to hide from Jon getting ill of any kind, they'd tell him without the passing of a single heartbeat to heartbeat.

Between the siblings bantering to the side, you had only just noticed as silent and graceful as ever did your mother find her way to sit by you. A warm shall wrapped firmly around her and a low tone as if speaking through the wish to shiver. “At least sending you here all those years prepared you for the cold. Brightwater Keep is as warm as a place can get before reaching Dorne.”

A doubtful huff of a laugh left you, quiet in tone as she was, you'd both be drowned out by the two wolves were you not know slightly faced away from them. “If how warm Kings Landing could be, I have an idea. You were right by the Honeywine though, I can't imagine it could get that warm even in the middle of the summer season.”

The sudden voice piping up from Arya drew both your attentions over to her, something if you flicked your gaze over more slightly, you'd see a bit of an amusement in Jons eyes. “What's that?”

You know why Jon was amused. It was getting a bit easier for Jon and Selyse to get used to one another so regularly. While he was used to your quiet, Jon also knew how to pull more wildness out of you in a way that wasn't so clear even existed in your mother. Not any fault of hers, but she simply was a bit on the more consistently serious side then the Starks would've been used too.

It did however, make her and Arya's interactions amusing. Two very different people in every manner now bound as family by law, and clearly she had no read on how to get along with her yet. Typically then, you'd act as the median in between to make it easier to connect loud and eccentric with quiet and stern but she still answered with ease. “The Honeywine is a river sat right in the heart of the agricultural valley in the Reach. Most farms all try to compete in buying land right by it, since whoever produces the most, there normally will sell for high prices come the harvest. It's where a large majority of the food in the South is imported from.”

Nodding, you tried to ignore that as you ate, with both the other pairs of eyes keeping on each other, you had to not glance down noticing Jon returning to your plate what you had subtly tried to put back. He and Ghost both, honestly. At least the food Jon kept throwing at you was cooked and not normally still with it's skin and covered in blood. Though if Ghost could cook it you wouldn't put it passed him either to then bring you cooked food whenever he returned from a hunt. Turning into a game this was.

Arya meanwhile, asking with a genuine curiosity. “How do they decide who gets what?”

It almost felt like you were back in the days of Kings Landing, you being the one asking the questions to your father preparing to take over at some point in the years future, but now the two of them played those roles. “Typically that's left for the Master of Ships to sort out. Each Kingdom has their own unique needs, and how much of what they ask for can also depend on either their gold, or the value of the export they trade us in return. The worse the offer, the less they get.”

Not one to mince her words either, Arya's brows narrowed. “That sounds like a horrible job.” A laugh came from you before your mother could answer, affirming it was. “That was what you did, in King's Landing?”

Nodding, you ripped off pieces of whatever you had picked up, once more ignoring Jon watching you through his own meal as you explained more. “Mostly. There's a lot of learning what grows where and what place without it demands said crop, what they have to offer in terms of resources and how readily they can produce it to trade on a regular basis. How much each Kingdom makes in gold and what of that goes towards their agriculture, mining, whatnot. It's half the days in a week looking at too many numbers, and the other half either down by the ports ensuring everything is running to standard, or arguing with the Master of Coin because your own spending allowance was once more cut down.”

You knew for a multitude of reasons the image bothered Jon. The man himself you were referring too, and a once long ago dislike of how a man such as Petyr Baelish would treat you. When in truth you were certain Jon's head may implode if you told him just how many men in power in that rats den they call a capitol, would try and find ways to take advantage of your young age and lack of influence on the people.

Renly would used to jest that Janos Slynt seemed to treat every one on the small council with respect except for you. What he may tell to any else in a calm and reasonable tone, he would puff up with ingidnance and spit it at you as you barley would raise an eyebrow towards him.

Just as you all had begun to stand and make their leave, Jon grasped at your wrist, giving a small tug towards him before you could fully leave the seat. A gesture to the two now leaving as if to implore you to give him a moment when out of earshot.

But by the time they had, he didn't quite jump into whatever it was. Running a hand through the loose strands of hair at the side of your head, you tilted more towards him with a small question asking in your eyes to his. Jon only responded with a shake of his head in no, letting him toy with your hair and eyes drift innocently along until you knew where he wished he could see better.

Meeting back, Jons gaze flickered in something upsetting for a moment, letting a frown slip to follow. Quiet as any, so guards nor servers passing by would hear him. “I know you don't like talking about it, but I'd like you to answer me honestly.” Your brows narrowed as a bit. “Did they used to starve you? The Boltons?”

Head tilting back slightly in surprise, you opened and closed your mouth twice before pushing past the uncomfortable stammer collecting your thoughts. A nod left but so did the words you knew Jon preferred to hear instead. A strain in your voice, you didn't expect. “It was worse when I was in the Dreadfort. They kept me in the dungeons for months, fed twice a day but it would be generous to call both combined enough for one proper meal.”

Letting the hand toying with your hair, find it's way to the skin by your cheek and jaw gently. A concern in his eyes as he looked back down to your stomach and up again that you hated seeing on him.

Trying to explain it away, knowing Jon knew better. “Roose Bolton always argued against treating our prisoners well during the war, it only made sense he wouldn't show me the same courtesy. Wanting me to know how little he cared for Robb's methods.” Jons voice more of a rough husk as he asked about when they brought you to Winterfell. “They had to feed me more, trying to dangle me in front of our people and pretend as if they were treating me well. Didn't have much of an appetite, but I suppose at least Roose Bolton always ensured wine was in steady supply to force down my throat, just enough to keep me from lashing out.”

Jon didn't move or say anything beyond the angering clench in his jaw. Only letting something hiss out as he looked down to your stomach again. “Only for that?” When you didn't respond right away, Jon found your gaze again, the anger far closer to the surface then even seconds ago. “Did they tell you that's why they were forcing you to drink?”

Tilting your head a bit, you knew he could see that you were not following his logic, but answering best could be anyways. Words stretching at first as you put the thoughts into form out loud. “No, that would have required Roose Bolton to tell me anything. By then I knew what I was there for, and what I was to do. Just play my role with no fuss, don't try to ask any in the castle for help, just be quiet and play nice.”

Oh something once more was too close to the surface for him. Exhaling roughly, you could see Jon was keeping his mouth closed knowing too easily something might spill out of it in anger should it open even for a breath. Your hand closest to him instead reached up, raking gently through his curls hoping the sensation would calm down whatever had worked him up so quickly.

Leaning close enough to him he likely would feel your breath across his skin as you spoke, you whispered with nothing but a tenderness. “Jon, that's passed us now. We're here and they aren't, that's all that matters.”

Interrupting the end of your sentence, Jons head whipped up to find your eyes. Yours innocent and confused against his more intense and angry ones. “What did you say to me, the first time I took all your clothes off?”

You felt even more confused, and by now couldn't even recall whatever nervous ramblings came from your mouth that afternoon. Grasping at straws, it was evident in your tone you were making it up. “Something along the lines of not knowing why you'd want to do that with me in the first place?” Your attempts in a lighter tone to ease up this new tension failed.

Jon was no calmer as his eyes narrowed more at you. “No, when I saw you bare for the first time what did you tell me in that moment?” Eyes wide a bit as you could not put the memory to any words spoken. Saying you remembered being nervous, but Jon jumped in finally. “You started apologizing to me. Right away, you tried saying you were sorry you didn't look like other girls, thinking you weren't impressive enough or small enough.”

You could've been right back in that room, the manner in which the same embarrassment filled your veins now as it did then. Jon intimidating you with a memory right into being as nervous fully clothed and married as you were bare and a maiden. It was horrible to spit itself out, but you said it before you had the reason to be able to stop it. Muttering without looking at him directly, “Hopefully was small enough the second time around.”

But he only stared at you. Something angering but confused and disapproving melting into his features as he barley shook his head at you. “Do you really think that's what I want?” Your silence said it all, that you really weren't quite sure what your mind wanted you to say versus your insecurity. Head dropping with a sigh, Jon raised it as he grabbed your arm gently. Pulling you to stand with him as the other arm grabbed your journal and tucked it away somewhere on him. “Come on.”

You followed him in quiet, his arm slipping to your bicep to almost pull you close as he soothed his rough palm over it back and forth. You knew better then to question him when he was walking you in a silence demanding privacy. By the time he reached whatever destination he had in mind, he ushered you into it with the door closing and locking behind him. Intentionally that was.

A more open room, a large tub in the middle typically used by those not in the family, as each room proper all that one individual to them. But you weren't sure why you were in here and not simply brought to Jons. Only, by the time you turned to ask what this was about, Jon had decided on the path he was going to approach making his point from.

A path in which, you truly, should have been able to predict by now.

Turning back to face you, properly Jon ran a hand over his mouth almost with a frustration trying to get wiped from his expression. Eyes glancing around the room behind you, Jon let out a sigh before coming up to you. Head dropped a bit as his eyes trailed down to your stomach, likely still wishing he could see anything by now.

Both hands coming gently to hold at your hips, your own hands found their way up his chest and along his collarbones and winding to the back of his neck to wrap around. One hand removed from you, Jon gently ran two fingers down your stomach by the back of his knuckles still not looking away. Your voice gentle as it tried to call out to him. “Jon,” A half heard grunt barely left him to indicate he was listening. “I don't say those things hoping to upset you.”

Gruff in tone, he still didn't tear his eyes away. “No, but they do.” In thought for a moment he hadn't shifted his stance at all by the time he said it. “Take this off.” Your head jolted back just a small bit in question but Jon with his other hand still on your hip tugged slightly at the material of your dress. “Off.”

Repeating his command, you felt your heart race just a bit as Jon took enough of a step away from you to give you space. Nerves flowing through you all the while as he didn't move to do or say anything else, but watching with dark, tense eyes as your hands begun to undo things in front of his watchful gaze.

First the longer, drapier material covering most of you, second then moving to your warmer dress, letting it fall to the ground pooling at your feet. The shift let on you was dark, but short enough the cold of the air begun to hit you right away. Inhaling as he looked you over, something on the edge of greedy seemed to slip through Jons voice. “You wear more layers then you used too.”

Those nerves turned ragged almost in an instant, wishing to shuffle on your feet but stood in stillness not wanting him to think they were there. Your voice however, low and muttering did not quite exude confidence. “It's also colder then it used to be.” Staring at your shift he said nothing but the message was spoken. You were not done yet.

Looking away from his tense eyes, you carefully pulled down the straps of your shift down your arms and it too pooled to the ground of piling clothes. That time Jon didn't need to imply anything, you read him loudly and clearly. A shaking exhale left your lips as you gentle pushed down the last of the material on you hiding your most intimate of aspects from him, now bare in the cold of the room against Jon still fully clothed.

Jon kept you standing there. His feet taking him a few steps backwards to lean against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he still only looked at you. The flustering in your heart running rampant in your veins like a flooding wave, on an embarrassed edge against his unblinking, dark stoicism. His voice rasped deeply from something trapped within his chest. “Some nights I wish I was a worse man.” You said nothing, trying not to look like you wanted to start shivering. “Could have kept Ramsay prisoner, put him in chains, gag him and make him watch me take you apart. Show him what it's like to enjoy something he tried to ruin.”

Your breathing picked up, but attempting to hide the fact was impossible as bare as you were. The rising and falling of your chest made it obvious how much Jons eyes kept training back to your breasts.

Jon though, thought little of stopping. “I'd keep you there, take you as long as it took, all night if I had to. Take you apart until you were the beautiful crying mess I know I make you.” The desire mixed with a hint of humiliation had you wanted to shift around nervously again. He was extremely talented at it. “And the only thing that would make me stop, is when I was sure beyond any doubt I put a child in you. Finally when he realized it too, then I'd kill him.”

Little grey was left in his dark eyes, almost now sitting angry and black in colour. Your own voice but a fleeting high pitched whisper. “But you are a better man then that, Jon. I know that.”

