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fastlikealambo · 5 months

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Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader Chapter Eight

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This will not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

18+ only

Thanks for the love and messages on chapter seven! If you want to see chapter nine, comment or reblog, feedback makes me want to continue!

“You heard it here, if you want to find the love of your life, just throw yourself into traffic! If you’re just tuning in at home, I’m Lucky Flickerman and we’re wrapping up here with Coriolanus Snow, our very own candidate for President and his lovely fiancée! Before we go, is there anything you lovebirds want to say to the people watching at home?”

The lights were too hot, your dress felt plastered to your skin, but you gave Panem a big toothy smile and looked right into the camera.

“I just want to thank everyone for their kindness and hard work throughout the campaign so far.” You said, grasping Coryo’s hand, the light catching your engagement ring.

“A brighter future is just beyond the horizon and as long as we come together, we can build a better Panem.” Coryo said, giving your hand a squeeze.

“And we’re clear! I can’t wait for your wedding, I’ll be the one with the mic, have you gotten my dietary restriction brochure?”

The wedding was less than two days away and the election month after and it was all just so much.

How could you be getting married without ma or pa there?

How could you be getting married when your entire courtship was based on one lie after another?

By putting one foot in front of the other because you were not going to turn back.

Too many thoughts dancing around in your head caused you to miss a step on the way off the stage but with a steady hand, Coryo helped you down the remaining step.

“It’s a bit warm here, let’s go outside.” You said with a tired smile, leaning heavily on your fiance as you two made your way out of the studio and back to the waiting car.

“After the wedding we’ll have time to slow things down before the election, I promise.” Coriolanus said, kissing your hand. You put your head on his shoulder, leaning into his touch, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep but you were whisked away into a final fitting of your wedding dress with Tigris, Coriolanus off to a meeting with Strabo.

“ It’s magnificent, Tigris, truly. Thank you for doing this, I’m sure you have more important work to be doing.” You said softly to the blonde who was currently under the gown’s massive skirt, embroidering tiny little roses along the hem. With a happy sigh, she stood up, looking in the mirror at you.

“ I’m happy to help! Are you nervous for tomorrow? They’re calling it the wedding of the century, Fabricia said it’s going to be played throughout Panem.” Tigris said, taking a few pins out of the dress and slowly circling you to make sure everything fit like it should.

“I’m nervous but I’m excited for it to be over. I just wish my mother and father were here.” You said honestly, looking down at the ground. Tigris put her arm around your shoulder and the gentle gesture made you cry harder than you thought you would, shoulders shaking as Tigris placed a pale pink handkerchief into your hand.

“I’ve always wanted a sister, for so long it’s just been Coryo and Grandma’am but now that you’re here I finally get my wish. There was a time when I looked at Coriolanus and all I saw was his father looking back, but from the moment he brought you home, I’ve only ever seen a man in love. You deserve to be happy.”

Tigris Snow must be the best person the Capitol ever produced.

After copious amounts of tea and a few more tears, you bid Tigris goodbye, heading back to your own home, head and heart still heavy.

You had no idea it would have gone like this, hell you thought you wouldn’t last a week in The Capitol but look at you now, the almost wife of a presidential candidate.

You made it.

But at what cost?

“A deal is a deal, little thief. Your precious ma and pa are responding well to the antidote to my poison, I suspect they’ll be breathing fully on their own in a few weeks. Would you like me to wheel them to your reception?” Dr. Gaul said, sipping tea at your counter.

You ignored her, settling into a chair of your own, waiting for the car to pick you up to have dinner with Coriolanus. This gilded cage would be gone after tomorrow and to some extent so would Dr. Gaul’s influence too and that made you want to sprint down the aisle more than anything else.

“Will they be safe now that I’ve given you what you want?”

Dr. Gaul clapped her hands and nodded, stepping down from her stool and heading for the door.

“ You should know by now that no one is truly safe in this world but once they are healthy enough, they can do as they wish, my games with you are coming to an end and I’ll surely miss these little chats. You’re not what I expected, little thief, I told you to steal a boy’s heart and you stole all of Panem. What a marvel you’ve turned out to be.”

A marvel.

You felt like anything but.

You were surprised when Coriolanus asked you to dinner, having thought he would want to spend the night before his wedding going over a new campaign speech in his solitude or doing whatever Capitol bachelors did, but he just wanted to sip wine and hold your hand under candlelight.

It was a quiet affair but it calmed your mind enough to realize that Coryo had brought you the one thing you had craved for quite some time.

Silence.

“Let’s go for a walk, darling.”

The streets of The Capitol were empty this time of night and you couldn’t help but smile when you realized where Coryo was leading you. The street where you first met looked no different at night but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder in it.

“This is very romantic but it might be a little late to change the wedding venue. Is getting married in the middle of the street a Capitol wedding tradition I’m unfamiliar with?” You asked playfully, looking up at the stars.

Just one more month.

If Coryo could win the election, there would be nothing Ravinstill could do, Gaul couldn’t change her mind and keep your parents as lab rats.

You would be safe.

“And what are weddings like in District 6?”

You did not move.

This moment had been a long time coming, perhaps too long for someone with his intellect, but here you were. Your turn in his direction was excruciatingly short, head unbowed and eyes clear. You would not beg or weep for forgiveness.

Before you could utter a word, Coriolanus Snow got on his knees before you.

“I know every secret you have kept from me, every lie you have said to my face yet if you asked to burn down The Capitol, I'd fetch a match. What you need to understand is that I will never not want you and only you, by my side.”

He knew.

You met his gaze and stepped forward, placing a hand on his cheek.

“I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry for stealing from the capitol or pretending to get hit by a car so that Dr. Gaul wouldn’t murder my parents. Most of all, I’m not sorry for meeting you, Coriolanus, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

“Do you love me? No lies, just a question. Do you love me?”

“It was easy to lie to you but it was even easier to love you. I have been moving for so long that I’m afraid of what happens if I stop. I love you but what happens now?”

Coriolanus stood up, put his forehead to yours and wrapped his arms around you tight.

“ Don’t move then, all you have to do is stand still. Stand still beside me and I swear to you, no one will harm you again.” He whispered in your ear.

You didn’t have to wait a month.

In the arms of Coriolanus Snow, you were safe.

Morning came quickly and between Tigris and attendants, you looked less like yourself and more like a bride in your extravagant gown, curls on top of your head. From behind the curtain you could see the venue start to fill up with the Capitol’s finest.

“You look so beautiful, oh I can’t believe Grandma’am isn’t here to see this!” Tigris said, fluffing out the back of your gown and you reached over and squeezed her hand. She had been downright giddy when you asked her to walk you down the aisle and you were relieved when she accepted as your only other choice was Dr. Gaul.

“Ma Plinth has your something borrowed, I just have run back to The Corso and then we can get started. The first truly good day in such a long time.” Tigris said softly and pulled you in for a quick embrace before running off.

An attendant brought you a glass of chilled posca and you sipped while you waited, the nerves starting to make you sweat just a little.

The sound of footsteps filled you with relief and you turned from the vanity with a smile.

“Tigris? Are we ready to start?”

The question went unanswered as the person who entered your area was not Tigris but President Ravinstill.

“Well, don't you look stunning, young lady. If I didn’t know better I’d think you were Capitol born and bred but we both know that’s not exactly true.” He said with a dark chuckle.

“Mr. President, the wedding is about to start. I’m sure we can have someone show you to your seat.” You said in a chilled tone but he paid you no mind.

“You were supposed to tame him, dear. You were supposed to curb his political ambition till I got a hold of him so I could mold him in my image. Instead, you had him embarrass me in front of the press with this adorable campaign of his that you both intended to see it through to the bitter end. That just won’t do. Tonight, district whore, you will kill Coriolanus Snow.”

No.

No more.

“No.”

“I don’t think I heard you, young lady.”

You stood to your feet and stood directly in front of the president, calm and collected.

“ I said no, Mr. President. The Capitol no longer gets to make a monster out of me after today so enjoy the wedding and we will see you on election night.” You said simply.

He could kill your parents.

He could destroy District 6.

You both knew that but only you knew that you had simply had enough and there were worse games to play.

“Oh my dear, if only your answer was different.”

The sound of racing footsteps echoed as Coriolanus came racing into the room, concern and confusion on his face.

“The guards said you wanted to talk to me, what’s wrong, what’s going on?” He asked, taking your hand but froze when he saw President Ravinstill.

“Right on time, my boy! I called you in here because I wanted you to see what happens when you attempt to humiliate me, to disgrace Panem. I want you to see that even on your happiest day, you cannot stop snow from falling.” President Ravinstill said.

You were sweating heavily now.

When did it get so hot?

“Coryo? Coriolanus, something’s wrong.”

Coriolanus turned back to you, his features shifting to a picture of horror at the sight of blood gently trickling down your nose. He caught you before you could hit the floor, gasping for breath, your blood coating his fingers.

“ Coryo, what’s happening?” You asked weakly, looking all around but Coriolanus gently placed your head on his lap.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, just look at me, look at me darling.” He said softly, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

This couldn’t be happening.

You risked it all, for what?

“Do you love me?” Coriolanus asked, pressing flat bloody fingers against your pulse, the erratic beat beneath his fingers made him want to sob but he had to stay in control. It would all be over soon.

“I do.” You choked out, tears starting to fall down your cheeks. Everything around you was starting to blur but Coriolanus gently rocked you in his arms.

“Then eyes on me, Mrs. Snow.” Coriolanus said with watery eyes. Through the sleeve of your wedding dress something you could feel something prick your arm but you were too far gone to truly realize what was happening.

“Tell my ma, tell her I’m sorry.” You whispered, eyes slowly closing despite Coriolanus’s cries.

“Don’t worry dear boy, I’ll make the announcement that you’ll be dropping out of the race. Someone should not have drank the posca.” President Ravinstill said, a throaty chuckle that ended with a hacking cough, one that the guard closest to him mimicked.

Enjoy the show.

Outside the bridal area, he could hear others coughing too but with his wife still on his lap, he turned his attention to the president. A wave of calm engulfed him and despite himself, Coriolanus Snow began to laugh.

“And you should not have drank the champagne, Mr. President.”

Coriolanus enjoyed watching Ravinstill crumble to the floor besides his bodyguards, flecks of foam and spittle falling from the former president's now violet lips.

Wedding guests screamed and the sounds of falling bodies echoed throughout the venue but Coriolanus ignored them in favor of breathing for you.

After all, these things happen in war.

That’s chapter 8! Thank you so much for reading, I’m so sorry for the delay! I just wanted to try this ending instead, I really, really hope you don’t hate it. As always, if you want to see the finale, please comment and reblog! Love you all!!!

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x black!reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x black reader #sorry for the wait

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anthrofreshtodeath · 3 months

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Looking forward to this prompt like always.

maybe they get slightly jealous while out, so they grab onto their partner's hand to establish their relationship

here it is! I have no idea what I just wrote but, you know, here we go:

—-

The Childhood Cancer Awareness Gala. If anything in Maura’s life is a black tie affair, it’s this. It comes once a year, in May, just as the spring gives way to summer temperatures, and, unfortunately, when the nascent MLB season really starts to take shape. Which usually means she takes a man, a doctor most times, instead of Jane: the person with whom she much prefers to attend these things. Not only is Jane Maura’s best friend - and thus makes it all genuinely more bearable - Jane has all the social skills Maura wishes she did when it came to fellow donors and hot shots. There are celebrities at this thing, for god’s sake. And that makes Maura nervous, especially since Jane so often has about five to eight games to catch up on by the time late May rolls around and refuses to come. Last time Maura had to bring a surgeon. But this year, by some miracle, the Red Sox have an off day on this Tuesday night, the same that the Gala is on.

And Maura had known this fact for months. In fact, as soon as the regular season schedule was released. That meant that she started her get-Jane-to-the-Gala campaign while snow still raged outside and the year had barely begun. It culminates in the black, strapless gown she wears now, the one showing off her tanned shoulders and her three hundred dollar haircut complete with layers and highlights and the smell of priceless product. There are heels that highlight her calves and make her ass look fantastic; there is a pendant on her neck that draws attention to her perfectly supported breasts. There’s even a diamond ring on her right ring finger, big and belonging once to her mother, because Jane likes to look at things that remind her of tradition.

And Maura had promised, not with words per se, but quite forcefully, quite convincingly, that Jane’s attendance would be worthwhile. The promise had consisted of some rather pointed modeling in the guest bedroom while Jane sat in a lounge chair and watched, of even more pointed half-states of undress, including dropping the garment in front of her with her heels still on so that she could bend over in the skimpiest pair of underwear appropriate for a platonic home fashion show that she owned. It also consisted of the subtle increase in hand jewelry, answers to Jane’s questions about it being, “My mother gave it to me. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it anymore; she finds such signs of commitment provincial. I vehemently disagree - especially when the signs are so exquisite. Don’t you think?”

Jane had sniffled. She’d stood, looking stiff and stupid as her mouth gaped at the ring Maura held out, before she finally said, “it’s on the wrong hand.”

Maura had chuckled warmly and replied, “for now.”

The stupidity intensified up until Jane mopped her jaw off the floor and excused herself to return upstairs. Maura then understood that she didn’t even need to invite Jane: she just needed to bring the Gala up.

That happened about two weeks after the ring incident, which was about two weeks after the dress fitting. Maura stood in front of the vanity in her bedroom’s en suite, rubbing a European moisturizer into the skin just over her cheek bones. “You know, the Childhood Cancer Awareness Gala is on the 28th this year,” she said with the most practiced nonchalance as she frowned to get more of the product into her pores.

Jane had grunted. She leaned against the threshold to the bathroom and crossed her arms, using tox results for their current case as the excuse to be in Mauara’s inner sanctum. Maura had at least given her the courtesy of relaying those lab results before bringing the fundraiser up. “‘S an off day,” Jane said.

Maura made a curious sound. “Hmm. Really?”

“Yeah,” Jane confirmed. “Want me to tag along?”

Maura pursed her lips so she didn’t smile. Jane isn’t hers. But she knows a secret: Jane wants to be, and so she admits she played a little dirty to have gotten Jane to accompany her.

Honestly, though, that was the nonverbal content of Maura’s promise: go, and becoming mine is a distinct, dirty possibility for you. “I’d like that,” she told Jane. “Do you need something to wear?”

She knew what Jane would say. Well, she knew the answer. Jane ended up saying, “I”ve seen what you’re wearing; I think I can cobble something together.”

Contrary to what even Jane herself might have believed, Maura hadn’t wanted to go shopping for Jane anyway - she wanted it on the table that Jane would be dressing to compliment her. Because that meant Jane in a suit. And Maura is attracted to the Jane she knows, not the Jane she can conjure by draping her in couture.

And so, Jane is here, at the Childhood Cancer Awareness Gala, in May, instead of in front of a ballgame somewhere. Jane is here in a suit, with a very expensive white silk shirt under the jacket, with a sleeker, more understated boot than the aggressive block heel she often wears to work, her hair wild and beautiful and the perfect compliment to her sharp features.

It is, by all accounts as Maura returns from the restroom, a win. A complete victory on all fronts. Except, that is, Jane stands close to Doctor Melissa Henry - world renowned OBGYN and overall knockout - listening intently enough, leaning in close enough, to hear above the sociable din.

Jane’s long fingers hold her champagne flute by the rim, the drink Maura had procured for her long before the trip to the restroom, and Jane hasn’t touched it. Hasn’t had a sip. Which, of course not, because Doctor Henry is Puerto Rican and curvaceous and a genius. Why would Jane interrupt her spell to imbibe?

Doctor Henry leans close and says something into Jane’s ear, Jane who turns into the gesture yet again, and suddenly, they are both chuckling. And by god, it’s Jane’s handsome chuckle - the one that crinkles the corners of her eyes and bestows upon her a crooked little grin.

Normally, Maura respects the hell out of Doctor Henry as a leader in the field of women’s medicine. She’s serious and principled and warm… and that’s the damn problem. Maura did a fucking bend and snap to get Jane here (thank Jane’s modern media bootcamp for that particularly relevant reference); she’s not letting go this easily.

And again, she intends to fight dirty.

She marches across the crowded ballroom to where the two women stand, where Doctor Henry places a steadying hand on Jane’s shoulder because her heels are tall and her ankles are crossed. A man bumps into a deadset Maura, by accident, but it only fuels her resolve. She continues, gaze forward, back straight, clutch in front of her hips (the ones that sway as she walks), until she approaches Jane and Doctor Henry. Then she stops.

For all her missing of social mores, Maura can synthesize the details of a situation like no other. So just as she approaches, she comes up to Jane’s left, because Jane’s right is occupied with the champagne. And also, coincidentally, Doctor Henry. All for the better, though, because this means that for her next act, the ring on her hand can do all the heavy lifting, even if it’s a mirror image of where it’s supposed to be.

Her fingers find the ones at Jane’s side, and they slither between them. Once they’re all but entwined, she drags them up, skin brushing as they curl, just before manicured fingers scratch Jane’s palm one time. Then as she fans them back out, down and united again, she kisses Jane’s covered shoulder. Jane shivers and Maura knows it’s because of the metal rubbing on her ring finger. “My mother’s bete noir is here,” she says into the fabric of Jane’s jacket, relishing the delicate scratch against her gloss-softened lips. “The feud is as alive as ever.”

Boom.

Between the touching and the comment just for her, she’s got Jane. She knows she’s got Jane because instead of a statement about how rude it is not to greet the third party, Jane says in that gravel-rich timbre, “she still telling the story about how her daughter styled… who?”

“The Roman Prince of Cerveteri? At least once a function,” Maura replies quickly, all as she turns her gaze on Doctor Henry. “So sorry, Melissa - family issues. You know how it is.”

Family. Issues.

Jane stiffens further, grows warmer; Maura knows there’s blushing even if she can only see Melissa Henry’s straight-out-of-a-catalog face.

“That I do,” Doctor Henry says. Gracefully she steps away from Jane. Is that a bit of fear Maura sees, too? “Do uh, do you two need a drink? I think I’m headed to the bar.”

Jane smiles with her lips closed and simply holds up her champagne flute. I’ve got plenty.

“I’ve had enough for the evening, but thank you,” Maura answers with a cordial smile.

When Doctor Henry walks away after a nod and a smirk of her own, Jane snorts. “I don’t think she’s coming back,” she says.

“God, I hope not,” says Maura. When Jane, without letting go of Maura’s hand, downs her entire drink and steps close enough for their fronts to touch, Maura honors the nonverbal request for an embrace by wrapping her free arm around Jane’s shoulders. “When you’re here, when you accompany me to these events, you’re mine,” she asserts with a growl of her own.

“I’m yours all the time,” Jane counters. She rests her head in the crook of Maura’s neck because in heels, Maura is tall enough.

Maura squeezes, and laughs lowly. “I know.”

#lauren writes rizzoli and isles fanfiction #rizzoli and isles #otp prompts February 2024 #featuring Neanderthal Jane #and also Neanderthal Maura apparently lol #I just know they went home and fucked nasty after this

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rise-my-angel · 10 months

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Heart of the Great Wolf

9 - Pleasure of Conflicted Desire

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

Length: 13.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, slow burn discussions of warfare, description of corpses blood and gore, child death, character death, pregnancy, smut, p in v, nondetailed references to forced sex acts, struggles of internalized trauma

Notes: Difficult chapter for everyone but Robbs war campaign just is in a wild state right now in general. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

The wheels were all in motion, and it may be the only thing giving the man confidence. It was a plan they could get on board with, that maybe they didn’t have to take Kings Landing themselves to end the Lannister reign on the realm. Stannis does the hard work, and the Starks play distraction to give them the time and numbers to do so. Greatjon himself saying, “Aye, we’re better at guttin’ Lannisters then we’d be sailing and breaking down walls. We’re the only ones actually fighting this war.”

It certainly felt that way. You wondered if the rebellion against Aerys Targaryean felt as futile in the middle of it. Looking back, everyone can clearly see the sides that were winning and that the side fighting for liberation were indeed the winning one. Yet you could understand that it likely didn’t feel that way. The Lannisters had not one a single battle against Robb Stark, and there hadn’t been any battle waged against any other. The Iron Islanders could hardly be called an army. More akin to raiders then anything, and the only time they fought as one they were crushed easily in a matter of months.

Yet each day that the war continued on felt as if the North was going nowhere. Brynden had put that into better perspective earlier that morning in a small moment of doubt between the three of you. “Have you considered the fact that we haven’t had any major victories in recently is because the Lannisters aren’t brave enough to come and fight us in the field anymore?”

You had added with, “Tywin Lannister has been holed up in Harrenhal as his men do his fighting for him for how long now? How many days have you been out there, in the front by the sides of your men as an equal and Tywin hasn’t?”

“He and his high lords can sit around their table arguing about strategy and feel like they are accomplishing something, but we’re the only ones doing any of the real work. And we wouldn’t be anywhere but dead a long time ago without you.” Even now, this long into war, Robb still voiced his doubts, never got to sure of himself that it couldn’t go wrong.

Sometimes, on the quietest of nights, you both would speak of what happens when this war is over, what then? So much of your life now, your lives together, had been about war but the truth was it wasn’t fair to ask to much of ‘what then’. The what then of war, was making sure you win because the alternative was death.

Neither you or Robb had asked for this, but the responsibility fell onto your shoulders and if neither of you did it, who would? You had to trudge through the mud, feeling like each day without a win was a loss, because otherwise you have no other choice but to lose absolutely everything.

When you begun to arrive back at the camp, something was wrong. Something was quite wrong, the men were in a state and anger was ripe. A group of men approached at haste both looked to the other with a weary gaze. “Your grace,”

Robb asking what happened as you both climbed down and in an instant you realized that it was going to be something with quite the chain reaction. “The Kingslayer, he escaped in the night.”

The seething silent rage in his eyes was blazing, “How?” They glanced at one another and he raised his voice to repeat himself. They told of the events, of Jaime Lannister bashing the head in of Ser Alton to grab Torrhen Karstark’s attention, and how he strangled Torrhen himself and ran off into the night. That wasn’t what they were speaking of though. Speaking of how he was found, dragged back and yet he still escaped once more. But escaped wasn’t really the right word. He didn’t escape the second time on his own. No, it was far worse then that.

Robb looked to you and found the same feeling within you as well, this only could have happened because you both were gone. Those on the war council had agreed it was the smartest plan to have both of you to confront Stannis Baratheon, and yet one person had used that absence. Robb’s shoulders were tense as his hands flexed in a restraining temper.

It had been an intimidating sight to see apparently, the sheer anger in the King and Queen’s eyes as they moved together in furious haste though the camp amongst the growing contempt the events had caused. One that made quite a number of people back away for fear of crossing your paths. Multiple men were guarding outside the tent and opened it for the both of you where more men stood guard inside, as well as a more composed Roose Bolton, and a Rickard Karstark that you knew had full reasons to be as angry as the pair of you were.

Catelyn sat with a look in her eye, mixing a shame with worry as she looked to her son. Robb’s voice was quiet and even but none were fooled at what lay beneath. “Why?”

It was likely there was a bit of work on her end to keep any tears back at what she knew was coming, “For the girls.”

“You betrayed me.” She tried pleading to him, only getting as far as is name until he raise his voice to her. “No. You knew I would not allow it, and you did it anyways.”

Looking up you glanced to Karstark, a quiet understanding of the pained gaze in your eye behind an almost shaking fury to keep yourself tempered. You and Robb had seen Harrion Karstark die on the battlefield and now he’s lost another son and watched Catelyn send his murderer away. Trying to explain herself you found it hard to rationalize it when you knew too well what this meant.

“Bran and Rickon are captives in Winterfell, Sansa and Arya are captives in King’s Landing. I have five children and only one of them is free.” And somehow that gave her the right, you thought exasperated.

Karstark for what you knew a night ago would have been unbridled rage, spoke with a quiet agony as Catelyn felt the guilt compound onto her. “I lost one son fighting by your son’s side, I lost another to the Kingslayer. Strangled by a chain. You commit treason because your children are prisoners? I would carve out my heart and offer it to the father it he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell.”

Catelyn tried to keep her composure, rationalize it, “I grieve for your sons, my Lord-”

You were the one who cut her off. “These men don’t need your grief, they needed justice. And they can’t do that now can they?” What was the point of how hard Robb worked to keep his men running in order, if everyone did what they considered to be fair. It couldn’t be fair, war wasn’t.

“Returning Jaime Lannister might be the only way to buy life for my daughters.” Your eyes narrowed, that didn’t sound like her voice coming out of her and it dawned on you exactly who did. A chill running through you, just what had he been offered this time? How on earth could she even consider his words as any truth?

Your voice in a breathless disbelief that she would ever trust him. You had looked him in the eye with the only trust you and Ned Stark had left, and that trust led you both to knives at your throats and a sword through her own husbands neck. “Petyr Baelish has played you for a fool.”

Robb stared his mother down, his own voice quiet and he played the lecturer and her the one in need of scold. “You realize what it is you’ve done? You’ve weakened our position, you’ve brought discord into our camp. And you did it all behind my back.”

Looking to the men, he gave a final order, ignoring her plea of his name to listen. He had enough of that for one day. “Make sure she’s guarded day and night.” Turning with you he looked to Roose Bolton, “How many men did we send in pursuit of the Kingslayer?”

“Fourty, your grace.”

“Send another fourty. With our fastest horses.” Without another word to his mother, Robb led you outside, making your way through the camp. “He betrayed you, he betrayed my father and now she let him do it again.”

