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shegatsby · 21 hours

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Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/n; How i missed yu guys! Finally im free from family issues and i can continue this series. I hope you enjoy it. SMUT in the future chapters, i promise, don't forget to share your thoughts with me. xxx

TAG LIST IS OPEN! (let me know if i forgot to tag you)

Warnings; Baron being a weirdo.

Words; 3.584K

Chapter Five ''A Delicious Meal''

Feyd-Rautha Harkonenn didn’t know what to do, she was in his arms.. at least one of his long time wishes came true but he would’ve preferred a better scenario, he carried her to his king sized bed, covered in black silk, as oon as he laid her gently he called for his most trusted doctor. The man was tiny and bald, his eyes were jet black and had no whites, he had been serving Harkonnens for years. Feyd was standing a step away, watching carefully, he watched the doctor examine Y/N, Feyd’s eyes never leaving her body and to see if the doctor ever dared to touch her inappropriately. ‘’Due to change of climate and stress Lady Y/N’s body lost significant amount of vitamins, it is most likely she has been skipping meals. I’m going to give her some pills to boost her energy, she must also finish her meals.’’ He placed a container of pills on the side table and bowed to leave, when the family doctor left Feyd found himself pulling a chair to observe Y/N sleep. Their fight in his twisted mind, the thought he was right till she fainted into his arms. Maybe she was… No.

He dismissed these strange thoughts. She was in his domain an she had to follow his rules and obey. ‘’Little dove..’’ he caressed her long Y/H/C hair, he had always been enamored by her lush hair, so beautiful and vivid. Whenever he got a chance of seeing her he would observe her hair and how it bounced and rippled like the waves of Caladan, her home.. not anymore. As children, Feyd, Y/N, Irulan and sometimes Paul were left alone when adults were talking business, their nannies would be present of course but they were free to play together. Feyd-Rautha would chase her, pull her hair to annoy her. He loved to get reactions out of her whilst they grew up their interactions got limited. They had to be present at certain meetings such as balls, ceremonies etc.

His mind wandered to a distant memory…

At his 16th birthday it was Feyd’s first time at the arena, it was a Harkonnen tradition, so the important houses were invited. He had been training for years and it was his time to shine, bring fame and glory to his family and also prove a ‘’certain someone’’ that he had become a man, someone she could notice finally. When he entered the arena his animalistic lust for blood made his body electric, the black sun was at the top, making the arena look like a glowing white desert. He had his black uniform and combat boots which made him look much taller, he could hear the crowd’s cheer, they were ordered to cheer for him but still, he bathed in it.

He greeted the houses who were seated at the private chambers, he could see her

Time to impress.

He didn’t forget to activate his shield and the games began, prisoners were released from the doors to the arena, they were injected sedatives to make sure Feyd would be safe. He was there to butcher.

With every kill the white sand got covered in blood and stick to his boots, with every kill he was cheered, celebrated. At the end of the duel he was dipped in his enemies’ blood head to toe. He bowed and let the fame wash him away in ecstasy. He gained the popularity of his people and the houses that came to watch him. He was sure he was going to get marriage deals one after the other. When he lifted his head, he noticed that her seat was empty, she was gone. Why? Before the feast he was determined to find her and confront her.

He bathed very quickly, got dressed and left his chambers. He asked guards of her guest chambers and got no answers, he tried her maids and again, no answer. He was irritated, where could she be?

‘’My Lord, you’re asked by Reverend Mother.’’ A servant came to inform him, he had to put this pursuit aside for a while.

Reverend Mother was in her chambers, she travelled here with Emperor’s politicians. She was standing, her long black dress sweeping the clean floor. Her face was covered in laced veil, she waited for servants to leave them alone. ‘’Activate silence.’’ She ordered and a shield surrounded them, no one could hear them, ‘’You have fought well.’’ She began, ‘’Our order puts faith in you, young Harkonnen.’’ He didn’t interrupt her, unlike Rabban, he had wits about him. ‘’You would be a worthy match for one of our sisters We are watching you and her closely. You may be dismissed.’’ He left.

He had a feeling that sister is someone he had his eyes on her since they were children. With a smirk he roamed the halls of his fortress of black and white. He had an idea, his legs moved towards the chapel, almost no one prayed or believed in something other than violence on this planet.

The room was silent, there she was on her knees praying. Her long violet dress bunched up on her knees, he watched her pray. It made him curios, what was she praying for? He wanted to give her a reason to be on her knees but he kept his eccentric ideas to himself and keep his wide awake manhood in check. Ever since venom of being a teenager entered his body he had fun having these thoughts of her, of course he had his concubines to warm his bed and yet they weren’t enough, he had a thirst only she could quench.

Y/N rose to her feet as she finished praying, he cleared his throat to get her reaction, she turned to face him. He was standing tall, hands clasped behind his back, ‘’I have noticed your absence at my coming of age celebration Lady Y/N.’’ he began, his snake like eyes trapped her in, ‘’Is something to matter?’’ he was genuinely wondering. Her gaze was distant, he could see the work of Bene Gesserit on her, ‘’Maybe I didn’t want to see prisoners getting killed.’’ She replied coldly, ‘’But you promised to-‘’ she cut him short, ‘’I have seen eough. Good day, Na-Baron.’’ And she left the chapel, leaving him in shock… no one dared to stood up to him before and there she was with her lioness fire.

Y/N was gaining consciousness, opening her eyes slowly, the room was too quiet, her eyes travelled in the room to see him sitting on a chair, in reverse position and watching her, his hands resting on the back of the chair loosely, she was in his bed chambers. ‘’What happened?’’ she moved to rest her back on the headboard, pulling her legs towards her, ‘’Change of climate, stress and skipping meals.. you will be under surveillance. I’ve ordered your maids to bring your belongings here, you’re going to stay with me from now on. She could feel the heat on her face, ‘’But Harkonnen traditions say that-‘’ Feyd bolted to his feet, ‘’To hell with the traditions, your health comes first,’’ when he noticed the questioning look from her he added ‘’you are to birth my heirs. End of discussion.’’ With the mention of heirs her blood ran cold in her veins, she had been specifically avoiding the concept ever since her fate was decided for her, it seemed Feyd was the opposite. She wondered if she could leave after birthing his heirs… her heart told her that she was humane enough to stay and care for her offspring, she couldn’t abandon them, unlike Feyd she wasn’t a monster.

Y/N Atreides watched him take his leave, after the door closed she took advantage of being alone in his chambers, his bedroom consisted of a balcony, metal wardrobe, a skin of a bear on the floor, it made her sick. The fire place was empty since it was a warm day, her maids and servants started o carry her belongings one by one, she didn’t mind them and moved to the living room side, the room was more colorful than the bedroom, by color; black, white, dark blue and grey here and there. A long table which was made of Giedi Prime’s famous tree, Pilingitam, placed close to the large window overlooking the city, the tree’s color was lime-green and it gave a strange pop of color to the room. A basket of fresh fruit just placed by a servant girl, she looked shy, her head bowed, not making eye contact ‘’Our Na-Baron has ordered to keep fresh fruit for everyday my Lady Atreides.’’ Y/N could see the blush on the girls pale cheeks, ‘’I understand.’’ She also noticed how other servants’ behavior changed with this knowledge, Y/N deduced that they weren’t used to see their Na-Baron being ‘’thoughtful’’.

She was suspicious of the fruit basket, she picked a green grape and smelled it, it had no unusual smell, she bit the grape and it’s sweet juice immediately filled her mouth, Y/N was stunned, it was delicious, she assumed the fruit is exported from somewhere else hence Giedi Prime wasn’t known for its luscious fruit trees. She sat on the chair, turned to watch the scenery before her on the large window and ate.

‘’My Na-Baron!’’ Feyd-Rautha’s servant ran, out of breath, he was in the training grounds, sharpening his favorite blade, ‘’Lady Y/N settled perfectly and ate the fruit you sent you had sent.’’ He smiled wickedly, sowing teeth, he saw his reflection on the shiny blade which was about to be dipped in blood, he nodded to the servant and dismissed him. He focused on his training all day until his uncle Baron Vladimir Harkonnen marched in through the heavy doors, the doors smacked against the stone walls and made him turn to his uncle. ‘’What is the meaning of this?!’’ his uncle yelled, floating in the air thanks to his high tech machine, ‘’What do you mean uncle?’’ Feyd pretended like he had no idea, they were under the Giedi Prime’s black sun, the heat didn’t compare to the heat of Arrakis yet it was enough to finish his training and together they moved to a private room. ‘’I’ve heard that Atreides girl will be staying with you. Tell me,’’ he pressed to lean in, Feyd had to look up, he hated looking up at him all his life. ‘’Dear nephew, do you care for this girl?’’ he had to be careful, Feyd bought time by cleaning his sweat covered chest, his muscles attracted the Baron’s attention for a second, he had to be careful, if his uncle suspected anything she would be in danger, he loved to torment her and she was his to torment, not someone else’s. His uncle had no tolerance for ‘’caring’’ his only passion was to keep his house’s powerful stance and leave a might legacy behind.

‘’All my life I’ve fulfilled your orders uncle.’’ Feyd began, he throw the towel away, his blue eyes focused on his uncle with distaste and fire, ‘’You and witches of Bene Gesserit told me to marry the Atreides girl and that’s what I intend to do, you ask for heirs to leave our house one day and that is what I shall do.’’ He explained his voice cold and uninterested. ‘’She is only an object to use and cultivate and I, as her husband-to-be, have to keep her physical health at best, her mental health is not my interest.’’ He didn’t break his composure, looking up at his uncle and he bowed to him, to show loyalty. ‘’That’s my boy. You may rise.’’ Baron left him there, pleased.

Feyd sat on the stone bench, his sweat cooling down, he had to be extra careful when it came to his uncle, Baron Vladimir was known for his cunning mind and sinister plans. Feyd had to be able to protect his wife and children in the future and it seemed near… he thought he could manage his uncle’s plans…

Y/N Atreides didn’t do much that day, she was still tired and in shock. She didn’t want to remember his gruesome ‘’gift’’ or their fight, her main problem at the moment was Feyd’s decision of staying together… in his chambers… she found herself pacing in his bedroom, the sun was setting, leaving the landscape of industry in darkness, she could see the lamps in the city were being lit one by one, at a distance ships were landing or taking off, those were the spice ships, all over the galaxy every living being’s destiny was bound to spice… including her. The door was knocked and opened, she turned to face the servant, she assumed it was a servant because Na-Baron had no manners such as knocking on the door. The servant bowed, ‘’Dinner shall be served soon, our Lord Na-Baron is expecting her ladyship to join him.’’ She had no choice but to obey his request. ‘’Tell my maids to come and dress me.’’ Her plan was to be silent, eat and go to sleep… somewhere except his bed.

Her personal maids dressed her in black, they said she had to represent her husband-to-be’s house, she despised the color and yet when she looked at herself on the tall mirror, she looked powerful. The dress was long with long sleeves, had a nice cut on her chest, her hair was braided Atreides style, loose and fluffy, her maids left and she approached to the door of the living room.

The fire place was lit, he was standing by the window, his back turned to her, his hands clasped at his back, Y/N literally saw his ears prick up like a hellhound. He turned confidently, his posture straight and he is covered in black clothing just like her, ‘’Finally.’’ He greeted her with a victorious smile, eyes roaming over her body, she felt his blue orbits shooting at her, table was set, candles lit. Did he really made the servants light candles instead of glowglobes? She couldn’t ignore how the candles changed the mood in the room, more serene yet with a touch of expectation of something new.

He moved to the other side of the tale to move her chair for her to sit, without a word she walked and sat, as he was pushing the chair back to its place she could feel his breath on her neck, burning her, ‘’I have to admit, you look ravishing in that dress.’’ His breath lingered for few more seconds which felt eternity, she kept her silence, eyes forward, he chuckled to himself and moved to the other side of the table and sat. ‘’How is your health?’’ he casually asked, getting ready to eat the meat before him, her eyes moved to the table, she also had rare cooked meat on her plate, when she moved the meat eith her fork she could see the blood under it, it made her sick so she looked up to him, Feyd was waiting for an answer, he noticed her expression change, ‘’I feel much better.’’ She replied, Feyd began to eat like a man starved, ‘’I had my training all day,’’ she didn’t ask but he was explaining anyways, ‘’fighting makes me starve like wolves.’’ It seemed so, she was in utter shock how he can eat that rare meat… Feyd remembered his conversation earlier with his uncle and went silent.

‘’Start eating,’’ he noticed that she still didn’t touch her food, ‘’or,’’ he continued but Y/N cut him off, ‘’Or you will kill another servant to teach me a lesson?’’ she sarcastically said, still traumatized by that incident. His presence made her feel uneasy, he was the reason why she had to leave everything behind and it made her blood boil in despise. Y/N heard Feyd’s chuckle, ‘’Or I will feed you myself.’’ He finished.

A mental image flashed in her mind’s eye, thanks to Bene Gesserit mind work she could imagine more vividly than normal people, in the image Feyd was sitting next to her, very close, abnormally close and feeding her slowly, wiping her lips with his thumb and sucking it, there was a sexual undertone to this image, she pinched her skin to wake up.

‘’No, thank you.’’ Couldn’t help but wonder his idea, she began eating fruit, totally avoiding the bloody meat, her senses were high so she could smell the blood unfortunately, ‘’Is settling in over?’’ Feyd asked, he was leaning on his chair, holding a goblet of red wine, his eyes shining like diamonds under the candle lights, ‘’We are disobeying the traditions. We should unite when we get married. I do not wish to attract unwanted attention than it is.’’ Y/N was being honest, ‘’Unite,’’ he said with a wicked smile, ‘’We can unite right now on this very tableif you please, little dove.’’ He drank his wine watching her startled expression, her slightly opened pretty mouth but she recovered quickly, ‘’I am settling in just fine.’’ She ignored his comment. ‘’I wish to learn the fortress better, so that I won’t have to rely on my maids to take me to places.’’

‘’I can show you around, I am sure you will get used to your new home.’’ He finished his drink and poured another, ‘’This isn’t home.’’ Y/N said under her breath, a sudden sadness washed her body up and down like the waves of Caladan. ‘’Hm?’’ he pretended like he didn’t hear, he wanted her to say it but she surprised him, ‘’Nothing.’’

‘’You don’t like rare cooked meat I take it?’’ he was taking notes of her likes and dislikes, ‘’I like it well cooked.’’ Feyd pressed a button on the table and in seconds a servant man rushed in immediately, ‘’My wife prefers her meat well cooked. If a mistake like this ever happenes again I shall serve her the kitchen staffs’ heads instead.’’ He wasn’t even looking at the servant, he was focused on the dessert he was eating, Y/N apologized quietly to the servant man who was shaking, carrying her plate back to the kitchens to bring what Na-Baron requested.

‘’I am not your wife.’’ Y/N protested in annoyance,

‘’Not yet.’’ He replied and looked to see her intransigent eyes, so fiery it confused Feyd, did he want her to rebel against him and be dominant or did he just wanted to crush her soul to his feet?

The servant brought back her table, ‘’It looks delicious, thank you.’’ She noticed how the servant’s expression change into confusion, Y/N Atreides was slightly impacting them in a good way. The servant them alone.