Shaking his head, Jon barley let his eyes close as he spoke. “Some days I wish I wasn't.” Biting your tongue as he opened back to stare intently at your form he was rough in a strain as he spoke. “If I were that man, darling, I wouldn't have even let you leave my cock that first night until you were pregnant. I wanted to, I wanted to tie your arms up, tie your legs spread out for me against the bars too, and fuck you until I was sure, then I'd fuck you more just to be safe. If Ghost hadn't brought you to me when he did, I was getting so close to finding you myself and fucking you where you stood.”

Your breathing was noticeable now if it hadn't been before. It should scare you, the possessive thoughts spilling from his mouth like they were rambles he couldn't stop. If Ramsay spoke to you that way, it would terrify you. But it came from Jons mouth, and it only made you feel humiliated as no doubt you could feel blood rushing to flood between your legs as he had barley even blinked. And he still couldn't stop himself from speaking.

Hands clenching as they were crossed over his torso, Jon almost wasn't even aware how much he had begun to let it all spill out. “When I saw you like this for the first time, almost every night after until you came back to Winterfell, I couldn't stop myself. I'd see you, remember how you felt, how you looked. How you were so nervous but you still lay back on my bed and spread your legs knowing I wanted to see you, see how wet you were. Every night after that I came in my hand thinking about how you looked that day.”

“Do you know how often I think about how you looked that night in Castle Black?” Shaking your head, his answer wasn't even what you expected. “Never. I think about everything else, but I've never thought about how you looked. Because I hated it. I still do.” The dark edge on his voice and you started to wonder if Jon even realized how much he had begun to ramble angrily. “They starved you to keep you weak, and you've managed to trick yourself into thinking because it makes you small like other highborn girls, that you should stay that way. But I hate it. I've never seen anything as beautiful as the way you looked at afternoon, and I miss it. I miss when you weren’t scared for me to see you. I miss when you let me just tell you how I thought you were perfect and you wouldn't argue about it.”

Swallowing harshly, you turned away with futile hopes of the flush in your skin going way or the stuttering breaths disappearing. Feeling his eyes watching your jaw twitch trying to hold something back you didn't even know what it wanted to say. The muscles in your neck almost shook trying to remain collected knowing that Jon knew better then that.

Only a mutter, but in the quiet of the empty room, you trusted he could hear you. “I know you didn't care I didn't quite look as pretty as other girls.” The hint of smile almost found your lips, “And it was easy with Robb. We were south at war for three years, there was no looking pretty there when you lived in army camp to army camp. But..” One more you tried to swallow that heavy stone of nerves back down but it was too large. It refused and thus a cracking in your voice came out as your face turned more into a stone like expression trying to smother it. “The girls Ramsay kept around..they were so..”

Not looking Jons way, you missed the wide eyed brightness in his eyes. How easily your own insecurities turned his frustration over them into something more gentle then Ramsay was even capable of pretending to be.

But you continued. Hands wanting to hide what of you was still exposed to his eyes, but forcing your arms flat at your sides, only the tensing and twitching of your fingers giving away to Jon how much you wanted to cover up. “If he was going to marry me, then to him, I'd better have walked into the godswood looking like a girl he'd want to actually fuck.” Shaking your head, eyes closing as you could see the image in your head, you felt a long gone wave of regret. “The way he'd speak so rudely about Roose's new wife, it was like if I didn't look just like the girls he kept around himself then I may as well be as grotesque to him as he saw Walda.”

It was far too late to change, but you still felt the regret. The way you barley gave her a chance, when in truth she made the best of the marriage she like so many had no say in, and in return you refused to even try to be anything of a real friend. The girl probably died thinking you hated her. But still, the way Ramsay spoke about her? Rambling on about how he wasn't even sure how his father managed to fuck her, as if her weight had anything to do with such an act.

It was easier to not fight back against the way he wanted you to look, but perhaps you still hadn't quite come back enough to remember Jon wanted you before you were forced to look that way. He had seen you after seven days on the run, no longer looking dainty like they forced you to look. But he was always still there, wasn't he?

Whispering in your ear about how he had made you something no one but Ramsay would ever be charitable enough to want anymore. Had ruined you in ways more then you've ever allowed yourself to think about. By the time your eyes flickered back up, it was only the tender softness of Jon's grey eyes bright as he looked at you with something so easily detectable as heartbreak. Forcing yourself not to look away that time, you stayed with nervous eyes on his.

Approaching you finally, Jon once more let a hand rest along your hip while the other tilted your chin up so you could properly meet his eyes. Something upset was trying to hold back within them. Your hands just barley found the courage to rest along the belt sitting low on his waist keeping things still strapped at the ready. Digging your fingertips slightly into it trying to seek any freedom between it and the leather under it. “I'm not about to get any smaller or firmer now.”

“Good.” Your eyes flickering up to his with a hesitation to doubt him right away. Jons face far more wanting to smile then before. “I'll keep you pregnant if I have to, just so you understand how little I care about you looking that way.”

Shifting to hold at your hips, Jon begun suddenly to move you, turn your back so you were standing how he just had been and pushing you backwards slowly. Your hands grasping onto his wrists. “Jon?” But nothing was said until he stretched his reach to gently push you against the back wall. Not leaving your touch until he saw you relax a little.

Instead though, of matching how he had you take everything off, Jon knew just how to keep the upper hand while riling you up for him. Far back enough you'd have to push off the wall to reach him but knowing he wanted you to say just like that. The belt along him and weapons attached came off, but nothing else. Only watching you with a shine in his dark eyes as his large hands swiftly moved his layers enough that by the time he came back to you?

One hand pressed against the wall beside your head, the other just managed to pull his cock out alone, leaving everything else on as he crowded your bare self against the wall. Leaning so his lips brushed yours as he spoke. “Give me your hand.”

Tenderly, you reached out as Jon guided you to wrap it around the hard, and thick girth of his cock, squeezing you tight enough more then what he knew you'd do alone, before moving that same hand to hold back at your hip. His breathing increased slightly, as did your nerves but peering up at Jons eyes? He gave a single, small nod and you knew once more, he had given you a command he expected to be obeyed.

Normally, he guided you until you were comfortable enough taking over, but you started stroking his cock. Firmer then you would have held him on your own, trying to recall the help he'd give you. To grip him tighter, to go just the right pace beyond the more slow and gentle way you'd handle him. Your eyes wanted to trail down but Jon leaned in, keeping your eyes up on him with a narrowed expression until he closed the rest of the gap.

Gripping the back of your neck, Jon captured your lips with his, deepening it as he kept you pressed further into the wall. Biting at your bottom lip before switching back to his kiss, and then once more biting at you again until you gasped.

Allowing Jon to slip his tongue inside your mouth as you instinctively gripped his cock a bit tighter, and a growl crawling up Jons chest and vibrating into your mouth as he brushed his tongue along yours. Both hands coming up to cup your cheeks, Jon tilted your head more up to him as he stood a step closer. Your hand having to twist somewhat to find the right angle to stroke his cock at, that you thought he'd like, but his tongue only left you long enough to bite at your lips again and once more forcing his path in your mouth as you mixed between pleasuring him and being at his lips mercy.

A mercy he granted not your neck. Dragging his lips down your jaw and neck, Jon spared no time biting down roughly, breaking the skin just perfect enough to indent his mark and sucked at the sensitive flesh. Your back arching off the wall into him, your thumb running along his tip before using your palm a bit to help run it all along his cock. Trying to make the sensation for him a little less raw.

Both of his own hands moved downwards, grasping roughly at your breasts you already too felt his nails dig into the sensitive skin as his teeth did your neck. A growl leaving him as your hand ran up and down his length a bit faster, and a bit tighter. His fingers grasping at the small buds of your breasts and twisting without build up from ease. A cry leaving your mouth until Jon pulled from your neck. Eyeing his work before pinching and yanking at your nipples, watching your eyes flutter closed trying to not cry his name out.

Muscles in him straining, his cock throbbing in your hand desperate to cum. Jaw clenched as he muttered your name roughly, nudging your nose with his to gain your attention. Slowly down only a bit, just as you did Jon reached down. Covering your hand with his and forcing you to stop and squeeze him more. “You feel this? How tight your grip is now?” Nodding, Jon kissed you, a rough force pulling back with an equally as rough bite. “That's not even half of how tight you feel around me.”

A whine peeking from your held back sounds, Jon nodded as your eyes half open gazed up at him, now only following him moving your hand along his cock. Something was teetering on his mind, but a shaking exhale, Jon groped roughly at the breast his other hand was still on before leaving.

One hand reaching down to your bare thigh, yanking it up in his arm along his hip as the other all but forced your hand from him with a throw. Finding your eyes, Jon gave no chance to think. In one smooth, but soaking tight thrust Jon slid inside of you. The cry leaving as you grasped his shoulders, he was as deep as he could go and the burn that time a little more noticeable. But still certainly wet enough you felt embarrassed he now knew how quickly you were ready for him from stroking his cock alone.

His now free hand cupping the back of your neck, he turned you to look up at him and you clenched tightly around as the core in you built into a burn. Eyes blown out, lips parted, Jon already looked so close and his rambling spoke just that. Hardly needing to pull out halfway and slide slowly back inside of you, “The next time you try and tell me you don't look good enough-” Eyes squeezed shut as he hissed out, you grasped his shoulders as you tried to move against his cock each time he slid back so deep.

“Next time?”

Trying to prompt him back to you, Jon more firmly slid the hand on your thigh down more, gripping behind you tightly, one ass cheek in his hand Jon forced your hips against his. His cock brushing against something sensitive inside of you. Fingertips gripping the plush skin, trailing more towards your ass as if tempting you with the idea of taking you there again too. Nodding, Jon watched as your eyes struggled to stay open looking to sweetly up at him. “Next time you talk badly about how you look, I'm bringing you out to our men and show them what they will never have. Cunt, ass, mouth, I'll fuck all of them just so they understand how beautiful you look taking me.”

Leaning close to your lips, Jons breathing was heavy in your mouth before he rested his forehead against yours with a growl. Your hands rushing up to wrap around the back of his neck, raking gently into his curls. Pulling him more to your neck, Jon pressed you more against the wall as you coaxed him gently. “Anything you want, please- just cum inside me, Jon. Please,”

He only nodded, thrusting roughly barley four more times as the leathers against your bare skin scratched, but he crowded you. Sinking his cock deep as he could, Jon groaned your name in your muffled neck. Spilling deeply inside of you, the hand still at your ass forcing you hips to take him as deep as you could. Almost hot in the cold air around you, his seed filled thick inside of you, flooding your cunt, his muscles tensed as he did so.

Just to find the sadistic tendencies in him, as soon as Jon finished spilling inside of you, he pulled out completely. Not gentle or even with any warning, but your walls so sensitive and begging for your own release and he refused anymore then what he filled you with. Grabbing your jaw, Jon pulled you to meet his lips in a rough, biting kiss. Panting against them as he spoke lowly. “Do you want to cum?”

Biting your lip slightly you nodded against him, but Jon only sighed out another rough exhale. Rasping against your lips, “Prove to me you understand then. I won't let you anywhere near an orgasm until you prove to me you understand without doubt how much I'll always adore your body.”

You hated that he meant it, and you hated how much you loved when he'd refuse you just to add too the lesson he wanted to teach you. “I promise, Jon. I'll prove it, I will.”

Cupping one of your cheeks, Jon swiftly readjusted his clothes to look nothing out of the ordinary as you pressed bare against him. Smile so handsome and so perfect on his face, “Show me by the end of tomorrow you've learned your lesson, and I'll take care of you, alright? I promise.”

Only a breathless laugh was capable of leaving you, but he shared it right back only brighter and better on his face. This certainly had not been on the list of things to do by the end of the night.

Any other life, and you might have felt ashamed at how easily you let him treat you however he wanted, but you also knew he wasn't cruel to be mean. He just enjoyed dangling you on that cliff's edge, both of you knowing at some point he'd pull you back to safety, but loved the fact that until that time, you had to rely entirely on him to get to that point. It was probably a good thing you knew so little about sex most of your life, had you known being with Jon could be like this, you would not have been an innocent maiden nearly as long as you were.