Your voice hissing in an urgency. “If they don’t find Jaime by nightfall, we have to be gone. The Lannisters would have planned this, we can’t risk any chance of them getting word of where we are.”

Robb nodded, “Start getting them ready, we leave as soon as it gets dark. Push onto them and we’ll get behind by the time Edmure draws them out.”

You paused before walking away, looking at him like he was being weighed down by every force and from each side someone or something threw his work right back in his face. An intensity like he couldn’t stop finding new sides to be betrayed from. “Robb,”

His brows narrowed as he looked to you, only the short few steps you took did his eyes wash over him a softer need. Cupping both sides of his face as he drew you in by the waist. His kiss was harsh, but you could feel it in the way he touched you how swirling his head was. Keeping your lips to his for a beat longer then intended, he pulled away pressing a final one to your forehead. Soft only for his ears did you run your hand over his cheek, “I love you.”

Running his thumb over your waist as Robb resisted the urge to pull you right back into him. “And I love you.” Giving you a playful nudge backwards, “Now off with you.”

He watched you walk away, his family tearing itself apart as it all kept resting on his shoulders but the only thing that was keeping his feet planted firmly on the ground anymore was you. Robb couldn’t even be sure if he’d see his siblings again, but then he could look at you and his heart felt full at how much he needed you to breathe.

You believed in him, supported his decisions and had never even argued. Early on he would wonder if you were keeping it to yourself for his sake, but the more he got into your mind the more he just found someone who matched him. Saw the war and his people as he did, and refused to let anyone think you were not right beside him.

Ending the war wasn’t going to be easy, but the more time he spent with you, these past few months especially, the more Robb yearned to bring you home to Winterfell. Watch you spent the first snows of winter swollen with his child and know you can raise them safe and free there. Your nights deserved to be spent in his real bed, being treated like a real Queen not the one you had to be with a sword in your hand.

Robb wished they didn’t, but the red woman’s words had haunted him. So freely speaking of you with his children, the dream you told him that made him take you as many times as you could stand it. His own mother had betrayed him, but at least Robb had you, and a dream of a future where he could be a proper father to those children you dreamed of.

The atmosphere of the camp was miserable to be in, everyone held their own opinion about what happened and none of them wanted to voice it as you passed by in risk of angering their leaders more then they already had been.

What were you to focus on, what were you to prioritize at this point? One of your dearest friends betrayed you, your husbands mother betrayed you, and your own father readied to set sail to King’s Landing in a matter only of days now. You could see his plan perfectly, as well as the one Robb has put into play. Only so much of them you could even control, but as you slammed down a bag over your shoulder with a huff and a nod to the squire passed onto you came to one thought.

If you left in a few hours, there might not be a chance to do so for who knows how long. You had to take the chance now and yet you had no idea what made the thought consume you. Your eyes scouring the camp and found no trace of anyone who would take much notice.

Your feet walked for you, before you mind had a chance and by the time you caught up to the idea you were already pulling back the entrance to the tent in question. “Your grace. Do you require my attention for something?”

As you stared at the man, you swallowed heavily. Eyes ready to sting like it was a mistake to do this, but you nodded. Grey Wind sitting outside the tent dutifully as you made your way inside.

The sky had fallen into a golden colour as you stepped outside finally. The beauty of the light made your eyes sting, and biting your tongue to keep your face steady. However your lungs found it hard to breathe, and your heart pounded harder trying to compensate. A dread you didn’t fully understand overtaking you as you felt the people around you slow down.

Your breathing the only thing you could hear and little in front of you that could be seen, not knowing if the world spun or if it was you. You supposed it was bound to be your turn, everyone seemed to find something to throw onto Robb lately and yet you didn’t think you had anything to add to it until now.

Unsure if you had been standing there a while until you were nudged over by Grey Wind. A whining sound leaving him as he nudged your torso before looking up at you. Tall enough even on two feet that you barley had to raise your arms to run your fingers through his fur. He seemed insistent about something as he nudged you again before you shook out head out of its spin. Narrowing your eyes at the direwolf, “What’s gotten into you, huh?” Whined again as you ran a hand over his ears. “Come, considering I’ve heard to screams to for a Lannister head I assume we’re heading out soon.”

Coming up on the bare bones of the war council’s tent, Robb was sat with Roose Bolton. His blue eyes looking up at you narrowed. You clearly didn’t realize your eyes still tinged with red and a crestfallen expression before you stepped inside. You could guess what this was about. “Still no word?”

Robb watched you still, but you only stepped closer to him on both feet and keeping your attention on the other man. “We’ve sent a dozen ravens. None have returned.”

Arms crossing over your chest you tilted your head with a heavy breath. “There’s no way he thinks we don’t already know, which means he’s trying to hide something.”

Robb finally peeled his eyes from you back to the issue at hand, as Roose nodded in agreement. “There’s an easy way to find that out. My bastard is only a few days from Winterfell, once he captures the castle-”

“Theon has my brothers. If we storm the castle-”

You’re glad Roose seemed to have some confidence, beacuse there was little to be found in either of you. “He wouldn’t dare hurt the boys. They’re his only hope of escaping the North with his head.”

Robb looked up to you, a far away look in your own eye trying to figure out what ever did he think he was going to accomplish with this? What could Balon Greyjoy possibly have said to him that was more important then the over half his life spent with Eddard Stark? Robb’s voice was low as he spoke. “Send word to your son. Any Ironborn who surrender will be allowed to return safely to their homes.”

Raising your eyebrows, you caught on easily to the path behind this thoughts. Bolton looked unconvinced, “A touch of mercy is a virtue, your grace. Too much...”

“Every ironborn with the exception of Theon Greyjoy. He betrayed our cause, he betrayed me and we will hunt him down no matter where he runs.” You didn’t know if your hand was shaking as it rose to run over Robb’s shoulder blade, but it took a lot of focus to pretend like it wasn’t regardless.

Roose nodded as you added, “Ironborn won’t stay locked to the land for long before they need any excuse to leave. They took Winterfell because it was open and Theon wanted it, not because they have any use in staying there. They get an easy offer of life, and they’ll turn on him the minute they hear it.”

“I’ll send word right away.”

Once alone with him, you knew you should tell him, you knew it was important to say it but for once you found yourself unable to deliver the final blow. As he raised his hand to grasp yours, he pulled you down onto his lap. Your hands finding his neck to rest around and him your waist as he leaned in for a kiss. “I want you to keep an eye on the Karstarks.” Meeting his eyes as you pulled back he squeezed your waist tightly, keeping himself rooted in clarity through you. “They’re grieving and angry, and if they take this too personally I can’t have that kind of dissension in my ranks. You have the best eye for that, and I need someone I can trust who won’t mince words.”

Nodding, you could see the struggle in his eyes like the only one he thought he could keep every faith in was you. He had so much on his shoulders from what felt like every corner of the realm and the second something goes wrong out of his control, it all falls to his blame. Stannis didn’t need to take Kings Landing just to turn the tides on this war, he needed to take the Iron Throne if just to give Robb a second to breathe for once.

You opened your mouth to speak, but yet only a sigh came out as you ran your fingers through his hair for a moment. “Most of the first troops are ready to head out, if I leave with them now I can have the scouts up by tomorrow night and we should be hitting them just as Edmure has the Mountains garrison crossed over.”

Robb shook his head, standing you both up, “I’m not sending you alone. Have Olyvar ready my horse, I’ll meet you there before the hour’s up.”

Riding through the night was easy, it was quiet and the only sounds hitting you being the chattering of night above and the trotting of hooves below. Not often anymore did it give you the chance to retreat so much into your mind, but you and Robb both needed that quiet together.

You couldn’t imagine him as such, Theon. Dressed in garb like the Ironborn and spouting their words like he’d always lived by them. You’d grown alongside him watching the surly teenager grow into a man and you couldn’t figure out where that man had went, or if he was never there in the first place. Had he hated the Starks the whole time?

It was the conversation you both had right as you had set out for war, not even crossing past the borders of the North when he brought it up. That Catelyn shouldn’t be treating you like you were not her family, only to bring up your real one. What reasons though, did you have to suspect that he meant it in the manner for himself?

You both had a unique perspective to the other, spent much time in the North without being one in your blood, and both of you had strained, or in Theon’s case non existent, relationships with difficult fathers who never treated you like one. Both had followed Ned Stark and understood the world from his perspective and worked by his side often on the same things.

He knew that you had chosen to go to Robb instead of your father and he tried to broach why you’d do it, maybe shutting down that conversation was a mistake. You knew what being Stannis’s daughter meant, and had you gone to him in the first place you knew what they would make you. Maybe to Theon, it seemed ludicrous to refuse the offer of being a Princess.

If he was Balons last living son, that would in their independence, make him a Prince. Was he really asking you why you would choose against a similar choice because he was already thinking that far beyond? Why swear himself so openly to another King, to someone like a brother to him if he was already considering this new path? The only answers you could come up with, were simply more questions.

What would he understand of such conflict? He wasn’t stuck between two choices from the start, there was nothing from Balon until Theon went to him. He brought the conflict on himself where you had no say in the position. The moment you were thrown in that cell, there was a choice you had to make and between life and death, and when life was chosen you had decide what the family that needed you the most was.

Theon made the wrong choice, and he chose the people that hadn’t known anything about him for so long he returned essentially a stranger. If he were smart, he would surrender with the safety of the boys and accept the justice of his sins. If he were smart.

“You’re going to scare it off.”

The sounds of the flowing water streaming down the river was as loud in your head as it was the memory which followed. It was your last visit to Winterfell before Jon Arryn’s death, over two years ago now but it felt far longer. A life that seemed now to never exist.

You and Theon were crouched down, leaning slightly over a thick tree log that had sat untouched by the riverside. Both with bows in your hand, you had been out there for a number of hours and there was no sign of stopping until he relented.

Close enough that he could whisper in your ear Theon leaned over, “You’re going to scare if off.” Not quite raising your bow, you moved it into position as you eyed the deer. “It’s way too far, you’re not going to nail it and then it’ll take what? Another two hours for you to get a better shot?”

Glaring to the side at his confident face you resisted the urge to shove him over. “I’m not going to miss.”

Raising his eyebrows in a playful jest, he shrugged. Watching you move your arms into position before reaching over to nudge your wrist up slightly. You whipped around to face him, dropping it entirely as you glared at him with a whisper, “I don’t need your help.”

“You’re too high, you’ll barley graze it’s head.”

It had been a number of hours now, the pair of you finding things to shoot at in increasing challenge before he came up with nailing a deer in the eye from such a distance away. Getting on the other’s nerves each time one of you did better then the other, until now as the sun set you both knew he was picking at your stubbornness on purpose. “Going to graze an arrow past your head if you don’t shut up, Greyjoy.”

He turned slightly, his back more resting against the log as you knelt perched forward still. “Knowing you’re aim, you’d have been aiming for my face and missed.” Ignoring him with narrowed eyes forward, you kept your hold on the bow light as you watched the deer kneel its head down to eat. “You can always just admit defeat, there’s no shame in it. Besides the mocking I’ll do ‘till your end of days.”

“And if I hit it?” You turned your head to glance at him with an amused smirk. “What do I get?”

Theon took full advantage of how quiet you were trying to be, knowing any other time you’d shove him right into the lake next to you. “Could think of a few things, pretty girl like you.” Riling you up more he pressed on with a grin you knew was smug as you were too concentrated to argue back, “Find a way to lighten up that attitude of yours real easy. I’ve never seen you with a guy, you’re probably wound up way too tight it’d be easy to get you to relax-”

In an instant, you raised up, drawing your arm back before releasing a shot. Landing it right on target with ease. Theon’s head whipping over to look with a disbelieving, “Shit,” You stood up before him, holding a hand out to yank him up as well as he looked a mix of impressed and shamed for being bested. “I was gonna get you to do all my inventory count.”

Finally, you let out a loud breath of a laugh as you peeled off your gloves finally with your teeth before shoving them in a pocket. “I thought of what my prize is too.” Nodding to the deer with a smirk, “You get to drag that thing back, yourself.”

“Since when did your aim get so damn good, Baratheon?”

You looked back as you walked away, “Maybe you’re just getting worse at it, ever consider that?”

By the time Theon had gotten back, it was obvious he and the river had a bit of an incident trying to get the deer across it, and failed. You and Jon had been perched just outside the walls watching Bran run around with Rickon. The loud slap as he tossed the furs around his shoulder at you was nothing but disappointing to him as it came nowhere near hitting you as he meant.

His face falling flat as the pair of you had a good laugh over it, until that was when Jon turned on you, grabbed you by the arms, holding you back against him as Theon proceeded to dump the contents of his skin of water all over from the top of your head. Lord Stark had come out at that point, seemingly unsure if he should laugh or scold you three for being more childish then the actual children you and Jon had been out there to watch.

Sitting around one of the small fires as you stopped for that night some days later, by morning you’d push onto Harrenhal, and you were far away enough that the men could catch their breathe first. Such days felt so long passed that you could see a different person entirely in them. You laughed, and joked, and still knew how to have fun and now everyday was a crushing pressure that could sent you deep into the earth should you let it.

Coming into your vision were a pair of feet before a body sat down next to you with a groan. “When’s the last time you got any sleep?” Glancing up to see Brynden Tully, you just shrugged looking back into the flames. “Neither of you are very good at that lately, it seems.” Following his eyeline to Robb who was just as tired yet distracted as you were.

“Hard to sleep when your busy chasing ghosts nowadays.” His twisted face seemed to lighten as he relented. The pair of you in quiet for a moment before you felt a twist in your stomach that spilled into your veins, leaving you more on edge as it flowed through you. “The longer the Lannisters hide from us, the more antsy the men are going to get.”

“We’re at war, your grace.” He gestured to the lot of them all around with a casual degree, “They’re going to be antsy until their back at home in their beds or dead in their graves.”

Your forearms rested on your knees as you leaned forward, just how long would either of those be at this point. How much longer could the men hold out on a war that your opponent refuses to fight. “Everything we’ve done, and I know they all look to us, to Robb, like it’s our fault we’re here. They feel like we’re losing, and I don’t know how to change that.”

Brynden leaned in to match your posture, “You can’t.” Glancing up with a raised eyebrow to him. “Most of these men, they aren’t leaders. Their soldiers. They don’t care if we’re winning the war, they want to feel it.” Pointing to Robb your felt that twist in your stomach sting more. “They’ll all blame the King because the Lannisters aren’t here to take their anger out on, but the smart ones know they’re nothing without him.”

Robb had a good mind for warfare, a great one in fact. But the fact of the matter is that war isn’t just bloodshed and battles, it’s a game of strategy and the side that has no patience is the side that starts to loose. He hadn’t lost his patience, but then you saw those like the Karstarks who didn’t know what to do with themselves if they weren’t taking their grief out on the enemy.

“And the ones who don’t figure that out?”

With a darker, partially far away look as you both met eyes, there was a mutual feeling that came to a similar conclusion. You knew it, he knew it, and Robb knew it but what were you trying to do if he sacrificed justice for morale? What were you fighting for if he didn’t lead his men with the values that shape a good man? And which of the discontent ones would be the first to break.

A hand slapped around your shoulder as another large figure sat beside you pulling you more into her side. Bless Maege for not having any issue with treating you with such a casualness when you were deep inside your own head. “I mean no disrespect, your grace, but you look like shit.”

Face twisting into a bemused grimace as you nodded, “Don’t know how I could possible take that as insult.” Two skins were in her hands, as she nodded to the other man with a look almost saying to leave if you weren’t mistaken. Brynden took no offence, as he unbeknownst to you, recognized the look on her face as one he’d seen many times before ‘leave the women to talk’.

Handing you one, Maege nudged “Have a drink,”

If anything was on your side it was the ease in which you just shook your head without a suspicious sort of pause. “Don’t really think that’s going to help at this point.”

Shoving it in your hands regardless, Maege bit open the cap of her own. “It’s not supposed to help, it’s supposed to trick you into thinking it’ll make you feel better when all you do is feel worse. Besides, yours is full of water, don’t worry.”

Opening it slowly, you peered inside and when finding no scent you took a good sip, the water feeling soothing as it ran gently down your throat. The unsaid words along them having burned you up on the inside for almost two days now. “Been a real shit few days, hasn’t it?”

Maege laughed, giving you a pat on the back as she did so. “Hasn’t been the best, but none of these fuckers have a clue what leading an army is like. They wanna kill something, good for them, that’s not gonna change even if we do get a fight. They’ll be hot for a night or two and then get that same itch, as long as we’re out here.”

Shrugging one shoulder you glanced to her, “What about you?”

Her expression was light, looking around the camp. “Doesn’t matter how I feel. We chose him to lead us, we chose you to lead us and my opinion ends there. King in the North says we jump into a fight, we fight. He says we stand back and draw them out quiet, then we do that.”

Pointing to the Karstarks she leaned into your side a tad quieter, “Either they smarten up, or they don’t but none of this shit is up to them. What the King does isn’t up for debate.”

You bit your tongue, taking another sip after to soothe the sharpness in your own mouth now. “No, it’s not. At least with what they’re arguing about. I’m pissed, furious at what she did but it’s not her fault that Torrhen was killed by the Kingslayer and I don’t think he has any clue how this is all making him look.”

Maege shrugged, “Aye. I can sympathize with what she did, really, and I know you can too. We’re mothers afterall, but that also means you and I know it’s not such an open and shut crime.”

It took you a moment, nodding absently before you felt a shiver run down your spine. Your hands tensed as they sat in front of you as your eyes flickered just enough to the side to see her leaning towards you. “I’ve had five of my own, your grace. I know what that expression you’ve been walking around with is saying. Or not saying.” Nodding subtlety to Robb she asked, “He doesn’t know?”

Your head hung down, a wave of strong crushing guilt slamming you in your heart all at once as it biled up towards your throat. You shook your head no, and Maege in a quiet tone, one softer and fair more consoling asked why.

You shrugged as a fake laugh made it’s way to your face. “Look around you, look what he’s been dealing with? Everyone’s fucked him over one way or another, he’s carrying this war all on his own and now his own mother’s betrayed him. You think he needs me adding that onto his shoulders?”

Her voice was still quiet but strict, her words slow and separate like enunciating a lecture to that of a child. “You are not a burden to that man. You wanna know what we all see?”

When you didn’t answer, she took it as a yes anyways. “He’s so in love with you it’s almost disgusting if it weren’t also so fucking endearing.” The taken back look on your face must have been something because she laughed heartily at however you just reacted. “He doesn’t just call you his Queen, he treats you like one. Looking for any excuse to have a hand on you in any way, kiss you just out in the open like he doesn’t care. Probably because he doesn’t.”

You didn’t have the bravery to look up at him, not just yet but she wasn’t done, “And it’s not just him. You might be the most tense, on edge person in this whole army but the second you look at him, you’re like a puppy.”

Flickering up to quickly glance, you felt your heart sink at the sight of him standing tall and powerful like he was. “Ah, see? That look there, the one on your face right now.”

Flattening it out quickly, you at up and took another drink, wiping the droplets off with the back of your hand. “We’re at war, we’re out in the middle of the West fighting the Lannisters and he needs a firm hand at his side not another thing to worry about.”

Maege looked at you for a good long while. Leaning forward, she took a sip of her own before inhaling deeply. “Do you know why the Mormonts have been so loyal the Starks as long as we have?”

Raising your eyebrow you dryly responded, “Because the alternative is breaking your oath?”

Smiling to herself, you looked up as she was almost lost in her own memory. “The King’s protective of you a lot, he lets it sit right on his face and in his actions how protective he is. All them Starks are really, real pack animals that defend their own. We’re not to different to that. We’d do anything to keep our own safe and damned what comes in the way of that we find a way to deal with it.”

Her eyes glancing to where you both knew Lady Catelyn was, “Even if protecting his own means going against others to do it. He’s not just pissed at what she did, he’s lost too much already and risking our position? Causing this shit in the camp? That just puts you in danger, and you’re the one thing the King has left and he’s desperate to protect it. You’re not a burden, your grace, you’re keeping a man together who think’s hes got nothing left.”

“Sounds like you know what it’s like.”

She shrugged, leaning back as the stress in your shoulders lightened a bit. “Sort of, I know what it’s like to have your family betrayed by one of your own.” Your eyes squinted as you thought to those early days in King’s Landing, “You know about my nephew? Jorah?”

“I know he ran off to Essos, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Her face twisting for a moment as she clearly recalled it. “It was all before you were born, but basically Jorah found himself a wife none of us liked, then when she got too expensive for him he racked himself up in serious debt. So how does he pay it back?” She huffed a bitter laugh. “Of all the crimes he could have committed he starts to trade slaves. Nothing gets him the money to pay off like the lives of innocent human beings, right?”

Gesturing lightly to Robb she continued, “It was Ned Stark who ordered it. Called him a traitor for committing one of the more reprehensible crimes the North ever outlawed, and sentenced him to death. No trial, no question, just called for his execution. You know what we did?”

She looked to her King once more, “We accepted it. Sure it hurt to hear, but not for a second did any of us stand there and argue with him over it. He disgraced himself and what else was there to do but trust in Ned Stark’s judgment? Didn’t make it easier, but we knew losing out shit would only make it worse.”

You looked up to the Karstarks before asking, “What did everyone else think, your men?”

“It wasn’t their business. It’s our family and it wasn’t our place to argue with Stark over it, and so it sure as hell wasn’t anyone elses business how we handled it. Honestly, I think if Jorah just faced his sentence like man maybe it wouldn’t have taken us so long to get our shit together again. Instead he ran off like a coward and now we all have to live with the fact that to everyone else it looked like we just let him get away.” Her eyes squinted as she shook her head to herself.

Being blamed for a crime you had no control over by a member of your own family, you looked up to Robb and yes, you thought. You do get why she hasn’t changed her opinion of it at all. “How’d you deal with it? At the time I mean, after he fled.”

Whistling in dismay she took a drink. “My brother always said I was the one with the temper, but let me tell you I’ve never seen that old fucker more angry then the day he found out Jorah fled to Essos. Fuck I had to be the one to give him the news, went all the way up North just to tell him what I knew would make him lose it.”

Your eyes narrowed in question, “Up North?” Considering where Bear Island was in your memory you came up short as to where this all would’ve taken place.

“Brother’s up at the wall. He gave up his seat and everything to join them and give his boy his chance as Lord, so you can image how mad the was to learn his son threw away everything he passed to him personally.” Given the temper you’d seen on Maege, you could only dream of what those day’s looked like. “It gets easier, you get used to the bad shit and you move on. You and him will move on from it as well.” Nodding to Robb.

For a minute or so you were quiet, a tiny voice telling you to ask and you found yourself vulnerable enough to let it overtake your logic of silence. “How’s he doing? Your brother?”

She smiled, a real smile. “That old bear’s Lord Commander now. So safe to say he’s doing well for himself. We kept in touch in the first few months of this shit, told him what’s happening and to pass that all onto the King’s brother.”

There was nothing to press on there, her brother was Lord Commander and so he passed details of what happened over to Jon. But as you looked up at Robb, part of you thought to yourself that he shouldn’t have to only have you to trust. His best friend, his brother, he should've had the chance to be here too.

It’s not fair Robb only has you now. The other man who was at his side betrayed him and it wasn’t fair because the one person who you know would stand by him better then you ever could was as far way as the brothers could be from the other.

“He has Jorah’s sword now.” You whipper your head to look at her totally confused as she nodded to Robb. “His brother. That’s why I was up there in the first place, Jorah had the decency to leave behind the family sword. Fancy thing, Valyrian steel. Longclaw we call it, been in the Mormont’s family for five centuries and for over twenty years it just sat at the wall mocking my brother.”

“But, then this dark haired Snow comes along and for the first time that fucker finally had a real emotion for once. Had the bear head hilt remade and everything. Carved it to look like one of those direwolves and gave it to Ned’s own boy. Funny how all this shit works out.”

You paused as you looked to the ground, like you could see the hilt in your mind, like somewhere in the mess of dreams that kept you lost at night, you’d seen a sword, the hilt with a white wolf and red eyes and suddenly for the first time in a long time, you almost lost yourself in thinking of how much you missed him. Only broken by Maege before it got too far.

“Anyways, you got me way off track, I came over here to tell you, to do him a favour and be the one scrap of good news that he hasn’t had in weeks.”

Not giving you a second to think, she stood up and nudged you away from her direction as you paused to turn around with a bewildered but amused look, “I’m sorry Mormont, did you just shove your Queen?”

“Please, the King’s about to do a hell of a lot more then just that in a few minutes.”

You’d feel flustered, but the closer you got and the louder the voices became from Robb and Roose, you lost any single sense of that courage. It all ran right out the window, “We should set the siege lines a thousand yards from Harrenhal.”

What were you supposed to do, come to him and distract from a tactical move he’d been planning in depth and so close to it? You weren’t beside him to distract him, you needed to be his support because none else would. Stepping to them you were noticeably distant, something almost high strung about you that set the air around you on edge.

“They won’t be able to hold a siege, not in a ruin like that. If the Mountain’s still garrisoned there, he doesn’t have enough fortification to withstand a siege.” Robb eyed you, something far away in his own gaze that you tried very hard to ignore.

His own voice was rough, like the stress was eating away at him on the inside. “The Lannisters have been running from us since Oxcross, the only way we get them to fight is to push them into one and they can’t do that in a castle that’s barley standing.”

Roose glancing to the pair of you, almost as if he hesitated to voice his thought before giving up and speaking anyways. “The men need a fight.”