‘’Do we have to have dinner together every night?’’

‘’Why?’’ he placed his fork on the metal plate, wiping his mouth with a black piece of cloth, ‘’You don’t find me pleasant to look at?’’ he teased, trying to get a reaction out of her, ‘’The table looks more pleasant.’’ She replied coldly, her hands on her lap, sitting tall and immobile, ‘’I have to make sure you finish your plate.’’ He got up from his seat coming to her, ‘’I want strong sons.’’ He added and pulled the chair next to hers. ‘’You forget, I am a Bene Gesserit witch, I choose the gender of the baby.’’ She was watching his movements, what was he doing? He got the fork and knife and cut her meat into cubes, ‘’What are you doing?’’ she looked puzzled, was her mental image becoming true?

‘’Like I have said, I want strong children and a strong mother to take care of them. Now,’’ he got a cube of meat to the fork, ‘’open wide.’’

Y/N could feel the heat rising to her face, ‘’I can eat-‘’

‘’I don’t trust you.’’ He was so forward it caught her off guard, his face held the truth, her Bene Gesserit training was yelling her in her mind, ‘’He doesn’t trust you that you can take care of yourself on your own here..’’

She was trying to find a correct path to manipulate him,

‘’Give in.’’ a voice in her head said,

And she opened wide. ‘’Little dove, see, some things are so easy when you let your guard down.’’ He was close to her, feeding her, the meat was delicious.

‘’Giedi Prime isn’t welcoming to outsiders. His voice was low and she can see he was telling the truth, he got another cube of meat when she swallowed, ‘’Good?’’ he asked as he fed her again, Y/N nodded, she realized how hungry she was, the juice of the meat running down at the corner of her mouth, Feyd wiped it with his thumb and licked it clean. Their eyes never leaving as if it is a contest, in silence she let him feed her.

‘’Good girl.’’ He praised, and watched the effect it had on her. Their eyes refused to part, she didn’t want him to think that she was afraid of him, she wanted to insert her presence to him but his aura was too strong to bare. ‘’What did you mean by Giedi Prime not being welcoming?’’ she noticed he was trying to say something without being obvious, he placed the fork on the plate, leaned back on the chair. ‘’It is easy to make enemies here, one wrong move and you lose. You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.’’ And he stood up,

‘’Shall we sleep?’’

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twstbookclub · 1 day

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Fleeting Dreams and Paper Rings

Summary: Silver's eyes always remained on you. His memories of you were filled with sunflowers, the warm afternoon sun, and paper rings. His hand always sought yours, and the thin band of gold on your ring finger stirred his heart more than anything else. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Childhood Love, Unrequited Feelings, Silver Being Too Understanding, Diasomnia Found Family Cameo, Mentioned Vil and Neige, Mentioned Event from Book 5 (no major spoilers), Silver's POV Word Count: 2, 085 The way I struggled thinking of angst for this guy. Fluff is easy with him, but angst? Book 7 is already giving this boy a struggle, and I'm already teetering on the edge of the cliff with this. I'm not sure if this is any good, but I hope yall enjoy it at least. Silver is literally giving fairytale, woodland prince vibes. I'm going to drown this man in fairytale energy, even if it's the last thing I do.

“Silver, c’mere!” Your giggles echoed across a field of sunflowers. The young boy, whose hair glimmered like his namesake, waded through the yellow blooms with a curious look. Silver aurora eyes stared at your smile, stretched from one ear to the other.

Small, chubby hands reached out to place something soft on top of Silver’s head. It also tickled and pricked his forehead. The warm, summer air rustled his silver locks, and his own tiny hands clutched the ring of flowers that adorned his hair. Gentle fingers touched the petals of the sunflowers woven among the stems. A few leaves poked his skin, but he didn’t mind.

“Yay! It looks pretty on you,” you told him with a giggle. Silver watched you clasp your hands behind your back, as you looked at him with a bright beam. “I asked Lilia to teach me how to make flower crowns. Do you like it?”

His cheeks grew warm, not hot to the touch yet enough to color his pale skin. He imagined that knowing look in his father’s eyes. It was an innocent request, most likely born from a wish to make a beautiful gift. As young as the child was, Silver was already aware of his father’s mischievous tendencies.

Without lingering on the thought, he nodded and murmured, “I like it. Thank you…”

The edges of your eyes crinkled, hiding behind the chub of your cheeks. A laugh rang in the silent field of flowers, and Silver was reminded of the tinkling noises of the diurnal fae. You clapped your hands and tugged him to sit down with you. Another story sat at the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be shared with the boy you met in the forest one day. Somehow, you two became inseparable afterwards.

As the sunflowers swayed in the wind, carrying its fragrance and heralding the beginning of summer, the little boy thought your smile was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

“Silver!”

Gone was the chub in your cheeks, yet your smile remained. Ten-year-old you and Silver sat in his father’s study: trinkets, books, and scrolls bearing untold tales of travel and war within its cabin walls. Scraps of colorful paper, either torn or crumpled or both, littered the mahogany table. Silver noticed that the bright sunlight that illuminated the room glowed with a soft orange now.

“Yes?” He asked, turning to you, only to be met with another wide smile and an excited gleam in your eyes. A paper ring sat in between your thumb and index finger. It was shoddy, obviously the work of a child, but you showed it to him as if it was gold that you unearthed yourself.

“I finally made one!” You cheered, before you beckoned him to give his hand to you. Silver did so without a complaint, and you slid the paper ring on one of his fingers. His heart skipped a beat as your fingers brushed his. He silently prayed that you didn’t hear his breath hitch in his throat. The silence seemed to make him more conscious of his own breathing and heart and everything.

Silver couldn’t help but notice that you put the ring on his left finger, right next to his pinky. He vaguely remembered his father telling him about an ancient belief; how a vein in this finger ran directly to the heart. He didn’t understand it, but his young mind interpreted it as the finger being related to the organ in some way.

“Mommy and daddy both have rings on this finger,” you explained without a falter in your smile. “They said you give someone you really love a ring here. Something about marrying the person you want to be with for life.”

As you looked into his eyes, your smile grew wider, if that was possible. Silver owlishly blinked, listening to your every word amidst the confusing warmth in his chest. His heart thudded, beating loud in his ears. He stared at you without so much as a twitch in his expression, despite what he currently felt.

“Let’s get married when we’re older! I want to have more fun and happy days with you for the rest of my life!”

You cradled Silver’s hand as if it was glass, fragile and valuable. It reminded him of the time when you held a glass of apple juice that Lilia had given you once. Silver felt as if the words would spill out of his mouth, anyway.

“Okay,” he answered softly. The wind could have drowned out his voice, but it rang clear in the quiet study. “I promise. We’ll get married when we’re older.”

You cheered, giggling and laughing and clutching Silver’s hand. Even if it was made of paper, he treasured the ring like a diamond that sparkled under the sun. Even if these were words being exchanged by naive and ignorant children, he held the promise close to his heart.

That day, Silver kept the ring in an empty cookie tin next to the flower crown. Time had not been kind to the gift from his early childhood. The sunflowers have long wilted, and the stems browned and became brittle. The petals and leaves crumbled under a feather-light touch.

Still, the silver-haired boy smiled and kept his treasures next to his bed.

“Silver,” you whispered, standing close to the tall teenager. Your arm brushed against his, while you avoided bumping into the scores of people that flocked Main Street. “It’s really crowded this year, huh?”

Night Raven College opened its gates to the public for the school festival, particularly for the Vocal and Dance Championship—VDC, for short. Silver invited you to the same event last year, and you enjoyed the variety of snacks and games offered by the students. You two even managed to get tickets for VDC then. He thought of inviting you to this year’s school festival. Although, he didn’t expect the surge of visitors this time.

“I’m sorry.” Silver gave you an apologetic smile as he tugged you by the arm. You were pulled away from some squealing and tittering girls that rushed through the crowd. They were screaming about VDC tickets, Vil, and Neige. Fangirls, Silver presumed.

“I didn’t anticipate that this year’s VDC would garner this much attention. Forgive me,” he apologized with a furrow of his brows and a quirk of his lips. His heart skipped a beat when you shook your head and grinned at him.

You never failed to make Silver’s heart do flips and cartwheels with that smile of yours.

“It’s fine,” you hummed and tugged his sleeve with a sheepish smile now, “but… Can you hold my hand, please? I don’t want to lose you in this crowd.”

Silver didn’t hesitate. His hand slid from your arm to your own hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. With a gentle squeeze, he answered, “Of course. Let’s go, then. I still have so much to show you, and we should search for Father while we’re at it.”

“Can we get cotton candy or ice cream on the way? Maybe both?”

You squeezed his hand in return, and that was all Silver needed. Heart fluttering and gaze softening at the sight of you, he pulled you along the street—as if you two were toddlers walking in the sunflower field again.

“Silver,” you called his name in a breathless whisper. Dressed in white silk that dripped with gold, you stood in front of your childhood friend with teary eyes and a wobbly smile. Your hands squeezed his, calloused from years of training under his father’s swordsmanship. His heart stuttered, and his breath hitched at the faint crack in your voice.

Before Silver knew it, you two moved beyond your teenage years. Time took away the awkward slouch of your shoulders and the lopsided quirk of your lips. The years had been kind to you, gracing you with a confident smile that made your face glow softly. Although, that confidence was replaced with something akin to heartfelt pride and joy at the moment.

“Yes?” He whispered in return, soft and warm and fragile. He squeezed your hands back, as if afraid to let you go. Another giggle. Another smile, one that reminded him of the days when you two were simply naive children. The familiar skip of his heartbeat merely softened the smile on Silver’s face.

“Thank you,” you gripped his hands as your lips quivered more and tears gathered in your eyes, “for everything.”

Silver’s heart twinged, before he reached out to wipe your tears away with a thumb. He never let go of your hand the entire time.

Love was sitting in a field of sunflowers and making flower crowns with clumsy, chubby hands in the summer. Love was making paper rings and exchanging promises of marriage in the cabin Silver and his father shared. Love was the taste of cotton candy and ice cream during a festival filled with fireworks and songs.

Love was watching an unrequited love give what was once yours to another—accepting it with a saccharine smile and a bittersweet sting in the heart.

“Of course.” The words easily rolled off Silver’s tongue, like dew sliding off a rose petal. He saw your smile widen, stretching from one ear to the other. Streaks of sunlight illuminated your dressing room, marble and glass encased in the golden glow of morning. Your eyes sparkled like jewels under the light, which reminded him of the diamond-studded band that once sat on your left ring finger.

Silver couldn’t help but let the memory of your paper ring overlap with the engagement ring from Kalim, one of his closest friends.

Before he could say anything else, a chorus of voices called for your name. Both of you turned towards the door where Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek waited. The youngest of the fae had pinched eyebrows and a scowl marring his features. Meanwhile, smiles brightened Lilia’s and Malleus’ faces. The latter appeared happier than the one who was getting married, most likely due to the invitation.

“It’s about to start,” Lilia reminded you with crossed arms and a tilt of his head. Sebek followed with a shrill, “Silver, stop dawdling around! You’re going to bring shame to Lord Malleus and Master Lilia for delaying the celebration!”

“Now, now, Sebek,” Malleus hummed with eyes narrowed in glee and a hand on his chin, “this is a union between Silver’s two friends, after all. Let him spend a few more minutes giving his well-wishes to one of them.”

Lilia tittered, while Sebek relented with a disgruntled, “Of course, Lord Malleus.”

You laughed, the jovial sound bouncing around the marble walls. Silver gawked, drinking in the curve of your smile and the unbridled joy in your eyes. With another squeeze and a tearful goodbye, you left the dressing room with a swish of fabric. Silver let your hands slip from his grasp with a single thought.

He didn’t have the heart to take your happiness away. He couldn’t. He can’t.

His father’s words and the retreating footsteps were all white noise to him. The silver-haired man stared at the empty space you once occupied. Magenta highlights and black locks swayed as Lilia took your place with a few steps.

A hint of worry shone in those raspberry red eyes, usually brimming with affection for Silver. They still did—they always will. Lilia tilted his head back to look into his son’s eyes, glazed over with a myriad of emotions.

How could a father watch his son crumble where he stood, crushed by the weight of his feelings and loyalty for his friends? Lilia lived a long life—witnessed and experienced more than the average person, whether human or fae—but nothing compared to witnessing his child’s despair.

“Come now,” Lilia whispered with a hand clapping Silver’s shoulder, “you’re the best man, son. You must take your place before the wedding begins.”

“I know, Father,” Silver choked the words out and pressed the heel of his palm over his eye. He took a deep, shuddering breath. Lilia squeezed his shoulder, before he offered a handkerchief from his coat pocket.

With a trembling hand, Silver accepted the square cloth with a quiet, “Thank you. Just… give me some time to recompose myself.”

Choked sobs disturbed the joyous air of a grand, long-awaited ceremony. In the silence of the dressing room, minutes before the beginning of a new chapter for two lovers, a father witnessed the bitter end of his son’s story with his childhood love.

#silver x reader #twst silver x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #someone just end me right now why is it so hard to write sad stuff for silver #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #lilia vanrouge #angst #romance #writing #unrequited feelings #twst fanfic #AdminCressa🦋#CressaWrites🦋

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vintagetvstars · 2 days

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Diahann Carroll Vs. Rue McClanahan

Propaganda

Diahann Carroll - (Dynasty, Julia) - God every clip of her on Dynasty is just so iconic, her entrance, the bit where she shades Joan Collins' Alexis for her taste in caviar... "I wanted to be the first black bitch on television" she said, and she did it beautifully!

Rue McClanahan - (Golden Girls, Maude, Mama's Family) - Listen to me. I have never understood celebrity crushes until I first witnessed Rue McClanahan. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen - just look at her!! Gorgeous eyes, the cutest nose, a SPECTACULAR smile - she has this adorable, princess-like quality about her AND she's also a complete hottie AND she's aware of it: she HAS THE RANGE, people!! Her two most famous roles are polar opposites, in fact: she starred in the role of naive, gentle Vivian Cavender-Harmon in Maude (and I mean. Just look her up and tell me that's not an angel!), and then went on to gain even more well-deserved fame and success as the seductive, extroverted Blanche Devereaux in The Golden Girls (a role for which she won an Emmy in 1987 - her amazing, hilarious acceptance speech can be found here: . I should also point out that both of these are comedy characters and she is HILARIOUS as them both - the comedic timing, the delivery, the expressions, she was a comedy queen!!! As for her personal life, she was just a darling - and also very funny in person, not just in her acting roles! She was a staunch supporter of gay rights and a big advocate for same-sex marriage in the US, as well as a vegetarian and a big defender of animal rights. She suffered from illness in her later years which greatly impacted her health, but she was still very active up until her death in 2010, and she even released a wonderful autobiography in 2007 titled "My First Five Husbands... and the Ones Who Got Away". In her interviews she's always gentle, soft-spoken (her voice. dear god. sweet mother Aphrodite I cannot weave I am overcome with gay thoughts), and kind, but also sharp, witty, and just a delight to watch. I could go on forever talking about her honestly. I am actually in love with her and you should be too. She's just the best! Here, have some additional pics: (pics below the cut)

Master Poll List of the Hot Vintage TV Ladies Bracket

Additional propaganda below the cut

Diahann Carroll:

Diahann Carroll's First Scene on "Dynasty"

youtube

Rue McClanahan:

The Hottie™ of the Golden Girls, she was definitely a GILF. And her character's shenanigans were Emmy-winning but no less fun and her outfits were always on point and gorgeous, befitting her perfectly.

she!!!

as Vivian, with her fellow hottie Bea Arthur as Maude

as Blanche - look at those eyes!!!

come on, tell me you wouldn't do anything for that smile, I dare you

in her contract she specifically requested to be given all of Blanche's clothes and SHE WAS RIGHT

Okay so first of all. Rue has this way of moving around and looking at you that just-- I mean, I'm ace, but I *get* the allos. She's hot and she knows it (and she plays a character in The Golden Girls who's in her 50s, hot, and knows it as well. Which, talk about perfect casting??) But I'm mostly here to talk about the fact that she said this in her Emmy acceptance speech (paraphrased because I'm sharing the video with the right timestamp, and you should absolutely watch up until 3:40, because her delivery is UNMATCHED): "My mother said to me once [...] 'Oh, Eddi-Rue, for heaven's sake. Don't you know every kick's a boost?' There've been a lot of kicks, and there've been a lot of boosts. I'm not going to mention the people who gave me kicks... but you know who you are. And you'll be in the book." (Seriously though, do yourself a favour and watch that video. She's amazing!!) She said this, and proceeded to WRITE THE BOOK, titled "My first five husbands, and the ones who got away", which is *incredibly* funny, and such an earnest look into her life. She opens the acknowledgements with "This book is about my life and experiences as I lived them, and anyone who doesn't like it can jolly well lump it." And I mean... she's awesome. I could go on.