Only, it was what he told you after as you both waited for sleep to take you in bed that same night, that changed everything. As for a brief moment you thought he had changed his mind, but it wasn’t that, not at all. Almost as if he had worked you up earlier, keep you on edge as if to prepare you for something else entirely.

“I'm beginning to get used to this pattern where you don't explain what you're doing to anyone.”

Your eyes drifted up from where they were trained on the papers before you, only to flicker them away with a withheld sigh and close to have rolled your eyes. The tip of the quill tapping at the very top of the ink bottle for the past ten minutes without even noticing the degree of time passing. Your tone was flat just as your expression. “Not quite sure where you were the first time we met, but I rarely tell anyone what I do at the best of times. You are only noticing it now.” Pausing you looked to the book in his hand with question. “I seem to recall asking Olly to fetch me that.”

Unlike your dutiful steward, Theon chucked the book on the table somewhat by where you sat before taking a seat on the side adjacent to you. “You did, but I was speaking to Wolkan when he came in, and gave him a break from taking orders from you.”

Your eyes peeled back to your work, a great effort being made to avoid the appearance of rolling your eyes with a smirk, but not from keeping the comment off your tongue. “Some people are happy to take reasonable orders without complaining, Greyjoy.”

You could leave it to Theon, when alone in the room dropping all formality except for mocking. “Just because he doesn't complain to your face, doesn't mean he isn't complaining, Baratheon.” Only trying to rile you up, you let a small smirk let out before pulling the quill from the ink bottle, and instead choosing to go from tapping on the glass, to lightly twirling it between your fingers, eyes narrow on the page. Theon's voice breaking the quiet with more genuity. “Thought you said nothing in those papers you found was of use.”

Managing to maintain the twirl of the quill, you continued to look at the same words you kept re reading for the entire time since transcribing it. Muttering in a bit of distance in your tone, “That doesn't mean it isn't valuable in some other way. We already have it in our possession, so we may as well understand what it said.”

Asking if you had leaned who wrote it, once more the line you hoped sounded as if it came easy as the truth sounded. “No. There were dozens of Lord Commanders who have little written record of. It could very well be any one of them.” Glancing up, you dragged the book over to you without further comment. Page after page you quickly sifted through before finding what you were looking for. In quiet for a good moment before glancing back up, a questioning gaze on Theon. “What?”

“Something around here seems odd. Ever since we left the Nightfort, something's been off with Jon. You as well, but mostly him.” The worry and concern was genuine, and it didn't feel good but it was easier to deflect it now as if for nothing. Not what you said to Theon, but the knowledge of knowing you that the world wasn't going to let you find the answers here.

Certainly the Stark who wrote of these images seemed to agree. Whatever he had found, was not here nor the Wall. Whatever the green in the heart of Winter was, he found something of a woman in white. Jon had said none have gone beyond the mountains of the Frost Fangs and returned, and yet the page you were looking at was the beginning of a trek this Lord Commander had made. A trek which begun in description of going beyond those same mountains and there were more pages after that, all written in succession. And returned to the Nightfort.

One person had gone there and survived, but the why was thus far no where near close to an answer.

Glancing back at him, you knew Theon deserved a more honest answer and you didn't like keeping it from him, but you spoke a half lie regardless. “A lot on my plate is all.” It was dismissive enough he didn't pry, and still, you felt the guilt for purposely leaving him out of it.

“Are you avoiding telling anyone about it?”

Jon barley had spared a glance up before returning back to the too many things in front of him to count. His response half hearted, “There's nothing else to say, Sam. I told her, we haven't told anyone else. That's all there is to it.” Asking why not, Jon once more found his eyes trailing to what he truly wished he didn’t have to be planning. “Why not what?”

Sam it seemed, was as interested as this news as he was so far with many steps he saw of Jons relationship with you. “Tell people. You're King in the North, don't you think people want to know the King's wife is pregnant?”

That one got Jon to look up at him with something more nervous then before. “They would, but we want to keep it between us for now.” The shortness growing in Jons patience grew shorter still hearing Sam mention he knows, Jon looked back down away from him. Opening his mouth before closing it again, Jon let an exhale out as he found the attempt one more time, far calmer. “I never thought I'd have this. Have her. The last night I had her to myself before she married Robb, we sat in the godswood making up a story about other lives we could be together. I thought I was giving her up for good.”

Walking more towards the side of him, Sam had found both the understanding in him but also knew that maybe Jon was just vulnerable enough to say the truth right after that one. “And it has nothing to do with how you've been staring at maps north of the Wall all day?” Jon knew when he said nothing, that was as good as an admission in Sam's quick mind. “Jon-”

“Bran's still out there.” His eyes were a bit wider, knowing the grey in them were shining against the dim light around the room from the fires. “You told me they went beyond the Wall to try and stop this, stop them from coming.” It was quiet, but it was loud in his head saying it. “What if the answer I'm looking for isn't here? What if it's out there?”

There was only one brazen enough to stand outside the King's study and listen as if he had any right, but he was one to walk in and make his spying known. “It isn't an easy answer to come too.” Howland Reed had taken not more then two steps into the room before turning. Making a point as he closed the door on the guards simply station outside. Saying nothing else but quiet when out of earshot of listeners. “Brandon Stark isn't the only one beyond the Wall, remember. I watched my children leave their home, not knowing when I would ever see them again. Knowing they had too, because they were the only ones who could help him.”

Sam had not noticed the glance between the two men, the knowing as Jon and Howland both knew the answer Jon was trying to rationalize. Before he told you the night previous, Jon had went to the one man who understood dreams as such first. Still, he appreciated Sam arguing for his sake anyways. “You can't be suggesting he goes out there, he has a Kingdom to look after, he has a wife-”

Jon turned to stare at him into the quiet, Howland Reed however finished a different sentence to the initial thought. “Tell me Samwell, what use will it be ruling over the North if we have not done everything possible to stop the storms before it takes us anyways.” Sam's own words were interrupted as the man stepped calmly but further into the space Sam stood, your name coming from the older man. “She is not the only one with strange new abilities tied so closely to the North. She returned from the dead, and she brought Jon back from the dead.” Head nodding to Jon. “Warging, skin changing, green dreams, none of these are powers any yield but from the North. And all of them point further north then Winterfell or the Wall alone.”

Jon knew his silence without a shred of question, confusion or doubt on his face only added to the realization that this was not the first time this idea was brought up around him. Sam asking directly, “How long have you-”

“The night before we left I started to figure it out, and the time we've been back here I finally put it all together.” Pleading with all he had, Jon felt the same twisting in his gut as the morning after the attack on Castle Black. The knowing that it was not a plan which sounded good, but just as horrible to think the consequences of. “Sam, you didn't see what happened at Hardhome. You don't know what they're capable of. If I don't do everything I can to stop this, it will happen all over again but this time to my own people. And it won't stop with the North once they're gone too.”

He hated it, but he knew too much. Jon had been in Winterfell, he had been in two forts along the Wall and he had been beyond it. And never closer to real answers of what was going on were given to him then those years he spent out there. It had begun with watching Craster offer his baby, his own son to the Others, and watching one take the baby away, and it got worse and worse until they attacked Hardhome.

Books were only going to get Jon so far, and hiding away hoping they could, was not going to save his people when the time comes. What was the point of calling himself their King, if he hides away in his castle?

Sam though, he asked the question Jon dreaded. The one he and Lord Howland ultimately argued over the day prior before Jon knew he would come to you about it. Sam asked what about you, if Jon goes beyond the Wall again and the answer was right there in his face and he knew he was asking too much of you but there was no other choice. “She's coming with me.”

The symbols, the signs, all pointing to the same place but it was the dream he had that was it. You had spoken of what they were like when so vivid. The question of when was answered easily in his mind.

You were a month pregnant, Jon had to do this now. He couldn't wait to make sure everything possible in the North was taken care of. You had to come with him, and Jon didn't know how long this would take. He knew how long it would take for the two of you and Ghost to get to the Frost Fangs, but nothing beyond that.

If he and you made it, Jon needed to ensure he got you back to Winterfell in time to birth your son here in these walls. But if you two weren't coming back, he didn't want you to get so far into your pregnancy that losing it again would feel like losing another child. Either you two made it to the Heart of Winter and back, or this ended when you both got there, but Jon had a plan in that case.

If he left in the next coming days he may be able to get you there before you reached five months, or just at that time. Meaning if this was it, at least you wouldn't be tormented knowing you got closer that time.

No matter what happened he told himself, you were still together. He'd have you, Ghost, and to whatever end it was, he'd have his son as well. But judging by what he had seen, that's what they wanted. They had without even the human words made it clear. Jon alone was not enough. But it finally was asked in that room, the pressing question. “What are you going to tell people?”

Whatever the answer to that Jon was trying to figure out, he knew he had to do what his brothers did for Sam. Thinking Gilly was dead, they all told him she could've made it out before the attack on Mole's Town. Jon didn't, he hadn't wanted to give Sam false hope. But he knew he was wrong. He understood why his brothers gave Sam that hope.

In fact, you had said it yourself. People need a selfish reason to keep going, otherwise they'll fear they are fighting for a lifeless cause. Jon wouldn't lie, but he knew it might be a mistake to tell them the degree of danger this might lead too. But if it ended without you all coming back, Jon at least needed them to understand that if he didn't come back, it was because the Others weren't coming either.

Jon wondered if this was how Bran felt. Knowing he had to go beyond the Wall regardless of the fear which may come and the danger he'd find. Bran had the bravery when he was a boy of eleven, so Jon as a man, had to have the same.

It had been the story of a Stark going beyond the Wall which did it. From his parting conversation with Stannis, to the entire ride returning to Winterfell that story stuck out in his mind. None knew what truly led to the end of the Long Night. They told stories of battle, but Jon had seen what battle with this army brought and it was only death.

The First Men had warred with the Children of the Forest for thousands of years until they had made a pact in peace to end it. He also knew that somehow, enough was understood between them, that only a man in Craster, had come to an arrangement that kept him and his wives safe, at the cost of any infant sons he had.

But if something needed to be exchanged for peace, Jon was not a man about to send the innocents he's fought to protect, to do it for him. He needed to do it himself. Jon knew too, it was why his Uncle Benjen had refused to let Jon even think of coming with him beyond the Wall. He was headed to the Frost Fangs, and was never seen again. But the Others were still coming, if his uncle survived or not, that hadn't been enough.

Jon knew, he needed to be enough now.

She was trying not to freak out, Jon and yourself could tell. Were she still just a young girl, likely Arya would have let herself be as emotional she felt but now it was trapped inside of her and fighting to not come out, to be brave. “You can't separate us now.”

Your silence remaining as calm as could be in the room, knowing the two of them could easily let this fly off the handle if one lost their cool. Meaning it was on your shoulders to prevent as such. “That isn't what this is. This is about survival.”

Her eyes wanting to shine with water, but held back. The sorrow however, remained. “We're family, we survive this together, not apart, not when I came back just to find-”

Jon moved from where he had been standing in front of her, moving Arya back some as he guided her to sit on the edge of her bed. Crouching in front of her so she could look more down at him this time, nothing but a steadfast assurance shined bright in his eyes. The low rasp just as comforting despite the words. “We need each other. To survive this winter together, but we can't do that when it's only us. Bran is still out there, Uncle Benjen is still out there. We aren't a family together if they're still trapped somewhere in the North.”

A quick glance up towards you, you were the collected confidence for her as Jon was the soothing support in front. He had been the calm one telling you, so you had to be the calm one as he tells her now. Arya's tone weak as she looked back to her brother pleading, “Can't I go with you? You know I can handle myself now-”

Shaking his head, Jon reached a hand up to cup the side of her head. “I need you here. These aren't just my people, they're yours too. So I need you to stay here, and lead them until I return.” Her head tried to tilt in beg, but did not wish to sacrifice the soothing feeling of his hand. Jon, read such words not needing spoken a single one out loud. Leaning in a bit more, his eyes more stern without anything harsh. “You're a Stark, and my sister. You're the only one I trust to take care of the North while I'm gone.”