Your eyes were sharp as they cut to him, “And they’ll get one when the Lannisters finally decide to give us one.”

What a fight it wouldn’t be. The sun shining over the forever smouldering castle ruins, there was nothing of Lannisters left in there, nothing behind but your own dead. The lot of you arriving in, something felt noticeably wrong. Dead Northmen and yet no single sign of the enemy and not even an inkling that they had drawn forward where Edmure was to lure them in. No, it was like they had just packed up and left.

Turning in place, the sights were ghastly. Blood of the dead, and the burning and rot of those there much longer, ones that weren’t soldiers or any kind but people. Your heart raced and your stomach twisted as you walked towards a pile of men slaughtered like sheep. Had this truly been the first time you’d faced this in months? Had it always looked this morose or were you just naive enough to think a bloodbath would be kinder then this when it wasn’t done by you.

Your gloves sticky as you peeled back the sigil sewn into the men, the flies buzzing around them spoke of a fight that took place too long ago to add up, how long had they been gone? An eagle spread over what looked like a dark field on their persons had you narrow your eyes.

Standing up, you could hear Lord Karstark in the background. “They rot in the ground while their killer runs free?”

You eyed the bodies burned and hanged so black they were like charcoal, the clothes of commoners still hanging off their remains so far burned there was nothing like flesh and meat for the insects to bite into. “The Kingslayer won’t remain free for long. My best hunters are after him.”

Catelyn from where she stood identified what you had as well, “My fathers bannermen.”

Your eyes shifted to Brynden, a tilt of your head in a dark curiosity that had him eyeing the dead with his own judgments in silence. You had been chasing ghosts, but this was not the nothing that was normally left behind for you. This was the remains of a battle you’d missed that had no place in Robb’s strategy.

Turning to his men, Robb indicated towards his mother. “Find her a chamber that will serve as a cell.”

Your eyes drifted before he could catch yours, making your way to a number Umbers clearing out a space below those hanging. “Let me.” Men nodding, as you climbed up multiple crates stacked, balancing carefully to cut down the bodies as they dropped to the ground with little resistance from the rope.

Your hands on your hips as you glanced to the others. “Start bringing down the rest of them I’m not leaving them all to hang for their loved ones to find.”

From what you could see there were at least twenty old ones, and maybe eleven more fresh that still held a burning scent if you got too close. You had been cutting down another pair, some smaller then the rest as your stomach begged you pay no mind to the size. The faces as unrecognizable as the anxiety in your stomach.

Others had begun to care for the dead soldiers around the court as some had names to identify, others had to be made note of their sigil and passed on. Blood weighed heavily in your nose and thick on your tongue, no solace was found in such a task but at least you’d find some use. It was some time later when Roose Bolton came to your side, “Your grace.” Nodding to him you both looked to the scene for a moment, a conclusion that seemed to come to his as well and no doubt had hit Robb.

“We’re waiting on word from Riverrun and Kings Landing.” You nodded, carefully trying to pull the leather from your hands without completely soaking the skin underneath. The attempt was fruitless.

Your voice was tight and rigid as you spoke. “The men you have, looking for the Kingslayer.” You ran your teeth over your tongue in a sting before you shook off the twisting and churning in your stomach. “You trust their loyalty as much as their skill?”

A curious look in his eye, “I do.”

“Good. Because if they catch him, he’ll offer whatever he can to walk free and neither me nor the King have the time for that.” You watched the half smile on his face as his eyes did not match the motion.

His chuckle didn’t either. “I assure you, your grace they have their orders and they’ll do whatever they can to follow them. They know the punishment for disobeying a command.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, he seemed off to you, but it was difficult to place where that was coming from. A suspicion ran through you like something you hadn’t pinned was running through your own mind. “If I may say, your grace. It seems like you’re more on edge then usual.”

Your look was harsh as it was blank as your arms crossed your chest. “I think all of us are more then agitated at this point. Some more then others.”

Whatever it was you were trying to find in the other just wouldn’t come out, but you had no question that there was something he wasn’t saying just as you were. Only the thing you weren’t saying couldn’t have possibly lived in the same area as what he could be ruminating on.

The ruins of Harrenhal were not what you had imagined. A great castle encased by a never ending smoulder that left it haunting and cursed with the dead burned alive inside. Only as you walked through the echoing halls, even as the darkness swooped over the sky, you felt nothing of it. Standing at it’s best, you could envision a mighty fortress. A hundred thousand men marching on these walls and a hundred thousand men would be repelled, now it was a place fought over to be ignored.

On a ledge overlooking one of the courtyards, the space ran as a bridge between once massive structures with carved arches in acting like windows. One foot resting up on the incline as you leaned back against the stone the other foot planted firmly on the ground as you looked high to the night.

Stars were bright, shining and the moon not yet full but bright as ever. No distracting red to shine with an ominous glow, no clouds looming over to pour down over the blood soaked grounds, just the yell of men below and the cawing of birds in the night above.

Maybe you could find the strength to prey to the gods, ask them to spare your sins and turn you into a bird and find a place to live out in painless quiet. You’ve heard Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.

Looking over the raven scroll once more you wanted to scrunch it up and toss it to the wind. Tywin Lannister was now stationed in Kings Landing as proper Hand of the King, the city still stands and Stannis Baratheons fleet suffered a great loss. Just as they were minutes from breaching the gates, coming up behind them in a last minute attempt were Tywins forces backed by that of the remaining Tyrells. Pushing what was left back to the sea.

A sea that burned, the hellscape this very castle is spoken so commonly of was actually that of the Blackwater Bay. Tyrion Lannister had set the water on fire, or more accurately, wildfire. A substance you heard much about, yet never had seen of your own eyes. Bright and green that burned so hot it could not be even stood next to without feeling it’s effects.

Created by the Targaryeans as the last of their dragons died to keep their fire and blood as true words to oppress with. The absence of any life in the West made sense now, they had moved to push on King’s Landing, because they were not drawn in on the other side.

The Riverlands did not draw the Mountain and his troops out, instead they were pushed back enough to give them all time to turn around and make a rescue of their captiol. Many thousands had died in the firestorm of the sea, and no words except that of Stannis himself spoke of any life. None other you knew from your life on Dragonstone had any mention and perhaps you didn’t have the right to it.

That wasn’t the only news though. No it continued to get worse. Roose Bolton’s bastard had gotten to Winterfell and there was nothing left. Just as your own troops had found. A torched castle with scours of a massacre left behind. Bran and Rickon weren’t found, and word from the men there seemed to speculate they were dead.

You could dream, but there were no demands, no rumour of them as a hostage and nothing of the Ironborn were that of kidnappers. Bran was around Shireen’s age, he didn’t even have the chance of life that could’ve meant much. Rickon was six, how much of this war did he even truly understand? No words of their wolves sighted either.

Six Stark children, and only four of them remained, as six direwolves and perhaps only three remained as well. As if he could hear you think, Grey Wind approached you with a nudge to your abdomen. He huffed resting his head there satisfied when you rested a hand over his head scratching his ears. You’d seen this beast rip the hearts of men from their still beating chests and bear battle with his master stained with blood. Yet now he lay across you, no more then a large dog.

The world saw fit to make the wolves stand alone in this world. But Stags? How long had they even lasted? Two were dead, and the third stands against the forth. Somewhere across King’s Landing you had known of Robert’s bastards and yet they were all as alone as the last of you.

Only, as Grey Wind looked up at you, your stomach twisted and suddenly were filled with the blackness of lightheaded sensations. Moving to pull your leg over the bend, you wavered as you stood up. One hand pressing against the stone wall as your eyes closed and a low rumble came from the large direwolf next to you. Nipping at the edge of your shirt he pulled you away from the window as you opened your eyes in shock. “Alright, alright.”

Looking at the dark eyes staring up at you, you ran a hand over his face. Some comfort finding itself nestling in the pit of your stomach as you did so. Nodding your head at him to the side, he turned on a dime and walked you through the halls of ruin.

Coming into the door, you quietly shut it behind you as Grey Wind slipped in. Robb sat on the edge of a bed, elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. Your heart yearning for the possibility of healing his with no hope behind such a wish. You were slow as you approached, saying nothing before coming to kneel before him. Raising his head, the redness was already passing and his eyes were the remnants of what was once tears.

You hesitated to reach out to him, this was a raw offence he did not deserve. His youngest brothers by what was once a brother to him. Your face was as fallen as it had been much of the day, only now you had to try and be the one there for him regardless. “If I ever see him again, he’d better be thankful that all I’ll do his take his head. Bran can’t walk, Rickon was six what does he think he’s proving to anyone by murdering two boys who can’t even hope to fight back?”

There was a choke in his tone that wanted to yell or cry but had no more tempered energy to do either one. Finding his eyes, you tried to kneel as straight postured as you could, keeping the shaking of your lungs to yourself. “He wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone but himself. They found all the ravens dead, he tried to hide this.”

Robb sighed out, his hands falling to rest along his thighs as they curled into fists. “He knew Bran and Rickon their entire lives, they’ve known him their entire lives. They saw him like a brother,”

Catching his eyes, he finally looked into yours properly before closing them again. His exhale much shakier this time. “The Lannisters take half my family from me, and now Theon kills the other half. What am I even left with?” Opening once more he looked to you, a plead for answers in his eyes while his fists tightened in the rage of not having any control.

“Robb,” You started, a breathy whisper before he reached up suddenly. His hand finding the back of your head as he leaned to press your foreheads together. His breathe hot on your skin as he spoke.

“My own mother betrayed my trust behind my back, the only brother I even have left?” His jaw clenched as your hands gently found the courage to dance lightly across the part of his chest exposed to the air. “I let him vow himself to the end of the world because I wasn’t brave enough to stand up for what he deserved. I think the only one I have left anymore is you.”

One of your thumbs trailed over his jaw, as your heart raced. Pushing the images and memories of the other back down deep for Robb’s sake. You couldn’t keep this from him anymore, it was cruel. You didn’t breathe an inch as you spoke, “My love, you have more then just me. I promise.” With nothing but nerves and anxiety racing inside you, you gently opened the tight fist in his lap still, running your fingers along his until he could feel his tensity loosening.

Robb thought you were trying to hold his hand, his brow furrowing when you took it and pulled it off his lap. Barley able to hear you as your own voice was so small, so unsure of yourself as you moved his hand to brush lightly under your shirt over your stomach. “You have us.”

It took him a moment to even register what you had done, pausing before turning to look down at where you held his wrist that brushed over the sliver of bare stomach. “Us?” His eyes were bright as he whipped his head up to look at you, almost confused for a moment as you could see it all hit him.

The nerves in your head ready to make you pass out as he looked back down. “You- you’re really?”

Suddenly in his own mind, Robb put it together. The sudden distance in yourself that begun not long after you returned to the camp, the way you kept away from him and then compounding of everyone having found a way to wrong him and he felt angry. Angry that he had given you the slightest idea that he’d be unhappy with you, that he hadn’t paid more attention.

The way you hadn’t been quite yourself, more needing of physical touch then normal to the point you even commented. You stared at him, for once too scared to try and read past his narrowed eyes and lips parted in shock as he suddenly sat up, grabbing you and hauling you into his arms and straddling his lap as he buried your face in his neck.

He huffed out a laugh in disbelief, before letting out another. More came turning into a laugh of joy before pulling back long enough to press a kiss to your lips. Barley leaving them to speak softly, “My girl,” a smile a real smile that had barley been on his face in weeks painted over, “My perfect girl.”

Pulling you back into another kiss, passion exploding in your mouth as you held the sides of his face as you tried not to let tears fall from them. You failed. Robb sat you on him back a little, one hand on your waist as the other ran over your stomach, “Why would you keep this from me? Why would you think I didn’t want to know about this?”

Your chest rose with a bile that you didn’t want to form into a sob. Swallowing hard the tears did not give such an obey of order. He touched and looked at you so softly, you’d cry if you tried explaining yourself in full. All that came out as like a confession of a misbehaving little girl you once were, “I thought you’d be mad,”

His hand now smoothed over your stomach firmer, thumb running back and forth as he narrowed his eyes in guilt. “Mad? At what for giving me the one thing I’ve dreamt of having with you for two years now?”

Resting now on his shoulders, you held all the sadness for the both of you. “We’re at war, we have no idea when we’ll not be, the last thing you need-”

Your name came out surprisingly stern from Robb’s lips. “Look at me.” Moving to keep your face looking right at his with a warm hand on your cheek. “War or not, you’re my wife, the love of my life. Do not think for one second, that you haven’t just given me the happiest news of my life. War or not, it’s you and me. It’s us,” His hand running over your stomach, “Now and always.”

You wanted to say something back, anything that would return the love but all that came to mind was tears and the relief that he wanted this, he wanted this and through all of the noise inside your head? All you could do was wrap your arms around him back as he kept one of his around you and the other pressed against your stomach.

It had been a long time in this war since you’d thought about what you genuinely wanted, but right here in Robb’s touch you found that answer. This, you wanted this. His voice was deep and the wavering of his was heard over the other clear distinction of a smile. “I hope you like being with child, my queen, because we have a whole list of names to get through.”

The laugh you let out was choked in a sob that he yet was thrilled enough to make him laugh. “How about we have this one first, then we can go from there?”

Robb pulled back, running his nose along the length of yours. “Oh no you’re not getting off that easy. You should know by now, there’s nothing a wolf wants then to see his mate with a whole litter of pups.”

Your eyes crinkled in a mock protest before he kissed you again, rough but quick. “You’re that confident?”

He shrugged as you both grinned, barley leaving the other enough to not feel your breath on your faces as he jested. “My mother had five children and I don’t even think they were trying for that many.” Robb turned his next kiss more sultry. Moving your jaw to the perfect angle to bite at your lip before kissing you with a greed and a tone in his voice that made you shiver. “Me on the other hand, maybe I’ll just keep you pregnant long as I can. Help my perfect little wife make us a perfect not so little family.”

Turning you to lay you out flat on the bed, Robb pulled your shirt up and off, giving him free reign to run his hands and lips over your stomach. “May as well start now,” Crawling up the length of your body until he caged you in hovering over you. His lips brushing against yours in a soft tease, “No harm in practising for later, right?”

Nodding, you reached up to run your fingers through his curls as he consumed you with his kiss. All biting your lips until they were red and swollen before licking his way into your mouth. Pulling away suddenly, leaving a trail of saliva to snap between you as he yanked off his own shirt before moving to impatiently pull yours until you lay bare beneath him.

Your heart raced and your blood burned as he reached for the laces of his breeches only to catch your eye, the hunger in his must have matched what you felt in yours as he then knelt straighter up. Looking at you with an eyebrow raised as he ran a hand over your jaw, “Show me how a good girl treats her King.”

You’d collapse if you weren’t already laying down, a dizziness hitting you as you kept your eyes up on Robb, his blue eyes were as dark as the sky beyond his window. It wasn’t fair how easily he had you at his mercy, how much you wanted to be. Pulling the material down his legs until they reached where he sat on his knees, you braced your palms on his thighs before Robb tsked. Running hand through your hair before finally moving to lay you back down.

Standing, he yanked them the rest of the way off standing bare to you as your thighs clenched together at how thick and heavy his cock was. Coming to sit on the bed beside you, he reached one hand to gently slide between your legs and push a space for his hand. Fingers brushing your clit before gently running over it with a slightly firmer pressure.

“I’ve been a bad husband,” You opened your mouth to speak but he shook his head. “You’ve been upset, and I didn’t even pay enough attention to notice what was wrong.” Trailing down to run along your soaked entrance before sliding back up to your clit in a teasing pattern. “You’ve stood beside everything I’ve said and done, always supported my decisions, but I haven’t been there to take care of you back.”

This time you found your voice, stammering part way through as he slid a finger deep inside of you, “Robb you do take care of- me, fuck,” A gasp making you breathe out the rest in moan trying to hold back. “I don’t need you to be anything but exactly who you are.”

Head thrown back as he slowly slid his finger out before pressing a second in deep to the knuckle, his other hand running along your forehead to move your hair gently off it. “You don’t deserve to be pregnant in the middle of a war, so far from our home.” His thumb running tightly over your clit as your stomach muscles seized at the pleasure growing within. “I should be taking you in our bed, not having you on the battlefield where I can’t promise your safety.”

Your head felt as if it were sinking slowly underwater as your core screamed at you in addictive pressure. Reaching up, you grasped the wrist close to your head, running your thumb along his pulse as Robb picked up the speed of his fingers. “I, fuck, I belong wherever you are.” Robb’s chest rose and fell faster as he felt how wet and tightly you were clenching around him.

Moving to press his lips against yours you wrapped an arm around his neck and into his hair once more. “You stay by my side now, no matter what. We don’t leave the other,” His tone warm and yet a bit possessive as he bit at your lips to gain entrance to your mouth, his hand adding a third to make you whine as his palm rubbed against your clit roughly. Your thighs tense and shaking but just as he wanted, you kept them nice and wide.

Your breathe almost in needing high pitched pants when Robb pulled back, a smile on your lips that Robb could’ve melted at the sight of. You clenched around him and he could feel the pressure building inside you even despite your words. “From this day until our last day,”

Just as Robb ran a hand over the top of your head, he pressed his forehead to yours with gentle shushes as you felt your orgasm shatter. Throwing you off the cliff into the waters below with no warning as his touch kept you from arching right off the sheets. You burned and almost could cry at the waves swimming inside you as he slowly pumped his fingers until your cries turned into unspoken begs of mercy.

Giving no time, Robb kept them inside you as he kissed you again, “Turn over, my love.”

Only sliding out as he climbed behind you, not giving you the chance to get onto your hands and knees properly before sitting on his heels, pressing your back against his chest as he moved your hair. Leaving sloppy kisses down your neck as he slid his cock between your legs, running along the teasing entrance with your hands wrapping behind you. “Robb, please,”

With one hand on your hip, he spread the other wide across your stomach as he breathed heavily into your ear. “If only those men could see what perfect, needy little whore their pretty queen is.” You whined as he pressed his cock to tease more firmly against you. “It won’t take long, they’ll see how well their king fucks his queen soon enough.” Letting one of your hands fall to cover his on your stomach Robb grunted before sliding his cock inside of you. As he so loved to overwhelm you, he sunk as deep as he could go in one smooth thrust.

Pulling a cry from your lips and a growling of swearing from him as he dropped his face more into your neck. Slowly, Robb fucked up into you. Barley giving much force as he drew his cock out and pushed back in so slow that the sound of how wet you were around him was obscene. “Fuck, anyone’d fight a war just for a chance at this cunt, kill whoever it took just to be able to feel how soaked you are around their cock.”

His teeth leaving nibbles and his facial hair rubbing the sensitive marks raw and red as he moved his lips up and down. “Good thing I’m yours then, right?” You wanted to sound sultry but you couldn’t get through the words without almost breaking with a moan.

Robb so thick inside of you, the stretch was a sting you never knew could be so perfect. He slid his cock inside of you so smoothly without ever picking the pace up. Every vein and ridge of his cock pressing against the sensitive wall inside of you that had tears creeping out.

The hand on your waist moved, wrapping to force your face to turn to the side and let him capture your lips. His tongue meeting yours as gently and slowly exploring as his cock fucked you like maybe the world around you would stop as long as you two were intertwined. Only pulling from your lips long enough to slur out, his voice thick and accent strong as anything like he was to deep in how you felt around his cock to care if he was intelligible. “I love you, gods I love you.”

You tried so desperately to say it back, but it was like he teased you by kissing you harder each time or fucking you deeply to tear a gasp from your throat. He smirked when you whined his name and laughed as he could see your brows furrowing when he kissed you again.

Bodies covered in sweat, the coiling in your stomach build slowly as he took his time with you. Never speeding up, and always covering part of you with his hands, kiss, tongue, teeth and never letting go of your stomach. Instead choosing to press your hand down against the skin so he could rest it on top with his much larger hand consuming yours.

Your orgasm is what had the tears rolling down, it was slow and not wild like fire but a slow consumption that took your body into the flames limb by limb before you were engulfed. Your chest felt like it was floating and your head in the clouds as Robb fucked you all the same through it before he followed. Cock buried deep as he came warm and thick into you, pressing his lips to yours as you finally found a chance to mutter out, “I love you, Robb, I truly do.”

His muscles ached as he spilled inside of you before resting his face in your neck as you both slowly started to come down. “You don’t leave my side, either of you.” His hands now both running over your stomach as he knelt you more towards the bed.

Robb turned you in his arms to face you, one hand running over your hip and stomach while he switched between looking at your eyes and below once more. You snuggled as much as you could into his chest, Robb running his nose along your hair as you pressed into his neck.

Tomorrow, you’d have a funeral to begin leaving for, but maybe as cruel as it was, one life was given up for the other. His grandfather’s life leaving to join the gods, so that you and Robb still on the plains of the living could bring a new life together.

A few name ideas for boys rolled around in his head, but he worried not. Robb would share enough children with you to honour all of them. He’d make sure of it just as much as he could see in the hope in your eyes, that you too, wanted all of it.

It didn’t just startle Jon, it almost horrified him. His conscious mind desperate to justify his actions, fighting between telling himself what he knew was true, versus what he was lying to himself about to cope with the reality.

If he didn’t think about it, he could ignore how this was supposed to be with you. He could pretend that it didn’t matter how this played out, or lie to himself and say it felt good because he wanted it. The alternative outside the walls of the cave was death, prove your worth or die and this was the path chosen for him to do so.

As long as it felt good and he lied to himself, Jon could pretend as if he was fine with it. Until the image of you, dragging a hand to your stomach flashed before his eyes. The gentle brush of fingers against a stomach that he somehow knew was pregnant and he flushed with how clearly Ygritte thought such a physical response was for her.

Jon could feel his hand against your stomach, and he could see a dream of a baby. Eyes coloured just as yours but the hair was dark and curls that he knew all too well on himself. Let him think it was for her, and maybe Jon would get through this and just accept that lie as truth.

But Jon could see the child in his mind, the swell in your stomach and your breathless needy sigh in his ear that had been his only source of comfort in the rough beds at the wall. He could see all of it, and he felt shamed that on the other side of you, he could only envision himself, not the brother he knew it really was all for.

Jon could pretend he wanted this, when he knew the opposite was true, that he didn’t send his only protection left away at her demand. He could pretend that she was just like you when the opposites were the reality, and Jon would lie to himself as long as she was with him that he did want it.

Lying to himself about this was easier then admitting the truth, he was a grown man, he shouldn’t get to tell himself that he was forced into it. He should be better then that, and yet the only thought that kept Jon from cracking that resolve and leaving him broken, was the image of you with a child that should have been his.

The image of a pregnant wife that looked nothing like the wildling girl who acted as if such a role belonged to her. The need in the sounds in his head that belonged to you when they were being given to his brother.

He told you to love him, he wanted you to love him. But in this cave, Jon found no solace in the forced pleasure his body was having that you willing shared with his brother. His mind wasn’t settled and it burned him harder each time he could see the woman he was with.

Jon did this beacuse he had no choice, and he would lie to himself about not being forced into it for as long as he needed to to handle such a truth. But Jon couldn’t hide from himself, that every time he saw you as he touched the wildling girl, it fed her delusion of what she was to him. She forced him into it, and pretended as if his pleasure was the only consent she needed. You never did and never would force him into a single thing if you thought he doubted or hesitated in wanting. You respected him like none ever did or still does.

And it fed the pain that made Jon want to scream. This didn’t belong to her. It belonged to you.

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

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

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cold heart, warm hands (simon “ghost” riley x f!reader) - part 2/2

Hi, welcome to part two. My name’s blue. I’ll be your author this evening. Please stay seated for the entire presentation. Thank you. (and yes, I know ~canon~ says Ghost changes his mask at the end of the campaign but I don’t care!!! I like how much you can see his eyes! I like the paint/fabric peeling!)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader!Assassin

Rating: Mature/Explicit (18+)

Fic warnings: Smut! (p in v, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, m!oral receiving, switch!ghost b/c i wanted to make him whiiimper, slight choking kink/some roughness, knife kink if u squint, lots of eye contact) sparring and knives as a form of foreplay, a smidge of jealous!ghost with a sprinkle of yearning. no beta/barely edited, i wrote this in 3 days.

No use of Y/N. Reader is described as muscular/toned with scars from active combat/torture, though no other descriptors are used.

Summary: It’s been three months since Ghost handed you off at the border to your American contacts. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d see you again. And then you waltz into the barracks, smiling, with Price announcing you’re joining the task force.

READ ON AO3 || 🔪🔪🔪

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Three Months Later…

He’s thought about his time with you on the fringes of St. Petersburg more than he cares to admit. The extraction took longer than planned after your insane plan to crash the snowmobile and fake your death. Or at least the death of the woman you were pretending to be for the past three years. He recalls your face awash in flickering, orange light and gripping that shiny, golden necklace. He doesn’t know its meaning. You left it behind intentionally. And your tone darkened whenever you mentioned Petrovich–your target, your mark, the man who left at least one scar (that he knew about) on your firm, muscled body.

When you left, your smile was radiant and grateful. The details of whatever you endured undercover he could only assume. He imagines it meant something to destroy your persona before leaving. A sense of closure, perhaps? Or a sense of control? He doesn’t know. And he’ll never ask. He thinks you’d roll your eyes at him if he did. He remembers the color of your eyes. And surprises himself with the memory of your laughter.

So, yeah. He thinks of you. Often. He does his best to push it to the sidelines.