Rue McClanahan @ The Emmy Awards 1987

youtube

#vintage tv stars poll #tv ladies 3 #diahann carroll #rue mcclanahan #Youtube

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wingedblooms · 3 hours

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Blooming with life

@offtorivendell and I were chatting about the cover for the next book and while there are several options for what might be depicted on the cover, the one that makes the most sense to me (and makes us scream) is the Cauldron (blooming with life, vines and flowers and creatures spilling from its iron lip). It hasn’t been used on a cover yet, and assuming Sarah will continue with one romantic pairing per book, it would align perfectly with what Elain and Azriel’s story would contribute to the overarching plot.

Let me preface this by saying that I do think the three Archeron sisters embody (or are vessels) for the three faces of the Mother, and they will likely need to come together at some point in this storyline (the dream). But if anyone’s story is connected to a force that once bloomed with life, and is tasked with uncovering its secrets to help it and the land bloom again, it’s Elain. The quiet, gentle gardener who glows like the dawn and smells like a promise of spring. She might even be able to use the language of creation to (re)write her own fate. It doesn’t seem coincidental that Azriel has been present or connected to Elain’s major moments involving the Cauldron (her forced rebirth, naming her powers, questioning the mating bond, using TT to rescue her family, being forbidden from going near the Cauldron, etc.). Their story is tied to the Cauldron and what we’ve learned about it (from the original trilogy to the spin-off books to the crossover). Sarah has left hints that it is still important, in general, and specifically in Elain’s journey with Azriel:

acotar

Feyre gives us our first glimpse of the Cauldron from the living (Spring Court):

I found myself overlooking a rose garden, filled with dozens of hues of crimson and pink and white and yellow.

I might have allowed myself a moment to take in the colors, gleaming with dew under the morning sun, had I not glimpsed the painting that stretched along the wall beside the windows.

[…]

At first I could do nothing but stare at its size, the ambition of it, at the fact that this masterpiece was tucked back here for no one to ever see, as if it was nothing—absolutely nothing—to create something like this.

It told a story with the way colors and shapes and light flowed, the way the tone shifted across the mural. The story of…of Prythian.

It began with a cauldron.

A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but…effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world…(acotar)

acomaf

Elain emerges from the Cauldron. It tips onto its side by itself, as if influenced by an unseen force. Elain rises from the floor, like the earth in the mural, glowing with immortal light and beauty.

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.

And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.

Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live—

Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer.

And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—

Nesta began roaring again.

Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

acowar

After Elain was Made in the Cauldron, Azriel is the one to name her power, freeing her from a murky realm where dream and reality entwine:

“A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” (acowar)

Feyre wonders about Elain’s new, inner sight and how it might be connected to the Cauldron.

Elain had been told—by Amren. She now sat at the table, more straight-backed and clear-eyed than I’d seen her. Had she beheld this, in whatever wanderings that new, inner sight granted her? Had the Cauldron whispered of it while we’d been away? I hadn’t the heart to ask her. (acowar)

Feyre questions the mating bond system, wondering why Azriel and Elain aren’t mates and who determines it.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?”

“I’d keep that question from Lucien.”

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?”

Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies…”

Azriel is the first to notice Elain’s absence and risks his life to get her back, inspiring Feyre to join him.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

With the shadows, he might stand a chance of slipping in. But there were wards to consider, and ancient magic, and the king with those spells and the Cauldron…(acowar)

Armed with Truth-Teller, the blade Azriel gifted to her for the battle, Elain—rather than the Cauldron—answered Feyre’s pleas, somehow appearing just in time to deal Hybern a killing blow.

For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas.

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.” (acowar)

While connected to it through a living link, Feyre learns that the Cauldron adores Elain, gave her such powers (plural, baby), and would not harm her.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain…Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something…It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken. (acowar)

Both Elain and the Cauldron are described as blooms in bleak and barren settings, which seems to be a hint of their intertwined role/power that is reinforced in the spin-offs and crossover.

She was a rose bloom in a mud field…[…] If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta, she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood. (acowar)

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower (acowar)

acosf

Cassian reminds us that the Cauldron is hidden (and supposedly asleep) in Cretea, worrying that no one could control it if it awoke.

A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim Prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken. (acosf)

Nesta reminds us of the time the Cauldron stole Elain and its song called only to her:

Elain had been stolen by the Cauldron and saved by Azriel and Feyre. Yet the two terror still gripped Nesta, waking and asleep: the memory of how it had felt in those moments after hearing the Cauldron’s seductive call and realizing it had been for Elain, not for her or Feyre. How it had felt to find Elain’s tent empty, to see that blue cloak discarded. (acosf)

The Inner Circle discusses the Cauldron-Made Trove, and Feyre and Amren remind us that like calls to like, which is why the sisters can help find them.

“What does it have to do with the Cauldron?” Nesta pushed.

“Like calls to like,” Feyre murmured, looking to Amren, who nodded. “Because the Trove was Made by the Cauldron, so might the Trove find its Maker.” (acosf)

Elain offers to find the Trove when Nesta admits to her fears, and Nesta forbids her from going anywhere near the Cauldron.

Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to…reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways.o You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”

Feyre said, “It’s Elain’s choice, Nesta.” (acosf)

Nesta gives us a glimpse of the dusk service where priestesses worship the Mother and the Cauldron and the Forces That Be (Fate). A sacred, possibly interchangeable trio, which is deeply connected to creation and the earth:

The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth. (acosf)

Nesta finds the carved rose Papa Archeron made for Elain and places it next to a figurine of a primordial goddess:

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. (acosf)

Nesta makes a bargain with the Cauldron, so it is at least somewhat awake and seems to be influenced by, or working alongside, a luminescent hand (maybe a gentle gardener’s hand?) that intervenes on Nesta’s behalf.

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore.

A bargain with the Cauldron itself.

Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf)

After their almost-kiss on solstice, Azriel dares to question the Cauldron, which he appears to revere.

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

Rhysand blinked. “What of Mor, Az?”

Azriel ignored the question. “The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

hofas

In the crossover, we learn more of the Cauldron’s history. Life once blossomed from it, but—as if echoing Azriel’s question to Rhys—it was warped by the Daglan (Asteri).

“The Cauldron,” Azriel amended. Bryce shook her head, not understanding. “You don’t have stories of it in your world? The Fae didn’t bring that tradition with them?”

Bryce surveyed the giant cauldron. “No. We have five gods, but no cauldron. What does it do?”

“All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas)

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. (hofas)

The Under-King leaves us with a look at the Cauldron from the dead. It was misconstrued as a goddess over time, explaining interconnected, if not interchangeable, terms (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Forces That Be), but she is a force and her name is Wyrd.

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin … they were like tattoos.

[…]

“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

Tags: @elriel-month 💕

What do you think will be on the cover, friends? Do you agree it might be the Cauldron, or will it be something else, like the Harp or even…a Pegasus?!

#acotar cover art #acotar 5 predictions #elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #the cauldron blooming with life #fate and choice #restoring wyrd and her land #elrielmonth2024 #elriel month

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matttgirlies · 1 day

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Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - none

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 17

Late one evening, shortly before Christmas of 1966, Matt rapped lightly on my door and called, “Sattnin, I have to talk to you.” We had a password. Teasingly, I told him he’d have to utter it before I’d admit him. He laughed and said, “Fire Eyes”—the nickname I gave him when he was angry.

He had his old boyish grin on his face and his hands were behind his back. “Sit down, Baby, and close your eyes.”

I did. When I opened my eyes, I found Matt on his knees before me, holding a small black velvet box.

“Baby,” he said.

I opened the box to find the most beautiful diamond ring I’d ever seen. It was three and a half karats, encircled by a row of smaller diamonds, which were detachable—I could wear them separately.

“We’re going to be married,” Matt said. “You’re going to be mine. I told you I’d know when the time was right. Well, the time’s right.”

He slipped the ring on my finger. I was too overwhelmed to speak; it was the most beautiful and romantic moment of my life.

Our love would no longer be a secret. I’d be free to travel openly as Mrs. Matt Sturniolo without the fear of inspiring some scandalous headline. Best of all, the years of heartaches and fears of losing him to one of the many girls who were always auditioning for my role were over.

He was in a rush to show the ring to his father and Grandma and to tell them that we were officially engaged. I didn’t even have a chance to get dressed. Considering our irregular life-style, getting engaged in my dressing room and showing off my beautiful diamond while dressed in a terrycloth robe didn’t strike us as at all odd.

I wanted to share the great news with my parents, but he suggested we wait until we returned to L.A. a few weeks later. Then we could tell them in person; they deserved that consideration. That night, we called my parents and invited them to spend a weekend with us in Bel Air.

On the day they were due to arrive, Matt was as excited as I’d ever seen him. He kept looking out the window, watching for their car. He was dying to show them the ring and almost did the moment they walked in the door, but I managed to keep my hand behind my back until we were all settled on the sofa. The second we were seated, he pulled my hand from behind me and said to my parents, “Well, we just wanted to show you this.”

“What is it?” my father asked, peering at my hand.

“Well, sir, that’s an engagement ring.”

Tears trembled in my mother’s eyes. “My God,” she said softly. “It’s beautiful.”

They were both ecstatic. We loved letting them know that what they’d so long hoped and prayed for had now come to pass. We emphasized the importance of keeping our announcement a secret, asking them to maintain strict confidence even within the immediate family, since the kids might tell their friends at school and then word would be out. We wanted a private wedding, not a celebrity event. My parents agreed with all the plans. They couldn’t have been happier, and all weekend they beamed with pleasure.

In the five years I’d lived with Matt, I would rarely let them discuss marriage with Matt. The possibility of their daughter being hurt was foremost in my parents’ minds. Now they no longer had to worry whether they’d made the right decision in allowing me to leave home at such a young age.

I know that Colonel William asked him to take a long look at our relationship and decide where he wanted it to go. Matt’s attitude toward marriage was that it was final. Although he was monogamous by nature, he loved options. Still, he wasn’t about to let me go. Curiously enough, after his talk with Colonel, it didn’t take him long to decide the time was ripe.

It was his decision and his alone.

In our excitement we made the rest of our plans for the wedding ceremony. It was suggested I find a dress immediately, the reason being that if the news leaked out, we could get married at a moment’s notice. But my search for a wedding dress ended up taking months. Disguised in dark glasses and a hat, I shopped every exclusive boutique from Boston to L.A. where, despite my disguise, I was paranoid enough to think people recognized me. I even spoke with several seamstresses about designs but I didn’t trust them enough to tell them it was for a wedding dress.

Finally someone suggested a little out-of-the-way shop in L.A. Charlie escorted me, posing as my fiancé, and it was here that I found my wedding dress. It wasn’t extravagant, it wasn’t extreme—it was simple and to me beautiful.

I glided out of the dressing room to model it for Charlie, and when he saw me, his eyes filled with tears. “You look beautiful, y/nn,” he said, and whispered, “He’ll be so proud of you.”

It was the February after our engagement. We were driving near Horn Lake, Mississippi, when we spotted a beautiful ranch—one hundred sixty acres of rolling hills. A herd of Santa Gertrudis cattle was grazing. There was a bridge across a little lake, a barn with stalls for horses, and a charming house situated in a prime location. It was for sale.

This was my perfect dream house. I fell in love with it and began to picture Matt and me living there alone. It was small enough for me to handle myself. I could clean it and take care of Matt, bringing him his breakfast in bed in the mornings as he gazed out at the gentle view of Rising Sun grazing in the pastures.

I thought of this ranch as a wonderful way for us to get away from Graceland from time to time. I pictured us saddling our own horses and riding in the early morning or at dusk. My picture was of us alone, without an entourage.

We were determined to buy it, never foreseeing the burden it would become. He wanted the ranch as much as I did, even though James said that at $500,000 it was overpriced. He felt the owner could offer a much more desirable deal and tried to persuade us that financially it was not a good move. Matt’s movies were continuing to decline in popularity and record sales were down. He was averaging a million dollars a film and the money was going out as quickly as it was coming in. Yet Matt’s mind was made up. He wanted it.

James grudgingly went to the bank to borrow money, putting Graceland up as collateral. We bought the entire ranch as was, including cattle and equipment, and christened it the Circle G for Graceland.

We had eighteen horses by then, and all were transferred to the ranch as was the staff of nine. It was the heyday of the commune, but Matt had his own idea about how he wanted us all to live. Since the house on the property was small, he bought individualized mobile homes and designated one to each family. James worked diligently to get permission from the city to put gas and water on the ranch.

“Whatever it takes, do it,” Matt ordered.

Before long, tons of cement were being poured to make the huge concrete foundations for the trailers. It didn’t stop there. He bought El Caminos or Ranchero trucks for each family, even one for the plumber and another for the painter. He spent at least $100,000 on trucks alone.

He continued spending money as if it were going out of style. Alarmed, James literally begged him to stop, but Matt said, “I’m having fun, Dad, for the first time in ages. I’ve got a hobby, something I look forward to gettin’ up in the mornin’ for.”

It wasn’t unusual to see him walking around the property, knocking on doors, waking everyone up, or checking on the horses in the early-morning hours. He was having a ball, and there were days he didn’t even want to take time out to eat—he’d walk around with a loaf of bread under his arm in case hunger pangs struck. He loved shopping in Sears’s basement, buying power tools, knives, flashlights, and other equipment that he would come bearing proudly back to the ranch.

That spring of 1967, we spent a lot of time there, sometimes staying as long as two weeks without returning to Graceland. On Sundays we had picnics and all the girls chipped in on potluck, bringing chicken baskets, cookies, and salads. We rode horses, held skeetshooting contests, and combed the lake for turtles and snakes. There was fun, laughter, and a lot of camaraderie. Once again, our life was a group affair with everyone participating.