It took Arya a good moment before nodding. Jon giving her the space then to breathe without moving away from her in proximity. Both of you felt the heaviness of leaving her behind here, but perhaps, you felt different because it wasn't the first time. Robb and yourself had this very conversation with Bran when you went south. But for the two of them now, it was the first time they've had to have this new dynamic of separation.

Walking a few steps forward, you came closer to where Jon knelt. The sensation of one hand of his gently wrapping around the shin closest to him with a warm caressing feeling. Neither of you quite sure if it was for you, or for his sake. “Everyone else is staying here, you'll have them to help you the whole way. Keep their spirits strong instead of letting it shatter, someone has to be here to ensure your people don't lose hope the longer we're gone. They need to believe, and you have to lead it.”

It cracked out in a desperation which Arya seemed to backtrack the moment it spit from her mouth. “When are you coming back?”

But Jon would not lie, not to her. “I don't know.” Don't let that thought shake you, you told yourself. A deep inhale, and Jons hand tightened on your shin. He felt the same. Stay strong in front of her, because she had to have hope to lead with it. A tender tone, low and calm as Jon used his other hand to gently hold at the back of her neck to make proper eye contact. “But we are coming back, Arya. This isn't a goodbye forever.”

Crackling of fire the only thing filling the room for a moment before a deep inhale finally smoothed out the scattering worry in her tone. Finding a confidence in her nod and a return of determination in her eyes. “You're right, it can't be forever. Because if you have to come back, then you also have to make sure you bring Bran back.”

A small chuckle left Jon, pulling one from her as swell. The ease of which made them look almost as young as they were when they first had to part ways for a long time. By the time a hug was shared, you however, begun to feel the opposite. Your own goodbyes were not going to be as simple or heartfelt.

Some were easier then others.

Gendry had the exact reaction you expected. He was a Baratheon in blood after all. And what did Baratheons do best towards one another? Get angry and yell. “So your fathers in the North where at any moment he could find me again, and when I actually find a different person in this family I don't hate, you take off too?”

The narrowing in your eyes was almost childishly annoyed, but so was his anger. Neither of you were really approaching this with a formality, but then again, none in your family did that correct. “Stannis has no reason to come to Winterfell, and by chance he does, go wandering through Winter Town. He won't step foot in there, he doesn't have the patience for how crowded it is.” Glancing down you could tell his hand was twitching by the hammer. “I can't tell if you're currently thinking about using that on my father, or me.”

Looking between, Gendry all but tossed it back down a foot or so away from him. Turning from you to grab at a rag by the mostly empty armoury by that point. “I'm still deciding.”

Sighing, you glanced around and walked further into the space to avoid the trailing ears which might be struck by curiosity. Whispering more as you barrelled into his space to swiftly move in front of him, cutting off his path to force him to face you. “You wish to be angry I'm leaving, that is your right. But this has nothing to do with taking off or leaving you behind. I have to do this, and you don't have to like it, but you do have to accept it.”

Breathing out, the breath cold enough for both of you it flowed visibly after each word or exhale, even beside the warmth of the hearth. His tone was irritated, but his expression spoke that of something far less with said intention. “Fine. But you have to promise me you'll come back. It can't just be me and your father left, that's a disaster waiting to happen.”

Neither but you two quite grasped what had made the Queen in the North and the new blacksmith laugh so genuinely in the quiet with one another, but it was easy for you two all the same. You could see her face though, and despite the awareness that Jon would not like it if he knew this, you had to press on something anyways. “Take care of Arya while we're gone. She'll pretend like she is handling it better then she's going to really feel, and she will need someone who cares about her at her side more then ever.”

Nodding with a seriousness, you held back that splurge of questions and thoughts. Teasing him was not the time, and it wouldn't be for a good while. Gendry was as serious as ever. “I will. I'll look after the kid too. Don't imagine he'll be too happy about this.”

No one was. Not you, Jon, Arya, none. But there was no use in not doing something because it didn't fit your idea of a perfect life. You had never had that, and neither had Jon. Until the snows stopped, you wouldn't get a proper chance to start it, so you would suffer until the end.

Theon though, you had no idea where to start. What to say. Out of everyone you had not wished to truly leave behind again, it was him. He was the only reason you even were alive beyond that horrored year coming back. The only thing that kept you going in any meaningful way because as pathetic as states you both were in, you were all the other had.

If by the slow approach you had walked into the room with didn't say enough, it was the quiet dismissal of his men from the room which spoke volumes. Or the quiet closing of the door as you leaned against it, hands crossing your front. But he knew you well at this point.

Well enough that it was bad news, and news he wasn't going to be part of. “Just say it.”

Your eyes flickered up from nothing back to him, and you hesitated. Mouth opening and closing a number of times before sighing. Walking in as you without any proper decorum, walked to the table he had been hovering around.

The guilt was heavy, and you hated that on the outside, he seemed to take it the best. But he also didn't quite take it with much emotion either. He wasn't saying it, but Theon had suspected something like this was coming and if there was any proof he was as much a Stark as Greyjoy, he had down the pattern of Starks withholding their emotions to remain distant in the face of hardship.

You wished he would get upset, because if you didn't come back, you knew Theon enough he would be the guilty one leaving things this way. But as it was, he refused to give anything away. He kept it as inside as you were. It was the easiest, but it was also the worst. “Theon-”

He had cut you off hardly through your explanation, he had heard enough and you felt something shatter in the degree to which he was instantly shutting you out. “I heard you, your grace.”

You two stood across the room from one another, and he wouldn't even look your way, not at the silence as you looked wide eyed at his distance or the shattering in your heart that the one person you needed to talk this through with, responded so badly he wouldn't even look at you.

He had turned to you after a breath, “Is there anything else?”

Oh there were many, but not a single one he wanted to hear. In a single conversation, the only one you had relied on for months had shut you out in one fell swoop. If you were still teenagers, you would've stood there arguing with him until you understood each other, but you wouldn't argue now and he knew it.

The night had found itself in a close, and just as it was going to be for a good while, eventually there was none left but you and Jon. “There really isn't any other way?”

Your eyes pleaded with him, the inevitable would come but he had the advent of being stronger at keeping the same dread more inside. He stayed calm so he could too calm you, sitting next to you on the bed he was sure as anything. He hadn't thought of this fleetingly, it had been on his mind a while now and there was no more mistake of it.

Running a hand along the hair at the side of your head, Jon let it drift to cup your cheek as he leaned in to you, you doing the same as your own hands found his shoulders and back of his neck. “We both know we have to do this.” Nodding your head, barley contained was a swallowing of something too fearful close to the surface. Jon shifted quickly, cupping both of your cheeks to gently guide you to look back up at him. His tone soft and eyes even softer, despite it all nothing but love sat in the greys. “All my life I've tried to protect you, and you gave me a new life to finally do just that. But if we don't do this, I won't be able to protect you no matter what.”

Running along the back of his neck, a choking feeling was overwhelming your senses as much as Jons very presence so close soothed them. Breathing out what wanted to be a cry, Jon pressed your forehead to his, running one hand once more along the hair at the back of your head as your fingers found his curls. Whispering gently, “So far only one person’s ever come back before.”

Nudging your nose with his, Jon still kept your own fear at bay. “Maybe we'll be the second.” A laugh in a single huff left you, bringing a far brighter one out of Jon. Grey eyes bright as he looked better at you, the hand on your cheek letting his thumb run across the soft skin he found. “I know you're scared, darling. I promise I am too, but if this is what they want, we have to give it to them. I told you we belong together, you, me, our son, all three of us belong together, even if it’s out there. If they wanted me alone-”

Shaking your head, you grasped onto the curls loose around him tighter, Jon shifting to keep you close as well. “You can't go alone. You told me I have to let you protect me, right? You can't do that if we're apart can you?”

Jon only smiled the slightest bit, the thumb on your cheek drifting to your lips with a gentle murmur. “No, I can't.”

Inhaling deeply, you finally looked up at him. Nothing ever but the man you love. You were brought back scared and alone in this world, and only found purpose when you brought Jon back too. You knew, you had to risk it. There was not a single guarantee you both would come back, but Jon had told you. Maybe you two were always supposed to fight this battle together. Even if you were going to be marching into your last before your new lives had a chance, but you'd do it together.

“Do you know what you're going to say tomorrow?”

Jon nodded, moving from beside you on the bed to pulling you up with him. This time, the manner in which he handled you was only gentle. Far from the roughness of the other nights acts, but you had a feeling Jon had planned it this way. Tease with roughness in your last days, and spend the final in Winterfell with the last true gentleness you both will face for months.

Undoing the laces keeping your layers together, he rasped in your ear. “Mostly. I've written a raven for your father. Ser Davos had said he would tell him, but I thought he should hear it from one of us as well.” Your eyes fluttering shut, a lightness in your chest lulling you into something relaxing as you sounded almost a tad breathless. Jon so carefully taking things off of you without any rush.

You should have felt more concerned at what your father would think, but in truth you knew it was safer not too. You and Jon were doing this no matter what, it didn't matter who disapproved. It was to protect them all from what seemed like the end no matter what. “And what about your new best friend?”

Jon paused for a moment, no doubt his face twisting in confusion as he looked over your shoulder, until the hint of an amused smile was sat on your lips. Chuckling deep in your ear, Jon once more moved back to undressing your heavy layers. “He can't get the North to be more neutral then if I'm not even around to side against him in the first place. And I know you're joking but,” His hands pulled down at the material now loose at your torso, letting it fall as the first to go. Gently grabbing your hips he rasped in your ear. “I already have a best friend, and I married her.”

Heart skipping a beat before floating within your chest, you leaned back into his touch which was so perfectly warm against your back, as you reached across your stomach to hold at the opposite sides hand on your hip while the other reached behind you to gently graze your nails at the skin on the back of his exposed neck. “This is normally the part where I’d ask who the lucky girl was, but I'm not sure if you used to have another proper friend that was a girl besides myself.”

Pressing his chest more against you, Jon somewhat tried to tug you closer. His face leaning down to lay a single kiss below your ear as his breath danced hot across it. “That's because the only girl who gave me the time of day, was the beautiful Baratheon one who tortured me for years.” Questioning the word tortured with a laugh, Jon laughed right back. The sound of it, now that was the truly beautiful thing. “First time I saw you, I wanted to throw up thinking I was going to have to live with such a pretty girl in my home. And then I thought that every single time you came back for almost eight years.”

Quick on the draw you leaned your head back against him relaxed, contrasting to the jest in your teasing finally slipping through. “What, did a new pretty girl come through Winterfell to catch your eye then?” You had no doubt he both was smirking, and rolling his eyes at you simultaneously.

Jon didn't even bother entertaining you on that one, muttering in a mocking of irritation, “May I continue?” Waiting enough for a nod, Jon returned to attending properly to you. Pulling the sleeve of your dress down one arm then the other, he pushed at the material to also drop down to the pool by your feet.

Little left, you swiftly turned in his arms. Your hands grasping at his sides, leaning up to meet his lips with an innocence. “Your turn.” Just a short and chaste kiss, you felt him try to chase you on it before you went right for the belt normally keeping his weapons all on him.

It was always quiet when you did this part with him. You undressing him from the day, whereas Jon found things to talk with you about when he did yours. You were never sure why, maybe it was being used to the familiarity that Robb normally took the reigns in your struggle of such consistent conversation, or perhaps you were more used to the silence between Jon and yourself.

Taking as much care as he did you, it struck you in a flash of your mind how much you were going to miss this. Everything was going to be different soon, and you were sure clothes for that sort of cold did not include gentle intimacy in the undressing procedure. You felt somehow prepared by Jons side yet entirely blind as to what you truly were about to walk in on.

How much this would set you apart should you not be ready to handle yourself that far North. You felt uncomfortable the second it came into your mind, that shade of red. Comparing to that wasn't fair to what she truly was towards Jon, but it poked at your mind all the same. Would the ability to compare change the light he saw you both in?

Not having realized the narrowing in your face as you got him to his final, softest, simple layers did you move from him naturally to put some of his things across his desk. He didn't even want you walking around with anything more then a small knife at this point, would you be a burden if he had to do everything for you out there?