He’s no good to anyone acting like a fool, acting like you were ever going to cross paths again. He had his task force. And you worked for intelligence agencies, focusing on espionage and covert operations. Your worlds weren’t going to intersect. You’re a spy for Christ’s sake. He’s sure the CIA is eager to drop you into your next life, your next persona, your next target. Ghost numbly shakes his head to himself and joins the others.

They’re all gathered in the training room to run drills. Ghost runs it. He puts them through the usual bout. There’s cardio, strength, and seeing how fast they can dismantle and rebuild their weapons. It’s going swimmingly until Price enters. Not because he says anything, or stops them, but because of who is following him.

His heart slams into his boots in a freefall. No parachute. No survivors. You smile warmly and make introductions as Price explains you’re the newest recruit (technically you’re on temporary loan for an upcoming mission in Spain). He’s never been gladder to stand outside the circle while his teammates crowd you.

They’re all mooning after you. Pitiful sods.

Yeah, yeah, you’re fucking fit. You’ve got a nice smile and you’re wearing a white tank that shows off the toned, defined musculature of your arms and shoulders and your collection of scars. But they’ve never huddled next to you in a snowstorm under a snow-packed shelter. They’ve never seen your eyes squint when it was your turn to collect kindling. They don’t know you mutter in your sleep. They don’t know you twirl something (usually your knife) between your hands when you’re thinking with your eyes dewy and distant. He doubts they know about your past and how your codename “volchitsa” - or she-wolf - was given because of your inclination to bite people during training.

“Sparring?” Your voice perks up. “I’m afraid I’d wipe the floor with you.” You settle your hand on your hip and ooze with easy, warm confidence. Whatever ghosts and shackles that weighed you down in Russia are gone.

Gaz grins. “I’ll take that bet.”

You stretch your arms over your head and Ghost notices a slip of your exposed midriff.

You ask Price, “is arrogance a prerequisite for the task force?”

Ghost averts his gaze from you, but he can feel your attention on him. He suspects you remember everything from the evac mission as he does. His stomach clenches at the memory of you bathed in firelight, your lips parted and your gaze traveling like an electric livewire across his skin. Fucking hell. He can’t be bothered with this.

“I’ll go easy on you.” Gaz offers before stepping onto the mat. You laugh. It’s the same laugh that has echoed inside his dreams for the past ninety days (not that he’s counting).

You step onto the squishy training mat. Ghost considers leaving for a half-second, but then you slide into a fighting stance, and he’s rooted to his spot. He needs to see how this plays out.