Even in my tiny house there’d be guests for dinner every night, usually single guys like Steven and Charlie. Cooking for Matt was easy: I’d just take whatever we were having and burn it. But there were so many others that his cousin Patsy would usually stop by to help me. The guys with wives would have dinner in their mobile homes and then come over for dessert and spend the rest of the evening with us.

There was always a lot of jamming. Matt, Steven Wright, and Charlie Hodge would get together in the middle of the room, harmonizing a favorite song. When they were really going good Matt would yell, “Whew! Hot damn! One more time!” He’d sometimes spend an hour just on an ending because it had “the feel—the ingredients of a masterpiece.”

Just as the entourage had followed us to the ranch, so did the curious. The same ones who gathered around Graceland started turning up at the Circle G and soon—day or night—scores of people were lined up along the fence. Since our little house stood in full view of the road, Matt built a ten-foot-high wall, but nothing deterred them; now they began climbing on tops of cars and roofs of nearby homes. We couldn’t get away from them, and I dreaded driving through the gates.

The dream was slowly turning into a nightmare. The wives wanted to get back to their homes, and the children wanted to get back to their friends and their schools.

Matt liked it when everyone was together on terms he alone specified—and he got upset when they wanted to leave. “Hell, I bought all this stuff,” he said, “and everyone wants to go home.” He resented defections; he’d given the employees everything and they didn’t seem to appreciate it. He discovered that some of the regulars were selling their trucks. They needed the cash more than the El Caminos. Matt couldn’t imagine the financial struggle most people face and he never understood that the married regulars had to consider responsibilities to their wives and children.

Still, he enjoyed giving and sharing even as his own bank account was radically diminishing. An expensive hobby, the ranch had already cost him close to a million dollars and created a serious cash-flow problem. In daily phone calls to the Colonel, James pleaded with him to come up with some work to divert Matt from his spending spree. The Colonel promptly made arrangements for another movie, Clambake. Matt read the script, yet another beach-and-bikini story, and hated it.

James convinced him he didn’t have much choice. “We need the money, Son.” And Matt was committed.

“I don’t wanna leave here, y/nn,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you, the ranch, Sun. Ain’t no son of a bitch gonna keep me away long. That goes for Dad, Colonel, the studios—no one. Their little plot to keep me from spending money ain’t gonna work. If I need money, I’ll go to Nashville and record a few songs. It’ll be better than those lousy goddamn pictures.”

Neither he nor James ever considered turning the Circle G into a profit-making operation. All the necessities for a successful farm were present—tractors, feed, and the finest Santa Gertrudis cattle, bred on the Rockefeller ranch—but he sold the cattle after James advised him that upkeep was too expensive. With professional financial counsel, Matt might have pursued legitimate business ventures beneficial to him and his hobby.

Unfortunately, James and Matt were leery of business matters requiring financial advice. James operated on pure instinct, refusing any suggestion of tax breaks, which he found too complicated to consider. He let the IRS figure Matt’s taxes and had done so ever since Matt had been audited while in the Army and assessed eighty thousand dollars in back taxes.

“Let’s just pay the taxes, Dad,” Matt said. “I make enough money. I’ll make a million dollars and I’ll give them half.”

It was during the filming of Clambake that our lease on the house on Perugia Way in Los Angeles expired and we had to go looking for a new home. After our experience at the Circle G, we were concerned with protecting our privacy, and when we spotted a secluded home nestled against a hill in Bel Air, we thought we’d found sanctuary at last. But privacy was to elude us here as well.

Soon, hundreds of people began collecting on the mountain road directly above us and observing the view below through binoculars and telephoto lenses. We could no longer use our pool, patio, or driveway without looking up at an audience, including reporters and photographers who were having a field day trying to get candid photos and scoops.

The situation occasionally got out of hand. One night when Matt went to Mount Washington to talk with Daya Mata and I was driving to Amber Doe’s (Nate’s wife) for a visit, I noticed a car with bright headlights tailgating me. It was one of Matt’s most ardent fans, a two hundred-pound female who was accompanied by another girl and a guy. Feeling unsafe, I decided to turn around and go home. She followed close all the way and by the time I drove through the gates, I was furious.

Seeing her drive up to the dead-end road above our house, I sped after her, parking my car broadside across the road, blocking her. She was standing beside her car when I strode up and demanded: “What are you doing here? Why are you following me?” She stood there mutely and again I demanded: “Why are you following me?”

“You whore,” she snapped.

Incensed, I clenched my fist and swung an uppercut, hitting her in the face. She landed on the ground, spread-eagled and stunned. I landed on her and the two of us yelled, screamed, and pulled hair until I realized I needed help. I ran back to our front gate and yelled into the intercom, “Someone—Sonny, Jerry—come help me!”

Within seconds Matt came flying out of the house with the guys close behind him. “What is it, Baby?”

When I explained, pointing to the ridge, Matt went charging up the hill. Seeing him coming, the girl and her friends locked themselves in her car. Matt was livid, lifting the car on its springs, bouncing it from side to side. He pounded the windshield, threatening to kill them if he ever got his hands on them or if they ever laid their hands on me.

“I’m underage! I’m underage!” she kept yelling. “I’ll sue you if you touch me.”

It took a lot of convincing from Sonny that she was more trouble than it was worth before Matt would let her drive away.

Matt was so despondent over Clambake that his weight ballooned from his usual 170 to 200 pounds by the time he reported for work. The studio ordered him to take the weight off—and fast. Enter the diet pills, the only way he could curb his appetite and reduce his weight in the short time allowed. Colonel managed to deal with the impatient studio brass.

The morning he was to begin shooting he awoke groggy and went into the bathroom while I was still in bed. I heard a loud thump, then cursing. “Goddamn motherfucking cord! Who the hell put this thing here?”

I jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom, calling out, “What’s happened?” He was lying on the floor, rubbing his head.

“I tripped over the goddamn TV cord. It was so damned dark in here I didn’t see it. Help me out of here—I have to lie down.”

Although he was dizzy and off balance, we managed to make it to the bed. Feeling a big lump on his head, I called Nate Doe at once, who summoned Colonel William and a doctor. Within minutes, the room was full of people—the doctor, his nurse, Colonel William, and several nervous studio executives. Colonel suggested that everyone but himself wait outside while the doctor made his diagnosis.

A few hours later it was announced that Matt had a severe brain concussion and that the start of his film would be delayed indefinitely. The Colonel decided to use the accident to curtail some of Matt’s other activities. He wanted Matt to abandon his involvement with esoteric philosophies, which the Colonel felt were irrelevant to Matt’s acting career and detrimental to clear thinking.

Matt’s spiritual quest hadn’t gone unnoticed. Everyone from the entourage to film crews was aware of a change in his personality over the years he’d studied with Larry Geller. Matt’s vibrant personality was now passive and he was becoming more introverted. The mischievous games he’d once played on movie sets had been superseded by studious pursuits. Matt buried his head in books that he diligently lugged to and from the studio every day.

The person most concerned about this change was Colonel William. The Colonel felt that Larry’d hypnotized Matt, and his acting and recording careers were suffering as a result. Matt’s “concussion” provided an opportunity to put a halt to the soul-searching.

A few days after the accident, the Colonel gathered Matt and the boys together for a meeting and told them they were burdening Matt with too many problems. “Dealing with one person is one thing,” he said, “but eleven, plus his own problems, is enough for any man to buckle under.”

The Colonel told them that there were going to be some changes, from cutting back the payroll to taking problems to Nate instead of Matt. His basic message was: Leave Matt alone.

“Matt should concentrate on his career,” he said. “He’s an artist, not a shoulder to cry on. Leave him alone, and let him do his work.” The Colonel looked over at Larry; it was obvious that his message was primarily aimed at him. “I don’t want him reading any more books and getting involved in things that clutter up his mind.”

Matt sat and listened like an obedient child, looking down, saying nothing. He did not stand up for Larry; no one did.

Later the Colonel told Matt that he should get Larry out of his life, that Larry used some sort of technique to manipulate his thinking. Matt argued that this wasn’t the case. He was truly interested in his readings.

“You wouldn’t be in this condition if your head was on straight,” shouted the Colonel.

“I’m telling you, Larry’s jamming up your mind.”

I was surprised at how attentively Matt was listening. Matt had always argued with anyone, even me, who said anything against Larry. At one point; it seemed Matt would cut off his right arm for Larry. But now Matt promised the Colonel he wouldn’t spend any more time than he had to with him. He kept his promise. He only used Larry to style his hair and was never alone with him again.

After that meeting, the boys became openly hostile toward Larry, and even Matt began making a few pointed remarks about him. Larry was now the outsider, and he eventually left. Colonel William was elated. His boy was back.

Matt was ready for a major change and it was time to move on. The Colonel said his films were doing badly and he had to revitalize his career. He’d be getting married soon, and before that date he’d have to get his career and life back on track.

After Larry left, Matt locked away many of his books. I told him I was glad, that they were literally destroying us. We were engaged to be married. “Would it make you feel better if I just got rid of them all?” Matt asked. I nodded.

That night, at three in the morning Matt and I piled a huge stack of his books and magazines into a large box and dumped them into an abandoned water well behind Graceland. We poured gasoline over the pile, lit a match, and kissed the past goodbye.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - engaged!!🎀

#matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturn #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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rise-my-angel · 3 days

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

49 - Through the Frost Fangs

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

Length: 19.3k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, disturbing imagery, motifs of death, suicidal ideation, non consensual vouyerism, smut, oral (m and f receiving), p in v

Notes: Slight time jump from the end of the previous chapter. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The nature of where you had grown up would normally have removed much ability to be both in awe and terrified of such sights. The dark, jagged, black cliffs all around Dragonstone that were impenetrable. Climbing straight up one you may reach the top, but exhaustion would set in far before you could safely bring yourself down the other side, and nowhere was there to stop. Nothing of the rocks acting as a border, hiding your girlhood home away from prying eyes was anywhere you could stop or rest. Only high winds and sharp edges no matter which way one turned.

The woods between the villages and the castle were lined with what you described as death. Dark, muted colours. Trees with rotting leaves and others barren their entire existence, all sitting stop what you'd hardly call grass. Leaves and plants as if painted with dirt and mud and dried in the little sun which would ever shine down on the woods as a whole. Always blocking from one end or the other was the volcano of Dragonmont. From there it was why a fog always made the distance impossible to see far into, and the air was heavy with the smell of brimstone and sulphur every gasp. Always smoking from the top and filtered down across the bay which was the only entrance to the castle where one did not have to sail miles down and cross said forest from the harbour at the villages.

The castle covered in statues of dragons, scorpions, griffons, and creatures which looked neither natural nor recognizable. Your tutor which taught you High Valyrian had called them Chimeras. Said that ancient Valyrians would toss animals and slaves into the fiery depths of the Fourteen Flames to mix with blood magic, and it could create new animals which roamed their lands even after it's doom. You recalled reading that it was in those volcanoes that they found the first dragons, asking him if that means they created dragons as well and you for years could not forget that he did not have an answer to that. The strangeness of your home was a shadowing echo of a land long destroyed by forces none understood.

But this was the opposite. The sights around as you carefully watched each of your footing the rougher the terrain got, nothing of the same and in some respects, a sight which paled in comparison. Yet it was the sight that terrified for not the same reasons as your home, and it was what you considered the kind of beauty that Valyrians wrongly thought their twisted, dark, fiery hellscape of a home was like.

The lands around the Frost Fangs were more empty then any you'd passed to get here, but they were somehow the ones you couldn't take your eyes off of the most. The only real place in this world where such otherworldly beauty existed was not in a people, or family or remains lost in a doomed land.

If beauty could only exist in one person or place, it belonged to the North.

Divided into two separate manners, the beauty existed as long as the sun stood tall in the sky. The lands you walked and climbed on only made of stone and ice, everything was dipped within a paint of blue and grey but the paths twisted and turned in such manners that it stretched beyond what you could see of any direction. The mountain peaks you existed beside every moment were tall to the point your could not lean you neck back enough nor squint to see the very top of the snow capped edges where in strong bouts of wind, misty snow blew down across the rest of the paths like rain did a ship on open water.

But each path you saw always led to something wondrous and new. The unique lands of your home were nothing, they led to a dark, tall volcano and death around it thick and empty of life. Here though, while life was sparse in what could survive, it was rich in everything else. Some paths contained the traces of water which rushed over stone cliffs, some splashed loud as you knew such a sound well, others were frozen in place. Each drop of water maintained in place for you knew not how long as it pooled out into a great lake. Again, some held it's water still and others froze over so smooth the ice acted as a reflection of the mountain peaks around it.

Some days you had come across great crevasses. Sunk so deep into the ground the ends were pitch black and the only path safe across it was to take the long way and seek where it ended, and cross only there. In the sun, whenever you were higher up it was bright and blue and clear unlike the grey of clouds in the rest of the snowy lands here.

The terrain was not forgiving, but it was a feast for your eyes in ways your stomach did not get so far North. Wildlife existed, but you did not understand how the cave dwellers of the Free Folk could live their entire lives here. Hunting for food must have been the only true task they did all day to feed as many of them lived between two clans. There was only three of you, and food was still such an important aspect of each planned day.

Plants were easy, every clearing you could come across a valley of a frozen meadow which held things safe to eat and easy to make into something else on hand. Wildflowers, coldsnaps, frostfires and the much more bitter piper's grass. Jon and yourself had to some days, get creative, but it did not impede on your time together the days food ran more scarce. It only served to remind one another that as long as you worked together, you had made it each and every day without having to endure nothing to sustain you all.

Ghost had it easier, his mighty size meant any wildlife when he caught his hunger held no chance. Jon and yourself were not put off by the fact that the largest portion of any fresh meat went to the direwolf, he was much in need of all his strength. Ghost and Jon themselves had their own harmony of planning.

Jon plotted the paths, routes, lengths of days and where to detour for resources and remained firmly at your side most of the time. Ghost when the path seemed too steep for him to climb, would run forth to seek out another. Many times, above you two, the direwolf's head would peak out from behind a cliff side as you and Jon would then begun to follow where Ghost had found his way. Other times if it was on level enough ground and the side more of a hill then mountain cliff, you and Jon would simply take time to climb and join much faster.

It was not common, not now. The three of you were not fooled as to why. In a way, it was obvious and it also was difficult to see. In the days, the sheepskin and fur covering both of you looked identical and not much could give hint to anything underneath in passing glimpses, but without anything on the sight was much more clear. But it wasn't quite enough to balance the warmth Jon felt seeing the bump in your womb grow, when you both knew, it wasn't truly enough.

You accepted it already, food was not plentiful out here and you would not gain the same as all other highborn women carrying a child would be able too. Everyday you would go until you could no longer hide your exhaustion from Jon, and you both knew that there was not the freedom to give you as much food as you should be having. You couldn't have a bigger share then split even equal, Jon needed every ounce of strength for your growing lack of easy dexterity and resilience.