No doubt she didn't need Jon to do things for her basic survival.

You almost shook your head thinking about it, not quite noticing the wide eyed curiosity trained on your every move as Jon stepped towards you carefully. Once, twice he called your name but it was the gentle pull of two fingers at your cheek turning you to face him that did it. His eyes soft without the judgment you worried of. “Where's that beautiful head of yours gone off to?”

Then came that clearer doubt. The way he looked at you? It was foolish to think he'd turn heel and think you useless now of all times. Your insecurities always so desperate to compare yourself to what you feared they should like better. Almost slipping right before Jon, the thought that from what little such visions showed you, she was so very clearly much prettier and fitter then you. Even now, especially the longer you and Jon were out there.

Shaking your head though, you always felt guilty when you did this. You knew what she had done, and still you worried as if she was something ever good to him. He rarely talked about her though, sometimes it was difficult to fill in the blank spaces of your knowledge without the worry of not matching up taking up that mantle.

Jons hands pushed away your thoughts as he dragged the sleeves of your shift, thin on your shoulders and the second your hands were free of what you had been holding, Jon wasted not a second in pushing them down your arms. The silky material slipping easily after such a movement, only to have Jon kneel slightly down to pull the rest hiding you from him off, his hot breath tickling your shivering skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your mound, then your hipbone, and finally so gently on your scar.

Pulling back, Jon held at your hips to keep you both steady but he only looked at it. Still, there was nothing there. You would be well into the cold wilderness by the time there was anything to look at, but it did not seem to matter to Jon at all. Not disturbing him, you carefully moved to let loose his curls, raking your fingers through to smooth out them out. Voice only a whisper, you tried to coax him back to you. “She's too small to sense you're there yet.”

Leaning forward, Jon pressed another gentle kiss before standing up. Cupping your cheeks he pulled you into a deep, but soft kiss. Barley pulling away with a smile in his voice, “That doesn't mean I won't try. Maester Luwin had said that babies in their mothers wombs can can hear her voice, which means he might be able to hear my voice eventually too. I want him to get used to it.”

You tried pulling away with a shake of your head. “Well, I'm sure she will love that.”

“He will.”

You weren't sure yet if this was just a game between you both. Yourself insisting on a girl, and Jon insisting he already knows it's a boy. Running your hands under the material of his shirt, they rested against his torso almost comfortingly. Feeling some of the scars under your palms, it got a little better each time knowing they were there without that gut wrenching feeling of horror.

Catching your eyes as he pulled back, Jons eyes were bright, painted with something far too soft to handle as he looked at you. A deep rasp as he pressed another kiss to your lips before mumbling against them. “Let me take you in front of the fire tonight.”

By the time you had even knelt on the soft fur in front of his fire, everything on him had already come off swiftly. The differences of such earlier days in your youth compared to now, were night and day. A wave of nerves would come from both of you, not yet confident enough to take anywhere near significant amount of clothes off in front of the other. And yet now, there wasn't the air of a confident man, but merely one comfortable in his own skin when alone with his wife, bare as you were in the cold, winter air but not even slightly bothered by it.

Already, his thick cock was hard and ready, as if it took nothing to work him up to such a state and yet Jon swiftly moved to sit with you down on the fur. Ignoring that by this point, most men would already expect you to take care of them in such a state. But he only ran his hand along the strands of hair by the side of your head, gentle eyes with a hint of an adoring smile easy on his face.

A gentle rasp as he also moved his thumb to brush briefly at your cheek. “All my life I've wanted to have this with you. My wife, the mother of my children, being able to just be together here in our home.” The hand not somewhat keeping you sat upright in place, reached to grasp at his wrist. Thumb running just along his strong, steady pulse.

Leaning to brush your nose against his, Jon returned the gesture right back as you murmured to him. “And we have that, right now we have that. And no matter what happens, we will always have had this together.”

The hand in your hair moved to cup the back of your head, pressing your forehead to his. “I want to tell you I know we're coming back, believe me, I do. I hate that I might be taking all of this way from you for a second time. You don't deserve this.” But you shook your head.

Taking turns easing the others woes it now was in your palms. Your hands resting along his neck and collarbones, running up and down hoping it was anyway soothing. “We deserve to be with each other. We deserve to be together, and we always will be.” You hesitated, but in truth there was no reason to hide it from Jon of all people. “Robb and I promised we'd stay together, and we didn't get that chance. I came back without him, but you have me and I have you. I won't let that slip away this time. Where you go, I go. No matter the path.”

Furrowing his brow, Jon struggled to mutter out, “Does it make me selfish for wanting that?” The answer of no on your lips was so easy you knew it took Jon off guard. Inhaling, he shifted. Pushing your back against the soft furs, as his top half now hovered over you, one hand beside each side of your head as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. “Good. I've let you go too many times, I'm not allowing you to walk away ever again.”

Barley getting it out before his lips captured yours again, you whispered, “Sounds rather possessive.”

Another kiss pressed to your lips, “I'm a wolf, darling.” Another kiss, deeper that time, and his voice dropping lower then before in desire. “I've been possessive of you since I spent three days and nights taking care of you.” Finally pressing most of his top half down over you, Jon properly kissed you, deepening it without a chance of easing you into it.

For once though, it was not done with greed. It felt more of need. A need shared between two souls desperate to stay together, losing parts of themselves each time they were forced apart, and now the need to stay together overwhelmed until it burned like the fire blazing beside you.

Your hands wrapped around his shoulders and the back of his neck. One hand raking through his curls, pushing some as you did so, out of his way as he kissed you. The other side, tickling long what it brushed of your skin, as Jon guided you to stay with his pace.

Stealing your breaths and sighs, he kept all of them to himself. Brushing his tongue along your bottom lip before ever so gently sliding in your mouth the moment you parted for him. Shifting so his body properly now hovered over you, running his tongue along yours gently before pulling back. You chased his lips just as Jon was weak enough to come back on his own for more, unwilling to part too soon.

One hand now keeping him propped up, the other running down your side before wrapping behind you. Pressing against the small of your back, Jon arched you up into him as he leaned down more to you, switching between licking into your mouth and letting his kiss turn somewhat sloppy simply unable to pull away from you each time a small whine broke from your lips.

One of your legs moved up as he arched you more into his chest, rising up along his hip he instead slid that same hand down to wrap around your thigh, keeping you hoisted up by your lower half now into his. His cock brushing against your inner thigh and core, but he seemed to ignore it despite each feeling sparking something tingling in the spot begging to be touched more.

Now leaning a bit more on his knees, Jon used the leverage to cup the back of your neck and keeping you pressed against his kiss. The greed still not there as much as an urgency deepening it as all could be heard was the fire crackling beside you both and your breathing running harsher with every passing brush of your lips together.

Slowly before you could truly notice it seemed, Jon begun to raise the leg his arm held to him higher and higher. Barley tearing himself from your lips enough, you could see the saliva connecting you both snap as his lips parted in a breathless need as he dragged your leg so your thigh sat up over his shoulder. Not giving you the chance to protest, Jon did the same with the other and held each there over his shoulders with both strong arms. Kissing down from the stretched position he had you in, between your breasts and long your stomach and scar before reaching your mound once again.

Pressing his forehead against it, Jon shamelessly groaned. As husking of his voice he sounded it too was slurred by what felt like ramblings of an accent so thick Jon likely didn't even notice he said anything, but you heard it muttered against you as hot as his breath was. “Gods, I love the way you taste..”

Before you could breathlessly point out he hadn't done anything yet, Jon kissed down to your clit. As if teasing and licking and kissing as if it were your breasts, Jon barley cared about any patterns or even any decorum. He sucked and nibbled at it with such a sloppiness it made you far more worked up and wet for him then even before.

Greed was when he held your hips to his mouth, this was a need of something too raw inside of Jon for words to express. Licking at your clit until your back arched, but Jons firm grip on your thighs over his shoulders kept most of you in place. Hands spread beside you trying to grasp at the short furs below you, gasps and small whines of need high pitched from your mouth with pleases you did not understand what for.

Burning from your clit up into your core and stabbed like an edged blade through your blood stream but you couldn't keep grounded long enough to try and let the fire inside simmer. The embers blazed in the wind right to igniting wild in you, a coil twisting so quickly as Jon ran his tongue desperately along your clit before slowly making his way down just enough to tease you before coming right back up to the bundle of nerves.

Something growling in Jons chest vibrated against you, finally causing one hand to reach down. Grasping at his curls the only thing which dragged you out of the darkness and so much more at his mercy. “Oh gods, Jon please..”

Eyes so dark they were nearly black, Jon almost glared up at you before grunting as he sucked at your clit harshly. The gasp leaving you so high pitched and so desperate, it had him nearly rolling his eyes into the back of his head as he returned to you, even just taking care of your clit he felt out of his mind at how much he adored it.

In a split second, Jons hands gripped your legs tightly as if he could sense it. Arching unknowingly into his mouth, your clit felt as if it took that spark of fire and burned it right through you with more begs of Jons name. Hardly as your orgasm begun, did Jon run his tongue flat along your folds and deeply buried himself proper into your cunt just as you grew that much more wet around his now desperate for the taste, tongue to lick along your walls inside of you.

Cries without words pouring from you, his hair a lifeline keeping you tethered to the ground and not floating into the air away forever but he kept running his mouth and tongue so deeply inside of you, tasting your wetness with a grunting sound and yanking your legs more up to his mouth. His dark curls all you could see as he held you to lean down more into your cunt with a vigour.

Not letting you go, he drank deeply from you as if consumed by the taste, an unwillingness to ease up despite your breath not having caught up. The high feeling in your mind as if you hadn't truly come down yet and Jon growling words you would not hear into your cunt made you that much worse, but you'd never protest against him.

His facial hair burned raw against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but it mixed with the warm wetness of his tongue brushing deep inside of you with need. A contrast that had your eyes fluttering closed unable to handle seeing beyond what of his dark curls were buried between your legs, holding you to him.

It twisted inside of you faster and faster then you could convey with words but you knew you must have been soaking his mouth as he was soaking your core with every drink he refused to give up. No effort Jon even had to put forth before he dragged you to your finish so soon after the first you felt tears forming as you burned from within. Growling more into your cunt, Jon refused to let you go even after your orgasm settled and the ringing in your ears left.

Not until he was satisfied, hands tighter and tighter, bruises would be left on you by the morning but he could not seem to pull away. He never refused your peak, he dragged you from one to the next with babbling pleads of his name which Jon took as a beg for mercy, and proceeded to deny any semblance of it. One to the next, you felt your heart straining at how much you could not be allowed to come down.

You had no concept of how much time had even passed by the time he pulled away. More then five he had given you, but you weren't sure beyond that. The fog in your head taken over by his touch. Shoving your legs off of him wide, Jon spared no time in pulling from your core and rising up to press you back into the furs. Hands sliding underneath you to grasp at your ass, one handful roughly in each of his large hands as he licked his way into your mouth. Gifting you the taste he had taken from you over and over in the long time he kept you there.

Not pulling away enough to keep his lips from brushing against yours Jon rambled, “I'm bringing you home, alright? I promised you a son, and you promised me a daughter. So I'm bringing you home, darling. No matter what, we're coming home and we'll have as many as you want.” Nodding against him, you cupped both of his cheeks and surged back to seek his lips again.

Barley convincing himself to let go of your ass long enough to shift along you. Lining up his leaking, throbbing cock with the core he had soaked you to, Jon growled against your lips once more. “We didn't come back for this to be the end.”

Nodding, you cried out as soon as the burn stretched you. Sliding his thick cock deep inside of you, your walls tight and warm and knowing despite that you gave him no resistance from how utterly soaking you were. Muttering to his kiss, “I love you.”

Moving his hands, Jon once more pulled a thigh up to his hip, the other grasping at a hand in his hair and pushing it down beside your head. Interlocking his fingers with yours he gazed down at you with dark eyes. Your face twisted in a pleasure he could not look way from, as his own jaw clenched trying to keep himself together.