“Aye, give ‘em hell, lass.” Soap says, crossing his arms and grinning.

~~~~~~~

The sweat dripping from your forehead burns your eyes. Your muscles throb with a familiar, tingling strenuous pain. Gaz is a formidable opponent. He’s got stamina, but you’re faster. You’ve managed to either dodge or misdirect his offensive attacks. He hasn’t attempted to go on the defense. And that’s his biggest mistake. One that you intend to make him pay for. You dance backward away from his strike, grinning, and use his barreling momentum against him as your leg collides with a sharp crack along his jaw. Gaz stumbles sideways, cursing, and cradling his mouth.

“First blood.” You announce after noticing his split lip. “I win?”

“Jesus.” He says emphatically to Price, “where’d you find this one?”

“They found me as a baby in a cardboard box outside the CIA.” You joke.

Price chuckles low in his chest, “not far off from the truth.”

“You alright?” You peer at the rosy smudge of blood on his lower lip, “I might have a tissue.” You dig into the pockets of your baggy beige pants.

He brushes you off. “S’alright.”

“Let’s wrap it up,” Price orders. “Debrief in ten minutes.”

There’s a chorus of ‘Yes, sirs’ that you forget to join. You’re not accustomed to the military style of the task force. You’re not familiar with working in a unit. Being a team. Hell, you’ve hardly given yourself time to digest the fact that Ghost, aka Simon Riley, is your superior. He’s the lieutenant. He’s also the man who rescued you from a frozen lake and then stripped you bare to prevent severe hypothermia. You can compartmentalize all of it. You have done so for the past three months. You twist the bottom hem of your shirt between your fists. But it’ll be different, you think, now that he’s in the same room. He is no longer a memory or a fever-induced dream. He’s real. He’s close enough to touch.

While approaching, Ghost says, “that was hardly a clean fight, she-wolf.”

Fuck. You hadn’t realized much you missed the warm and deep droning of his voice, the way it caresses down your spine like a rough, calloused hand. Your pulse flutters in your jaw.

“I wasn’t aware I had to play fair.” You quip. He’s wearing a different mask, a black balaclava with the jaw painted onto the fabric, his eyes visible and surrounded by dark, smudged paint. He never took his mask off when you traveled together. And you never asked him to. You assumed it was for protection, to hide his identity during the mission, but he wore it–even among his teammates. Which meant whatever Riley’s reasons were, they went beyond anonymity. His dark t-shirt stretches across his well-defined chest. If you squint, you think you might be able to count the lines of his abdominal muscles, carving them with your eyes the way someone would carve a cake. Your blood hums with exertion and adrenaline.

You smile easily. “I’m open to a rematch.”

“I mean no disrespect to Gaz, but he’s not a match for you.”

“That sounded suspiciously like a compliment, Ghost.”

“I’ve been known to give them when they’re deserved.” He cocks his head to the side. His eyes, although darkened by the makeup or paint, are easier to perceive than they were in his original mask. His massive, hulking frame consumes every inch of your perception. His eyes are dark and guarded, but they follow the sweat glistening down your neck and pooling between your collarbones. His gaze snaps up to yours.

“Are you a match then?” You ask your tone breathier than intended. “Or am I to be woefully unchallenged in this task force?”

“I might be.” He replies in a cocky, husky tone that makes your heart flutter like a moth’s wing. You clench and unclench your fists at your sides. You’re talking about sparring, but you’re an expert in subterfuge, adept at reading between the lines, and your training has never led you astray before. Ghosts’ tone and body language scream with weighted and intense physical attraction. You’d bet all the money in your account that Ghost isn’t solely interested in sparring. The mouth can lie. The body cannot.

“We’ve got ten minutes.” You say breezily.

Ghost scoffs. “You think you can take me down in ten minutes?”

Oh, he’s definitely smiling beneath the mask. You bite your lower lip to stop your grin from spreading Cheshire-cat wide. You remember the church. The cemetery. You saw so little of Ghost in action. You are hungry and eager to see him perform without witnesses, without interruptions, and without the risk of death.

“I know I can. But, for the sake of our reunion, let’s make it interesting.” You lift your pant leg at the ankle and unsheathe your knife. “First blood wins.” The blade flashes beneath the bright, blue-white fluorescents. Ghost’s brow shifts beneath his mask. You suspect he’s raising an eyebrow at you.

He says, “don’t get pissy if you lose a finger.”

“I’d love to see you try.” You reply.

You circle around one another like hungry sharks, like lions fighting for their pride, like two koi fish swimming in a pond. You need to take him down in one move. His eyes regard you with a calculated coolness and you suspect his thoughts are similar to your own. There is a real, hefty threat of injury with your naked blades shining below the lamps. You’re trusting him not to slip up and accidentally kill you and he’s trusting you the same. His reach is longer, but he’s not going to make the first move because that would open him for a counterattack. However, time is ticking. You smile to yourself. You assume Ghost is acclimated to fighting soldiers. But you are not a soldier. You flex your fingers on the knife grip and dive into the first attack. Ghost shifts sideways, making himself a smaller target to hit, but you’re not interested in hitting him. Your knife deflects his with a sharp, shrieking sound like nails on a chalkboard. You drop, and your leg strikes outward and sweeps, catching Ghost off-guard. His spine hits the mat, but he rolls immediately onto all fours. He pounces on you. The breath in your lungs whooshes forcefully from your chest. Your heartbeat pounds inside your eardrums. A heavy ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. His offhand snatches your wrist and slams it against the mat. On impact, your shoulder joint pops, but you don’t release your knife from your grip. He holds your knife-hand down. You grin. His weight is crushing you, heavy and hard, pinning you to the mat, your hips pressed together, your legs caged around his waist. Your freehand touches the edge of his mask, Ghost grumbles harshly, and wrenches his face away. It’s what you wanted him to do. His flinch backward has created an opening. You curl your fingers over his knuckles, your arm and elbow trembling and straining as you hold his knife at bay.

He rasps, “playin’ dirty, are we?”

You say, “I just want to win.”

His eyes narrow. “You’ve already lost.”

“Let me up and we’ll see about that.”

He arches his spine forward, forcing your elbow to bend, though you’re still able to keep his knife away from your skin. Ghost looms over you. His chest brushes against yours with every inhale and exhale. Your clothes suddenly feel too tight, too constructive, and there’s a low, pulsing heat blooming between your legs. The nape of your neck tingles with warmth. Ghost pushes your hand–God, he’s strong–and your muscles squeeze with effort.

His eyes drop from your face to your clavicle. His gaze smolders on your skin. His eyelashes flutter and then his attention lifts to your face.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, “about first blood.”

If it had been anyone else, any other man, or anyone else on the team, this would be the moment where you backed down. But this is Ghost, this is Simon. You trust him. And his check-in is proof that your trust is well-placed. He remembers your scars.

“I did.” You gasp, breathless. Your grip relaxes until you're merely holding his wrist, feeling his pulse thrum like a wild storm beneath your fingers.

The cold, biting tip of his knife kissed your jaw. A pinprick of blood wells beneath the blade. Your eyes widen, not only because of the sharp, blooming pain but because of something else pressing into your body. At the juncture between your thighs, you feel the swelling, hard length of him. Your parted lips soften into a sly, smug smirk. You shift your hips, a subtle and teasing grind, and his diaphragm jolts against your ribs from his surprised inhale.

“Cheeky.”

You shrug, “playing dirty, remember?”

He withdraws his knife into the strapped sheath at his hip. But he makes no move to get off you (not that you mind. You’ve been dreaming of how he might feel on top of you ever since you saw him half-naked). Up close, you can count his long eyelashes and observe how his pupils have swallowed the rich, coffee color of his eyes.

He applies pressure to the tiny wound with his thumb. His eyes hold yours like a lifeline, like driftwood in a storm.

You murmur, “come closer, Ghost.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to give you something.”

“And what’s that?” His voice rumbles all the way to your core. Your thighs tighten around him and your inner walls clench. He’s no fool. He must know the effect he has on you. It mirrors the effect you have on him. You want him buried deep inside you, you want his hands on your body, you want his mouth–if he’ll give it. This job with his task force is temporary. It’s a blip in a string of chaos, a merciful offering from the godforsaken universe, a respite before you return to the agency and become someone else. But here and right now? You are fully and completely yourself. He is sharing your breath, your sweat, smearing your blood into the whorls and spirals of his fingerprint. You want to share this miracle with him. You want to selfishly enjoy the upcoming few months before you’re assigned to another country, another corrupt diplomat, or another unstable regime. You want him. You want Ghost. You want Simon Riley.

You respond nonchalantly, “a kiss.”

He breaks eye contact to roll his eyes. “You’re trying to get me to remove my mask again, aren’t you?”

You shake your head. “My whole life involved powerful men showing their faces but hiding their true intentions. You hide your face, but I’ve never doubted your honesty.”

“Give it time.” He huffs. There’s a snag in his tone that you pick up on, a thread of self-loathing, and your heart softens like melted wax.

“I want you as you are,” you reply and then whisper, “Simon.”

He tenses. You feel it on every pressured weight of his body leaning into yours. His eyes roam across your face, seeking dishonesty, but there’s none to find. The words you speak are the truth ripped asunder from your soul. He leans closer and his warm breath fans across your chin, muffled faintly by his mask. Your blood hums, electric and sparkling through your veins, and you instinctively tilt your jaw.

The sound of heavy footsteps carries down the hallway. Ghost springs agile and swift off you and to his feet. You stop the moan in your throat, missing his firm solidness, and the delicious sensation of his cock pressing into your clothed, pulsing cunt. While getting to your feet, you inhale deeply through your nostrils to calm your racing heart. You can feel the tension between you and Ghost like a living, breathing creature. It prowls through your attention span, demanding you to look at his veiny arms or admire the muscled, hard line of his shoulders.

Soap appears in the doorway, “debrief is about to start.” He looks between you and Ghost. You wonder what Soap sees beyond the shiny sweat on your face. Thankfully, he doesn’t make any comments. He offers to show you the way to the debriefing room. Technically, Price already showed you.

However, you’re restless from your fight with Ghost. Your blood boils with anticipation and desire. And for the sake of your sanity, you smile and agree to follow Soap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He watches you go. His jaw is clenched. Nothing ever goes to plan when you’re involved, does it? You strike into his life like a viper, disappear, and then return like a thunderstorm that threatens to tear his house apart. He groans under his breath. You weren’t supposed to get under his skin. He is meant to be unattached, cold, and distant. You aren’t even teammates. You are on a temporary loan from the agency and will return to your proper life once this business in Spain is done. Yet, his resolve crumbled like a cheap biscuit when you muttered his name, breathless and sweet, and the sultry sound went straight to his cock. A fantasy flooded his mind: you, pinned beneath him on the mats, grinding your cunt into his cock until you cum inside your pants. Ghost forcefully pushes the fantasy into a dark cabinet. He can’t focus on the debrief if he’s thinking about the expression you might wear when you orgasm. Focus. He’s a special operative. He’s a killer. He’s got men relying on him. He can’t let himself get distracted. And he can’t let himself get comfortable. Your presence in his life is temporary.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your mission to Spain arrives in sweltering heat and blazing, white sunshine. He tracks your movements through the scope of his sniper. The street below thunders with car horns and civilians chatting, their conversations rise from the sidewalk to his sniper’s perch like a hum of bees. You effortlessly weave through the crowds.

Your voice croons through his comm, “got your eyes on me, Lt?”

He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked into the barracks two days ago.

“Affirmative.”

“Wonderful!” You chirp, “I’ve got eyes on our target.”

There isn’t a single ounce of nervousness or fear in your voice. He shouldn’t be so impressed by you, but Goddammit–he is. You were betrayed by your contact in Russia, yet you were willing to join the task force, and give your trust to a handful of strangers with a common goal. You played poker with Soap and Price. You laughed with them. And he can’t get your laugh out of his fucking head. He goes to bed at night, hardly dreaming, but your laughter still follows him. You didn’t spar with Gaz, but you showed him the basics of your own moves. Gaz tends to follow you around like a lost puppy. It’s embarrassing. He wants to tell him to get a grip, but he holds his tongue. You’ll be gone soon.

You never seek him out for a one-on-one conversation. But Ghost gets the impression that you’re waiting for him to make the next move. He adjusts his position. The scope hovers near the curve of your shoulder and is aimed at the heart of the man now sitting across from you. He watches over you less like a guardian angel and more like a 6ft mass of exhaustion and sexual frustration. In a brief moment of respite, you tilt your face toward the warm sunlight, and he notices the edge of your smile in his scope. Your shoulders tremble when you laugh.

“He can’t be that funny.” Ghost mutters to himself and is surprised by his own annoyance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re going to split apart at the seams. The heat and salt of Spain clung to your skin and your body buzzed with the feverish sensation of a job well done. There was something heady and unexplainable that traveled through your nervous system as Ghost watched you while you completed your mission. You can’t eat, you can’t think, and you realize you need to see him. Talk to him. Before your time is wasted like sand slipping through your fingers. Maybe Ghost is rejecting you, or maybe he’s trying to be a gentleman about it, but you won’t know until you have the conversation.

You disappear from the cafeteria while the others are eating and find your way to Ghosts’ room. Upon arrival, you expected all the operatives would need to share a room for team building or whatever. But that wasn’t the case with the Task Force. You rap your knuckles on the door.

“Hey, Ghost.”

The door opens a sliver. It’s dark behind him. He’s wearing his mask. Did he put it on before answering the door? Is he brooding in there? Shouldn’t he be celebrating?

“These are my private quarters, she-wolf.”

Your heart jumps into your throat at the old nickname.

“Ah,” You lean your forearm onto the wall and drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You must be busy reading dirty magazines.” You tease with an easy-going smile. Ghosts’ eyes narrow slightly.

“You should find me if you want to experience the real thing instead of a glossy photoshop with her tits out.” You push away from the wall. His door opens and his hand grabs your arm, pulling you into his room, and he shoves you against the closed door. Instinctively, you lift your knee to block him from crowding your space.

He rasps, “you trying to play games with me?”

“No games.” The single desk lamp behind him hums with light. “I’m being rather transparent about what I want.”

“What is it you want then?”

He’s either playing dumb or wants to hear you say it. You decide to indulge him.

“You.”

You drop your knee, snatch the front of Ghosts’ shirt, and pull him toward you. You press your lips firmly against the painted teeth of his mask. The fabric is rough and scratchy along your mouth, it tastes faintly of salt, and little white flecks of paint and black fibers cling to your lips. Ghost kisses you fiercely, his lips pinching and rolling the mask between your mouths until it grows wet with your joined salvia. His hands squeeze your hips, and your thighs, and then push beneath your thin t-shirt. He glides along your abdomen and your ribs before shoving underneath your sports bra. You whine into his mask. You’ve wanted him to touch you for days. You should’ve come to his room sooner. He kneads your flesh with his rough, large hands, squeezing your breasts and causing your back to arch. Your brain has fizzled and destroyed all coherent thought. There is only sensation and feeling. There is only his hand and the rough play of your mouths kissing against the barrier of his mask.

He breaks away, his chest heaving, “you’re full of bad ideas, did you know that?”

“My ideas have consistently saved our lives.” You reply, boastful.

“Are we countin’ the one where you tried ice fishing?”

“Yes.”

Ghost unfastens the front of your pants, “I’m inclined to disagree.” His fingers are warm and skim the waistband of your underwear. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes, absolutely, yes.”

You are not ashamed of your eagerness. To you, it’s more than simply sex or pleasure. Ghost - Simon - is someone you’ve trusted with your life on more than one occasion. He didn’t balk at your scars or demand their stories. He met you on equal grounds and few could claim to have your level of skill and talent. And with him, you are yourself. Fully, completely, and effortlessly. You can laugh as loud as you want. You can tease, flirt, and challenge. You can breathe. Your instinct of paranoia doesn’t disappear around him, but it does soften. He’s earned the precious and rare gift of your complete, golden trust.

He slides his palm down, into your underwear, and cups the front of your sex. Your head thumps into the door and your eyelashes flutter. His index and middle finger run along your folds and coat in your arousal. Ghost lets out a pleased, deep hum from the depths of his chest.

“Should’ve expected you’d be soaked.” He says “, especially after our sparring match.”

The memory of it ignites another wave of pleasure. His weight, his touch, his size, his lethal abilities, the depth of his eyes.

“I wasn’t the only one hot and bothered.” You quip before his fingers rub a circle over your swollen clit. Your hips jerk into his palm.

“Mhm.” He nudges his knee between your legs and forces them wider. His other hand cups your breast, fingertips digging into your side, while his thumb strokes idly across your hardened nipple. The light, teasing touch sends sharp, short shockwaves straight to your core.

“Did you get off?” You ask, genuinely curious, “thinking of me?”

Ghosts’ fingers plunge into your wet cunt. You gasp, feeling the delicious stretch, feeling his rumble of appreciation against your chest. You cling to Ghost with a keening, desperate sound that would embarrass and fluster your neighbors.

“Might’ve.” He replies, his voice dark and husky, like crushing black velvet into your chest. You imagine Ghost in his room, squeezing his cock, thinking of you. Your body quakes. He’s unraveling you. He’s pulling you apart piece by piece. His fingers slicken and deepen, his pace quickening, and your toes curl inside your boots.

“Oh god, oh god.” You pant, lost in the delirium of pleasure and chasing the rising crest of your orgasm.

“Name’s Simon, sweetheart, or have you forgotten?” His mask scrapes along your earlobe from where he’s buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“Is that what you want?” Your nails dig into the corded muscle of his biceps. “Gonna have to - ah, fuck!” Your words are cut off in a whine, and you manage to knock two brain cells together to finish your sentence “- hear you say it. Wanna hear you say it.”

“You tryin’ to give me orders?”

“I’m trying to come.” You smile briefly.

His finger crooks and you see stars. “Trying to boss me around as well.”

It’s a small mercy he hasn’t stopped touching you, slick and obscene, his fingers thrusting in and out of your weeping cunt. Your hips erratically chase his touch, and your clothes are restrictive on your skin. You want to touch him, feel his sweat, lose yourself in him. Your walls squeeze around his fingers.

He orders, “look at me,” and his other hand carefully squeezes around your throat. The pressure is perfect. It’s enough to make your blood pound, but not so harsh that he’s restricting your airflow.

“Atta girl.” He says when you meet his eyes, your gaze is heavily lidded and lustful.

“Say my name when you come.”

You gasp. The edge of your orgasm pounds at the apex of your thighs. Your abdomen muscles clench and tightness wounds at the base of your spine. He presses the heel of his palm into your clit, grinding in a small, circular motion, while his fingers shift inside you. Somewhere in the haze of desire, you realize he is kissing the side of your neck through his mask. The tension finally and wonderfully snaps.

“S-Simon!” You cry as your body twitches and your orgasm hits you like a flashbang. It’s disorientating. Your ears start to ring. You blink slowly until the world comes back into focus.

He speaks into the shell of your ear, “gonna be thinking about this for a while.”

“Oh?” Your frazzled brain and heavy tongue cannot summon any other grace or intelligence to your response. Ghost slowly withdraws his hand from your core. You exhale shakily like a baby fawn testing its legs. He pushes the front of your shirt toward your breasts, and you wordlessly lift your arms (there is some humor in the fact that this is the second time Ghost has undressed you). He peels off your sweaty sports bra and your skin prickles with tiny bumps as it's exposed to the cool air. Ghost is looking at you with pure, dark hunger in his eyes. He could swallow you in the depths of his eyes.

He touches your neck, close to your scarred collarbone, and gently lifts the charm dangling from your necklace.

“This is new.” He regards it. “What is it? A butterfly?”

“A moth.” You correct him. “It’s a reminder.”

“For what?” His tone is genuinely curious, and a tad surprised. You swallow. The truth of the necklace is another demonstration of vulnerability, of trust. Yet, offering it to him is as simple as peeling your clothes away.

You explain, “to go towards the light. ‘Cause moths always go to the light.”

He grumbles softly and releases the charm from his fingertips. “They end up dyin’ most of the time, don’t they?”

“You’re a pessimist, Riley.”

“I’m a realist.”

Your hands skim along his waist, fingertips dragging teasingly across the hard muscles of his lower stomach and his happy trail tickles the pads of your fingertips when you ghost over it. Your hand dips lower. You lick your lips, and his eyes track the flit of your tongue.

“Sit.” You tell him while palming the front of his pants across the impressive and weighty bulge of his straining, hard cock.

“I prefer to stand.” His thumb runs across your lower lip, pulling down and revealing the line of your gums. “Easier to watch.”

“Bit of a voyeur, are we?” You tease before pulling his thumb into your mouth and suckling softly. You can taste yourself on him. Though, you wish you could see more of his expression beyond his darkening, intense gaze. You release his digit and subdue your moan. His zipper sliding is somehow louder than the blood pounding in your ears. You push his trousers and boxer briefs down and are rewarded with the sight of his cock. Your inner walls twinge.

He yanks his shirt over his head once you kneel before him. He is uniquely beautiful in his lethality and raw protection. He is corded, with tight muscle and pure, chiseled strength. His thighs, his legs, his chest–you feel as if you can sink your teeth into him. You encircle his engorged cock in your palm. And he is girthy and warm in your palm. You tentatively squeeze him, working your hand from the base to tip, and Ghost hisses through his teeth. You drop sweet, open-mouthed kisses across the hardness of his thighs and the line of his hips. You suspect your jaw is going to ache later if you take him into your mouth. But fuck it. Life is short. You want to enjoy every second he gives you.

You flatten your tongue along his base and swipe upward. You play over him with your tongue and your lips and his cock twitches beneath your ministrations. He is so quiet. His breath shudders. You think you may have enchanted him.

You open your jaw and bring his tip into your mouth. Ghost - trained military operative, excellent at what he does, and feared by his enemies - gasps deeply. The sound is like he touched upon divine revelation. His palm settles on top of your head. He doesn’t pull or grab you. The weight and pressure are simply there. You inch your mouth over him, tongue massaging his pulsing vein, and draw him as deep as you can. Your eyes momentarily roll into the back of your skull. He’s big. There’s no other way to describe him. Your saliva drools out of the corners of your mouth and glistens in stringy ropes when you pull away. You swallow him once more, wrapping his cock around one hand and following the trail of your mouth, your grasp slick and slippery. With his cock inside your mouth, you imagine what he might feel like inside of you. How deep, how good it would feel.

Your cheeks hollow out. And Ghost whimpers from above.

Fuck. Your thighs rub together in an attempt to add friction to the building arousal and tension at your core. There is something insanely, deeply erotic about the filthy, sweet noise you just coaxed from his lips. You want him to do it again, and again until it’s all you hear.

You draw him out of your mouth momentarily, “say my name.” You glide your tongue along the side of him, “when you’re about to come.”

“Fuck me,” growls Ghost.

“Oh.” You smile, your lips tingling. “I’d love to.”

“Think you can take me?”

You moan around his length in a muffled, throaty, “mhm.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” His hand squeezes the nape of your neck. Your head bobs, drawing him in, letting him hit the deepest part you can handle before pulling away. Your wet fingers twist and squeeze as your pace increases and you manage to get Ghost to whimper again. Through lidded eyes, you see his thighs twitch and his stomach flex. You moan and feel the vibration through your mouth. Ghost mutters a string of filthy, debauched curses. Unable to resist or ignore the building tension, you push your free hand between your legs and rub at your soaked core through your underwear. You peer up at him through your eyelashes. He holds eye contact and roughly proclaims your name.

You suddenly release his cock from your mouth and hand, “Ghost, I want to fuck you.”

He grabs your elbows, pulls you from the floor, and nudges you to lie on his small bed. His large hands grab your hips, fiercely tugging your pants off and your boots thump loudly onto the floor. He prowls over you, his hands on your knees, but you scramble back, and your head lightly hits the wall.

You say, “not like this.”

“How then?” His voice is tight with constrained, desperate desire.

“Lie down.”

To your immediate relief, Ghost does as you ask. You swing your leg over his hips and hold the base of his cock, lining him up at your entrance. Your spine trembles with anticipation.

“You said you like to watch.” You grin. You sink yourself swiftly onto his waiting cock and Ghost’s neck arches back to reveal the straining shape of his tendons. You can’t read his expression, but his hands communicate more than enough. He kneads your ass and squeezes your hips or thighs.

“There, yes, like that–” You gasp, drawing yourself up and down over him, feeling the wonderful stretch, the wetness that builds on your inner thighs. He lets you keep control, letting you choose the depth, the speed, while his hands greedily roam the expanse of your skin and tenderly trace the outlines of your scars. There is not a single inch of your skin that Ghost hasn’t touched.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so good. You feel so good.” You whine quietly, cognizant that the others could return from dinner at any moment. Your hands splayed across his muscled chest like two perfect stars. His thumb finds your clit and rubs in tandem with your thrusts. The world goes hazy, blurred, and perfect. Everything melts beyond you and Ghost and the smooth joining of your bodies.

Ghost says, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

It’s a struggle to open your eyes with the onslaught of sensation. His cock is buried inside you, rubbing against your walls, and his hand is playing with your clit while the other clutches your ass. If you open your eyes, you’ll shatter. You’ll lose yourself. You’ll fracture into a thousand tiny stars and be remade in the depths of the cosmos.

“Can’t.” You choke out.

“You can.” His voice is breathless, panting, and your ego swells with pride. You can make Simon whimper. You can make him breathless. How many others could claim that same honor? Very few if you had to guess. You pry your eyes open with sheer willpower. Ghost is staring at you through the darkened paint. He watches you with hunger, with admiration, with lust, respect, and perhaps–even–a touch of possessiveness. Ghost lifts his knees, planting his feet, and thrusts into you. You cover your mouth to muffle your sudden, bitten-off cry. You squeeze your fingers into your cheek and feel the ridges of your teeth. Your walls flutter around him, trying to pull him deeper, and your bodies shine with sweat.

“F-fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” You admit hurriedly. His cock pistons in and out of you, drawing stars at the forefront of your vision, and you clamp your hand over your mouth again.

“Keep lookin’ at me, she-wolf. I want to watch. I want to watch you come.” His gravelly voice tears any stubborn resolve to ribbons.

You hold onto his gaze for several more strokes, his fingers moving in firm concentric patterns across your clit, and then your orgasm takes hold. Your eyes squeeze shut, your body spasms, and you toss your head back in wanton and wild abandon. Ghost fucks you through it. His hands are on your waist. His cock is drenched by your arousal. Your body goes limp, and you feel akin to a ragdoll as Ghost rolls you over and pins you to the mattress.

“Fuck.” He rasps, bottoming out, and your hands grip the sheets and your legs twitch and kick wildly. “It’s like you were made for me.”

He rocks into you, deep and slow, savoring every inch with low, warm grunts. Your over-sensitive nerves pulse under his touch. Yet, despite the inevitable soreness, you buck your hips into his and groan. You want to remember this on a tactile level. You want to walk sideways for the next three days because he’s ruined you. You reach up, toward his face, and Ghost does not flinch away. Your chest swells with some unidentifiable emotion. You lightly grip his neck and sense his rapid pulse beneath his jawline. You apply soft, constant pressure to his throat. His chest rumbles with enjoyment and low, deep praise.

“I’m not your grandma’s teacup, Simon.” You tease.

“I rather like that about you.”

“Oh, you like me?”

He mutters, “I like you screaming.”

Ghost spreads your thighs wide. Your hip flares at the awkward, yet firm pressure of this angle. But then Ghost is moving again–not slow and deep anymore–but fast, and pounding, and your chest hiccups with lost breath.

He huffs, driving into you all his wiry, solid strength, his cock slamming into your cunt with ruthless efficiency. He maneuvers your legs to perch upon his broad shoulders. Your brain shuts off. You turn into a blubbering, gasping mess of clenched fists and quivering muscles. Ghost watches you, staring into the depths of your eyes, drinking in every single sound you make, every expression, everything. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the room.

You press your lips together, breathing hard and rapidly through your nostrils, trying your damnedest to not scream at the top of your lungs. The absolute last interruption you need is the rest of the task force barreling into the room. Your cunt squeezes him. Another orgasm rises from the root of your spine like a phoenix. Your clit throbs with oversensitivity. You can’t come again, can you? will you? You grab Simons’ wrists for the sake of an anchor. He is panting your name over and over again under his breath.

You keen, “fuck, Simon - ah - fuck.”

“That’s my girl,” He praises, voice scraping like sandpaper against every dark chamber of your heart, “you can come for me one more time.”

His hand slaps sharply against the swell of your ass. It is a heady combination of his timbre, his words, and the sight of him thrusting, his mask damp and the painted jawbone stark and shifting in the dim light. And you come. You trap your scream behind both hands, pressed to your mouth, and salty tears blur your vision as you gush and convulse around him. Your blood roars, a wild lion in your ears, and your inner walls flutter and pulse with the aftershock. Above the din, you faintly hear Ghost release a restrained and reverberating groan. You watch with fascination as his lower abdominals tense up. His cock slips wetly out of your throbbing, sore folds. He grips his fist around his cock, sliding easily and squeezing, before his cum spurts onto the bedsheets and smears onto your inner thigh. His shoulders quake and his breath hitch into a soft, elongated moan. The paint around his eyes is smudged and rivulets of his sweat have revealed parts of his face like glimpses of the sky through fluffy clouds.

His massive, sweaty form drapes over your body, arms caged around you, face tucked near your neck. He’s your very own weighted blanket with a pulse. And his heart hammers into your chest. Neither of you says anything. Your fingers lazily trail along his sides, catching ridges of his scars, gliding across his muscles and the swooping curve of his ribs. You sigh, content, exhaustion, and satisfaction tug your eyelids.

“I’m never going to be able to spar with you again.” You announce.

Simon chuckles. The sound vibrates against your chest and travels like thunder across your skin. It feels like a gift. His thumb is stroking one of your scars, the one near your hip, in a surprisingly tender gesture. It’s as if he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

He says, “I like this better than sparring.”

You slide your hands along his chest, savoring how his muscles ripple, and your hands wrap around his strong neck. His pulse pounds beneath your palms and fingers. You watch his eyes. They flutter and darken as you apply light pressure. You want to kiss him. You lean upward.

“Wait,” says Simon.

His thumb wiggles under the edge of his mask. Your heart gallops, breath seized in your lungs–is he really going to show his face? You don’t try to hide your awe-struck expression. Simon tugs the mask toward his nose, enough to reveal his mouth and chin, but no further. His lips are full and chapped, dark-blonde stubble shadows across his chin and jaw.

He drops his mouth onto yours. You groan breathlessly into him. He sucks your lower lip between his, nibbling softly, and you might just drown in the focused intensity of his kiss. You push your tongue into his warm mouth, claiming, seeking, your kiss desperate and filthy and smearing saliva across your chin and upper lip. Your fingers twist the hair at the nape of his neck, worshiping the short, soft strands, and idly wondering about their color. He is an enigma, but he has given you more than you ever expected–more than you deserved.

Your mind will replay this moment a thousand times in the days to come. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, a sweaty and whimpering mess, panting, repeating your name like it’s his prayer to salvation. You wish you could find the courage to explain how he makes you feel. The safety, the belonging, the respect, and admiration. You told a white lie earlier. Your necklace charm is a ‘Death’s Head Moth,’ and the specific creature has a vaguely human skull-shaped pattern on the thorax. The charm is your own private, secret tie to him. A delicate skull motif to mirror his mask. A reminder of your time together and your time apart.

His mask presses and scratches roughly against your cheek and nose. You don’t mind. You whimper, suckling his tongue, a distant far-off voice that doesn’t sound like your own begs for “More, please.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

At your honeyed little plea, Ghost gives all he can. He kisses you, though he logically knows it’s a piss-poor idea to deepen your connection, to give you what you want so willingly and without consequence. His hands firmly hold your hips, travel greedily along your firm thighs, and cradle your jaw in a possessive, squeezing grip. He doesn’t want to let you go. This is the exact reason why he shouldn’t have gotten close to you.