And yet you still refused to trade this for any food, even if the old gods descended from the skies themselves. You were still healthy, and so was the child inside of you. It was all you could, or would ask for. You knew the weight you needed to put on wasn't enough, because you had reached this stage before. In one week, you would be five months. The last you were five months pregnant, was when you were butchered.

With nothing on, you looked as many women did at three or four months. It was not a bad sign, not yet. Some women did not ever look much in the way of pregnant by the time they are on the birthing bed, and their babies were healthy and fully developed in every way. You felt exhausted and hungry, but never ill or out of place. You felt strong carrying this time, and even though you had yet to tell Jon, you had a sign much earlier this pregnancy that his child was healthy then you did when it was Robbs son you carried.

Jon and Ghost had gone ahead, keeping you in a flat terrain of land shielded from the bitter cold as they made sure the path was safe to go through after such a storm filled the night before. You were leaning against the edge of the cliff side, eyes closed as it to seek one last bit of relaxation in lieu of returning to sleep when you felt it.

For everything Robb was, it was clear his son had a sweet side. Gentle and unobtrusive right at the end of your only time with him, small kicks as if merely to gain his mothers attention, and would only increase when Robb would run his hand over your stomach. Then a little more rambunctious when he heard the warm sounds of his fathers laugh. Little Ned was patient for his turn in the world, only ever giving enough of a push to remind his parents he was in there.

Jons child though, was a wolf. Not even a shred of doubt, the sweet side of Robb that his son had inherited was not the same kind of ask for attention that Jons child demanded. They wanted their mother to know they are in there, that despite the harsh conditions you are still in this together but did so with all of the same grace Jons temper could flare up with.

Until you rose the fur over you up enough to bite your glove off and run it along gently, as if avoiding where the scar was, Jons child kicked until they found where inside of you met with the hand resting outside. Your eyes grew wide and genuinely you laughed, which only caused them to kick more. Still so small at this stage but had they the ability to growl you had no doubt they would've.

They had eased by the time Jon and Ghost returned, almost as if you wondered, to keep you company. To ensure you were not alone out here. It was so odd to think, but as you had seen Jons figure returning in the distance you wondered if this was what Lyanna Stark had spent months experiencing.

Alone and trapped and unable to be home where she belonged, all she had was Jon. You wondered if that helped her bond to him. The way this time around, you already felt Jons child hold so much personality in such small interactions in your womb, was that what it was like for her? You had Jon, but his mother was alone when pregnant with him.

Was it within the blood running through their veins, which begged for their mothers to not feel abandoned in such places where that feeling could over power you? But, by the time he returned to you that morning, you had readjusted everything. His child had settled once you were no longer alone and you both had another long day ahead. You didn't want to distract Jon with this new development just yet.

The focus however, did not mean you two did not find endless manners to pick the others brain, or things to tease each other, or just you about. Which was what Jon had found his own entertainment in one afternoon. “Just one sentence is all I'm asking.”

If you were not pregnant, you'd had dashed up ahead of him to avoid this conversation. But a playful roll of your eyes came about instead. “I've never known you to need to hear a thing twice.” Like clockwork, one of your hands reached up to grasp at a more sold rock edge to give you leverage to climb up and over some steeper stair like formations, Jon at the same instance wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you with such strong ease to stand more flat on your feet instead of having you waver once on firm ground again.

The audacity in the passive casual tone in his voice. “Maybe if you said it in Valyrian-”

You only glared, but it drew such a quick smirk from Jon as he looked forward once more. The teasing in his eyes bright as the sun above as you know your protest only encouraged him. “It's the singing debate all over again.”

The process repeated again, trying to get over this stretch of more jagged terrain Jon almost always had at least one hand on you the whole time as you climbed over the rocks. “And who in the end convinced you to sing just once that night?” The knowing look shared between you, that was a trap you walked yourself into that time. “Could start asking for that again instead.”

Whatever muttering under your breath you let you got another chuckle from Jon as you spoke up with a jesting lecture. “Do you even know how many people in the world have ever heard me sing?” Jon very dryly guessed numbers at complete random, as if to amuse himself at your growing impatience. Interrupting the absurd guess of sixty, “Since I stopped needing such lessons, the only ones who ever heard me sing were Shireen, and you.” His glance was bright and curious as he looked at you, and the irritation melted down to your feet in seconds as you shrugged. “Shireen used to sit in her chambers, open the one window in there which weren't merely carved into the walls. Would always push her bed to read or draw as she'd sing to the open window, hoping whatever birds flying by might join her. The times I would visit, I'd sit with her the final night before she went to sleep and would sing to her instead for once.”

You hadn't even been looking at Jon when you said it, almost in passing lost in memory. “That night with you, was the only other time I sung in front of someone who wasn't her.”

Jon however, seemed to say something in a deeper tone, more full of something emotional then his teasing before as he almost made you stop in place with a compliment he had said in the exact same manner that night. “Good. I don't know if I like the idea of other men knowing you're this beautiful and can sing like that.” Turning back to him, you wanted to protest but just as he had so many years ago in innocent times, he just passed you by, bringing you head closer to his to press a kiss to the side of your head and prompting you forward.

The fluster on you that time also was just as real. “Well, my Valyrian isn't quite as..well taught as my singing once was. I'm better at reading and writing it then I am speaking it. I'd rather sing you something then try and remember how to speak it.”

“Deal.”

Turning suddenly to him, your mouth parted slightly at his easy confidence when your stomach swooped with a floating feeling like a girl. “Was this all a ruse to get me to agree to that?” The lack of shame in his gaze almost had you break the facade to grin and shaking your head at his audacity. It was getting increasingly ridiculous, the clever ways Jon would trick you into agreeing to things when it was only you three out here.

Manipulative as he was sneaky, Jon was when he wanted to be.

There were two paths, one of which would take the better part of daylight and the other was simply far more terrifying to you. The gap between mountains was immense, but it did close in to a much more climbable section but the other was right in front of you. A naturally forming bridge, solid and made of rock and stone likely carved into a sort of bridge after centuries of likely use. The sight would be beautiful were it not so open.

On each side of the bridge, was blue sky. Jon, Ghost and yourself were so high up that if the Wall was called the edge of the world, you were now at the top of it. Heights did not scare you, but it was the nothing which surrounded you to help. Not even the Bridge of Skulls was so thin and open to the waters below. Ice as flat across from it as a sort of clearing and would be an easy trek forward but you felt your nerves getting the better of you, despite your attempts to stay still and silent.

Jons gloved hand ran over your hair as he stood somewhat facing you to the side, murmuring your name asking if you were alright. Nodding somewhat, you swallowed before trying to straighten your posture as if it would help sell the falling apart ruse of calm. “Of course. Ten minutes to cross, or three hours going around to get to the same spot on the other side.”

Eyes narrowing slightly, Jon spoke with a worried air of comfort in your ear. “We can go around if you-”

But you shook your head. Adjusting the bag over your shoulders and all but nodding for the direwolf beside him to keep going. Ghost always went first in situations as this, sniffing out the danger and testing the strength against the direwolf which weighed the most. The grips on your boots made specifically for such woozy purposes, but it did not change the feeling as if each gust of wind would knock you straight down to the abyss.

Putting you between he and Ghost, Jon walked close to your back as if to always be near enough to steady you if needed. He had told you he would take you slow through the Frost Fangs and despite your efforts to push through at the ability he could, Jon refused you every chance. Forcing you to slow down or stop when he could sense you were shoving your precarious limitations aside for what you felt was his sake.

Each time you hesitated, Jon murmured your name. His hand gently hovering over your side as if to grab you. The heights, rocks, cliffs, hills you had climbed and yet this was what made you feel ill, made your stomach twist. But you would force your eyes to stay on Ghost despite begging to look down, and each time you came close you felt that churning. Which only made more severe, your ragged nerves as the little one picked up on what felt like distress. Only making the motions in your stomach worse, your eyes closing shut, lips parted as something paralyzing rushed through you to keep it all maintained, but Jon grabbed your hip.

Pulling you back into him, as Ghost stopped in place. Turning with his wide red eyes to watch as Jon pressed his chest against your back, your name rasped from his lips as you shook your head in a strained whisper. “I'm sorry-”

Jon did not waste your breath on such things. “Don't be. You're not scared of heights, darling.” His gloved hand just barley allowing itself to run across your covered stomach, his tone changing just the slightest to something a bit more playful as he whispered, even if just to make you breath out a laugh. “I know you mean well, but stop making your mother scared of things she's done a hundred times before.”

It worked just the amount he thought, you barley huffing a laugh out, allowing Jon to be your support for as long as it took for you to force your breathing calm. The twisting inside you settling each passing moment as you could just barley feel Jon following your inhales and exhales with you. Barley sensing him doing it, but it helped immensely. Him staying with you, through what you knew was such an irrational fear for you.

Grasping his hand over your stomach, Jon twisted enough so you both held what you could reach of the other as he held your other hip as well. Ghost sitting patiently with not a single ounce of impatience to make you keep following. “As far as we've come and it's crossing one bridge that makes me panic.”

You could just barley feel Jon lean against the side of your head as he hovered you, but the chuckle from his chest vibrating into your back eased whatever doubt was left. “I climbed up all nine hundred feet of the Wall. You don't think I panicked at any point?” You couldn't see his smile, but as soon as one peeked from your lips it sat free on Jons.

Strained voice you gently opened your eyes, not truly sure when you had closed them trying to calm yourself down. Jon following suit as you stood straighter to continue. “How did you get to the ground? After reaching the top of the Wall, how did you get back on the other side?”

Jons answer as simple and a tad amused. “We climbed down.” Your head tilted almost in question as he chuckled again. “I almost fell once going up when Orell cut me loose. Going down's a lot easier when you almost didn't make going up. At least I'd be falling in the direction I was supposed to go.”

Truly, Jon did not like to talk a lot about his time out here, especially with you. For the important things he learned and grew from out here, it was a time in his life he spent a year and a half constantly looking out for death in every direction, and hoping his lies were convincing enough to let him escape with his own life one day. But perhaps, being out here with you this time helped.

Only him, you, Ghost, and Jons own son growing inside of you. It made the perils of then feel a lot more worth it, if he could be the one to guide you through such a place now. It was odd to think about, how little loyalty actually mattered then. The snow and ice came down and Jon was certain Orell used it as an excuse to try and cut Jon loose. He hated him so much he didn't care about the fact that it too would cut Ygritte loose, as long as Jon fell then he'd have gotten what he wanted. But the thing was, it made Jon feel uncomfortable the fact that she didn't care either.

Jon had confronted him about it, saying he knew it was Orell who cut him loose on the Wall. Orell just gestured to where Ygritte was walking away in the distance, saying he cut her loose too but she wasn't complaining about it. That she understood it was the way they did things. But Jon stood there on the bridge with you until your own senses came back down and the two memories made him angry.

Jon was uncomfortable realizing that Orell and Ygritte both thought him weak for caring about being cut loose on the Wall, how little life mattered in loyalty to them that they could both stand there as friends and not care Orell saw her as a mere casualty of his ire for Jon. But it was the sudden way your head perked up before stepping forward, the way you tired to turn and look at him with something sharp on your tongue. “What do you mean he cut you loose?”

Trying to explain it, Jon felt angry as you did for different reasons. You were angry at what Orell did in general. Jon knew you had not a single reason to think positively of Ygritte but it was the sheer factor of the disregard for human life that still offended you on her behalf.

But it made Jon angry when he stood there realizing, were Ygritte in the place of Orell, she would have been the one to consider Jon the causality just to cut you loose. He couldn't stop thinking it as you all crossed the remainder of the bridge.

Being out here only put it into sharp contrast, despite Jon telling you in broad terms what she forced him to do, you still never bad mouthed her. Jon knew why, you had seen enough to have once wrongly assumed it was actual love between he and her and Jon was smart enough to know that the short moments Ygritte treated Jon like a person was enough to sell himself on a lie. You had seen enough of Ygritte to know she was not just a monster the way Ramsay was to you, and he knew you wished to respect those parts of a human being which was now gone.

Only Jon, didn't know how to explain to you that he wished you wouldn't do that. Because he knew without any doubt, Ygritte would have taken every chance, every moment of opportunity to stand between Jon and you. She was not kind to Jons sense of self esteem, but Ygritte would have eviscerated yours. The sheer way she'd make fun of girls just like you that Jon would've grown up around, and sure on a surface level, she could sometimes say something funny. She was loud and outspoken, sometimes Ygritte was funny just because she talked enough that eventually something would accidentally be amusing by chance.

But on a deeper level, it disturbed him to think of you anywhere near her. What she would've said to you, what she would've done to you. Jon had been murdered trying to leave to go find you, what would she have done the second you rode through those gates? She probably wouldn't even have let you anywhere near his body. What would she have done once she realized what had happened between you and Jon once you brought him back?

Because Jon knew, not a second of that would have changed. Just maybe he thought to himself, he would truly have ensured you were pregnant that night if she were alive. Keep you alive and safe by bonding you and Jon together for good the moment you reunited. Or maybe it wouldn't have mattered, maybe he thought, it would only make her want to kill you more. He hated it. That the only point of comparison of another woman he had was her, because all it did was bring into clarity the truth of what he almost let himself become.

It very likely confused her when she died, he knew. Her final moments on the ground wondering why Jon left her there, why he wasn't there to hold her and cry. What had she gotten so wrong about him and Jon knew she'd die before figuring it out.

But Jon still had scars from every single arrow she shot him full off, just how your body still held scars from the horrors of what Ramsay put you through. He didn't know why he was so focused on the subject, but he hated that you both had to endure them in order to be able to reach this point. But then Jon would catch the sight of your stomach, it made it all a little easier.

Guiding you off the bridging path, Jon kept an arm at your lower back as you walked the first few feet of flat ice and his eyes casted downwards again and again. Maybe it all had to be worth it. His life before was full of fear that getting you pregnant was ruining your life and his child's chances at a good life. Maybe it all had to happen, so that Jon could finally realize, he didn't just want all this, it was to realize that you were right. That he was supposed to have this.

Maybe despite all the back and forth in his head, it was only there to lead him to the one answer that mattered, that no matter what he could fear from another life, the life right in front of him was you being his wife, and his son growing inside of you. The far north was full of conflicting memories for Jon, but perhaps it all was there to put into perspective that the life he deserved was in front of him now.

If there was no coming back from his journey, then you wouldn't be pregnant right now. If this was all in his memory to show him how far he's come, then the gods wouldn't have let Jon fill you with his child. He knew you were still trying not to compare yourself with Ygritte, but there was no comparing.

Hell, she would've cut one of his hands off if he tried to even be half as gentle or comforting to her for anything as he was with you. You still worried where your shortcomings out here were against her, but Jon, the second he turned you suddenly in his arms to face him now on flat land, leaned down to cup your cheeks, pressing his lips urgently against yours and it all settled back inside of him.

He was a pillar to keep you safe physically out here, but as much as Jon would let his mind wander in the quiet, all it took was your gentle, loving kiss to throw all of that turmoil down into the abyss you all had just crossed. The longer you survived beside Jon out here, the more and more your image finally was obliterating what was left of hers.

It was why he knew the four of you had to come back alive. Jon knew there was an entire remaining lifetime waiting for him back in Winterfell. This baby was more then just something he never thought he'd have with you, it was his real new start. His son with you, was where the last of Jon previous nightmare of a life might finally begin to disappear forever, and he couldn't wait.