Sliding so smoothly in and out of you, Jons cock was so soaked that were you to hear it over your own breathless cries you'd have been embarrassed. Dragging slowly, you almost wanted to beg him to speed up, but the sheer prospect of it made you just as upset were he to change how gentle and slow he moved what so ever.

Keeping your eyes on his, something sensitive along your walls Jon moved against so steadily each time he thrusted slow back inside of you, dragging you back into a burning desire all over again but without the words to speak such a desperate language beyond begs of his name.

Nodding down at your need, Jon leaned back down to capture your lips. Murmuring between kisses to ramble, his own face twisting, jaw clenching and a groan wanting to leave his mouth each time he slid as deep as you could take him at a cruelly slow pace. “I love you so much.”

Biting your lip as a whine wanted to slip by, the twisting of a coil inside you so tight that it would snap in a single second at any point you felt your eyes sting at the pleasure his cock could only ever show you alone. “I'll always love you, I'm yours, gods I promise I'll always be yours..”

His hips sinking into you so deeply, both your bodies with a sheen of sweat not even from the fire, but he pressed his forehead to yours. Never allowing himself to go rougher, or pick up the pace he nodded against you before pulling himself up. Keeping your back flat, he let go of your hand to hold both your hips. Watching his cock at the slow speed sink deeply inside of your cunt, and each time as slow he pulled out of you and the amount you soaked his cock Jon closed his eyes rambling nothing but swears rough and harsh in his throat before looking back. Each drag of Jons cock inside and of you was as deep as he could sink and pulling out almost entirely but the tip before once more gliding back inside.

Never sped up, never got rougher, and it wasn't even lust in his eyes, almost a wonder as Jon watched his length disappear deep inside of you. As if even now, he could not believe this was his. But it was, and you wanted him to always take you exactly when and how he wished. You would hand your body over for his pleasure only if Jon had asked that of you, and you'd never fight him for it. You'd offer yourself up to be something to touch and fuck for his own need and he was the only man you'd beg to do to you as such.

But he wouldn't want you to say that, so you tried to gently match his pace, dropping his head and gripping your hips more firmly. It took a strain on his muscles to never change his gentle slow push inside of you, and how he almost regretted each time he came close to pulling out. “You're perfect darling, you've been so good for me..my perfect, beautiful wife..mother of my children..”

Jon did himself in, groaning with his head dropping and eyes sealing closed. Jons cock throbbed warm inside of you, but it was not too early nor late. Opening his eyes, Jon watched you with almost too innocent of eyes for what he was doing. Dragging you right along that line with him, you clenched around him just as Jon sunk as deep as he could inside of you. Covering your body with his and pressing his lips in need to yours, Jon finally let go as well.

Spilling his seed deep inside of you as you were so tight cumming around him, it was as if he couldn't leave your warm walls. Not that Jon wanted too, at all. Pouring his cum thick inside of you, he knew coming home was necessary. He needed this for the rest of his life, and not short either. He needed this for as long as he could and not a second sooner. Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and curls he hid his face in your neck as soon as he moved from your lips as you leaned to hide in his hair.

Slow thrusts moving to nearly nothing but Jon never let up. His cock still so slow inside of you, making you shake and cry gently in his ear as much as he wanted to keep cumming inside of you.

Once more, Jon wasn't sure how long he was inside of you that night. But pressed against one another on the furs in his chamber in front of the fire? Neither of you could think a better way then to slowly take one another until sleep found you.

Jon only pulling out once you were asleep, and carrying you gently to the bed. As soon as he had climbed in beside you, you curled into his chest and his arms wrapped protectively around you. Unlike many times before, sleep found Jon easy. Relaxed in your embrace as you were nuzzled into his chest, neither of you for once, dreamed of any sort.

They had all debated if they agreed with it.

Arguing back and forth what they thought should truly be done and there was none who found such firm ways to think on it. Claims that the King and Queen in the North should stay in the North, but once more it could only be argued back that the it's the North all the same, he's the one who has been there and knows how to survive out there.

There were more crammed into that meeting hall then ever before to hear it, and the plans laid out but Jon gave no room to give the idea he could be convinced otherwise. “The answers don't lay here, it's out there. And it's waiting for us to come their way. But if we only stand here, don't do everything we can to protect our people, they'll come for us anyways. When dead men and worse come hunting for us in the night, is the King you want to stand by one who holes up in his castle? Hiding behind high walls as their army turns our homes into a graveyard?”

Whispers had begun to spread. They didn't have to like it, but they had to accept this was necessary. They had to accept that they named Jon their King, and a King does everything in his power to fight for his Kingdom. No matter the cost.

You would leave to Castle Black, Jon knew the best of paths from there and he made it clear to everyone in that meeting hall once the tunnel was closed behind him, none were to follow for any reason. “If I bring an army at my back, they'll fight us like an army. And we cannot afford that, not anymore. I need all of you here, protecting the ones you love. Not dying beyond the Wall where your bodies will be burned and left behind.” Your name coming confident from his mouth, you had stood by him as sure as he and they all needed you too. “We will find the answers beyond the Wall ourselves, not sending out people into their deaths to do it for us. And I will find my little brother, and your children too. Meera and Jojen Reed, Brandon Stark, wherever they are, we will find them and bring them home too.”

By the time you had reached Castle Black, it had been nowhere near the week long scramble to escape the last time had been. Hardly any had come, but the spectacle in the courtyard of was loud and busy as things were swiftly prepared. It was Tormunds home you were venturing into, and he was the last to see you both off with a goodbye.

The North had pled that they needed their King, but as you both walked through to where the tunnel's gate awaited to rise, you both had the confidence they needed to see regardless of what end this path led too.

They wanted their King and Queen with them in the North, Jon and you wanted to be home together to start a true family as you scarcely dreamed of having, but the white cold was approaching, and the dead with would ride with it. Jon had put it in the perfect terms to his people, regardless of wants and fears of what you were leaving behind.

He said it exactly as Jeor Mormont once said it to him, because the Old Bear was never more right about it, then now. “I will not stand meekly by and wait for the snows.”

Jon had gone to see his father, and perhaps the last time, see the mother he never had a chance to know. She had watched over him his whole life here, but she couldn't now, and Jon had to hope she knew at the least, however much she loved him in the short time they had with each other, he'd never forget the short time as a man he's known he was her son. A final goodbye to Rickon resting peacefully by their father, Jon had said goodbye to him too.

Jon wasn't a man of many words, but he hoped Eddard Stark understood, he was still now and forever, the only father Jon had, wanted or needed.

You nor Jon knew when you would come back, or what you would even find once you reached the heart of winter the Others called from. But you would find out one way or another, be it peace or death, you would find out. Your purpose was Jon, but Jons was his people. And a King did everything in his power to protect his people regardless of his life, or yours. Both of you on a horse, and standing tall beside Jon with Ghost doing the same. Follow Jon to whatever ends this led.

The tunnel gates opened, and you, Ghost, and the White Wolf by your side, finally did not look back.

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

[laurelwen]

Texts in Like Minds: Alex's Essay (deleted scene)

It has only recently come to my attention that a deleted scene exists on some versions of the Like Minds dvd (not the US version sadly). Thanks to @general-theory-0f-relativity, I learned about and was able to see this scene, and I really wish it had been included in the final cut for reasons I will explain in another post. The scene is in their lit class, and it involves the teacher handing back graded assignments. Alex's essay title is clearly legible despite the low quality of the video, and I immediately had some thoughts about it in relation to his character. Unfortunately, the video quality and the shots involved do not allow us to read the title of Nigel's essay other than to determine that is definitely a different topic. This tracks with my own experiences in lit classes and as an English lit major in college; we generally were given a list of potential essay topics to choose from. Based on those two pieces of information, I draw the conclusion that Alex intentionally chose the topic of his paper.

The title: "Compare and contrast Dulce et Decorum Est, Anthem for Doomed Youth, and the Before Agincourt speech from Henry V"

Alex’s essay topic is incredibly common in English literature classes, essentially pitting two opposing ideologies against each other.  The Agincourt speech from Shakespeare’s Henry V is constantly quoted and paraphrased in media, and chances are good that most of you will have heard (or heard of) at least a part of it.  To sum it up, this is a speech being given by King Henry V to his soldiers as they prepare to engage the French in the Battle of Agincourt in 1415.  Facing a dire situation in which they are badly outnumbered, the king is trying to find some way to boost the morale of his men and encourage them to enter a battle in which hope is small and many of them will certainly die.  He does this by appealing to their sense of courage and honor, painting a picture of the glory they will earn for their heroic deeds and suggesting that they will be long remembered and highly praised by their countrymen.  These ideals are used by leaders and nations to lead the reluctant into the horror of battle: honor, renown, courage, brotherhood, duty, and loyalty to a cause or state.  It is the ages-old refrain sold to the common man–that to die in battle is actually a desirable thing, for it proves one’s character and masculinity.  

The two poems mentioned were both written by WWI poet Wilfred Owen, famous for his castigation of war and of the madness of that conflict.  “Dulce et decorum est” refers to a quote from Roman poet Horace: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori - "It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country."  This sentiment is the same as that espoused by Henry V in his pre-battle speech, but Owen calls out the idea as inherently false, deriding it as propaganda meant to lure men into a pointless war.  In this poem, as in “Anthem for Doomed Youth” and the rest of his war poems, Owen vividly depicts the brutality and misery of war. The lived experience of the soldiers undermined the false promises of a glorious and honorable struggle.  The horrors of WWI would forever traumatize an entire generation, and Owen himself would die only one week before the end of the conflict.  

As a side note, it is worth mentioning that Owen met poet Siegfried Sassoon while recuperating from shell-shock in 1917, and it is now believed that they were romantically involved despite attempts to straightwash Owen.  Sassoon encouraged and helped Owen with his writing, including both poems referenced here, and he was the one who collected and published Owen’s works after his death.  (Further reading on the gay war poets.) It's unlikely that Owen's gay relationship with Sassoon was covered in his class, but we know Alex was an extensive reader who pushed outside the boundaries of what he was taught. He could have discovered this information on his own.

While the comparison itself is extremely common in English lit classes (a quick Google search will show you a number of essays on this exact question), I find it a particularly interesting choice for Alex.  As someone who questions authority, rebels against rules, and rejects conventional ideologies, it is fitting that he would be drawn to write an essay examining this conflict between ideal and reality.  Knowing as we do his feelings regarding the hypocrisy of the Church and the causes and wars they engage in, one suspects he likely ascribes to the same sentiment as Owen–rejecting the propaganda of patriotism and sacrifice in the service of a Cause sold by those with self-serving interests.  I tend to think this character trait is one of the main factors influencing his interactions with Nigel–on one hand, he is reluctant to support any notion of a higher purpose or cause, but on the other, he is intrigued by a cause which paradoxically espouses iconoclasm - attacking or assertively rejecting cherished beliefs and institutions or established values and practices.

As a small side note, both actors' filmographies include WWI movies: Tom Sturridge in Journey's End and Eddie Redmayne in Birdsong. After his starring role in Birdsong, Eddie became interested in WWI and has been involved in projects honoring and remembering those involved in that war. Here's a video on FB of him reading another of Wilfred Owen's poems, "Asleep". I had a past life/WWI AU idea based on the story of Owen (Nigel) and Sassoon (Alex), so discovering this scene was absolutely chef's kiss perfection for me.

#i love drawing the connections can you tell? #like minds #nigel colbie #alex forbes #tom sturridge #eddie redmayne #murderous intent #like minds 2006 #like minds analysis #nigel colbie x alex forbes #like minds au

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Several people have been kind enough to let me publish their thoughts on fandom, community, and queerness to celebrate Pride in the Library. Today's piece comes from @writcraft.

The Local Government Act 1988 was enacted in Britain nearly a decade before the publication of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, the book that would eventually lead me to fandom. This odd piece of legislation covered a variety of things from pet licences to housing arrangements. It also contained the infamous Section 28, which had an enormous impact on LGBT Britain during the late 1980s and 1990s. 