You writhe below him. Fuck it. He pins you deeper into the mattress, appreciating how your mouth opens for him, and the needy little sounds that he pulls from your throat. You are muscled, scarred, and firm but beneath his hands, you are soft and pliant, and you mold into his touch like you were built for him. He isn’t afraid of touching you, isn’t afraid that he might break you, or that you might become terrified of him. He’s read your file. He knows you’ve got plenty of demons in your own closet. You gasp into his mouth and latch your teeth around his lower lip. A burning sensation travels down his chest, straight to his gut, and reminds him of fine bourbon. His lips travel across your jaw in tiny, brief kisses, his stubble tickling your sensitive skin. His teeth and tongue find your pulse, suckling your skin between them, making your spine arch and your thighs clamp around his hips. He doesn’t leave a mark despite his desire to do so. A mark will lead to questions. You don’t need to endure any nosiness or gossip from his teammates.

Ghost sighs, drawing his mouth regretfully away, and rests his forehead against yours. Your eyes are glassy, face damp from tears and sweat, and his pride combusts like the fucking sun. He did that. He put that dazed, fucked-out expression on your face. How the hell is he going to cope with you walking around the barracks? His soft cock twitches between his legs.

“Have they given you a title yet?” He asks.

You shake your head. He suspects the others will grant you a nickname or codename soon (unless you come up with one on your own).

“Hm.” He presses his lips together. Your eyes drop to his mouth, not lustfully, but in appreciation and wonder as if you’re memorizing the shape of his lips. Your thumb reverently slides along the thin scar that travels over his upper lip.

He says, “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

A spark of light enters your eyes, and your smile cuts a fresh laceration onto his cold heart.

“I will veto any suggestion you come up with.” You say with that damned cheeky smile of yours. He thinks that smile is going to be burned onto his retinas. He thinks it’ll be the last thing he sees before a bullet or blade finally manages to meet his heart. His laugh is low and rumbling, and scratchy inside his throat from disuse. Your eyes widen. You glow from within. Ghost covers his lips over yours, smothering your smile, trying to ignore how you pull his heartstrings taught and threaten to snap them. He can feel your exhaustion in your kiss, the sloppy roll of your lips, and the lazy swirl of your tongue. He wants to applaud your stamina, to reward it, but the best reward would be rest. No one will disturb you here. No one will harm you, either. You are safe.

He rolls off your body and tugs his mask back down before propping his head up with his hand to watch you. This is familiar. He watched over you dozens of times when you escaped St. Petersburg. You turn your face, and the tip of your nose is pressed into his collarbone. You inhale deeply and slowly. Your necklace rests in the valley between your breasts and the little charm glows faintly.

“Lux.” He murmurs.

“Hm?” Your response is from somewhere deep in your chest, your tone sleepy and subdued.

“My suggestion for your codename.” He explains.

It’s the Latin term for ‘light.’ He’s not sure why you seek him out if you've always meant to ‘find the light.’ But he decides not to question it. Maybe this moment is his calm before the shitstorm. The world is offering him one final, precious gift before you’re ripped away. He traces an almost fatal scar near your heart. He shouldn’t care about who will watch over you once you leave the task force. He does, though. It would be messy, complicated, and risky if you stayed, but a selfish and smothered part of him wishes you could.

You grumble, “I suppose that one isn’t too terrible.”

“My next suggestion is PIMA.”

“Pima?” One of your eyes squinted open.

“Pain in my arse.”

You laugh loudly, your belly trembling beneath his palm, and Ghost shushes you. He doesn’t need his teammates asking questions about why they heard you in his quarters. You were quiet when he fucked you, but somehow–sharing his bed, telling jokes–it feels like a deeper sense of intimacy. It feels sacred and secret. In his eyes, you don’t follow the light. You are the light. And he’s going to blind himself like a tragic Greek hero, going to melt his own wings like Icarus flying too close to the sun. He’s already doomed, already cursed, so he might as well enjoy the ride. He draws his blanket over your naked bodies and pillows his head on his arm.

“I’ll smuggle you out later,” says Ghost.

You roll over, half-asleep, and curl into his warmth. He prepares himself for the inevitable pain of your departure. He watches the steady rise and fall of your deep breath. He traces the curves and angles of your body with his gaze. He commits the minuscule and remarkable pieces to memory. The shell of your ear that holds his whispered voice. The lush shape of your mouth that murmurs his name. The crescent moon of your nails that dig into his skin. The bumpy ridges and knobs of your knuckles, your elbows, your spine. He doesn’t sleep. He can’t. He lightly strokes his fingers down the middle of your back and hardens his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Years Later…

You scramble through the city with smoke and sand scratching your lungs. The ground beneath your feet trembles and a shrill whistle cut through the air. The dusky air tastes of dust and gunfire and acrid terror. Your pistol is gripped tightly in your hand, your ammunition is low, and your left arm is drenched in blood. A rush of civilians surge past you like a school of fish fleeing a shark, they bleat like sheep, and they see your gun and your blood and give you a wide berth.

A swirl of white spots dances in front of your vision. A helicopter whirls loudly above and kicks up another storm of loose trash and sand. You stubbornly keep moving. Another whistle, another vibration at your feet, and you collapse behind the cover of a dilapidated market stall. The hours of daylight are slipping through your fingers.

You should’ve gotten out sooner. But there’s no time for regret in this line of work. You can only roll with the tide, keep your head above water, tread the storm and pray you aren’t tossed against the sharp rocks.

After checking if it's clear, you run down an adjoining alleyway, and your heart pounds in time with your feet on the pavement. A chorus of gunfire bellows from behind you like an angry, destructive beast. You flatten against a building corner and peer around the edge. Your lungs freeze. A small retinue of soldiers is moving down the street. You swallow. You taste ash, smoke, and blood. Your fingers flex on your pistol. They’re carrying heavy artillery, equipped in tactical gear, though they’re too far away to ascertain if they’re friendly or not. You can’t risk it. You’ll need to sneak past them.

You lean back against the wall. A forearm suddenly slams into your throat and rips the breath from your lungs. You panic for a fraction of a second, body tensing, ready to fight, but then you recognize those warm, toffee eyes surrounded by dark paint and the chipping, paint-flecked skull mask. Ghost's chest heaves with labored breath and his eyes study your face like a starved man before a buffet. You lick your dry, chapped lips as a sense of relief floods you. If Ghost is here, then there’s a good chance that the soldiers are friendly, and you can extract yourself from the warzone.

You grab his wrist, “steady on, Ghost.” You say, repeating the first words he ever spoke to you. His eyes drop from your face to your neck, where your moth-charm necklace intimately rests in your bosom. He notices your wounded arm and a droplet of blood falls from your middle fingertip.

“You should’ve evacuated with the rest of the civs.” He lessens his pressure on your throat, “a helicopter is 2 klicks east of here.”

You nod. “Got it.”

“Avoid the fountain,” you say, “there’s a sniper in one of the buildings. I couldn’t get to him.” Your eyes flick to your shoulder. Either the sniper isn’t very good or you’re very lucky, but you have zero intentions of returning to that section of the city. You will not try to play hero or act beyond your skill set. Ghost relays the intel through his communication device and takes a step backward.

“Get out of here, Lux!” He admonishes. A crescent sickle-shaped moon rises slowly from the twilight blue horizon. There is no time for reunions, farewells, or good luck. You spare Ghost a brief, ash-tinged smile and follow the light, toward the moon, and toward your rescue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stare at the bland, white tile of the infirmary ceiling. Your left arm is wrapped and pinned to your chest in a sling. The air still smells like smoke, and blood, with an undercurrent of a stringent alcohol antiseptic. You close your eyes. The world fades to a muted, muddled gray. When you open them again, the room is dark, and there is a hulking black shape sitting in the chair beside you.

Your voice is dry and cracked, “you again?” You can’t believe he’s here. He came to visit. What did that mean?

“You ought to be sleeping.”

You roll your eyes. “I literally just was.”

Your fingers twitch on the blankets. You wish you could reach out, touch him, and confirm his realness and solidness. Ghost fills a paper cup with water and offers it to you. You fight the urge to guzzle it down and sip it slowly. This isn’t your first time in an infirmary bed and it won’t be your last. You feel Ghosts’ eyes on you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You ask while crushing the paper cup in your palm.

“You should be dead.” He observes.

You shrug and bite back your wince. “I’ve heard that before.”

The silence stretches. Ghost doesn’t even fidget in his seat. You stare at him in the blue-black darkness and wait for the mirage to vanish. You recall rejecting pain medication, but maybe they gave you something that induces hallucinations. Your hand twitches again.

You ask quietly, “Ghost, can you come here?”

“Why?” He replies, gruff and suspicious. This is either an incredibly accurate and vivid manifestation of your subconscious desire or it’s really, truly him.

“Because I want to see if you’re real.”

He huffs and leans closer. You sit up slowly. Your heart thumps wildly. Your trembling hand settles on his cheek, on his mask, and you sigh–a broken, relieved sound. His eyelashes flutter. You have dreamed of him, thousands upon thousands of times. But your dreams are mere shadows, trickster illusions, a paltry and pathetic excuse in comparison.

“We can’t keep running into each other like this.” Your smile wobbles at the edges. His hands are clenched into fists on his lap.

“Got any mad ideas then?” asks Ghost.

“Not this time.” You laugh weakly and the sound rattles inside your ribcage.

He sighs. “Pity.”

“You never said goodbye.” You say unexpectedly, “when I left the task force.” Everyone else did. They shook your hand or clapped you warmly on the shoulder. You kept foolishly hoping he’d show up at the last second for a private farewell. Your thumb caresses the painted molar teeth on his mask. When Ghost doesn’t reply, you release a burdensome sigh and drop your hand away from his face.

He catches your wrist before it hits the bed.

“You don’t get goodbyes in this line of work.” His fingertips press firmly into your pulse point. His eyes are tired and hollow when he holds your gaze. He’s right. There are no farewells, no funerals, no mourners. You’ve come to terms with this. When you meet your eventual end, you’ll become a classified and closed document in the file cabinet. Or maybe they’ll burn your record. There are no happy endings. There is no quiet, civilian life for you. You are a honed weapon. You serve a purpose. Your time with Simon, brief, beautiful, and bright, is something you’ll cherish until your final breath.

“Well, then… it sounds like this is my last chance to say it…” A hot, prickly sensation tickles the back of your throat.

“Simon Riley…” You say with some difficulty, “goodbye.”

He bows his head, breaking eye contact and obscuring himself, but you feel his fingers tighten around your wrist. He brings your joined hands toward him. His lips, covered by his skeletal smile, press into your knuckles. Your nostrils flare in a shuddering, warbly inhale. Death is easy, you think. It’s quick. It’s the goodbyes that are difficult. Everything unsaid weighs around your neck and wraps shackles and chains around your heart. You hoped you’d feel better with this closure. But you don’t.

His chair squeaks when he rises. You turn your face away and stare at an empty spot on the freckled and shiny green-gray linoleum. You blink back your surprised tears and attribute them to a combination of exhaustion and receding adrenaline.

Simon’s gloved fingertips cup your jaw, and he guides your face to look up at him. The pale moonlight glowing through the window and the various neon-green flashes of medical equipment paint his mask in an otherworldly hue. His eyes are shadowed and fathomless and dark. They bore into you and erode every defense you’ve crafted.

His low, rough, and accented burr replies in a tender; “Goodbye,” he finishes the farewell with your name. He leaves the room with no evidence of his arrival or time shared with you. A ghost ‘till the very end. You watch the door until a reddish dawn creep through the slates in the window shade and you’re pulled to sleep.

You dream of ghosts, of warm and calloused hands, and a voice that pours like smooth whiskey through your veins.

( Part 3 )

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(tag list: @anonymousmay22 // @urisu // @sodbos // @confuseddipshit ) sorry if i missed anyone who wanted to be tagged LOL

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley fanfic #ghost x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty mw2 fanfic

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qqueenofhades · 5 months

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hello! you asked for winter prompts? ❄️🌨

- first snow

- baby, it's cold outside

- holidays in the city

- hot chocolate

and i have a hankering for some Fivan but anything you want to write is lovely! 💙

The wind off the water stings like a whip, and the stormclouds roiling in the northern sky are laden with the promise of snow, the first of the season -- which in Weddle comes much later than it did back in Os Alta, where winter often lasted five or six months of the year. Fedyor isn't entirely used to the gentler, warmer, mistier climate of Novyi Zem, or Novyi Zem in general, but he can't say that he objects. In fact, it's nice not to freeze his arse off in a tent, or a battlefield, or wherever he was spending the latest campaign. Of course, Ivan is worried that it might turn them soft, but that's just Ivan for you. It's three months since they arrived in Weddle and got a small apartment in its city districts, settling awkwardly into their new life, but he still stays on his toes, tense and watchful, just waiting for something to go wrong. Even here, on the far side of the True Sea, far from Ravka, his face could be infamous, and if Queen Alina is inclined to pursue the vendetta that drove them into exile in the first place....

Fedyor sighs, shakes his head, and continues on his way. By the time he reaches the market square, the first flakes are swirling down, and he pulls up his hood -- it's still strange not to be wearing a kefta -- and greets the merchants politely. Neither he nor Ivan speak Zemeni particularly well, but Fedyor is a quick study and Ivan is extremely stubborn, so between the two of them, they've picked up enough to get by. There are enough immigrants around here that they can get by in a rough polyglot of Ravkan and Kerch, but it's better not to draw attention to themselves. You know. Just in case.

Fedyor finishes his shopping and heads home through the narrow streets, windows lit with candles and pine wreaths hung on doors, kids laughing and looking at the sky in eager expectation of snowballs with which to wreak generalized havoc. He likes the energy of it, the ordinary vivacity of living among regular people and not shut away behind the cloistered walls of the Little Palace, and he stops to savor it for a long moment. Then he ducks into a narrow stone doorway, fumbles with his mittened hand for the key, and opens it, ascending a creaky staircase to the second floor. Pushes the door open and calls, "Vanya, I'm home."

His husband glances up briefly, his scars looking particularly pronounced in the grey light, and silently satisfies himself that Fedyor is in one piece. Then he says, as usual, "Any trouble?"

"No." Fedyor knows why he asks, but he does feel that if there was, he could handle it, lingering parem hangover or otherwise. He carries the shopping into the crammed galley kitchen and begins to unload it, as Ivan pads in, leans against the doorway, and watches him like a lone wolf. Over his shoulder, Fedyor adds, "We could even go out and do something, you know. Something fun."

Ivan snorts. Ravka or Novyi Zem, it doesn't matter; Ivan and fun simply do not go in the same sentence. "Or not."

Fedyor raises an eyebrow, but decides not to press. Instead he fills the kettle with milk to warm it, melts some chocolate in the tarnished tin pan, and stirs it into two cups, handing one to Ivan. "Fine, then. Suit yourself."

They sip the hot chocolate for several moments, neither of them speaking, falling into that long-married silence where they don't need words to communicate. Then Ivan says at last, "I wish we could, Fedya. I just -- I don't think -- I'm not in the mood."

Fedyor could remark that when it comes to doing anything frivolous, Ivan rarely is, but he knows the feeling. Part of his eagerness to go out and socialize and make the best of it, in the way he habitually does as much as Ivan glowers in solitude, is to cover up that bone-deep pain, the sundering and the loss, the knowledge that it might be a very long time -- if ever -- until they go home again. He's grateful for the new life they're building in Weddle, even though it's decidedly out of the pulverized ashes of their old one, but that can't whisk away the ache. Then Fedyor finishes the hot chocolate and sets aside the cup, puts his arms around Ivan's neck, and snuggles close. "In that case," he orders, "keep me warm some other way. It's cold out."

Ivan smiles, just a bit, the way he does with Fedyor and no one else. He brushes a kiss over Fedyor's temple, slips his arm around him, and holds him close, and they stand there in the kitchen, listening to the shared echo of their heartbeat -- always, no matter where they are in the wide world, the one thing that feels like home. Then he shifts his position and lifts Fedyor up onto the counter, moving close to kiss him and let everything else fall away. "As you wish."

#anonymous #ask #fivan #fivan ff #heartrender husbands #sab ff #winter prompts

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ckerouac · 25 days

Text

Alright, for @spaceorphan18 my list of the books I’ve read in the first chunk of this year (Jan-Apr) that I’d highly recommend. My 4 stars & above.

Fiction

Paladin's Faith by T Kingfisher

Marguerite Florian is a spy with two problems. A former employer wants her dead, and one of her new bodyguards is a far too good-looking paladin with a martyr complex. Shane is a paladin with three problems. His god is dead, his client is much too attractive for his peace of mind, and a powerful organization is trying to have them both killed. Add in a brilliant artificer with a device that may change the world, a glittering and dangerous court, and a demon-led cult, and Shane and Marguerite will be lucky to escape with their souls intact, never mind their hearts…

Our Share of Night by Mariana Enríquez

A young father and son set out on a road trip, devastated by the death of the wife and mother they both loved. United in grief, the pair travel to her ancestral home, where they must confront the terrifying legacy she has bequeathed: a family called the Order that commits unspeakable acts in search of immortality. For Gaspar, the son, this maniacal cult is his destiny. As the Order tries to pull him into their evil, he and his father take flight, attempting to outrun a powerful clan that will do anything to ensure its own survival. But how far will Gaspar’s father go to protect his child? And can anyone escape their fate?

Death Valley by Melissa Broder

A woman arrives alone at a Best Western seeking respite from an emptiness that plagues her. She has fled to the California high desert to escape a cloud of sorrow—for both her father in the ICU and a husband whose illness is worsening. What the motel provides, however, is not peace but a path, thanks to a receptionist who recommends a nearby hike. Out on the sun-scorched trail, the woman encounters a towering cactus whose size and shape mean it should not exist in California. Yet the cactus is there, with a gash through its side that beckons like a familiar door. So she enters it. What awaits her inside this mystical succulent sets her on a journey at once desolate and rich, hilarious and poignant.

The Pisces by Melissa Broder

Lucy has been writing her dissertation on Sappho for nine years when she and her boyfriend break up in a dramatic flameout. After she bottoms out in Phoenix, her sister in Los Angeles insists Lucy dog-sit for the summer. Everything changes when Lucy becomes entranced by an eerily attractive swimmer while sitting alone on the beach rocks one night. But when Lucy learns the truth about his identity, their relationship, and Lucy's understanding of what love should look like, take a very unexpected turn.

Nonfiction

The Indifferent Stars Above: The Harrowing Saga of the Donner Party by Daniel James Brown

In April of 1846, twenty-one-year-old Sarah Graves, intent on a better future, set out west from Illinois with her new husband, her parents, and eight siblings. Seven months later, after joining a party of pioneers led by George Donner, they reached the Sierra Nevada Mountains as the first heavy snows of the season closed the pass ahead of them. In early December, starving and desperate, Sarah and fourteen others set out for California on snowshoes, and, over the next thirty-two days, endured almost unfathomable hardships and horrors.

Prequel: An American Fight Against Fascism by Rachel Maddow

Inspired by her research for the hit podcast Ultra, Rachel Maddow charts the rise of a wild American strain of authoritarianism that has been alive on the far-right edge of our politics for the better part of a century. Before and even after our troops had begun fighting abroad in World War II, a clandestine network flooded the country with disinformation aimed at sapping the strength of the U.S. war effort and persuading Americans that our natural alliance was with the Axis, not against it. It was a sophisticated and shockingly well-funded campaign to undermine democratic institutions, promote antisemitism, and destroy citizens’ confidence in their elected leaders, with the ultimate goal of overthrowing the U.S. government and installing authoritarian rule. While the scheme has been remembered in history—if at all—as the work of fringe players, in reality it involved a large number of some of the country’s most influential elected officials. Their interference in law enforcement efforts against the plot is a dark story of the rule of law bending and then breaking under the weight of political intimidation. That failure of the legal system had consequences. The tentacles of that unslain beast have reached forward into our history for decades.

Ice: From Mixed Drinks to Skating Rinks—A Cool History of a Hot Commodity by Amy Brady

In Ice, journalist and historian Amy Brady shares the strange and storied two-hundred-year-old history of ice in America: from the introduction of mixed drinks “on the rocks,” to the nation’s first-ever indoor ice rink, to how delicacies like ice creams and iced tea revolutionized our palates, to the ubiquitous ice machine in every motel across the US. But Ice doesn’t end in the past. Brady also explores the surprising present-day uses of ice in sports, medicine, and sustainable energy—including cutting-edge cryotherapy breast-cancer treatments and new refrigerator technologies that may prove to be more energy efficient—underscoring how precious this commodity is, especially in an age of climate change.

Entangled Life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures by Merlin Sheldrake

Sheldrake’s vivid exploration takes us from yeast to psychedelics, to the fungi that range for miles underground and are the largest organisms on the planet, to those that link plants together in complex networks known as the “Wood Wide Web,” to those that infiltrate and manipulate insect bodies with devastating precision. Sheldrake reveals how these extraordinary organisms—and our relationships with them—are changing our understanding of how life works.

Toxic: Women, Fame, and the Tabloid 2000s by Sarah Ditum

Welcome to celebrity culture in the early aughts: the reign of Perez Hilton, celebrity sex tapes, and dueling tabloids fed by paparazzi who were willing to do anything to get the shot. Toxic tells the stories of nine women who defined the hell of celebrity in the 2000s and explores how they were devoured by fame, how they attempted to control their own narratives, and how they succeeded or (more often) failed. These women come from all walks of fame—pop music, acting, reality TV, and WWE wrestling. Some of them you think you know already, and others will be less familiar, but Toxic reveals these women neither as pure victims nor as conniving strategists, but as complex individuals trying to navigate celebrity while under attack from a vicious and fast-changing media.

Nuclear War: A Scenario by Annie Jacobsen

There is only one scenario other than an asteroid strike that could end the world as we know it in a matter of hours: nuclear war. And one of the triggers for that war would be a nuclear missile inbound toward the United States. Nuclear War: A Scenario examines the handful of minutes after a nuclear missile launch.

UFO: The inside story of the US government’s search for alien life here - and out there by Garrett M. Graff

For as long as we have looked to the skies, the question of whether life on Earth is the only life to exist has been at the core of the human experience, driving scientific debate and discovery, shaping spiritual belief, and prompting existential thought across borders and generations. And yet, the idea of extraterrestrial intelligence has been largely seen as a joke, banished to the realm of fantasy and conspiracy. Now, for the first time, the full story of our national obsession with UFOs—and the covert, decades-long search by scientists, the United States military, and the CIA for proof of alien life—is told by bestselling author and Pulitzer Prize finalist Garrett M. Graff in a deeply reported and researched history.

#books #reading list #all of these are excellent and I highly recommend #for a variety of reasons #which I’m happy to expand on if anyone is curious about a particular one

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kellyvela · 2 years

Text

In a conversation late last month, Martin, the man who over the past three decades meticulously constructed the “Thrones” universe in his various books, discussed why he felt strongly about this idea; his ambitions for future spinoffs; and how his work-in-progress books will diverge from the controversial ending of “Game of Thrones,” the TV series.

These are edited excerpts from our conversation.

Two writers worked on the development of your Targaryen story and it didn’t go anywhere. What made you keep pushing for it?

GRRM: I did not want to drop it. There was a lot of material already written on it, and it had everything that I thought we needed for a successful successor show. It had all of the intrigue around the Iron Throne. It had the great houses contending. It had dragons — a lot of dragons — and battles and betrayals.

“House of the Dragon” has thematic overlaps with “Game of Thrones” — family rivalry, the battle for the throne. In what ways is it different?

GRRM: “Game of Thrones” and my book version of it, “A Song of Ice and Fire,” is, in some ways, a classic high fantasy in the mode of Tolkien and many, many writers who followed. Now, yes, it is true that in a sense, I’m deconstructing those tropes, those myths, the things that were hallmarks. But I’m also following them to some extent. “House of the Dragon” is more like historical fiction with some dragons thrown in. It’s like a Shakespearean tragedy.

It’s been just over three years since “Game of Thrones” ended in a way that disappointed many fans. What did you make of the ending?

GRRM: One of the things in the later seasons of the show was, How many seasons was it going to be? And [the “Game of Thrones” creators David Benioff and Dan Weiss] for years were saying they wanted to wrap it up in seven seasons. Well, seven became eight because the eighth season is really the second half of the seventh season — it’s kind of one long season.

But I never felt that seven or eight seasons was enough. I campaigned for 10 seasons, and we could have gone to 12. There’s enough material — and there certainly will be enough material once I finish these last two books — to sustain 12 seasons.

But I lost that battle, and we went with eight. I think one of the big complaints about those last seasons is not only what happened — although there are complaints about that — but also that it happened too suddenly, and it was not set up. And if we had 10 seasons or 12 seasons, I think that would have worked better.

Considering the backlash, what’s your level of concern, for the new show, that people are either going to be too fatigued to return to the “Thrones” universe, or will relish in bringing the knives out, no matter what?

GRRM: I do see comments online from people, and sometimes they email me directly. I’m also concerned about a similar thing with my book. As you know, “The Winds of Winter” is very, very late — the last book was 11 years ago, and people are very angry about that. But how many people?

“House of the Dragon” and any other spinoffs that are coming, and “The Winds of Winter” when it comes, are going to face some immediate backlash, and some resistance from people who don’t even want to give it a chance.

Let’s say “House of the Dragon” is a hit. What would be your ideal ambition here? An entire fleet of “Thrones” TV series?

GRRM: Well, we are developing a number of other spinoffs. There’s the Jon Snow sequel show, and the rest are all prequels. There’s “Ten Thousand Ships” about Nymeria — that’s like a thousand years before and about how the Rhoynar came to Dorne. That’s an “Odyssey”-like epic. There’s the nine voyages of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake. That would take us to places in the world that we’ve never seen.

We have some animated shows going, one of which was set in Yi Ti, which is basically the fantasy version of Imperial China or the Far East. We got a terrific script on that. Obviously, not all these shows we’re developing are going to make it to air, but I hope that several of them do.

Is there a model you admire? Something like Marvel?

GRRM: I do like what Marvel is doing because I like the variety of the shows. Another model that I think was interesting was the old “Mary Tyler Moore Show.” That show generated a number of spinoffs: There was “Rhoda,” about her friend. Phyllis got her own show. And the one that really excited me was “Lou Grant.” They took this character from a sitcom and they made him the hero of a serious journalism show. That’s pretty amazing to take a character who is a comic foil and make him the center of a serious show. I’d like to see a range in our shows.

Before “House of the Dragon” was given a green light, HBO shot an entire pilot for a show that takes place 1,000 years before the events of “Game of Thrones.” It was eventually canceled. What went wrong with it?

GRRM: Well, I have not seen the pilot. For whatever reason they won’t show it to me, so I don’t know. It was, in some ways, more challenging because on that one, they’re really, really going back into the past. The Long Night is mentioned in my books here and there, but it’s an ancient event that people tell stories about — it’s like the Garden of Eden or a biblical flood. I remember when we were first developing it, I said, “You’re going back so far — if you decided to do a ‘Sopranos’ prequel, then you would be talking about the Etruscans, the ancestors of Tony Soprano. You might be talking about cave men.”

Tell me about your level of involvement in “House of the Dragon” versus your level of involvement with “Game of Thrones,” the original series.

GRRM: I am a lot more involved in “House of the Dragon” than I was in the later seasons of “Game of Thrones.” Now, mind you, I was very involved in the early seasons of “Game of Thrones.” Seasons 1 through 4, I mean, not only did I write a script, but especially like Seasons 1 or 2, I was giving a verdict on all the castings. I was reading the scripts. I was talking to Dan and David. I visited the set. But as the years went by, that involvement became less and less.

Will your upcoming books diverge from “Thrones,” the TV series?

GRRM: A lot of this story comes to me as I write it. I always knew once the show got beyond my books — which honestly I did not anticipate — they would start going in directions that the books are not going to go in. Now, as I’m writing the books and I’m making more and more progress and it’s getting longer, ideas are coming to me and characters are taking me in directions that are even further from where the show went.

So I think what you’re going to find is, when “Winds of Winter” and then, hopefully, “Dream of Spring” come out, that my ending will be very different. And there will be some similarities, some big moments that I told David and Dan about many years ago, when they visited me in Santa Fe. But we only had like two, three days there, so I didn’t tell them everything. And even some of the things I told them are changing as I do the writing. So they will be different. And then it’ll be up to the readers and the viewers to decide which one they like better, and argue about it.

When will the books be done?

GRRM: No comment. No comment. No comment. I get in trouble every time I do that. I mean, going back like 10 years, I said, “Oh, I should be done next year.” And then it’s not done next year. And then: “George lied to us.” I’m no good at predicting these things. And some of it depends on how many other interruptions there are and all that. I’m in a pretty good place now, so I’m optimistic. But I’m not going to make any predictions.

#grrm #asoiaf #game of thrones #house of the dragon

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frivclous · 2 months

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kim mingyu. he/they. demiboy. › spotted at the met steps , wes lee , most likely listening to replay by shinee with their airpods pro . the twenty six year old gained quite a reputation , known to be -immature yet +amiable to anyone who knows them . you'll easily spot them when you hear about rumpled bed sheets still warm to the touch, lazy smiles spread over perfect teeth, loud and carefree laughter bubbling from the middle of your chest & empty promises wispered in the middle of the night , followed by le labo santal 33 . latest nepoupdates article talks about the known rebellious son of popular new york senator caught leaving police station for third time this month — witness claims he left with a smile & a promise to return soon , but i guess any reputation is good reputation .

** triggers ( all in the section about their mother ) : objectification , manipulation , emotional ab*se

( ⌗ 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒔 )

— ❛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘴. ❜

full name : wes lee birthday : april 6 age : twenty6 gender : demiboy pronouns : he / they orientations : pansexual & panromantic

— ❛ 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. ❜

faceclaim : kim mingyu hair : dark brown, sometimes black ( currently in gyu's perm era ) eyes : deep brown height : 6'3" piercings : mingyu canon + navel tattoos : one of those hearts with mom on it on their left bicep , three - eyed cat on his right forearm , several more stupid tattoos ( details tba )

— ❛ 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. ❜

positive traits : magnetic , adaptable , spontaneous , confident , self-reliant negative traits : reckless , scatter-brained , immature , distant mbti : esfp big three : aries sun , aries moon , scorpio rising likes : sleeping late , lying for fun , grilled cheese sandwiches , his mom , bubble baths , snow storms , alcohol , sex ( i'm sorry ) dislikes : rules , mint chocolate ice cream , fancy restaurants , loud noises ( fireworks , thunder , etc ) , his dad , ?? he doesnt dislike that much tbh but he'll pretend to be a hater sometimes for a laugh

( ⌗ 𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒉 )

— ❛ 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴. ❜

☆ mark lee , father ;

popular new york senator , consistently re-elected due to the false persona he’s created as someone to be trusted with people’s best interests at heart ( he’s out for himself ) . is not above taking bribes and has used his influence and position to manipulate multiple influential people in the city for his own gain . comes from generational wealth and doesn’t let anyone forget it — never seen without designer suits and watches and shoes , though his campaign says he’s “ of the people , for the people. ” dislikes anything that he can’t control ( namely , wes ) and isn’t shy with his disdain … unless in front of a crowd or a camera . genuinely just a bad person . wes can’t remember a time when their relationship with their father wasn’t strained . from an early age , wes had been treated as a trophy for mark to show off to new york society ( “ what a handsome young man you’re raising , ” and “ he has such a bright future ahead of him , ” and “ charming , just like his father ” ) , his father’s pride knowing no limits . every compliment cemented in mark’s mind that wes had no choice but to grow up to be exactly like him , that wes was going to be his perfect successor . wes , however , had never really been interested in being a puppet , preferring to defy their father at every chance he got , whether it was purposefully failing his classes or being caught hanging around people mark didn’t approve of . wes’ choice of career has also been a driving force behind their father’s disapproval ; mark thinking wes is wasting his time playing a game , though at this point , he’s given up on making his son into his perfect successor ( honestly , he gave up on that pipe dream the second wes was arrested for the first time ) . now , they hardly speak at all , only ever seen together when wes’ mom is in town and she wants to attend events as a family .