It was far easier for you to blame Jon for this feeling.

You would be fine one moment and the next you felt something surging through your veins taking over like an obsessive need until you were so out of your head all you could do was think about it. But he would stand there looking so effortlessly handsome that you felt that driving desire moving before he could reasonably talk you out of it.

You were weak to the way he looked, Jon was weak to the bright, almost innocent look in your eye when asking. You had taken him off guard one afternoon. Kneeling down to put something away in your own pack, did your eyes wander. You wanted him so much more like this the past month and it was driving you as out of your mind as it was him. Jon was a giver, he didn't want to just stand there and make you do the work for his own pleasure, but he truly did hate saying no to you when asking with such a gentle politeness. You both knew you took full advantage of that when it came to this act.

But then you'd feel the gentle sensation of him gathering your hair blown messy from the wind, keeping it in his hold as he'd murmur to you in low tones and dark eyes. “Go on.”

It was almost teasing how careful you were with him in contrast to how swiftly his hand gripping your hair tightened. Gently running your hand over the layers covering him. Before even pulling him out, feeling his cock twitch and harden under your almost massaging touch, mixing for Jon, too much with how genuine and innocently you did so. Not trying to tease him or put on any display or whatnot.

Feeling him grow hard enough you moved to pulled him out and with one hand not even able to wrap around the thickness of his cock, you guided him into your mouth without wasting a breath. The cold air exposing what of him was out against how much you took him into your throat, warm and wet around him. Only letting go to grasp steadily at his hips you slowly took his cock deeper as your eyes fluttered closed at the whirling feeling of need in your stomach forming.

Stretching your mouth where your jaw would later feel a sting no matter how used to his size you should've been, your tongue ran over what you could reach of his cock. Saliva collecting around him making it a bit more manageable to sink down more. Nothing greedy or even urgent, only soaking his cock further and further as you sucked his cock. Low growls contained in his chest, you never went fast or close to. Only sinking inch by inch each time you pulled back, sliding him further into your mouth as you almost whined at the sensation.

Hands flexing at his hips, Jon shifted to slowly sink more into your mouth himself. Almost sighing in relief, your head bobbed up and down his cock with a quiet obedience, your heart racing but not enough until you felt the panic of such a large size so deep in your small mouth.

Were Jon demanding, he'd have forced your head up and down him at the exact pace you were already going but that was simply how you sucked him, knowing what he needed was what you wanted. Gently moving you deeper onto him as he thrusted slightly forward, Jon didn't even mean to start guiding your head, but he did. Holding your hair tight as your mouth soaked around his length to the point you could not pull away without looking a mess.

Faster and faster did he move you, jaw clenched as your own thighs begged to press together but never did you leave your hands from his hips. It wasn't about you, you almost felt upset at the idea of trying to share this when it was only for him. You didn't want to have any part of your body feel good, when you were almost desperate to mean each time Jon could not go any further down your throat. Pulling you back only inches from where you sunk, Jon would then press your nose against the coarse, black hair around the base of his cock and it was then the moan in you could not be contained. He let out a groan at the sound humming around his length, and your heart sped up. Blood pumping in your ears at how little you could handle him keeping you there as if it was your new home. But you'd keep his cock that deep for however long he wanted.

A tingling wetness between your own thighs at the idea, of being forced to keep Jons cock in your mouth as long as he demanded you too, or for however long his far superior strength would hold you there without choice. It was pathetic, how much you wished to keep his cock filling your mouth or how your hands flexed at the thought of how close he might have been.

If it weren't such an embarrassing thing to admit, you'd say how much you love the taste of Jons seed, how good it felt when it was so hot spilling deep into your throat and fill your stomach as if out here, should food run low, Jon could eat and you'd need nothing but him. He pushed you to take him deeper and deeper and in another world, this would've been Jons favourite thing, and on your knees would be your rightful place before him.

Gods, you were nothing of the proper lady you were supposed to have been raised to be. Should any else hear such thoughts, they'd say this lustful, wanton bastard had bewitched or cursed you into serving his cock but you didn't even care. You could hardly even breathe he was so deep, but you didn't care about any of it because you felt so good being dragged up and down his length.

By the time Jon throbbed inside your mouth, you whined a sort of beg to not be pulled off despite knowing he was far too gone every time to ever consider finishing anywhere else. Jon sunk your head, forcing you to take him deep in your throat. Face pressed against the coarse hair there, Jon fisted your hair in his grip, not allowing you to even budge as his other hand moved to grasp at the back your neck. His hand on your hair guided you deep, his hand on your neck however, forced you to accept every drop he was to spill.

But you moaned around him at the taste, at how much his hot seed spilled down your throat and pooled in your stomach. Muffled sounds like a gag trying to accept all of what he was gifting you to swallow and your heart raced at how little you cared. It was out of your mind to feel this way, but you'd give up your title as his Queen to be nothing but a whore to take his cock in whatever fashion he wished to spill inside of you.

Only once you had swallowed everything with the struggle of how much he could fill you with, Jon slowly pulled you off as his voice rasped with something strained and dark. His blown out eyes watching your mouth part gasping for air, but still dutifully putting him back to not expose his cock to the bitter cold. “I don't deserve you,”

But your eyes fluttered shut, the taste of him lingered in your mouth like a reminder of why you always hated when he'd try and stop you. Shaking your head, your hands still gripping his hips but your forehead resting at his now covered cock still. His grip in your hair looser, but not letting go as you whispered through such an obvious strain from taking him so deep. “You do, I promise, you do. Gods, I love when you met me to make you feel good.”

It took a few moments to convince himself to stand you back up, but cupping your cheeks as he did, Jon traced the bridge of your nose with his. “I'm starting to think you're bad for my health, darling.” You breathed out a laugh, giving Jon a more genuine one in return. Tilting your cheeks to press a kiss to your forehead as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and back of his neck. Toying with the loose strands before you found the willingness to part.

Not before slinking around to gather his hair to pull back for him, Jon himself couldn't decide what was a guilty pleasure more. How willing you were to let him force you to take his cocks entire thick length, or when you without prompt did such small things or him simply because you liked too.

Jon did more of the same small things for you, but you both knew, no one had ever treated Jon the delicately gentle way you still did. And even out here, it only made Jon feel so much more obsessed and possessive of you for it. Regardless, he would pull three times as many orgasms from to out do your efforts the nights you sucked his cock.

Afterall he knew, you did not like taking his cock in your mouth as much as he adored tasting the wetness between your legs. You could not match Jon in how addicted to you he was, and Jon really never even bothered to let you try. You both already loved what you had now too much to make any real change to it.

Neither wanted too.

It was one day later when you realized you had once looked forward to when the morning ills would finally have passed. Knowing it would mean you were giving Jon less and less of a reason to stop on your behalf. But it wasn't quite working out that way even as the ill feelings were gone now.

The more easily out of breath you could become the more you found your footing slip in the easy to misstep ice filed terrain. The small cliff side you both were slowly working your way up shouldn't have been a big deal.

Climbing was something you'd always done, but the things which previously would give a mere skip in your heart before moving on, would now send the little one inside of you into much more of a panic on your behalf, only making the slip of your footing worse. The day had been quiet and calm up to that point, but such silence only meant you could not hide any of it from Jons sharp hearing.

What originally was one misstep, turned into you missing your foots grasp and sliding down the rocks, only for your insides to lurch violently the second the little one too seemed to panic. Thus it had caused your hand to slip from grasping your next hold. It was not as if it were a long way down, but it was enough you fell, trying to ease the landing by dragging your knee against the rocks to create a slowing friction, but alas that had only ripped into the sheepskin and tore blood from the now shredded skin underneath.

Calling your name in distress, Jon swiftly made his way down before kneeling in front of you to hoist you up more on your feet. Somewhat resting your back against the cliff side, Ghost begun making his own way back down the longer path to meet you. Hands bracing your forearms, Jon looked you over with wide eyes until he got to your knee. “Are you alright?”

Not bothering to let you lie, Jon yanked his pack off, searching right for something to clean and wrap the new wound with, muttering under his breath as he pulled your leg to rest your calf over his shoulder so you didn't stand unsteady as he undid the top of a smaller skin of water to gently run through the blood. “You should be telling me when you need to stop, darling.”

Shaking your head slightly, you still felt the overreaction in your blood as your stomach twisted as if trying to pull a feeling from the baby into the mix. “Had a wrong misstep is all.” Jons eyes tore up to yours with a doubt heavy inside of them before tearing off a scrap of wrappings with his teeth. Gently moving to wrap it around the whole area.

“I'll clean and close this later, this should stop the bleeding for now.” Apologizing gently, Jon sat you back down steady on two feet as he stood up, looking you over for a moment before finding a voice again. “We'll stop here for the night.”

Instantly, as he moved to begin setting camp you grabbed his arm to pull him back. “Jon, no. It's fine, I slipped once.” Trying emphasize only once, Jon protested saying he wasn't pushing it, only causing you to raise your voice slightly, not in an anger or defiance but almost in a distress or worry. “Jon there's still hours of daylight, we can't keep stopping everytime I get a cut.”

Looking you over in silence, Jon was about to make his own case for the opposite when the little one had either the worst timing, or the funniest. You weren't sure. Almost looking as if you were going to be ill once more, Jon grabbed your arm once more but you only blinked wide as you seemed a bit winded, huffing out a breathless laugh. “What?”

Your eyes bright as you looked up at him, and it seemed the one inside you sensed Jon as well. Shaking your head you grabbed his hand, pulling a glove off and very easily directing him to where you felt a slight kick.

Grey eyes growing wide at the first feeling of a kick against his palm, only increasing to what you had felt with laughter when the feeling increased, as if his baby could sense he was right there. Your grin turned to a bemused wince at how relentless it was for a moment. Stepping close to you, Ghost rounded the corner and came up just as eager to your right. Jon muttering so low were you not inches from his face you wouldn't have heard him say anything “How long has he been doing this?”

A small shrug, “A few days now. Seems to like getting my attention at the worst times possible.” Jons palm followed the path as if ensuring he was not imagining the first few, your left hand reached up to run your thumb along the facial hair at his jaw, your other finding itself within Ghosts fur as the thought came to you. “Starting to feel like prey, surrounded by all you wolves.”

A smirk drifted onto his lips as he tore his eyes to look up at you, an affection drenched in something jesting that put you at ease. “A little deer getting herself alone surrounded by predators?” You tried to snark back that you were a stag but Jon had very quickly shut it down so simply it had you parting you lips slightly in audacity. “You're too small to be a stag, and not sharp enough either.”

Muttering under your breath, “Aren't you supposed to be nice to the mother of your child?”

Grey eyes so bright were the day more sunny, they'd have shined against it like a perfect reflection towards you. Leaning in as Jon kept one hand on your stomach and moving the other to cup your cheek to bring you to his lips. Muttering against them enough you felt their softness each passing motion. “I love you.”

That wasn't what you were asking for, but you leaned up to meet his lips all the same. Hands finding the back of his neck, you felt him twist his wrist to press close against you, without ever removing his hand from your stomach. It wasn't deep nor greedy, but a guiding gentleness that consumed your lungs until every ounce of it's need was in Jons control, yet trapped by his kiss. Lightheaded perhaps by both it and Jon himself, you let him press you more into the cliff side, deepening it only enough you picked up his urgency.

Raking his hand through your hair, Jon pulled you to angle up better to not escape his kiss as he only let his hand trail from your stomach down to hoist your thigh up by his hip. Too many layers between you, but it was not about that now.

Not as only something pure existed in the press of his lips to yours, not at all caring of the wind passing along your skin. The baby didn't stir up again, only allowed peace to settle between their father and mother as Jon failed to pull away. Capturing you lips time and time again each instance he wanted too pull away until he left only small chaste pecks barley leaving.

Moving to the side of your mouth, to your cheek to one just below your ear as he rasped into it. “Stay here with Ghost. There's a cave a mile back, I'll make sure it's clear before setting in tonight.” Pulling only away enough he could barley see your eyes, you nodded and both met the others lips once more. His head dropping to press against your forehead to look at your still hidden stomach with a smile on his lips so natural you suspected he didn't even realize he held the look on his face.

Once more, the baby only seemed to grab your attention once Jon was gone, and was settled a bit as Ghost gently nudged his head against your stomach as if the very presence of wolves was enough. Still you looked up to the sky and hoped once more. Praying that in her final, lonely, terrifying months, that having Jon with her brought Lyanna even a modicum of peace for what little time with him she'd ever have.

Within the eyes of dreams you had known what it felt like to be watched by more than one bird.

A black crow with three eyes with an intense wonder and a raven with feathers dripping in blood which was often found by it's side acting like the mentor guiding things for the three eyed crow. Those eyes were strange on both and you did not understand them, but you did not feel uncomfortable and unsettled by them.

But this one watched you in your waking life, and it watched nothing like the eyes of the other birds before. You did not know Orell, nor the eagle which was his companion but Jon did and he was sure that they were one in the same which followed you. He didn't know why it was following without doing anything, but now you felt unnerved by how close it sat and watched.

The cave Jon sheltered you in had enough winding paths which kept the blowing winds away from where you all settled directly. They were fascinating the manner which they did or did not interact with the world outside of their depths. The rock walls were so thick they could absorb any sound. Two people could be in the tunnels next to each other and not hear the other yelling, the sound trapping so absolute.

It also meant that the warmth within some were held there soothingly in the bitter cold. Sitting by the small pooling remains of wherever there existed a hot spring, it was no more then only a few feet deep. You could stand within the water and only be hovered in heat to your ankles. So instead you had made home right at it's side, Legs uncovered as the sheepskin all sat by a fire near to warm from the cold day. Keeping your long sleeved layer on your torso as you slowly washed around the now cleaned, stitched and wrapped cut by your knee, you thought little of it at first.

The eagle had flown to follow in the sheltered warmth of the cave, and now sat high on a rock protruding from the ceiling just far enough away it could fly back out of sight the way it came in if need be. You didn't think of it when he first flew in, barley letting your gaze flicker up. But as you reached back to rest the cloth by the small makeshift basin of soap did you go to reach for your other final layer to wash the remainder of grime from your upper half.

Only, as you uncovered as far as the bump underneath did you notice. Eyes flying up to see the eagle watching you. Never before had it's presence felt intimidating. Watchful eyes of animals hadn't felt intimidating before. Ghost had seen more then his fair share of passionate throes of love making between you and Jon and never did it occur to any of you to care. The night you had brought Jon back, he sat in the corner of the cell and watched as if to ensure no soul dared come down to disrupt the reunion.

But the more slowly you pulled your final layer off did you feel intimidated by this eagle. Shifting on it's feet without a sound, watching you watching it as your chest was revealed to the cold air around and the warm steam from below. Instead of not caring, you gently draped the material along your hips, as if to hide your most intimate aspects of you body. As if not feeling comfortable being so open and bare to such a distrusting pair of human like eyes.

You hoped it was only an eagle and Jon was wrong. You did not know Orell, but you did not wish for him to know you either. The entire time your upper half was washed you and the eagle stared at one another, and you could not tell what it was about you he was watching. Was it your bare form, who you were to the man you travelled with or was it the unmistakable bump growing at your womb it was watching?