Driven by a moral panic over the inclusion of a book called Jenny Lives With Eric and Martin in school libraries and the stigmatised nature of desire between men at the peak of the HIV/AIDS crisis, Section 28 was the product of a Tory government determined to eradicate any kind of perceived radicalism from education. One of the more famous clips from Thatcher’s 1987 speech on the matter is here if you have the stomach for it, primarily shared due to its eerie similarities with the agendas espoused by conservative politicians around the globe today.

My teen years were shaped by Section 28 and the HIV/AIDS crisis, a time of tabloid press sensationalism on the one hand and silence on the other. Media visibility was complicated by a single shared television in the family home and in those fleeting moments I encountered queer narratives, they often leaned into coded stereotypes, death tropes, loneliness and isolation. Intimacy between women was susceptible to the male gaze, whilst trans folks and bisexuals were largely invisible or negatively portrayed. Nobody in my school year or university class came out during their time in education. We were there, but many of us explored our desires only in the shadows. This climate complicated my same-sex experiences and gender ambivalence, making it all too easy to dismiss them as something other than queer.

My introduction to fandom was through academic research and archives like The Hex Files and The Silver Snitch. When I first met the people behind the stories it was, unusually, not in an online forum, but face to face at a fan convention, where I delivered a paper on the queer pleasures of slash. At the time I was ricocheting in and out of the closet in my day-to-day life and I had no connections with any queer community, just a disparate handful of people I was inexplicably drawn to who tentatively shared their secrets with me and I, in turn, shared mine with them. 

During the fan convention I set up my LiveJournal, made early connections that would blossom into decade long friendships and found myself immersed in a space filled with creative, queer, kink-positive people. The friendships I made, and the ones that came after, gave me the confidence to live a more public queer life, to show up in my local community as an activist, writer and researcher. I have travelled around the world and raised a glass with fandom friends in numerous queer spaces from The Stonewall Inn to Manchester’s Canal Street.

Creatively, fandom gave me the space to revisit, reflect and reclaim. Because canon is so devoid of explicit queerness, it leaves open the question of political and social attitudes towards gender and sexuality. Stories like Little Compton Street, The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things, Pride, Harry Potter and the Bisexual Awakening, Born Sick and Secret Love Song allowed me to imagine how Harry and Draco might navigate a world that reinforces binaries and closets, exacerbates internalised homophobia, renders bisexuality invisible and complicates queer awakenings. It has been cathartic to pour queer hope and defiance into those socio-political climates and equally cathartic to explore queer pain, grief and longing.

I do not have a rose-tinted notion of fandom as a queer utopian space. I am well aware of the pervasive issues that marginalise fans of colour (see Squee From the Margins: Fandom and Race by Rukmini Pande). In this particular fandom with an author whose views I find abhorrent, I no longer hold any nostalgia for a franchise I have not invested in for years. What keeps me here is friendship, creative possibility, the understanding that my stories are not for everyone but the hope that some readers might find comfort in the exploration of themes I continually return to. If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Huge thanks to @thedrarrylibrarian for giving me the opportunity to share a little about my topsy-turvy queer journey during Pride month. If you have any questions about anything I have shared, my asks and DMs are always open.

Thank you, Writ, for joining me in the Library and sharing so much insight about earlier days in fandom. I appreciate that you took the time to discuss complicated topics and provided the opportunity for everyone to broaden their horizons and better informed participants in fandom. Most of all, thank you for taking the time to celebrate Pride in the Library with me.

If you want more @writcraft, be sure to check out their work on AO3! Writ has an unbelievable talent for combining history and the impact of real legislation into fic. She recommended some of her fics earlier, but I want to spotlight their fic, The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things. I loved the way that they were inspired by Queer history in the UK, and I loved the gentle way that she explored that real heartache and bravery through Harry and Draco. This fic, like so many of Writ's fics, reminds me that there have been countless Queer people throughout history and I'm not alone.

🏳️‍🌈 Lots of Love and Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈

#pride in the library #pride in the library 2023 #lots of love and happy pride #friends of the library #writcraft #thank you for joining me! #pride 2023 #fandom community

[whiteladyofithilien]

The fact that Elrond's mother-in-law has at will access to telepathically talk to him makes me endlessly amused.

Like he's just minding his business listening to the singing in the hall of fire and it's "hey Elrond don't forget about the family reunion this weekend, you promised to bring your Athelas Casserole"

#elrond #Galadriel #lorien #rivendell #arwen #tolkien #jrr Tolkien #jrrt #lotr #lord of the rings #Elrohir #elladan #elladan and Elrohir #i do not desire the speech of living men

[haggishlyhagging]

If the "infertility epidemic" was the first round of fire in the pronatal campaign of the '80s, then the "birth dearth" was the second. At least the leaders of this campaign were more honest: they denounced liberated women for choosing to have fewer of no children. They didn't pretend that they were just neutrally reporting statistics; they proudly admitted that they were seeking to manipulate female behavior. "Most of this small book is a speculation and provocation," Ben Wattenberg freely concedes in his 1987 work, The Birth Dearth. "Will public attitudes change soon, thereby changing fertility behavior?" he asks. "I hope so. It is the root reason for writing this book."

Instead of hounding women into the maternity ward with now-or-never threats, the birth dearth theorists tried appealing to society's baser instincts—xenophobia, militarism, and bigotry, to name a few. If white educated middle-class women don't start reproducing, the birth-dearth men warned, paupers, fools, and foreigners would—and America would soon be out of business. Harvard psychologist Richard Herrnstein predicted that the genius pool would shrink by nearly 60 percent and the population with IQs under seventy would swell by a comparable amount, because the "brighter" women were neglecting their reproductive duties to chase after college degrees and careers—and insisting on using birth control. "Sex comes first, the pains and costs of pregnancy and motherhood later," he harumphed. If present trends continue, he grimly advised, "it could swamp the effects of anything else we may do about our economic standing in the world." The documentation he offered for this trend? Casual comments from some young students at Harvard who seemed "anxious" about having children, grumblings from some friends who wanted more grandchildren, and dialogue from movies like Baby Boom and Three Men and a Baby.

The birth dearth's creator and chief cheerleader was Ben Wattenberg, a syndicated columnist and senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, who first introduced the birth dearth threat in 1986 in the conservative journal Public Opinion—and tirelessly promoted it in an endless round of speeches, radio talks, television appearances, and his own newspaper column.

His inflammatory tactics constituted a notable departure from the levelheaded approach he had advocated a decade earlier in his book The Real America, in which he chided population-boom theorists for spreading "souped-up scare rhetoric" and "alarmist fiction." The fertility rate, he said, was actually in slow decline, which he saw then as a "quite salutary" trend, promising more jobs and a higher living standard. The birth dearth, he enthused then, "may well prove to be the single most important agent of a massive expansion and a massive economic upgrading" for the middle class.

Just ten years later, the fifty-three-year-old father of four was sounding all the alarms about this "scary" trend. "Will the world backslide?" he gasped in The Birth Dearth. "Could the Third World culture become dominant?" According to Wattenberg's treatise—subtitled "What Happens When People in Free Countries Don't Have Enough Babies"—the United States would lose its world power status, millions would be put out of work, multiplying minorities would create "ugly turbulence," smaller tax bases would diminish the military's nuclear weapons stockpiles, and a shrinking army would not be able “to deter potential Soviet expansionism.”

When Wattenberg got around to assigning blame, the women's movement served as the prime scapegoat. For generating what he now characterized as a steep drop in the birthrate to "below replacement level," he faulted women's interest in postponing marriage and motherhood, women's desire for advancing their education and careers, women's insistence on the legalization of abortion, and "women's liberation" in general. To solve the problem, he lectures, women should be urged to put their careers off until after they have babies. Nevertheles, he actually maintains, "I believe that The Birth Dearth sets out a substantially pro-feminist view."

Wattenberg's birth dearth slogan was quickly adopted by New Right leaders, conservative social theorists, and presidential candidates, who began alluding in ominous—and racist—tones to "cultural suicide" and "genetic suicide." This threat became the subject of a plank in the political platforms of both Jack Kemp and Pat Robertson, who were also quick to link the fall of the birthrate with the rise in women's rights. Allan Carlson, president of the conservative Rockford Institute, proposed that the best way to cure birth dearth was to get rid of the Equal Pay Act and federal laws banning sex discrimination in employment. At a 1985 American Enterprise Institute conference, Edward Luttwack went even further: he proposed that American policy makers might consider reactivating the pronatal initiatives of Vichy France; that Nazi-collaborationist government's attack on abortion and promotion of total motherhood might have valuable application on today's recalcitrant women. And at a seminar sponsored by Stanford University's Hoover Institution, panelists deplored "the independence of women" for lowering the birthrate and charged that women who refused to have many children lacked "values."

These men were as anxious to stop single black women from procreating as they were for married white women to start. The rate of illegitimate births to black women, especially black teenage girls, was reaching "epidemic" proportions, conservative social scientists intoned repeatedly in speeches and press interviews. The pronatalists' use of the disease metaphor is unintentionally revealing: they considered it an "epidemic" when white women didn't reproduce or when black women did. In the case of black women, their claims were simply wrong. Illegitimate births to both black women and black teenagers were actually declining in the '80s; the only increase in out-of-wedlock births was among white women.

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#susan faludi #amerika #pronatalism #anti choice rhetoric #racism #sexism #the more things change the more they stay the same

[pininghermit]

Dare I Desire (Chapter 4)

Pairing: Adrian x Male Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7|

AN: Introducing a bunch of OCs

“How do you know my name?” Adrian asks you, who sat opposite him. He was still taking in the clean castle and changed surrounding and now this… The plate of food in front of him felt foreign. How long had it been since he had such food and not just alcohol.

“Why yes Adrian, it is nice to meet you too. My name is y/n by the way.” you cross your legs as you rest your head on the chaise’s arm. As if the debacle in the storeroom never happened. Adrian felt a pulse of annoyance the more time he spent with the intruder.

Stormy grey eyes stared back at him in a silent challenge. The suave smile that concealed fangs similar to his was equally infuriating. Anger, rage, wrath Adrian felt them all at once.

“Ai, don’t glare at me like that!” you said in pseudo hurt voice with an extravagant motion of your hands. “Believe me,” with a dramatic hand on your heart you continued. “I will tell you everything but right in sequence. I will reveal to you who I am and my reason for being here but before that we need to go back in time. The story goes like this-

Long ago, maybe decades, maybe centuries or maybe millennia ago there was a world that housed both the evil and the good equally. Elves, men, vampire, dwarves, faerie, even dhampir must I say, lived on the same planes. In those times monsters were not labeled by a kind. It was the deed that labeled right and wrong, not the specie or race.

However, such a world had to come to an end when humans grew. With their growth came the need for land, the need to conquest and conflict. Soon the world that once housed all now fell into the struggle of survival and death. One had to die for the other to live.

Wars raged and monsters came to being. Our kind was not different. Born with unageing bodies that withstood decay our kind wielded the weapon of pride. But that’s just the boring part of history. Do you want the juicy part?” Adrian blinked. He had been too engrossed. Almost enough to forget about the vampire sitting in his study.

“Ahh I must say my story telling skills are quite impeccable.” Ignoring Adrian’s snarl, you continue. “Let’s skip a few years. So, the humans, vampires, elves, fae fought blah blah blah. You know the boring parts.” No. Adrian in fact did not know. None of the books in his father’s study mentioned this. Whatever you were spouting. All his curiosity was shattered by the man child, who probably was way older than anyone he had ever met. Adrian would not grant you any of his curiosity.

Slouched on chaise you spoke of war like a bedtime story. “Whatever my parents were pretty sick of all that and decided to leave the humans alone. They created a veiled world for us magical folk. Of course, superior to the rest.” If obnoxious were a person, it would be you, who sat, in front of him.

“In return they pledged to give up on blood. A bargain made with the spirits of the land that offered them a hidden valley. And so came to be Asor, the kingdom and refuge for the beings of the past world. Humans were given their world and we were given ours.

With peace came time and oh boy did my parents use it well. Now, now no judgement of course but I do have six other siblings.” Well, that was hard not to judge Adrian wondered.