☆ rosa lee , mother ;

child - star turned powerhouse actress , rosa lee ( nee kang ) has been in the public eye nearly all her life . dubbed one of the world’s most beautiful young actresses before her sixteenth birthday , rosa’s career had always been thriving . such attention wasn’t nearly as glamorous as it seemed — being seen as an object rather than a person for so much of her life , she didn’t question it when an older man started to pursue her , despite her only being seventeen at the time . the people around her encouraged their extremely unhealthy relationship to the point that she married him , especially considering she was heavily pregnant by the time their wedding came a few days after her eighteenth birthday . being a mother was the best thing that could’ve happened to her , opening her eyes to the abuse she’d endured without realizing it , promising her son that he’d never be subjected to the same and that she wouldn’t take it anymore , either . wes and his mother are extremely close , the two of them thick as thieves in their defiance to his father ( mark would never divorce her , though , knowing his reputation would take a huge hit ) . she was initially against having him on set , but seeing how he thrived from the attention , she slowly warmed up to the idea on the condition that she be present . he starred in a handful of commercials as a child ( namely , several got milk? ads , a handful of kidz bop ads & mcdonald’s classics with ronald and the hamburglar back in 2003 ) . as he grew older and became interested in other things , his mom really threw herself back into the career that she adored , earning herself multiple award nominations and wins . wes could tell she wasn’t happy in new york , flying back and forth all the time , so as soon as he was old enough to be on his own , he convinced her to move to los angeles and to just visit when she missed him too much ( made her promise it wouldn’t be too often , for her sake ) . they still video call multiple times a week & she’s the most important person in wes’ life.

— ❛ 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. ❜

☆ born to a popular actress & beloved local politician, wes was born into expectations he knew he had no desire to fulfill from a young age, always preferring to do as he pleased instead. this led to a strained relationship with his father, though his mother was always extremely supportive ☆ started playing baseball at eight, loving both the team aspect and the thrill of competition. he really thrived being part of something he felt was bigger than himself, but also gave them the satisfaction of doing well at something ( are they insecure about not being great in school and constantly disappointing his dad, despite hating his guts? ... yeah ig they are ). he excelled quickly and was named one of the most promising young talents in high school, being highly sought after for the major league less than a year into being in the minors. was drafted at twenty-three and has been shortstop for the yankees ever since then, though the pr team absolutely despises him. he regularly has to pay fines due to his behavior, but his talent is too valuable to trade away, so they just keep raising the fines every time he brings the team bad press. ☆ first went viral at eighteen when his mugshot went viral, not only for his looks ( smiling in a mugshot? smh ) but also for the scandal it brought in the middle of his father's re-election campaign. he was arrested for disturbing the peace — had participated a protest that went directly against what his father stood for & was very publicly photographed doing so ☆ loves to piss off authority figures ( wonder why .. ) and will go out of his way to do so, especially if it sounds like a good time. the very definition of "local dumbass knew what they were getting into and did it anyway" ☆ is not the best at relationships mostly because he's pretty emotionally distant — a really good time, sure, but it's never really that deep. & typically if he feels like it might become something more, he's like .. 😬 and will actively remove himself from the situation ( guys hes scared of commitment, confirmed, but maybe u can fix him 👉👈 ) ☆ will ride or die for friendships tho like they are def someone u can count on to be down to do literally anything — amazing at keeping other people's secrets but is terrible at keeping his own its embarrassing ☆ has a history of being .. reckless with alcohol & is Very Bad Indeed at staying sober, especially in social settings .. one of his arrests was fully because he broke into his acquaintance's dad's liquor cabinet and drank the most expensive whisky the man had yikes .. his court mandated therapist is actually a big help tho so he's rly working on it i promise .. plus he's constantly being pressed to quit drinking all together by his agent and the yankees pr team

— ❛ 𝘩𝘤 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘱. ❜

☆ has never been on time for a single thing in his life ( its 100% intentional ), has an orange cat .. named cat that they ADORE, cant swim for shit but will often be seen on the occasional yacht anyways, once saved blue ivy from being run over so now he's casually friends with beyonce ( pretending like she'd ever bother interacting with this fool at all is so funny to me ), phone is perpetually at 16%, is ordained and will officiate weddings for free, lives in a studio loft in brooklyn literally just for the vibes, loses everything all the time and instead of looking for it he usually just replaces it ( has gone through 3 apple watches in the past year ), is left-handed like mingyu <3, definitely does tiktok dance challenges and definitely looks like a complete tool while doing them, has seen the full series of the nanny 6 times, has a car he hasnt driven in 8 months, will do anything for the plot, was voted prom king in hs and claims it was his social peak, was attacked by a baby raccoon once but ended up raising it for a few months before it ran away, fav shampoo is coconut scented, wears prescription glasses in their downtime, hes p dumb but its okay bc he's pretty

— ❛ 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. ❜

☆ all of my wanted connections can be found here & i'm always down to plot with anyone and everyone <3

current connections: nanami ( chaotic bffsties ), mona ( unlikely but like-minded friends ), jisu ( fwb - friends with bickering ), charlie ( platonic soulmates ), vivi ( attorney & client .. he stresses her out ), logan ( smoke weed do crimes xx ), mimi ( idol x fan / twitch mod lmao )

#( ⌗ 𝒘𝒆𝒔. ) — ❛ 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵. ❜#nepofm.intro #i revamped him justttt a little #also YES i named their dad mark .. i didnt have a choice .. the opportunity was there and i took it bvfnjhbivfjnd

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 months

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So I don’t think Audi was an odd choice for him. He even personally has Audi vehicles. Again, I have thoughts on why Jinx pulled the ad, and I’m sure others do as well. Clearly there is a reason. /

Is it because he is all "business now and no personal"? Which makes no sense to me. Because Dodger is honestly more loved in his own fandom than him. So using Dodger wouldn't be "personal" in my opinion. If he was all business now, whyd he post the random Dodger snow video on stories? He keeps going back and forth it seems, but thinking that he's going to build back or more of a genuine fanbase on cars...yikes.

I get he drove one, drives one, but the shift for him personality in Hollywood wise is rather odd and it leaves me scratching my head. And sad. Majorly sad. Because why gives personal details in GQ, only to yank the more profitable avenue longevity wise (Dodger, Dog Dad, kindness) and to go quick buck route that will fade in time?

I'm just trying to see anyone has any advice on how to grapple or explain this new Chris. Cuz he didn't change when dating Minka or Jenny, in fact, we took those days for granted. I don't care if he's married; he is different and that's a choice.

Dodger in conjunction with Jinx I would consider business. And he has removed most of his posts. He did have 101 posts and now he’s down to 7. Don’t ask me to figure out the thought process on what to delete because I’m confused on that one. Now the Dodger in the snow video…it’s funny how he sometimes wants to show exactly where he is. Even if it’s a few months later *ahem* golf photo *cough*. I think most of his fans recall him not knowing much about cars, so that recent interview was a choice.

As far as that GQ interview when everyone was saying that he was quitting or going to pull back in acting…he’s done this song and dance in the past. And I have said from the get go that 2022 most likely burned him out a bit. Filmed three movies, did voice over work, he did two huge press tours for Lightyear and TGM. You know how many times I say I’m ready to quit? That’s how that feels for me. He also said he wanted to do one movie a year and here he is with two projects, and…R1 is going to be a trip.

As far as the quick buck goes, listen for $3M+ I’d do a campaign for Audi, too.

And for advice we haven’t seen Chris publicly really since this time last year with Ghosted promo. We’ve seen the Pete Holmes podcast, but that was one day. I guess our next round of press will be R1 and we may see more of his personality. Never forget that Hollywood is a business first and foremost and he’s got a lot of bills and overhead to pay. He’s trying to maintain his way of living and I would assume he does enjoy acting. I hope his break gave him some clarity.

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captainsspnanon · 1 year

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C3E56 reaction

I have to go on CR stats to remind myself! I watched most of it last night, then crashed because I was so tired, and finished up with the fight aftermath today.

There have been a LOT of episodes recently where the cast is just full giggles for a lot. It's not a complaint, it's just fun to see the comparison versus how they are .... less frequently doing episodes full of giggly for C2. Had to phrase that carefully, because they certainly were giggly for a lot of C2 as well, but usually more in chunks of episodes rather than being fairly punchy throughout.

I am ALWAYS excited to see the snow background! Confirmed light snow and 'heavy' snow, but I personally would have loved to have an even heavier version. I suppose it might be too distracting, but I'd love to see lots of blizzardy action behind them, or heavy downpour.

The frost giant bit was fun, but I would have enjoyed even a more 'encountery' encounter. It wasn't a theater of the mind combat because initiative wasn't rolled, and while it was enjoyable, I could have enjoyed it more.

GOAT BOAT! I, like the party, completely underestimated the size of the goats! It turned out well that they were being more sensible about the raft, but the sheer hilarity of the concept was glorious.

Matt was ON POINT with voices today, Donnie Boy's voice, and double catfish voices were HYSTERICAL and AMAZING.

I'm still a bit iffy of the robit romance. I'm enjoying the players having fun, but it'll feel just a bit weird to me if this ends up being long term end game romance. It really does feel like Rushed First Crush, and there's no saying how it will go, so Imma just enjoy the ride. Christian is definitely playing this to the max, and Sam is 'yes and'ing away, leading to fun scenes.

CHANGEBRINGER CHANGEBRINGER CHANGEBRINGER

Look. Sometimes - Sometimes Matt makes decisions. And sometimes those decisions, I can't quite understand how he got to. Mike Hunt is my usual example for that. But having the Changebringer be visible on the horizon an impossible distance away? As soon as he described it, I knew Sam/FCG was going to use it as confirmation of flat Exandria. As SOON as it was out of Matt's mouth.

Aside from that, what an absolutely beautiful scene! From all three campaigns, I highly appreciate how Matt portrays the gods, each one unique and for the most part never 'speaking' but giving the essence of the meaning regardless. (Exceptions being when Vax communes with the Raven Queen in the pool of blood, and when C1 is off on the god-fetch-quest in the last arc.) Using the distance to emphasize how the gods are pulling away, using the coin to convey a clear yes (both the Changebringer and Matt get props for that choice), it was all so visually and emotionally striking.

WHY DID DEANNA KILL THE GOAT! WHAT. WHAT. WAHT.

got an immense number of laughs from me, but doesn't seem to match with how she's been played at the moment. It definitely shows why she clicks so much with Chetney, I'd like to see this very impulsive violence more.

FROG-HE-MOTH. FROGHEMOTH. YES YES YES

We are at Molaesmyr. WE ARE AT MOLAESMYR.

(Do I have to look up the spelling EVERY SINGLE TIME? yes. yes i do)

As soon as the elk showed up I was so excited to see more Protectors. I WAS WRONG AS FUCK. I cannot WAIT to see how this continues!

...is it bad that I like all the new art except for Imogen? Something about the face, chest, and hands just look a bit off to me.

Missing team AOL, I expect we won't see them for maybe another month at least. For me, this is the biggest 'expect the unexpected' from the pre-C3 video. Extended guests were fun, destroying gods plot has been thrilling, but extended splitting the party has been the most unexpected for me.

#cr spoilers #critical role #bells hells

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sanguivor · 11 months

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Okay. I can't take it any longer. I NEED to ask you to tell us more about Velthryn, if you'd like to just. Dump anything about her, her backstory, campaign, art, what she looks like, whatever. I wanna KNOW.

I am so incredibly happy for this ask because Velthryn is my pride and joy, she's the best thing I've ever done, and she breaks my heart.

she's my very first d&d character and I played her for over three years in a campaign with my friends, we finished it last year actually and I'm still thinking about it. everything about the campaign was homebrewed, from the setting to the lore and the history of the people that live there, and it's so incredibly rich and detailed it's incredibly impressive considering that was the first time my friend dmed anything, so the story and the plot are entirely him but everything Velthryn was like the weirdest love letter between the two of us. I'm so incredibly proud of how her personal story played out.

I've talked a bit about her before (I have a tag for our campaign here) but never went into detail because I managed to keep her backstory a secret for THREE YEARS for plot reasons so this is the first time I'm going in depth about her like this I'm excited.

Velthryn is an assassin rogue moon elf from the far north, a land constantly blanketed in snow and ice even in the summer months, and under near constant night for most of the year. she's specifically from the Black Cathedral (Astaeran in Mavel'en, the archaic language moon elves speak) which is one of only two places inhabited in the far north, the other being the city Leirion, and both are inhabited solely by moon elves - the rest of the continent is separated by mountains, superstition, and sometimes the moon elves blades.

the Black Cathedral is a cult where generations of moon elves are raised in isolation to make offerings and prayers in blood for the Night Father so he might usher in what moon elves call the eventide, endless night and sleep not just for them but everything and everyone. a gentle end of the world. Velthryn was one of five moon elves called Nightdaughters, who are chosen every half a century to bring death to what the Cathedral call the five fated to die on the continent. just before the start of the campaign she and her sisters (Maevan, Ylaria, Helle, Honoria) found the first of the five; a farmer and his children still asleep in the early hours of the morning, and their deaths were not gentle. Velthryn, raised with the belief that death was a gentle mercy, could not reconcile the bloodlust she shared with her sisters so she did what no Nightdaughter should ever do or has ever done. She fled, and by sheer luck or fate ended in the company of the three others who should have been her sworn enemies but ended up being her greatest and only friends.

knowing full well a Nightdaughter who abandons her pilgrimage and her sisters should take her own life or be hunted by her sisters Velthryn stayed with what became our d&d party not because she thought the Cathedral was wrong but because she thought she could fix what she and her sisters had done. She was going to give a proper end to the five fated to die, give a proper prayer to the Night Father.

and for the next three real life years I got to figure out how Velthryn would navigate a strange world without the safety and familiarity of her sisters and their pilgrimage, how she would come to terms with the knowledge everything her Cathedral taught her was a lie, from the pilgrimage's purpose to the very existence of her gods, I got to make the heartbreaking decision in session where she sacrifices herself in place of one of the five fated to die in an attempt to save them and to atone for leaving her sisters, her pilgrimage, her god and her belief, only to come back from the gentle peace of death by the very god she died for who wanted more from her. she watched and felt most of her sisters die, dealt the killing blow for Maevan, she and Ylaria spared one another but went their separate ways, and Velthryn returned to the Cathedral alone. the campaign ended with Velthryn realizing the only mercy she could give the Night Father was the gentle peace of death, and as his last Nightdaughter she was the one who held the blade that brought the end to the old gods, whether they are or ever were gods no longer mattering.

she also once did 144 points of damage in a single attack. I LOVE assassin rogues <3

she's incredibly quiet and soft spoken, a good liar not because she's charismatic (the opposite actually) but because her expression is as unchanging as ice, she's intimately familiar with death and killing but she's not cruel, does not abide needless suffering. the first time she spilled blood on solid ground free of snow she slipped on it. she killed an oni single handed in two turns of combat (my dm is STILL mad at me) before anyone else had a turn. she's so unnerving she spooks horses just by being near them, and she hates them for being foolish and clumsy. she's so unused to sweets she thinks they're gross. she has a passive perception of 24, absolutely nothing got the drop on her. she's a rogue but she can't pick locks or pickpocket to save her life. her party had a paladin and a cleric and she was somehow the most devout of all of them. her fave colour is purple because of the purple in the arctic lights. she's my babygirl she's a murderer she's my everything <3

visually I've always had Vel compared to a ghost, piercing white eyes and hair with unnaturally pale skin in constant contrast to the black garb gifted to Nightdaughter's and her uncanny ability to disappear (+17 stealth by the end of the campaign lmao) she's often likened to a specter in appearance and thematically throughout the campaign. she was fully supposed to die but post campaign she's replaced the previous Elders of the Cathedral who she and the party killed in revenge for what happened to her and her sisters, it's the only time she was never merciful in her killing, and with centuries ahead of her she means to ensure the old gods rest is not disturbed.

I have a tag for her: x

two playlists: x + x

and a pinterest board: x

also a tag for her complicated love and rivalry with maevan: x

and a playlist for them too: x

there are so many different things about her I haven't even touched on, like the fact she and Maevan took the places of the fourth and fifth meant for sacrifice, but soooo much of the lore and campaign plot ties into the other party members and those aren't my stories to tell (though feel free to ask @mismageus about Áine, the little sun elf cleric who's saved Velthryn's life in more ways than one I know she'd love to talk about her)

anyway thank you soooo much for the ask I love talking about Velthryn <3

#this was so much longer than I expected lol #lipsie #asks #heretics campaign

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alltheficsiwant · 2 years

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Same Old Hawkins, Or not? | Part Five

PART Five | The Aftermath

Summary: After the events regarding the gate and the mind flayer. Reader now has to deal with her unsaid issues and the inevitable talk with her boys. Though, of course, Billy Hargrove has the habit of fucking things up into proportions.

Warning: Graphic violence, dark themes (Attempted rape and abuse). If you are triggered about these topics. Please read with caution or skip the part with !!! and continue on after the second !!!

Also, MINORS get the hell out of here. Forgot to rate this as 18+

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Harrintong!reader

Words: 6.7k

Note: Hey guys! We are nearing the end. I think they are just two more chapters after this plus the epilogue and we are done. I have a sequel planned for this because originally. I wrote a rewrite of Season 4 but opted to do season 2 instead. If the series gained enough traction or notes or request to be continued. I might continue on with it. Sooo, reblog, like and comment guys! ALSO, my ASK are open, SEND ME YOUR THOUGHTS OR ANYTHING AT ALL. - J <3

PART Three | PART Four | SERIES MASTERLIST

Will be posted in Ao3 soon!

After Eleven managed to close the gate, you and the rest of the kids gathered back to the Byers house and eventually towards the new Hopper residence in the middle of the woods.

In the span of a month, you built a bond with the kids as you helped in fixing things up in both residences. You also managed to meet El. During those times, the talking later never happened between the three of you. Well, Steve is busy curing his wounds both physically and emotionally. (“It’s not a phase anymore is it?” “Yeah, squirt. She called it,” “Well, better luck next time, Jerk,”). While you and Eddie, kind of dance around one another. Going on the same routine, meeting up every Wednesday at the lake and Friday’s for the campaign. Though the dynamics between the two of you changed, something Gareth and Jeff the ever observant sophomores noticed. You and Eddie didn’t even confirm or deny everything when they questioned you individually because you haven’t exactly talked about it yet.

Though Eddie did try, you swiftly change the subject and metal head gets the que. Luckily, despite Eddie’s obvious temperament as he wants things to be done rather quickly. He didn’t chastise you. You’ll tell when you are ready or you get over the initial mortification that is Eddie witnessing your first flashback. (So far, you haven’t had any, thank God)

Instead of dealing with those, you offered your help to the other kids. You grew closer to them, especially Max who you decided to take under your wing. You became her escape when Billy or anything under her house gets too much. You opened your doors to them much to Steve’s annoyance. (“You still love having them around Steve, admit it.” “Give me another month and I’ll decide,” “Whatever makes your sleep at night,”)

The next thing you know, you got thrown into the committee of highschoolers that handles the Snow Ball for the middle schoolers. It wasn’t exactly your type of thing but it teaches you how not to be late again in Ms. O’donell’s class twice in a row. Causing you to miss your Wednesday’s with Eddie twice too.

Well, you didn’t have to explain. He knows that, because he was there when Ms. O’donell delivered the blow but regardless. You were quite thankful for it. The inevitable talk of your feelings regarding the metal head is postponed.

Now you just need to get through your head. We hope you had more time though but someone has the tendency to throw a wrench into your plans. It's no other than Billy FUCKING Hargrove. After the incident in the Byers house, Max told you that Billy is pissed off more than ever to everyone and especially both you and Steve. He was itching for a fight and always provoked Steve but Steve who finally broke apart with his friend group didn’t bite on it.

Just landing on ignoring the bully and going on his merry way. The same treatment is given to you, making the Hellfire club members especially Eddie (Despite the unspeakable topic that looms over the both of you) was extra protective. Though you assured them that Billy is more bark than bite when it comes to girls.

You should have learned your lesson when he easily slammed your body down on the floor causing a flashback. Though, you were at ease because it was school and Billy doesn’t want to get into trouble. Doesn’t he?

Well, you learned that in a very hard way.

You volunteered to finish up with the designs. It was the last week of November and there is one week before the SnowBall and the official start of the Winter Break. The committee which is not surprisingly led by Nancy Wheeler wants to get ahead of everything. Including the decorations and since you made it clear that you would not spend your Friday night in a ball as a chaperone. You opted to help with the decors and preparations.

You wanted to finish it as soon as possible since you are itching to finally talk to Eddie because you miss the metal head. You always felt like he was too far from you despite being there. You volunteered to finish up not knowing that there is someone lurking around you waiting a chance to make a move on you.

Not the move you wanted and not the person you want to make a move on you.

“Ahhh. If it isn’t the Harrington Bitch,” When you hear his voice echoing through the room, you can’t help but sigh. You stopped for a moment before shaking your head to continue what you are doing. You really don’t want to give Billy Hargrove a time of day. “You’re not going to acknowledge me?”

You remained silent but you did move out of your chair and around the table. Subtly putting distance between the two of you and so that you will be able to see him.

“Seriously, silent treatment? I never thought you could shut that mouth of yours,” Billy snarled and that made you look up at him with an exhausted expression.

“What do you want, Hargrove?” You asked him as you laid your hands over the table. Billy walked— no more like stalked towards you as he slammed his hands against the table. You jumped as you took a step back from him. Seeing your reaction, Billy’s face lit up as he smirked at you.

“I told you I’ll deal with you and your cousin later. This is me wanting my due,” He told you and that made you clench your fist. Forcing yourself to calm down.

“What are you going to do? Beat me up?” You asked him as you tried to move slowly around the table enough for you to dash past him and out of the room. Thank God you are wearing your jeans and sneakers. You would just get your leather jacket and helmet tomorrow. Right now, you need to escape Billy Hargrove.

Billy looks like he isn’t getting your plan though his eyes raked over your body very slowly making you shudder in disgust. That look is so damn familiar. Fuck. No flashbacks please. Not fucking now.

“I have other ways to ask for payment,” He said as he turned to look over at you again before he landed back on your eyes. “I think we just need to fuck out our differences. You know,” He offered and that made you laugh at him. Making sure that the mocking is there.

“Fuck it out? You are a cocky asshole. Do you think that my hatred for you is what? Sexual tension?” You told him, the mocking tone heavy on your voice as you moved slowly around until you stood still. Two chairs are between the both of you and you just need to find the right timing to run. “Well, you have to wake up Hargrove. Not every girl wants you and not every girl wants to be in your pants. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to handle me,”

Billy snorted at that. “I cannot handle you? I remember, I handled you just fine back at that house. You tiny little thing,” He looked over at you. His eyes darkened a bit. “I could easily pin you down and do anything I want.”

You shuddered at the image and twisted your face in disgust.

“You are all bark but no bite, Billy. Now it just makes me think that you're overcompensating on something that isn’t there at all huh?” You told him as you readied yourself to run as you finally were able to release the fuel you accumulated about him through the months. “What do the housewives you seduced say? Did they come back for more or are they just as disappointed as Mrs. Whedon?”

Then you ran. “You little bitch— come here!”

You tried to out run him but you are no match to a nearly six footer basketball player. You are no athlete and you never really qualify for track. Your gait is also short because of your height but you hoped that the surprise is enough advantage.

You're so wrong.

You were merely out of the room before you felt a hand on your arm and the next thing you know you are slammed against the wall. You will yourself to focus on the adrenaline and the flashes of memories trying to seep in. You fought Billy back. Using the strength you had for years of riding a bike that is heavier than you and wielding wooden swords at the Dojo back at the Shit Show.

“You fucking bitch, let’s see if you are going to be fucking disappointed.” he said as he pinned you down and the next thing you know lips are on you. You are no virgin and you already had a lot of encounters with guys but usually it was on your own terms. This is not it and the moment that Billy’s lips touch yours. The image shifted again and this time you are back at the floor of that apartment. Bleeding and struggling as you find the way to topple the guy off you.

He was already halfway through your blouse. The knife he was using was sharp as you felt it knick you a couple of times but you remained to struggle. Despite the sharpness of it and the fear of being slashed. Your will to escape is greater.

“Please stop! Let me go! I don’t know anything at all!”

The man laughed as he continued to cut through your blouse. He is on the last three buttons that lay across your stomach.

“Look at you! So pretty!” He exclaimed as he stopped and examined you. He ran his knife on your stomach, the blunt side before he leaned down. You looked at the side as tears fell from your eyes. Your hands are pinned down by the other man as he laughed at the scene.

“We will surely enjoy this! If you won’t talk maybe we can use your mouth for something else,”

Then you felt him move a bit down and felt his crotch touch your knee. You felt his knife going through the last three buttons.

“You are ours to—”

The image was abruptly changed as you felt arms enveloping you from behind. Familiar leather clad ones as you were rocked back and forth. Your name murmured to your ear as your cries died. Your vision blurry because of the tears but eventually cleared as your cries quiet out.

“That’s it sweetheart. Come back to me baby. I got you, you're safe.” Eddie mumbled as he continued to rock you back and forth. You blinked trying to gather yourself as you willed the images to disappear. You leaned your head against Eddie who stopped his rocking momentarily and leaned against you too.

“You’re okay sweetheart. Are you back to me now?” Eddie asked as you slowly nodded. “Okay, now I need you to breathe with me– that’s good– in and out. Just like that. Breathe with me.”

You didn’t notice you were struggling with your breath but as soon as he said it. You gasped and desperately tried to follow Eddie’s breathing. Though you heard a sound of struggling and turned just in time to see Steve picking up an object and slammed it against Billy’s face. Rendering him unconscious though you didn’t manage to see more as Eddie moved until you were facing him. His eyes trained on you.

“Eyes on me only. I need you to breathe with me again. In and out,” Finally it latched on as you followed every inhale and exhale. You didn’t know how long you and him sat there just breathing until you felt exhaustion taking over you as you slumped inside Eddie’s arms. Though you tried to fight it, everything is just heavy on you.

“I’m calling Hopper,” an unfamiliar voice said. A voice that is not Steve’s or Eddie’s since you have ingrained their voices. “I would like to take her out of the scene but if this is assault–”

“She needs to be here,” this time you knew it was Steve’s voice that said that. “Fuck, we should let her rest though. You can give her to me Eddie, I’ll take her—”

As soon as you heard that, your body instinctively borrowed itself to Eddie and the next thing you know you are whining no as you turned in his arms. You wrapped your arms around him and locked yourself against him.

“I got her, just got some blankets. We need to lay her down in something warm and soft,”

“I’ll get that,” another unfamiliar voice said before you heard shuffling feet. You tried to open your eyes, which you didn’t know you closed but it just won’t cooperate.

“Hey, you don’t need to stay awake,” It was Steve who spoke again. He had grown closer to you as you felt a hand running through your hair. While another is running against your back. “You can rest. We got you now Squirt,”

You didn’t know that was the words you needed to hear as the heaviness became ten fold and you felt safe. Then everything went black.

The next time you wake up, you are inside an office and laid down on a sofa. It was night and the reason you have woken up is the raised voices you hear.

“Please! Don’t call my dad. I beg you–” That sounded like Billy.

“Now you come begging? You fucking assaulted my cousin you fucking asshole!” It was Steve who shouted. You heard some shuffling and muffled voices. You urged yourself

“It wasn’t intentional. I got too angry. She-she– provoked—”

“Don’t you fucking say it!” A voice so shrill made you finally sit up. You knew it was Eddie who spoke up this time. You looked around trying to find them. “Don’t you dare say she fucking provoke you hargrove. She hated your fucking guts!”

“Okay now- you boys chill it out,” It was Hopper who finally spoke up. You carefully stood up as you still feel like your limbs have weights on them. Your eyes looked around until it landed over a window. There you see Steve, Eddie, Hopper and Billy. Though what surprised you was Jonathan and Nancy standing on the side. Nancy glaring at Billy while Jonathan just looked at him in disdain.

Hopper was actually standing with his back on you while the others were actually facing you. You guessed that Hopper is obscuring their view of you. You will yourself to move, wanting to hear the conversation.

“Now you listen here shithead,” Hopper said as you saw him leaned forward as he got up to Billy’s face. “You can deny having your way with the girl but the bruises on her arms can be evidence enough for assault.”

You were already standing at that point and no one even noticed your movement as you watched and listened. Though at the mention of the bruises you looked and nearly gasped as the hand shaped bruises.

“She fucking asked for it,” Billy hissed and you can’t help but watch in shock as Steve and Eddie went for him. Hopper had Steve while Jonathan went for Eddie. Though Eddie being the closest managed to land a punch on him, careening Billy a bit off his seat.

“Let me the fuck go!”

“Let me punch him Jim!”

Both of them shouted. Billy, who was recovering from Eddie’s punch, wiped the corner of his mouth as he glared at them all.

“It doesn’t help if you fucking go at him–”

“That bitch freak saw it coming. The way she fucking provoked me all the damn time,” Billy continue to speak.

“I suggest you fucking shut up—”

“She fucking deserved that when she can’t keep her mouth—” Slam! You jumped as Billy got his head slammed against the table and then again for good measure. The four men stood shocked that same as you as you saw Nancy holding on to Billy’s hair. She did it again making Billy groan not caring that his nose had started to bleed.

“Nobody deserved that asshole,” Nancy seethed as she glared at him. Billy looks at her as his nose continues to bleed. “I know your life is fucked up but you don’t have the fucking right to fuck others,”

Nancy then finally looked up through the window. Her eyes widened. She called out your name and they finally looked at you. You stood there shaking. Eddie immediately moved and the next thing you know he is right in front of you taking your face in his hands gently. You looked up at him and met his eyes full of concern.

“Hey,” He greeted as you reached out and wrapped each of your hands on each of his wrists.

“What happened?” You asked as you looked over at him. He sighed before he carefully moved his hands so that he could wrap his arms around you. You willingly got to him. The movement was natural just like that night. You are drawn to him. You settled your head against his chest.

“You don’t remember anything?” He asked quietly.

“Bits and pieces,” you gave and Eddie sighed. You heard someone stepped inside the office too and you leaned back to look to see Steve standing there. He was sporting an unreadable expression for a moment before it settled with concern as he looked at you.

“Hey squirt,” he said and you gingerly let go of Eddie who let you as you rushed towards Steve. He readily opened his arms as you slammed against him. His arms automatically wrapped around you as he buried his head against your head. “You scared me there a little,” He murmured alongside your name.