Only it took off to the unseen edges of the cave the very second you heard the footsteps of two wolves return to the cave clearing you were within. Ghost trotted up to the front of the small spring of watering remains you were by, a low growl within him as he watched in case it returned. Only settling once Jon called to him, “Ghost.”

Nothing more was said between them, you had long since gotten used to the two wolves somehow needing not a single sharing of verbal words to understand each other. Moving to settle beside you, Jon ran a hand over your back as his eyes too did not drift yet from where the eagle sat. Asking roughly if he did anything, you shook your head, comfortable now returning your focus to your skin. “Just sat there is all.” Glancing to what you could see at your side of Jons tense form you added with a lighter hope of jest, “Too bad. Could have scarred my face too, then we'd be matching.”

A smirk crossed your lips when you could see Jon turn to give you a look you preferred not to be lectured with in such peace. Taking the cloth from you, Jon properly soaked it in the mixture once more, collecting your hair with one hand to push it over your shoulder, he took over the more difficult aspect of very massagingly running it along your back.

Three months it took of spending every moment with each other in many new capacities, and finally it seemed you could exist in some state of undress without wakening the darker wolf within the White one you married. Protectiveness won out against his hunger it seemed. “I can't get you to stop finding new ways to bleed for me, don't need you looking for more on purpose.”

A half smile formed as you leaned somewhat back into his warm chest. Your voice low, “I wouldn't call what I do, looking for more ways to get hurt. Just terrible luck.” Jon half chuckled, looking for something to put your hair up only to give up on the notion of leaving you to do so. Letting his curls loose to messily pull yours up off your neck to properly run the soaping cloth along your neck and shoulders. “You never told me, why Orell attacked you.”

Once Jon may have not paused comfortably but from where he knelt behind you, he could so perfectly see your growing stomach and not a shred of doubt or pain sat in his heart as long as you were right in front of him so openly. “He always knew I was lying, and was mad he couldn't convince the others. Then I ran a sword through his chest.”

Your brows narrowed a little, “It feels as if you've left a number of details out.” The chuckle in your ear was endlessly comforting, pulling your own small smile back onto your lips. “Wasn't trying to pry, I suppose if I were forced to be a bird the remainder of my life, I too would hate the one who trapped me there.”

Jons guess was not what you were expecting. “He could see through what I pretended to feel for Ygritte, now he's obsessed with watching what I actually have with you.” Putting forth perhaps he was simply in need of something to entertain himself, Jon grunted unamused. “Can find that somewhere that isn't stalking my wife.”

Humming, you knew it would be too easy to let him spiral into that darker part of himself, and thus you took what felt like the easiest path to draw him back into something much more present and hopefully back to playful. “So is it you are only willing to share me with one man of the free folk or just not that one specifically?”

His hands stopping moving entirely almost had you crack your facade into laughter, even moreso when he grumbled under his breath likely a string of words including cursing. Returning to your form, Jon tilted your head to the side so he could reach around and run the cloth along the front of your neck. The soap trailing from where it landed and sliding down between your bare breasts as this time the watchful eyes you felt were grey to the point now they were likely treading on black in colour.

By the time he found words, Jon did not at all address your comment, knowing it would only amuse you further. It was his idea, and now Jon was the one avoiding recalling that night every single opportunity he could. “We'll make it there by the new moon.”

Your eyes trained on the steaming water and nowhere else. You knew where he spoke of, and the new moon would only be in some three or four days. Since when did you and Jon come so close? When did this journey draw so close to an end?

You weren't ready yet, you had only this week felt Jons baby inside of you start to move.

As long as you were inside you could avoid what it looked like out there the moment the sun went down, but you didn't want to think about why. You couldn't, not when he had been so happy to feel his child kick against his touch in your womb, it wasn't fair Jon needed more time. Jon deserved to be a father for longer then this.

But why wasn't he spiralling the way you were? Your stillness was an indication of such fear in and of itself, so why was Jon so collected and together? Why wasn't he angry about this coming to an end?

He only continued to speak, sounding as he always did each time he would relay the next day's plans to you as normal. “When we get there, we'll camp until the next morning. Even if it's dawn when we get there, we'll stop for however long in the day is left. I won't rush you out there.”

No, you wanted to scream. This wasn't about you. You carried this baby for five months, you had every second of it's life with them. It was about Jon. Jon needed more time, he needed to be able to hold them in his arms, give them a name and finally feel safe calling his child a Snow. He needed to experience giving his child the love he and his mother were ripped from sharing together.

Twice you carried a Stark baby until five months, but Robb had always known he'd make a family of his own. It was not a surprise or new development for him. You needed Jon to experience more then the hope or fantasy of it.

If it was a girl, he needed to hold her so he could return home and bring his daughter to his mother and tell them they shared a name. If it was a boy, you two needed to go back and forth on what to name him to share his son and heir to his people.

You had this process twice now, but it couldn't end before Jon could have the remainder of it, it wasn't fair.

You felt a fool at the sting behind your eyes. Jon was calm, so why were you feeling the heat behind your face derive from more then just the heat behind and in front of you. Why wasn't Jon afraid of losing what he only just thought he could have?

Why did the gods bring you back just to die together out here? You had only been reunited a year now. Jons new life with you didn't deserve to be even shorter then the cruel amount of time you and Robb were forced to only have in such short years.

You only nodded. Keeping it all in, not wanting to start anything. As soon as he was done, you'd jump at the chance to switch places. Perhaps if you had something to focus on, you wouldn't let the feeling of loss take over. You had once wished you could've been allowed to trade your life for Rickons.

Now you wished you could trade your life so Jon could truly love and raise his child. But five months was too early. You couldn't do what the vengeful demonic ghost of Catelyn Stark had spit at you in favour of. You couldn't simply cut your baby from you now to gift to Jon before taking their place and walking into the deathly cold alone.

If Jon suspected what was spiralling inside of you, he let you keep it inside as you swiftly turned to try and take his place and position him where the hot spring water pooled into. “I know you feel the cold, but truly, how are you still this warm even out here?”

Carefully pulling the layers from Jons torso now from him, you ignored his wandering eyes as you stood to sit his clothes near the fire to dry and warm as yours were. Perhaps his hunger wasn't quite as dormant as you previously assumed. But regardless, you started with his back and shoulders first as he did for you last.

By the time you were at his front, you had not a clue when the conversation had turned to what it was nor did you really know quite when you had gone from kneeling respectively at his front to Jon yanking you up to straddle his now bare hips instead of letting you do your work in peace. His voice continuing the present discussion as if he hadn't just moved you to his pleasure. “Felt like he was trying to mock me.”

Shrugging, you were carefully running the cloth down his torso, eyes always memorized with the scars littered about in a blend of a horror and wonder. A year had passed, and still did you scarcely understand how you had been the one to bring him back. But your more present mind had latched onto his comment quickly. And just as fast, did you flatly let out the exact range of emotion you had when sharing your final words with the man. “He probably was. Most in the south look down on the Nights Watch as little more then a joke, I wouldn't expect a man such as him to give you any respect on the matter.” Meeting Jons eyes suddenly with a taken back expression, “What did he even approach you for in the first place?”

The answer was curious as it was nonsensical. “He was essentially asking if I had ever killed a man yet.”

You were fairly certain there was not a single shred of logic which existed in the mind of Ser Jaime Lannister. Shaking your head slightly, returning to work against Jons torso you muttered with a degree of left over frustration from a previous life. “Unless your answer was somehow I murdered the psychotic King I was sworn too, I'm not quite certain why he'd care.”

It came out so naturally, you had almost forgotten that neither of you had broached that topic since then. Who he was in terms of blood now that Jon knew the truth. It felt so wrong, it felt a lie, a treason, it was gross and an insult to the grandfather of Jons the same King actually killed. And yet it was none of that which seemed to come to Jons mind. “That answers that question.” Asking what he meant, Jon clarified with his own amusement. “Who you hate more, House Targaryean or House Lannister.”

He made it easy to smile and smirk such days now it felt. Your muttering not lacking in truth, only elaboration Jon fully understood. “The only margin they are getting is because I wasn't alive when they committed their crimes. Harder to say I hate the family I went to war and die against, less.”

Touch running up your hips and waist was soothing despite the rough calloused feeling of Jons hands so large even against your plush skin. His voice a rasp that only watched you with bright, unjudging eyes. “Starting to think it's even for me.”

Glancing up and then once more back at your work, you weren't sure how much you wanted to comment on it for him. Even now it wasn't something easily digested after an entire lifetime without that knowledge. Finally beginning the process of rinsing the remainder to clear his skin entirely, did one hand of Jons reach up to you with the still damp strands of your hair falling into your face.

Pushed behind your ear, you let him speak without interrupt. “It's hard to accept, that a family could leave as much death in my family as the Targaryeans did.” Sensing his eyes on your scar, strange it was starting to look against the growing bump around it, a contrast which showed such drastic differences in life to life that only the ones littered about Jons chest could understand. Somewhere in this trailing thoughts though, did an interesting one come about. “Everything he did that ruined my family, hurt yours, all so I could end up here.”

Meeting his eyes curiously, you put the cloth to the side. Hands returning to brace against his shoulders, toying with his loose curls your fingertips could reach. “In a cave at the end of the world?”

But Jon didn't look strained in the thought, as if something inside him was settling over the matter in his own small beginning ways. “The people he killed and hurt to bring me into this world, but here I am, raised by Ned Stark, married to Robert Baratheons niece, and everything their family valued, getting to call our son a Snow, because I've finally figured out what my name is doesn't matter.” Running your hand more to rake through his curls, you ran your other palm down to rest over his scarred heart as your forehead found his, nothing but calm running between you both. “Can't be more of a disappointment then that.”

You only smiled though, “Speaking as my fathers own disappointment, you get used to it.” You could see Jon going to protest that but you cut him off at the chase. “Are you going to dispute that, because I assure you Jon he's more proud of you then he's ever been myself. Suppose had I been born a boy..”

His hand running now more at your side, trailing down your breasts ever so lightly as your shiver was distinctly not from the air around you. Jon muttering as his dark eyes trailed down your form much more freely again. “Rather not think about not having you exactly like this.” Peeking up to your eyes, watching as they fluttered shut right as his thumb trailed over the small buds of your breasts, a swallow rough in his throat watching as you nearly jumped from such a feather light touch alone.

Surging upwards, Jon grabbed you by the hips. Standing up in an instance and pushing you by said hold up against the cave wall, the water from the hot springs pouring down your back and now splashing somewhat over both of you as Jon and yourself stood in the pool of water. His gaze now greedy as he looked you over. One hand firmly at your hip keeping you pressed there as his other returned to your breast, teasing this time instead of a light touch of innocence.

Keeping you on that razors edge as he never let his touch grow rough, but knowing the shaking in your muscles was intense regardless. Your hands tried to grasp meekly at his waist, as if too trying to be respectful and not look to how hard his cock sat thick. As if he didn't even care about it as long as his touch against your breast grew rougher each grope until he twisted the nipple, the sparks through your blood arching your back from the watering wall into his body.

Only Jon shoved you right back from his grip at your hip. Crowding you more, his curls growing wet as the water now soaked both of you, but too close to skew your views of one another. His voice husking over the sounds around you, vibrating deep in your chest down between your legs. Growing more wet from not the waters of a hot spring, but a burning consuming your soul so close to Jon. “I need you to stay right there, darling. Just like this.”

Nodding, Jon grasped your chin, pulling you up to meet his lips in a desperate kiss. Your arms winding without hesitation, around his shoulders and back of his neck, Jon wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you into his front as much as he stepped towards you. His other cupping the back of your neck to keep your lips pressed to his with no escape. Soft yet rough, harsher and more demanding he told you to follow his kiss at his command and the water so warm around you both had you melt so perfectly into his touch.

The moment his tongue brushed your bottom lip, you graced him such permission as his tongue slid inside of your mouth to brush against yours. A whine weak in your throat, but you felt Jons cock twitch as it brushed between your legs. The hand around to your back trailing down, pressing against your ass to force your hips to press more against his, your own hands tightening in his hair, but he only tasted inside of your mouth to consume your every cry and breath.

Lightheaded but arching into his touch, Jon pulled back from you with a bite to your lips. The weakness having him return once more but speaking as the trail of saliva sat between your so close lips, now swollen from his harsh demand. “Just like this, alright?”

Running the hand at the back of your head down your hair until you whispered in a breathy need, “I promise.” One more surging kiss to consume your head with a burning fog only of him, Jon pulled back as swift and wasted no more time.

Kissing a path down your neck, licking and kissing before his teeth sunk deep to force marks as he then sucked harsh at the skin to bruise. Your body again arching into him but Jon grabbed your hands and forced them up against the cave wall, letting his own hold you at your waist with the upmost confidence you could not dare disobey such orders. Which you did not in any way, you listened to his every demand no matter how silent.

In an instant both of his hands roughly grasped at your breasts, twisting your nipples with a roughness unbecoming of his usual tease and yet you begged his name as if it were his cock giving you such pleasure. Yanking more as his hands groped rough imprints into your skin, you begged his name with words you did not know, nor care. Only pleas for him as Jon responded with nothing and showed no mercy.

Dragging your insides too close, spiralling out of control as you begged him. The water was freezing compared to the burning brewing between your legs, spreading through your bloodstream like a wave washing away a village. Head foggy as Jon skipped past your breasts with his mouth aside from one single rough bite which pulled such a gasp from you tears followed.

But he didn't linger. Hands running to your hips as he kissed down your bump, only to pause. His hands rough as he covered what skin he could reach between his moving lips. That time, the surge existed only in your heart.

You wanted to have this child for him so badly.

Jon however, needed something else. It was the final of it, it begun in a place just like this and Jon was not going to leave this cave, this very spot until it ended here. Each and every haunting had been replaced with you, and now it was the last of it. Your begs and pleads were high pitched and so sweet any other man may have felt it a trick.

Every ounce of your beg of his name was soft, as was your touch and not a second did you consider not listening to him, or not sharing yourself with what he wanted. Roughly spreading your legs, there was one final memory in his sights and the moment Jon buried his face into your cunt, not for a second could he even tell you her name. If she was a woman who was not you, no longer did she exist.

Grabbing your hips, Jon refused you to pull away. Licking tight motions to your clit before sucking it with a nibble to end on before repeating the process. Hands now sliding to your inner thighs, Jon shoved your legs wider. Nothing easing you into it was given to the bundle of nerves but it coiled something needing within you so fast, tears formed in your eyes as you only let one hand rake through his curls.

Jons hold on your thighs was rough, your hand in his hair was not. Gentle and almost caressing, you needed to feel something more of him as your heart landed back down in your chest from how far it floated away. But Jons tongue ran at your clit with such tight purpose that you could not elaborate anything but his name singing from your lips.

Soaking you from his saliva alone, you burned at such an easy touch to your clit despite how much your mind wanted to simply beg for his cock, to be taken as he wanted fighting with the fact that this right here and now was just that, what Jon wanted.

Drinking from the wetness you gifted him, the moment he felt you tense and your begging of his name peak into gasps, Jon sucked at your clit with a rough greed. The stimulation making you jump but it was simply the first taste. As soon as your orgasm finally washed over, Jon shoved you more against the cave wall. Burying his mouth at your core, your orgasm pouring onto his tongue with every ounce of his greed growling at the heavy taste.