“Eldest are triplets Cenfrith, Estrid, and Rowena. Close knit than any of us. They gave up their right to the throne for the sake of their weird bond. Don’t ask me…I don’t know either. Then came Yorick, the second eldest or fourth if you do the math. He rules now. Being the most responsible of us it made sense.” Despite the light manner of your speech Adrian could sense the tightness in your voice at the mention of Yorick. A weird tension that did not suit you.

“After Yorick is Harold, the artist of our family. A lone soul, very hard to find on any given day. And then comes Saewig ten years older than me and the menace. Brutal with his words and bows Saewig is the hunter who is almost is a beast himself.” You take a deep breath and pause as if to gather your marbles after that long list.

“Last and the most precious is me,” you gesture extravagantly. “Of course, having me made my parents realize that a greater perfection could not exist.” With an unabashed smile you jump up from the chaise.

“And how does this all matter to me,” Adrian mutters his heart beating wildly with an emotion he did not know of.

“You,” you point with a finger that makes Adrian want to snap it. Somehow you are now sprawling on his couch, “have the immense privilege of being the mate to the youngest lord of Asor.”

A second later you crouch on the floor as Adrian’s fist throbs from the impact of his punch. Unfortunately, Vampire bones don’t break easily.

#alucard #castlevania #alucard x male reader #castlevania alucard x reader #mates au #male reader

[tothemeadow]

Is there anyway you could do a fic with pegging inosuke from Demon Slayer? I've read the one with Tanjiro but I cant seem to find any sub Inosuke fics.

alright, so this is a bit different from how I usually write, but I hope this is still enjoyable!

'breathtaking beauty' / Inosuke x Reader

warnings: NSFW, dominant reader

words: 1,404

notes: aged-up character, imperial AU, concubine Inosuke, no pronouns used but female terminology used, like, once

-

The ways of a woman are soft, gentle. A tender touch here, whispers of a flowery nothing, delicate skin flushed and supple. It’s all so delightfully pure, beautifully charismatic. How could one not be persuaded by such luxury, to hold petite frames filled with curves?

To Inosuke, though, he’s far from the feminine charms.

His face carries such particular beauty: a shapely jaw, slender nose, doe eyes with impossibly long lashes. His lips are no different than a rose at full bloom. His hair is soft to the touch and smells of springtime. He’s gorgeous for every explainable reason, yet he lacks the luscious bosom and backside of his counterparts. He’s rather sturdy and chiseled with hard lines corded with muscle. It’d make more sense to model for those risqué novels held in the study – the ones tucked away from wandering eyes, the ones with drawings of men in the throes of passion.

Despite his impeccable looks, his behavior and speech are much to be desired. He’s often told to keep his pretty mouth shut. His deep voice doesn’t match his appearance, not in the slightest. It’s rather funny how his existence is a juxtaposition to itself.

You’re rather particular in the type of employees you take under your wing. The handmaidens and guards aren’t lacking in the attractive department; hell, even the horses in the stables are the most exquisite of the bunch. The concubines living on the estate are no different. Each lady is prettier than the last, the entirety of their numbers more akin to freshly plucked flowers than people bought off the streets or gifted from their fathers.

Naturally, a bigwig such as yourself only wants the best. The other noblemen and women living on the grounds hold no candle to your level of power and authority. No one can argue against you without being humiliated beyond belief; even when you pick up the sword, you are a force to be reckoned with. As the saying goes, the devil is in the details; on your long journey of climbing to the top, you tore others from their pedestals and kicked them while they were down.

Inosuke would be lying if he said he didn’t admire your ruthless ambition. Rather than being someone’s trophy wife or a senator’s arm candy, you chose your own fate. Now, as the governor of the state, you’re only a few steps below the great emperor himself. It’s impressive, to say the least.

It has nothing to do with you handpicking Inosuke off the streets. At the time, he was a bloodsucking leech, working for meager wages to keep the ratty clothes on his back and something hot in his stomach. Even covered in a thick layer of dirt and dust, he stood out from the other street rats; the other concubines even said his eyes were his finest point. Shining like brilliant emeralds, you caught them in the crowd and decided right then and there that you wanted them.

And so, only a couple months later, Inosuke has shed his former shell and lives in a life of luxury.

It beats having to fight others for scraps or doing backbreaking work on the docks. Frankly, Inosuke would rather cut his tongue out then lug another sack of rice. While it’s physically uncapable of carrying future generations (he side eyes a few pregnant concubines as he thinks this), Inosuke does possess certain qualities that makes him stand out from the rest.

He is your favorite, after all.

At first, Inosuke thought this blatant bias was all a show. You had countless people working beneath you, all stunning to the eye and willing to do anything, yet you chose him. Now, Inosuke isn’t the bashful type – hell no. He’ll proudly boast about his special ranking, declare how incredible he is. He’s the all-powerful Inosuke, after all! How dare the other servants and concubines compare themselves to him?

It’s not like he purposely throws his weight around to catch your attention. His big mouth does all the work for him, with or without a careful thought. You just happen to like putting him in his place, that’s all.

Inosuke simply won’t admit that he enjoys it.

You find his boisterous behavior annoying and unsightly. In front of visitors, he is to keep quiet and look pretty. His voice is too deep to sound natural if he raises the pitch or intentionally makes himself sound squeaky. He is to be a good concubine, to make others jealous of how you snatched such a delectable snack off the side of the road.

His high ranking comes with “special treatment.” Like the man-on-man smut novels in the study, you have other ones – more tasteful. (That’s how you describe it, anyway. Inosuke can’t read.) Your preference tends to lean the dominant direction, naturally. Apparently, the power outside the bedroom isn’t enough to make your ego inflate.

The red rope always looks so stunning compared to the fairness of Inosuke’s skin or the brilliance of his eyes. You always take your time, carefully threading each knot into their correct positions. It leaves Inosuke breathless. The blush on his face and the swelling of his cock gives him away long before he voices any pleasure.

He’s so pretty. Those petal lips gasp for breath, red and swollen from the searing kisses you press to them. He pants while your tabi-clad foot massages his cock, your toe catching on the underside of the head. He always makes a mess of himself, precum soaking his thighs and the floormats below. No problem, you tell him. It makes things more exciting.

Inosuke wonders what he did in a previous life to deserve such treatment. He feels safe cradled in your palm, never caring about the fact that you could crush him into fine dust if you truly wished for it. Your words remain soft while your palm is sharp against his skin. The concubine is supposed to be the one whispering such sweet words, yet it’s you who talks to him like you’re softly berating a child.

He’s completely powerless when you use your tongue on him. Whether it’s the wet heat of your mouth encasing his cock or that delicate muscle licking his hole, Inosuke reduces himself to a sweating, panting mess. He truly becomes the whore you took him in to be.

And when you bring out that fine wooden toy, he nearly cries in joy. Of course, you only bring it out when you’ve already made him cum numerous times; he’ll already be wet from your spit and the lavender oil, his cock a drooling mess between his milky thighs. The sight of you strapping the toy to yourself with the leather harness has long since ingrained itself into his brain.

You don’t seem to mind his lack of a pussy. You’re rather obscene with your gentle murmurs, actually. Sometimes, when you’re in the mood, you’ll refer to that tight ring of muscle as the female counterpart, call him your precious princess, and tell him you’ll stuff him so full of seed that he’ll bear a set of triplets. It’s so filthy, so degrading, but Inosuke lives for every second of it.

He’s a crying, shaking mess when you press the dildo into him, your hands tight on his lithe waist. While he doesn’t have a feminine body, he’s still beautiful. You tell him time again and again that he doesn’t need breasts or a weeping pussy to make you want him. It’s even more delightful when ragged moans and whimpers spill from his mouth, each sound piteous.

His walls clench hard around the intruding object, desperate to suck it in further. Gone are his arrogant words; eager pleas of more, more, please! echo in their stead. Inosuke doesn’t mind others listening to his whorish noises or the wet sounds of you fucking him thoroughly – and you don’t either.

Even when he cums for the nth time, you proceed to fuck him, not stopping until he’s a blubbering, slobbering mess. Somehow, Inosuke still retains his ethereal beauty when covered in cum, sweat, and snot. His blissed expression is more breathtaking when you ride him to completion, his body limp yet willing. You’ll coo as you kiss him, telling him how wonderful he is for you.

And yes, while he lacks a female’s undeniable charm, he holds his own for being a perfect little slut.

#demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #inosuke hashibira x reader #hashibira inosuke x reader #inosuke x reader #kny smut #request

[lamemaster]

Subject of Faith

Pairing: Sauron x Human reader

Summary: It was not the cockiness of omnipotence, but a longing that lined your words. And Sauron knew that longing, for Ainur and Men shared it.

"Would you rather put all your faith in someone you can't see?"

"Like the music can't be seen and fragrance can't be held, faith is not a matter of seeing, it is subject to believing." Your answer frustrated Sauron.

A mere human dare talk back to him? A guard of the king of Numenor. A lowly guard whose entire life would be blink of an eye from Sauron.

Yet, Sauron could not stop speaking. Every passing second he poked at every aspect of your existence to find a weak spot. Anything that would quench his curiosity about you.

A distant part of his conscious warned him to restrain. To not reveal his plan and to play the part of a gullible repentant. He truly tried but failed.

You were nothing. A poor human who stood outside his cell for hours. A monotonous and taxing job. But no matter how hard Sauron tried he failed to find a crack.

"Don't you desire for an immortal life, likes of which is given to the elves?" He questioned you, settling back into the now familiar game of unravelling your mind. "How nice would it be to not leave your dear ones, to be with them forever and to not suffer the pain of old age."

You do not turn to face him. Your back does not relax at his honeyed words but you do answer him. You always do. You treat him with the fairness of any other being. Answering his questions while continuing your job. "Maybe it would be easy to accept the bliss of immortality and wish for a life I have never lived. However, how unfair would it be to dishonor a gift given by my creator. How can I a mere mortal know of his plans for me? I can only submit to the one who has given me the chance to see this world and hope for another mercy or another miracle to be revealed." Your voice rings loud in the desolate prison. "Furthermore, I really look forward to seeing my grandparents in whatever fate awaits me," the slight joy in your voice stuns Sauron.

It is not the cockiness of omnipotence but a longing that lines your words. And Sauron knows of that longing. Ainur and Men share it. A lingering remembrance of their true home. Elves, whose fate remains tied to Arda know little of it. A constant tug to overturn the world looking for that one place that promises some relief from the constant restlessness.

The same restlessness grows in Sauron's heart. After eons he finds himself thinking of not Utumno or Valinor but the Timeless Halls where he first came to be.

He resented you for doing that to him. He had heard imploring words of silver-tongued elven lords and forgiving speeches of the Valar who resided beyond seas, but none had bugged him like the simple words of the human who stood guarding him.

And so, the chained Maia rested his head on the cold unrelenting wall behind him. "I hope to see you the day you die. When death will look you in the eyes, I hope you manage to remain as sure as your sound right now."

Months later when Tar Mairon, the closest advisor of the king, finds himself in the same prison. His hands dipped in the warmth of your blood.

You lay on the cold ground that had once been the spot from where you answered his questions with your back facing him. In the past, he rarely saw your face but now as he looks at the peaceful look on your face he knows it to be you.

There is indeed no bitterness or fear in your death. It is acceptance that greets Sauron. Even in death you stay true to your words. Sauron marvels at the stubborn human who refuses to bow to him in life and death.

One day...one day he promises, you will meet again. That day he might force you to kneel or he might end up joining you. That day was too far but it would come after trials that awaited him.

In a twisted fate, he hopes in some salvation you await him. And when he finds you, he hopes to hear your voice and ask you questions that you reply to without a fail.

He will find you when he can't offer you the hoax of immortality or feed you falsehood of greed. You don't need that. You won't accept that.

So, Sauron awaits for his song's end. Maybe his end will guide him to you or some peaceful oblivion.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion #silmarillion headcanons #human reader #sauron x reader #tar mairon #tolkein #one shot #silm fic #silmarillion imagine #I love writing commentary pieces like these #angst with a hopeful ending