You don’t know how long you had each wrapped up but the both of you are interrupted when Hopper came into the office with Nancy and Jonathan behin. You let go of Steve and as soon as you made contact with Nancy. You gave him a small smile which she returned.

“Okay kid, why don’t we all sit down,” Hopper said as he motioned for the sofa and the empty seats in his office. Steve let you go and guided you towards the sofa. Eddie sat beside you while Steve took the other side. Your hands automatically reached out for them. Though you opted to lean your head against Eddie’s shoulder which Steve didn’t mind since he has one of your hands in his.

Hopper shuffled some papers around before he pulled out one before taking up his pen, “I know you just woke up but I need your statement,”

You looked at him for a moment before you nodded.

“Okay, can you tell us what happened?” Hopper asked. You tightened your grip on Eddie and Steve trying to remember what happened before you had another flashback.

“Ummm, I was in the room trying to finish up the decoration for the upcoming Snowball. I volunteered because I wanted my next Wednesday free,” You quietly told them. You felt Eddie’s thumb start to draw circles over the back of the hand he is holding. You leaned further towards him but still not letting go of Steve.

“I thought I was alone but Billy showed up. Talking about paying back whatever the hell it is,” You shakily took a deep breath as you looked down not wanting to look at anyone by the next bit of your story. “I-I did provoke him but only to fluster him so that I could run out of there. I already have my keys to my bike. I just need to outrun him,”

“But he caught up to me. I was ready to fight him off but he caught up to me. The next thing I know, he had me backed up the wall and–and—” You stuttered as your mind went blank.

“H-he kissed– oh god,” You can’t help but say as you closed your eyes. “He kissed me and that is all I can remember,” you told them. Not wanting to tell anyone that you slipped into yet another panic attack, or they already knew that you guessed. They would have witnessed it when they caught you there. You just don’t want to voice it out hoping you wouldn’t receive any more questions about it.

Everybody was silent after that except the scratching of Hopper’s pen. You can’t help but burrow deeper into Eddie, seeking the safety he provides. Not that Steve doesn’t give that but you craved Eddie’s presence. Not being able to be with him properly during the weeks since the night about the secrets of Hawkins. You let go of Steve’s hand and fully leaned against Eddie. Eddie immediately lifted his arm to let your head rest against his chest while his other hand caressed your arms. You saw Steve looked over at the two of you with narrowed eyes before he just looked towards the chief of police as he spoke again directly to the other four.

“Now, you four tell me how you found them? What are you doing at school?”

“Me and Jonathan are there to check up on her. The committee members said they left her there. We were about to go there and help her when we met these two outside, arguing,” Nancy explained as she pointed towards Eddie and Steve.

That made you look at them two. They had a sheepish expression on their faces. Hopper just looked at them before he spoke again.

“Why are you two arguing outside the school?” He asked as Steve and Eddie looked at each other.

“I was there to check on her,” Eddie mumbled. “I knew she was doing that for detention and we have our daily outings during Wednesdays,” He offered. You looked over at him as Eddie looked down at you. “I missed you, so I brought some food for us. Hoping you are still there,”

You can’t help but wrap your arms tighter around Eddie.

“I was there to also check on her. After everything that happened, I got a bit paranoid being alone inside the house,” Steve explained his presence. “Me and Eddie kind of got into a bit of an argument.”

Hopper narrowed his eyes and he scanned the demeanor of the three of you. He has his own conclusion.

“I assume it's about the relationship between Munson and her,” Hopper said as he looked down at the paper on his hand and scribbled it down.

“Yes,” Steve and Eddie answered in unison. You however looked between the two of them.

“Do we have a relationship?” You can’t help but ask as you look over at Eddie. Whose eyes softened as he looked at you. He reached out to cup your cheek with his hand.

“If you’ll have me, sweetheart,” Eddie mumbled, you looked at him for a moment before you nodded as you leaned back against him. Steve just looked at the exchange horrified.

“We still have to talk after,” you mumbled against his chest as Eddie smiled widely as he wrapped you back in his arms again.

“It's a date,” he just said. You didn’t know what he did but Steve grunted at that.

“We are getting out of topic here. How did you guys find them?” Hopper said as he looked over at you.

“We heard a loud noise coming from inside.” Nancy explained. “Steve and Eddie immediately went inside running. Me and Jonathan right behind them. We thought its something about the upside down.”

“As we grew closer, we heard Billy and then,” Nancy looked over at you as you looked over at her before she mumbled your name. “Then, she was screaming. Steve was the first one to reach the room.”

Steve whose fist clenched at the memory of you. You were sure of that and that made you detangle yourself off Eddie to comfort your cousin. Who opened up his arms for you as he held you this time.

“What did you see Steve?” Hopper asked.

Steve tightened his hold of you before he started speaking. “Billy was on top of her, kissing her and she was just thrashing around. When I saw that I just saw red and threw him off her.”

Everybody was quiet as Steve gathered himself. “I was angry and mortified because even after I took Billy off her she kept thrashing around. As if she is still fighting someone off,” Steve then looked down at you. You looked away not daring to look back because you just knew you would crumble.

“Then I came in,” Eddie said. “I already recognize that she is having another panic attack–”

“Another?” Steve asked but Eddie just shook his head pleading him not to speak. You felt Steve pull you closer with that.

“Instead of helping Steve, I went to her. Wrapped her in a hold and tried to coax her back. She already had bruised arms at that time.”

“Then me and Jonathan saw the scene, just in time for Steve to knock Billy out and for her cries to die down,” Nancy said.

Hopper nodded as he finally put down all their statements. Then he stood up towards a drawer and pulled out a camera. He gave it to Jonathan.

“We need pictures to file on a case—”

“Is he going to jail?” you spoke up suddenly as Hopper looked at you while Jonathan took it.

“I’ll detain him for now but I will be filing a case in Juvenile court. He’s still 17,” Hopper said as he looked at where Billy is nursing his bleeding nose and bruised face. “But I’ll be calling his parents and Steve’s to discuss the situation—”

“I don’t want to file a case,” You interjected . Steve and Eddie protested at that.

“No way, Squirt. We are filing that case.”

“You can’t just let him go like that?!”

“Detain, make him do community service. I don’t want him to end up in jail,” You told them as you looked around the people in the room.

“Why, sweetheart? He triggered your panic attack again” Eddie said as you looked at him.

“I know, but he can learn his lesson in a different way,” You told them. The image of Max came into your mind now that you are starting to think a bit more clearly. “I provoked him in that room. He was offering me sex and I threw something at him that engraged him. I knew Billy was ticking time bomb of anger.”

You glanced towards the window to look at him but he was already looking at you. Steve and Eddie noticed that and tried to shield you away but you refused. Despite the horrible flashbacks he forced on you. You knew Max and the situation of her house. How despite Billy being an asshole and totally misguided. He was the only thing that became a buffer for Niel and that is something that should be dealt with.

“I’ll probably regret this later but he deserves the help he needs,” You told them as Billy finally looked away from you. You turned to them. “And I just want this night to be over. I just want to rest,”

Hopper, who was quiet, nodded. “I still need to file this and have a case kid,” he told you and you nodded. “But I’ll see what I can do to not send him completely to Jail. I should contact—”

“No,” you stopped him as you looked at Steve. “I don’t want Uncle Harold to know about this not now please,”

Steve looks like he wants to argue but he just sighed in defeat and nodded. “Your choice kid, you’re already 18 right?” You nodded at that. “Okay, I'll detain you and it's best to have Jonathan go with your bruises then you guys can go.”

Jonathan gingerly stood up and walked over to you. “This will be quick,” he murmured quietly. You nodded as you lifted your arm. It trembled a bit and it was heavier than usual but held it up as still as you could. Jonathan took a few photos before he lowered it down.

“You have a bruise on your face too,” He murmured and you just nodded. Closing your eyes as he took another set. “Anywhere else?”

You felt your body and winced when you tried to move your back. “I-I think my back has some,” you murmured.

“Ummm, are you okay to lift—”

Without thinking about anything else, you lifted your shirt up. Everybody scrambled suddenly at your movement. Steve and Eddie stood side by side and turned around while Nancy hurriedly shut the blinds off. Hopper stepped outside, probably taking Billy’s side of the story. Jonathan was looking away.

You removed and turned your back to Jonathan, leaving you in your modest bra. You didn’t even register what you were doing. You just want it to be over and done with. In that moment, you forgot what you were trying to hide for everyone.

“You can take a picture, it's okay.” You told Jonathan as you clutched on the back of the sofa. You don’t know who gasped loud, you never knew who it was. You were too tired and worn to think about it as you heard Jonathan click the camera.

“D-do you have something on your front—” You turned a bit, though when the room became incredibly quiet. You suddenly opened your eyes and gasped. Your hand instinctively covers your stomach. You looked and saw that Eddie and Steve were frozen on the spot. Their eyes wide as it's trained on your now covered stomach.

Jonathan, who probably saw it too, has his eyes trained on Nancy while the girl has her hands covering her mouth.

Shit. They saw the scars.

Steve called out your name and slowly you opened your eyes to stare at him. “Where did you get those scars?” He asked.

“S-steve,”

“Where did you get it?” He asked, his eyes glossing over as he looked at you. “I-Is that what happened back in—” He stopped his eyes darkening. He made the same face when you talked about not running away in the forest but this time it was accompanied by anger. Fuck.

Steve called your name, your complete name and that made you start to shake. Your tremble probably prompted Eddie to finally move. He carefully moved towards you. His eyes were full of concern.

“Sweetheart,” He mumbled as he grew closer. Your vision started to blur as tears flooded your eyes.

This isn’t happening. This is not how you want them to know about this. You don’t like the way this is fucking unfolding. Fuck. Fuck.

“I-I’m sorry,” You forced out as you shook your head and looked at Steve.

“P-please d-don’t tell me Uncle Nate– FUCK!” Steve exclaimed as he clutched on his head. “Is this the reason why your move to Hawkins got delayed? Is this the reason why you won’t tell me anything about Utah?”

You just continue to shake your head and cry. Eddie finally reached you and once his arms went around you. You flinched and backed away. Eddie jumped and a flash of hurt came across his face before it was gone.

“S-Steve please, n-not now. N-not today–”

“What happened?! What are you not telling me?”

“Steve! I don’t think this is the best time to berate your cousin,” Eddie finally spoke as he glared at the guy.

“B-but”

“I’ll tell you when I can” You spoke out as you looked at Steve. “I-I just want to rest for now. Please?” You pleadingly look at him.

Steve closed his eyes as he ran a hand through his face. “I’m sorry.” He quietly said before he looked over at you.” Y-yeah, I’m sorry. I-I just need–” He suddenly walked out of there and you finally broke down crying.

Eddie moved to take you in his arms and this time you let him as you buried your face against his neck. You didn’t know how long you were there in his arms until you felt him move you to get your shirt back to your body. Then he made you wear his leather jacket, leaving him on his hellfire shirt. You slipped your arms through the jacket and it was too big on you. The sleeves went over your hands but that’s okay. You inhaled his scent and for the second time that night. Your body felt heavy and without another thought in your head. You welcomed the darkness this time.

Hopper made sure that what happened with Billy and you remained under wraps. Billy’s parents were informed that he got into a fight and managed to hurt you a bit. Luckily Steve has bruises to show that he did try to defend you. Uncle Harold was beyond pissed when he learned of the fight.

Though you placate him, telling him that you are fine. You are not. That Hopper would be taking care of it. Fortunately, despite Uncle Harold’s insistence of handling what happened. He was only able to come home for one day before flying out again. A business trip he cannot miss but he made sure that Steve and you are stocked until Christmas and until they manage to come home.

After that night of incident, you and Steve are walking on eggshells. You both agreed that it was better for you to recover at least enough to take the exams before the winter break hits.Before the two of you finally talked.

Of course, during this time, Eddie suddenly became yours and Steve’s mediator. You might be too fucked up in talking about the shit show but talking about you and Eddie. That is something you are sure of. There is not much to talk about, nothing will change except that every touch and comfort is something more than friends do.

The two of you haven’t really kissed or gone on a date yet. You can’t seem to enjoy it knowing that the talk with Steve is looming for the both of you. Also, Eddie wants to know what really happened to you as he witnessed two of your panic attacks and two of them he helped bring you back.

He became your rock. He didn’t ask questions for the whole duration that he was with you when you recovered. He was just there, offering his warmth and affection to you.

Though you knew, the inevitable will come and you are absolutely terrified.

Terrified that when you tell them what happened back there might change their view of you. They might realized that despite the strong facade you're fronting, you are more fucked up than they realize. What if they didn’t want anything to do with you? What if Steve would always look at you out of pity? What if Eddie decided that he doesn’t need another fucked up thing in his life?

That rolled around your head for days as you waited for the impending talk. You never voiced it out. Out of fear that it would come true. Then without even doing that, the day came.

It came two days before Christmas. The case against Billy came to head as it was quickly processed in the city hall as Hopper knew the mayor personally. They wanted a sentence before Christmas came. He was sentenced to an anger management course right at Hawkins General while doing a total of 78 days of community service starting a month before the school ends. He is also going to be under probation and at all means should stay away from you until further notice.

It was Steve who delivered the news once it was over. Uncle Harold had cuddled you up while Aunt Miriam tried to console you. Though, the two of them need to leave again for another business trip. Bringing another slightly sad news that you will be spending your first Christmas in Hawkins without them.

Though it was a good thing that you and Steve are left alone. You wouldn’t want them to hear what you are about to tell Steve. You also decided it was best to have Eddie there. He deserves to hear too after witnessing two of your breakdowns.

So there you were with Eddie by your side, his arms bringing you the support you needed. Steve was sitting there looking everywhere but you as silence enveloped the living room. You didn’t know how to start and sure as hell knew that you wouldn’t be able to tell everything without any liquid courage.

“Why do we pull out Uncle’s hidden whiskey, yeah?” You spoke, breaking the silence. Steve finally looked over at you with a raised brow.

“I thought you hate fancy drinks like that?” Steve mused as he moved, getting it anyway as he knew he needed something to do.

You nodded. “Still hate it but I think we all three need something stronger,” you told him and he nodded. He excused himself towards his dad’s office leaving you and Eddie. You picked on your nails as you waited anxiously. Eddie must have noticed because the next thing you know. A big hand enveloped almost both of yours. Stilling your hands on doing further damage while the other wrapped itself around your shoulders.

You felt his lips land on your temple and stayed there as you closed your eyes and leaned to him.

“You got this,” Eddie mumbled against your temple as you nodded. “Steve, he might be a bit dramatic–”

“Oh, I know that,” you can’t help but say and that made Eddie chuckle.

“But he is a decent guy. He might be a jerk and asshole most of the time but he’s your cousin. He’s family. Whatever you say to him, it will be okay,” Eddie mumbled. You nodded but then you pulled away as you looked back at him.

“What about you?” You can’t help but ask. You hesitated as you looked at him. “What you will hear today, you might not want anything to do with me after,” You finally voice out the fear that nagged your head and made you terrified. Though the moment it went out of your mouth, Eddie looked back at you with pure adoration. Something you didn’t expect from him, not after what you said.

“Nothing can make me go away from you. Okay?” Eddie reverently told you as he reached out to hold your head with both of his hands. His brown doe eyes stared straight at yours as he spoke again. This time, quietly. “Whatever you say, it won’t change the fact that I am completely taken by you sweetheart. Hell, I even stayed by your side trying to be a hero when I’m not even close to it.”

You can’t help but hold on to his hand as he spoke. “Whatever it is, I will be right by your side when you face it. Okay?”

You nodded as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead. The two of you pulled away from each other just in time for Steve to enter the living room with three glasses and the bottle of whiskey. You looked at him to see an unreadable expression on his face but once he looked at you. His gaze softened.

“Here,” He said as he poured you some. You took it, not waiting for the other to have their drinks. You downed it one go, relishing the burn as you winced. Then you can’t help but stare at the glass as you wait for the other two to settle down.

“Hey,” Steve called out your name. You looked back up at him as he looked at you still with a softened gaze. “Whenever you ready,”

You took a deep breath before you looked over at Eddie who just finished taking a sip on his glass. He nodded in his head at your encouragement. With one final nod, you looked over at Steve.

“Whatever you know about my father through Uncle Harold is complete utter bullshit,” You started and bit your lip as you continued. “Papa didn’t die because of a poisoning in the labs he worked at—” you trailed off as you looked over at Eddie and then Steve before delivering what could possibly open the floodgates of memory.

“He was murdered.”

To be continued.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #steve harrington #billy hargrove #nancy wheeler #SOHON #alltheficsiwant #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fan fic #harrington!reader #stranger things #ilovemyrockstar

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volterran-wine · 2 years

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𝗦𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝐈𝐈𝐈: Burning Bridges || Caius

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.” ― Aristotle

Summary: Though Caius has survived his first haunting experience with the shadows that now plague him day and night; he is forever changed. While he recovers below the palace he plots his greatest campaign to date; the extermination of an entire species. But much is lost in the darkness.

Wordcount: 3051 words

!Warnings! Caius has some abusive tendencies in this one and I have tagged this to be sure I do not trigger anyone. His mental state and obsession with hunting the werewolves puts immense pressure on every relationship that he has. Also, his mind goes to some very dark places and this is very much the birth of Caius the cruel and shows what he is capable of doing.

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𝐄𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲

Volaterrae, 22 AD

Over the coming months Caius stayed in the caverns.

The ancient stone and waterways gave him a sense of peace the bustling world above could not. Two weeks into his now self imposed exile new recruits had been guided to their home by Marcus, the unfamiliar footsteps put Caius on edge as he lay below.Though his ire was not ignited until he heard them whisper of a mad man deep within the depths of the earth. He had inspired fear once upon a time, now all that was left of the once great soldier was an abandoned room adjacent to the training grounds. As the seasons changed and the snow outside their walls slowly began to melt, Caius never left that bitter and cold clearing where he almost lost his life.

The shadows would keep him company, lurking in dark corners and waiting for their chance to devour him once more. Some of them grew large, teeth sharp and eyes glowing in the darkness as they watched him rest — while others were small and slithered around him unnoticed until he could feel their damp tongues

licking up his shins.

At night they laughed at him, and sometimes he joined in on the merriment.

Though, if he laid still he could hear the sounds of his brother's fond bickering or Sulpicia softly playing the lyre while Corin and Athenodora hummed along — it comforted him for a while.

On the fiftieth day he was able to walk again, it should have been a joyous one. Athenodora had embraced him when he met her at the entryway to their very own necropolis, but as his wife peppered his neck, cheeks and lips with kisses — Caius could only stare at the dozens of sickly yellow eyes that stared at him from the shadows. Once more he saw flashes of the great beast biting into his beloved, its teeth crushing her cranium until only blood, bone and decaying flesh was left of the woman in his arms. How he would desperately try piecing her broken self together again with his bare hands until they were covered in blood and dirt. And as Caius screamed and begged for her to open her eyes once more, the beasts gathered and loomed over the couple crumpled together in the snow. They would follow him whether he liked it or not, no matter how fast he would run; they would be there — taunting him. He did not realise how his grip around Athenodora had tightened until she cried out in pain, though he let go immediately her hands went straight to her lower ribs; cradling herself and taking a step away from him, eyes wide with shock.

No time was wasted, with his newfound resolve he turned away from all that he held dear and disappeared into his prison once more; never looking back.

“Caius,—”

“Leave.”

When his leg gave out half way to his underground quarters, he screamed — no one came.

—

Three days later a guard named Salvius had been assigned to him by his brothers, sworn to not speak a word of Caius’ condition as he was recovering from his dance with death and madness. He was pleasant enough company once he learned the hard way to not make idle chatter with the leader, losing one's tongue and waiting three days for it to reattach put things into perspective. Through Salvius Caius learned of how the coven was expanding and working towards their end goal; dominance over the vampiric race. Talks of war and conquering usually made the venom in his veins sing, a desperate glee would usually overcome him as he planned for the Dacian’s downfall. Just last year when parts of a new fortified wall were set up he had imagined how lovely Stefan’s head would look mounted up there for all to see. The mortals would be none the wiser, their kind eerily looked like statues formed from precious alabaster after all.

But another war brewed in Caius’ mind, one he had begun planning four months ago as he watched the first snowfall and contemplated death.Thoughts of tearing tufts of fur from the beasts bloodied hides and breaking their babes in two over his knee would not leave his imagination. Everytime he closed his eyes he would return to that fateful moment, staring down the dead beast that had reduced him to this.

As days bled into weeks he could hear how the ones living above him breathed new life into their home. Meanwhile he would lay on his makeshift cot and stare at the natural formations above him, often thinking about what it would feel like if those great pointed rocks fell directly on him. Some hours were easier to deal with than others, if he was lucky the shadows would only snarl at him and tear at his limbs. Sometimes he would find himself staring directly into the big eyes of a great wolf, neither of them looking away until Salvius brought him news of what transpired above the next morning. One evening he had caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the pools of water, and what stared back at him was a sight he would never familiarise himself with. His body; scarred and so inhumanely pale — more so than it had been before. They had met no immortal or mortal that could give a proper explanation for the state of his hair, the locks that had once been dark now hung as tresses of pure white. The next day Salvius noticed that rock and dirt had been haphazardly thrown into all nearby bodies of water.

Guards would leave Volaterrae on his orders, some never returned — but those who survived their encounters knew to seek out the generals' new quarters immediately. Relaying all information they had been able to gather while keeping their life intact. The beasts were rarely found in larger packs, usually alone or in small familial units; or at least that is what a guard theorised to him before being mauled the week that followed. Mindless and instinctual were words often repeated in order to describe them. Some guards who had lost their limbs to the beasts found themselves experiencing phantom pains and their bodies beginning to itch.

Wolves of all species they could find were dragged into the caverns, their howls equally frightful as they were filled with sorrow; until nothing was left but pained yelps. They would never live for long however, Caius would break their bones and tear their jaws in an attempt to find a weak spot. There had to be a relation to the much larger and almost ape-like beasts somehow, there had to be a common weakness or something they could exploit. There had to be.

Caius had stumbled upon their natural born enemies, and now he would figure out how to exterminate them if it was the last thing that he did.

—

One evening Aro had visited him, keeping himself at a great distance from Caius; skittish and nervous. If anything his dearest brother almost blended in with the shadows that now tormented him every hour of the day. What seemed to interest and alarm Aro the most was the state his quarters were in.

The once small room had now been expanded and its walls covered with paint, but what truly shocked his brother was that Caius had done it with his bare hands. Luckily, Aro was intelligent enough to not comment on his appearance; he knew he looked nothing like the man Aro had lovingly called his older brother. He attempted to goad Caius with pleasant conversation, vapid and unnecessary seeing as though it was obvious why he was here. But this was nothing new, Aro was ever the politician willing to do whatever was necessary in order to ensure his grand empire's prosperity. It was especially ridiculous seeing as though it was ever faithful Sulpicia that kept the coven on a steady course these days, the thought made Caius laugh as he tore at the walls once more; he needed more space for his collection of bones.

“Brother will you not come upstairs with me—” Aro was unable to finish his sentence, for soon enough he would have his brother's worst fears thrust upon him whether he liked it or not.

Caius made sure that Aro saw every gruesome detail of what plagued him day and night. Even when his brother frantically tried to pull away from him he only held on tighter, pushing the two of them up against a cave wall that crumbled in on itself due to their strength. His brother was blessed with the sight of his own death at the hands of those monsters, then his wife, and then the entirety of the coven. Volaterrea was burning and there was no one left to put the fires out as their bodies were consumed in smoke and cinders. Screams pierced the night air as a wolf’s howl mingled with it as a grotesque harmony. There was nothing or no one who could make him return, he would not let the shadows taint his home before he could confidently take care of what was his. He would not return until he could slaughter the beasts to his heart's content. When Caius finally let go of Aro his brother all but fell to the ground, shaking and trying to understand all that he had seen.

“I do not wish to join you brother.”

Aro did not visit Caius again.

Meanwhile, his elder brother, Marcus, never stayed longer than two weeks at most in their home these days. Though it had already been twenty six years since Didyme had met her end; her ever faithful husband were still out there attempting to find her murderers. A fruitless labour and persecution when her killer sat comfortably on his expensive rugs and furs just a set of stairs from where Caius wallowed in his research. He remembered that night well, how Aro had come to him frantic, eyes blown wide in disbelief and fear. But most of all he remembered the particular scent of Didyme’s burning corpse as he himself had lit the pyre that would doom his elder brother.

She had smelled of flowers ironically enough, a particular bouquet that reminded him of funerary blooms and the fresh spring breeze,— and venom. Perhaps he did deserve to see all that he saw now, and he would become just as much of a recluse as Aro could be on his worst days.

—

The preparations and research had gone better than Caius could ever dream of, especially when he had been able to experiment with exactly how much of the acidic spit a vampire was able to handle before succumbing to severe injuries. A guard had dragged in the head of one of them, bloody and still leaking all sorts of fluids onto the floor when Caius was able to cradle it in his hands. In the process he had also learned how the beast's blood was equally as dangerous to them if ingested, no matter how much it sometimes smelled of mortal flesh. Salvius had performed his duties quite well, Caius had thought. The guard lasted much longer than the general had been willing to wager before the little experiment had taken place. Now he rested on the bottom of one of the many waterways that sunk deeper into the earth, in Caius’ opinion he had not been worthy of proper burial. The shadows had warned him of how Salvius would speak ill of his general behind his back, loyalty was everything to Caius — and now Salvius knew so as well.

Once the guards' fate became common knowledge Athenodora cornered him with Corin at her side, gift in full effect as well. While it was not unusual for his wife to spend time with her; Caius could not deny that he felt a pang of jealousy in his chest when the two of them approached him; he had been in the middle of preparing another wall for his extensive planning when they had all but ambushed him.

“Caius you need to return to our chambers, now.”

Caius scoffed at his wife's tone, who was she to demand things of him? Here he was, hard at work to figure out how to kill these vicious beasts and she dared to interrupt him. Athenodora was not honoured with a verbal response from him, not even a shake of the head was directed towards her. Had he been thinking clearly he would have been able to see the pain and anguish that was so apparent on her face, but it was Corin that finally got a reaction out of him in the end.

“You are not yourself,—”

He was on the girl before she could utter another fallacy, the grip on her upper arm so tight that if he just flexed his muscles he would certainly break it in two. Darkened eyes bore into hers, livid and wide as he attempted to control his temper as best as he could. This was Corin after all. The shadows began circling around the two of them, brushing up against his back and irritating the scars there; taunting him. A vicious snarl left him as his head jerked in pain, eyes shut tightly as he attempted to focus on the girl in front of him.

“Do not speak as if you know me.”

He had bestowed upon Corin another chance at life, nothing more — nothing less. A successful progeny was all that she was to him, living proof of his expert control. He could feel Athenodora move closer to them, but Caius still loomed over the girl. The hushed silence was only broken by Corin’s unnecessary shaky breaths, for a split second he was reminded of another young girl who had looked up at him with teary eyes like hers; but that was so long ago. He snuffed out the sentiment as quick as it came. He leaned uncomfortably close to the most vulnerable part of her body — the neck. In truth; he could take away that gift of life as easily as he had granted it. Finally the red haired girl lowered her head in respect, a slight quiver to her frame

Caius let go.

Lips curled into a disgusting sneer as he regarded the guard in front of him, she had been too weak; like the ones before her — like him. “Never use that gift on me again.” Corin gave one firm nod of her head before looking up at him once more, though her eyes had steeled themselves somewhat; almost daring him to threaten her further. A faint smile spread on his lips before he shook his head, perhaps the fire had not been fully extinguished in either of them.

“They will not wait.” His words were not directed at Corin or Athenodora in particular, if anything it was an acknowledgment to the beasts that had begun closing in on them. Even now he felt them breath down the back of his neck, sharp teeth nipping at his crystalized flesh; a crass sound filling his ears in the process. His attention was once more on the cave walls, how he had covered almost every inch of them in his writings; some carved into the stone for all eternity while others were painted. If looked at for too long they began to move, taking shape and travelling along every erosion and smoothed out surface due to the water dripping down from above. The few candles he had lit up to guide him around the labyrinthine passageways flickered as a gust of wind howled through the cave systems.

The shadows grew, engulfing all that could be seen in the now dimly lit cavern. Corin and Athenodora were but two faint embers in the darkness, and soon enough even they would be lost as well. They were always the first ones of his kin to be consumed, torn to pieces and left at his feet. Then they would move on to Aro, Marcus, Sulpicia and Felix. It was impossible for Caius to estimate just how many times he had watched his family be ripped to pieces the last ten months, every vision more gruesome than the one who came before it. When he next spoke it was impossible to hide the unsteadiness of his voice, quivering and quiet — so unlike him.

“So neither shall I.”

Caius fixed his jaw, taunt and hardened; giving the two women a single firm nod before he pushed past the last guests he would ever receive down in the depths. There was still a lot of work to be done before he could make his glorious return.

Behind him Corin finally let out a broken sob, choking on the venom that had pooled in her mouth on instinct once Caius had threatened her. The sorrowful sound was muffled however as Athenodora embraced the young woman who had only felt the chill of immortality for twenty summers. Though he never turned back to look at them he could feel his wife’s glare at the back of his neck. The rest of the day Caius convinced himself that the dull ache in his chest was simply a flare up from his past injuries.

Summer ended in a blazing hot crescendo before simmering out, the temperature cooled and the surrounding areas around Volterra prepared themselves to face death once more. The lord hidden in the depths had claimed all bounties that spring and summer had offered freely, and taken even more by force. Now the harsh grip of winter would soon tighten around them all, time was running out.

One November morning as the first snow fell their tracker returned with news of wolf-like beasts slaughtering over half of a human village near the border to Germania. How a cohort of emperor Tiberius’ best men had come across a sight so gruesome, unlike anything they had ever seen before.

As the vampires huddled around the open hearths, listening to the trackers' stories — a faint set of footsteps could be heard moving up the stairs that led down into the abyss.

It was time.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞; If anyone is curious to see what the caverns look like, you may want to turn your attention to this post.

#Caius Volturi Imagine #Caius Volturi #Twilight #Snowfall Saga #TW Verbal Abuse #TW Physical Abuse #TW Blood #TW Gore #TW Body Horror #TW Murder

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