A rough hand forcing your thigh wide for him as his facial hair scratched raw into your skin, contrasting with his tongue warm and soft licking your folds up to your cunt and refusing to let anything building inside of you go to waste. Jon wanted to taste all of it and his touch was so rough it bruised every single scrap of skin he held you with.

The water muffled any real sounds of his feasting, but you could feel the sounds and grunts he made as he soaked you as much as you were soaking his mouth and tongue. Dragging back up to your clit before sinking back, his other hand grasped at your ass, digging his nails into the plush skin as you were pushed more to meet his mouth.

Your insides burned, you were set alight and the only salvation was to let Jon do what he wanted, even if that meant throwing you into a burning fire as long as he touch was the one casting you into such damnation, you'd beg him to do it. Never did you grip his hair mean or tightly, making his closed eyes roll into the back of his head you still never wanted to be demanding with your touch even as he drank from your cunt like his final meal soaked his mouth before him.

Shaking around him, you begged his name, “Gods, oh Jon please..so good, gods you're so good,” Jon groaned into you, hands tight as he held you to his mouth, not allowed to leave. Your orgasm burned into something too bright and tightly wound to contain, snapping as Jon only lapped up every single bit of wetness you gifted to him.

Drinking from between your legs, an oasis of perfection Jon only ever found in your taste. Never slowing down, Jon let his tongue dive inside of you sensitive and begging as you kept arching more into his mouth, he couldn't stop thinking you were perfect. Such a good girl in every facet of your normal life and yet you still were in the one thing you could let loose, but you didn't. You held Jon without demanding anything, only asking so sweetly for him with praise and begs.

The taste was so painfully addictive. You hadn't even yet come down when his mouth soaked you into another, that time your cries so much more of tears and words too much to bare speaking beyond the screaming burn he pulled from your core. His tongue flat and wet your head almost slammed into the cave wall begging his name.

Jon though, needed one more. He needed to make you cum once more before he would do anything else, he needed the taste because he didn't care about any meal that was not the wetness he soaked up along his tongue, and left a burn of facial hair to mark your thighs with memory that he drank from.

Your head felt like it was floating, your cunt soaking wet as it was almost stinging from how demanding Jon tasted you, and how wide he kept forcing your thighs open and shoving you against the wall to prevent you from escaping. Sloppily dragging his tongue up to your clit Jon sucked at the bundle until your orgasm shattered from a third into aftershocks sparking a fourth.

Grabbing both of your hands, Jon forced them up above your head into the water stream as he stood, his cock hard as he crowded you again. But you were just as he said, a good girl. Leaning up to meet his lips, you gave him permission without having to be told. Parting your lips, Jon slipped his tongue back into your mouth, making you taste what he was far too addicted too between your legs. It never was what he seemed to get out of your cunts wetness, but the mix of his kiss as enough to let your legs widen even more for him.

Interlocking your hands as he kept them above, Jon pressed himself too much against you to be able to slide inside of you but it was not quite that he sought. There was something in the way more then usual, the bump of your child together kept Jon at a bit of a distance from crowding you. Barely leaving your lips, Jon rasped into them, unable to even open his eyes as your mouth wished to beg for him to come back already. “I love you so much,”

Before you could even say it back, you called his name in a worry as he left your hands to grasp at your thighs. Hoisting you up against the wall, you grabbed worried at his shoulders, drawing his dark, dark eyes to your wide ones, voice unsure in your tone, “Jon, I'm too heavy for this-”

Narrowing his gaze at you, Jons arms did not even have a single strain. Black eyes as dark as the rasp in his voice almost hissed at you. “You are carrying my child, you are not too heavy.”

Imploring him to reconsider, Jon ignored it. Capturing you lips in a biting kiss, Jon let his cock side along your soaking folds, wasting no second in sinking inside of you. Despite his mouth drawing every bit of soaking wetness to ease his size, the stretch stung in an instant, it always did. Hands grasping tightly at his shoulders, you wished so badly to hide in his shoulder with your gasping wince but Jon surged forward to capture your lips first.

Tangling them in his curls instead, Jon was slow as he begun to sink deeper and deeper. You taking his every inch without resistance and yet it was how large he was in your tight walls that had both of you shudder in need. Biting your lips almost in an instinct with a snarl, as deep as you could take him, Jon didn't move. Throbbing inside of you, only making you clench around him more but never did your lips part from one another.

Your insides screamed at you in such a shattering of feelings overwhelming your nerves as Jon slowly pulled out. Inch by inch your cunt almost begged to draw his cock back inside of you, but he eased you with his kiss softening as he did so. Only his tip remaining, Jon pulled from your kiss only enough to murmur against you. “I'm not leaving you,” Nodding your hands grasped desperately only to beg to hide in his neck once more as he sunk back.

Slowly, so slowly Jon thrusted in and out, never wishing to speed up but his lips desperate to feel yours, he kissed you almost more urgently then his cock sliding inside of you. Dragging against such a sensitive wall, your nails dug into the back of his neck before sliding into his curls again, unable to stop leaving it a mess as he filled you so completely, even only like this.

You felt yourself soaking him each time, were he not as thick as he was, your own mess would have smeared down your thighs, instead it was trapped inside just as the seed leaking from Jon, the feeling so overwhelmingly full and yet the slow speed only accentuated it to something too much to handle.

Giving only enough room for you to gasp for air, Jon sunk deep again, the sounds unable to even be heard beyond the water cascading around your bodies, but you both felt it none but your skin against each others in desperation. It crept up slowly, your orgasm.

A burning which always raged in Jons presence felt out of control when he took you, as if you were never truly complete without him inside of you. Voice weak as you muttered, not knowing if he'd even hear you. “I'm sorry I ever left you..I'm so sorry..”

Jon thrusted back inside of you resting his forehead against yours. The smile not quite what one would imagine on a man as deep inside a woman as he was, but despite the roughness forcing out his voice, there was a tenderness which matched how slow he fucked you. “Don't be..I was always yours..but this way, we belong to each other...only each other..”

You hardly really could comprehend in your conscious mind what he was saying, the draw of his cock against you so deep left a burning trail of pleasure screaming for more in it's wake before he set it ablaze further when he once more slowly sunk his cock back. Never even considering to pick up the pace, only rocking gently inside of you up against the watering wall of the cave, nothing existing outside of being so deep inside of you mattered to Jon and it didn't matter to you.

The rest of the world didn't exist here. Your first orgasm came from nowhere, hidden in the depths of your soaring heart, Jons name gasped from your mouth as he pressed his lips to yours. Clenching tightly around, Jon gave but nearly five more thrusts, each increasing ever so slightly in he strength until he groaned in your kiss in return to your moans.

Pushing inside you as deep as he could, Jons hands against your thighs grew bruising as his kiss was so biting you felt the skin of your lips tear slightly. It only made you hold onto him so much tighter, sounds begging in his mouth for more as he finally spilled inside of you.

But unlike that very first time, so much like here that night in Castle Black, Jon never stopped. Never allowed his cock to leave you, only staying at that steady pace he formed when finally pouring his thick seed deep inside of you.

Jon had wished that very first time with you that when he filled you, it would take. Now it almost was frustrating he couldn't do it now. He could feel your stomach against him just enough to ensure he always could sense how you were carrying his child, but he hadn't gotten you pregnant that first time and part of him could only recall that disappointment realizing he hadn't. Refusing to give leave you yet, Jon increased his thrusts.

Rougher he begun to sink inside of you, faster and faster each time as you begun to cry out. Head falling against the cave wall behind you, uncaring of the water still cascading now against you. Nothing would get in either of your ways of each others touch, each others kiss and Jon had barely muttered your name to convince you to return to him.

His lips were more gentle then his cock, jostling you in his arms enough that your breasts bounced with each shove of his cock. Tearing from your lips Jon almost watched with the wonder of a boy, before his jaw clenched and kissed you again. His tongue meeting yours, tasting your mouth without letting you return the gesture as such.

If Jon could've filled you with a daughter right now, he would have. Cumming at the same instance you begged for him, walls asking for you to be filled with his pouring seed. Spilling deep but you feared having any of it leave you, as if something took over your mind. The fear of Jon pulling out of you matching to this being the end, but Jon cradled the back of your head as he kept you pushed against the wall enough.

Shushing you gently, you hadn't even noticed any sounds even remotely like crying had begun to leave between your begs for him to stay inside of you. Nodding against his whispers of nothing in your ear, Jon never stopped moving in and out of you.

The world spun, and suddenly though, most of your body lay within the warm pool of spring water, only your shoulders and head laying against dry stone below. But Jon, yanked your hips up. One thigh up against his side, the other held open for him, you barley had noticed the change in sight before it was Jons grey eyes turning to a wolfish pitch black as he stared you down.

Something in him, snapped. No longer was his fucking gentle or slow. Something had changed as he had spilled inside of you the second time. He couldn't get you pregnant this time around, and it seemed, Jon decided on the alternative. Jon had kept so much of what utter horrible filth wanted to come from his mouth when he first took you.

But here? Alone in the world with you his wife, carrying his child? What more of his desires need he hide?

His eyes trained intently on where his cock was sunk deep inside of you, only moving slowly the first pull of his cock out of you. The soaking sight as he could just barley glance up to the rest of you so perfectly on display, his hands on your legs tensed as he suddenly thrusted roughly inside of you. Never looking away from how he sunk deep, you accepting his length without a single bit of hesitation. He'd pull back out painfully slow, dragging against your sensitive walls until you clenched around him with a gasp only to pound back deep just as roughly once more.

The sloshing of water beneath you, beads of it splashing up onto your skin, as it shined. To Jon, it for moment, felt as if he had been lured in here. Tempted by a goddess to sink deeply inside but you did not seduce him, you only lay there, arms spread above your head as much as your now wet hair draped along the cave floor. To Jon, you were more then a goddess, someone as such like a siren wouldn't let a bastard like him fill her with a child. Yet your stomach showed he had truly done just that, your breasts bruised and marked up from his many nights taking advantage of how they were so sensitive he could finish you just touching them. Bouncing with every thrust inside of you just as Jon could see the plush skin of where your legs and hips met jostling with his sudden pounds.

Not for a second did Jon loose any intensity, not even slowing down as a growl tore from his chest. Hands tense on your hips, his eyes closes shut as his head dropped somewhat. Rough pounds of his cock inside of you, each one more slapping them the last. Only pulling halfway from you before slamming back as deep as you could take him, cries left your mouth needy and high pitched just as your name tore from Jons in a dark need.

A sudden and thick warmth filled you, a whine wishing to tear from you as his seed poured inside deep, his cock rough with every thrust and more and more did he always have to gift you. As if you had been designed to take him, and never let any drop go to waste be in inside of you here or when Jon was fair and let you feel his seed down your throat. But he didn't stop, not slow, nor loose any momentum with how hard he was.

Feeling your body jostle with every rough thrust, your core burned. White hot like a star in the sky and twisting until it then exploded into a marvellous sight but within you. Jon finally let it all begun to speak from wherever in his heart or mind bled black and possessive as you clenched around him while you came. A growling husk of a voice entrancing you to whatever he said, like a spell to bewitch you to his pounding cock inside of you. “Fuck, you're perfect.” Head dropping a bit again, Jons eyes almost fluttered closed once more as if he too, was losing himself in how you felt so tight and soaking around his cock. “You were made for this, made for me..made to take my cock,- you were born just to take my cock, darling,”

Cutting himself off, Jon shifted. Sinking deep suddenly, Jon yanked your thighs more up onto his hips as the indication to stay just like that was spoken. Hands rough slamming down to each side of your head, Jons cock pounding deep and shallow as deep as he could be inside of you, but you were trapped in his dark eyes. Hands reaching to grasp, he let you both interlock your fingers once more, one of your legs wrapping behind his back to try and pull him further inside of you.

Head flying back, you only looked back up to him, wide eyes beaming with unshed tears so overwhelmed and so tingling all over. Your breathless begs nothing but that of a sirens song in Jons mind. “I belong to you, Jon, gods- I promise I've always belonged to you, I'll always be yours.”

Cutting off the second you finished a breath, Jon roughly pressed his lips to yours. Hands locked together tightening as did your leg stay wrapped around him. Jon all but shoving his cock deep with pounds so rough were you on dry land, the echo would've bounced across the cave. Your walls clenched around him, only making him go harder, the water beneath you as loud moving with your bodies as was the falling one against the wall.

Tearing a cut into your lip with a hissing bite, Jon tore from your lips then. The saliva trailed between you as he refused to ease or slow how much his hips sunk deeply into yours, his eyes wide almost more in awe looking at you then from how you felt.

One hand let go, Jon cupped your jaw and cheek, refusing to let your head throw back in desire as she forced your eyes to watch his dark ones. No longer speaking, just watching as the pounding of his cock jostled your breasts as if this were a show for men in a brothel. Short cries, your now free hand grasped at his shoulder and you almost closed your eyes at how suddenly his cock drew an orgasm from you once more.

Your cunt begging for Jon to stay inside of you, he refused to not listen. Jon did not speed up, or grow rougher, but his voice did. Slurring and his northern accent heavier then it ever had been, he did not even wait for your begs and cries of nothing from your orgasm burning in your blood to calm before he started to say exactly what he refused to your first night together.

“Next time I want to get you pregnant, darling, you're not leaving my cock until you are.” Letting your cheek go, Jon wrapped an arm around your back and rose you up just the slightest off the ground. His cock sliding so easily inside of you, as the sudden colder air around meant the sounds mixed with a slap of skin in both of your ears. Your wetness more then the waters below as he sunk deep inside each single thrust. “Spill inside you for hours until my seed takes..you remember how I tied your hand to my headboard that night?”

Nodding meekly, your free hand only wrapped to rake through his curls as you failed to meet the demand of his cock slid so roughly in you where your soaked walls mixed obscene with the remains of his warm spend. Your voice failing you as your lungs were derived from air the more he fucked you.

That was fine, Jon continued on his own. Rambling to the degree neither you nor him were sure he really even knew what he was confessing. “I'm going to tie your beautiful legs up too, spread them wide so you have no other choice but to take me over and over. Oh fuck- you'll beg for me to never leave you-”

Gasping in the air, you too did not know that the throbbing of his cock inside of you matched the gutting feeling in his heart. “I already, gods- Jon I don't want you to stop now..or ever, please,”

His voice was as rough as it was genuine in reassurance, leaning down to press a chaste kiss opposite of how rough his cock was treating you. “This isn't where this ends, I promise. I'm getting us home, and I'll keep you with child as long as I can just to prove you I mean it. I'm never giving you up again, never.” In a moment Jons head dropped to your chest as you let go once more.

How many times had he brought you to a finish you did not know, but there were not overwhelmed from desire tears behind your eyes. But real ones, ones you did not hide as you begged his name as your orgasm flooded you like a wave on the sea. Meeting yours, Jon looked no more put together, face twisting when he had to pound harder to drive his cock as deep inside of your cunt, his lips parted in something just as overwhelming as he watched your tearful gaze.

Letting both of your hands free, you wrapped them around the back of his neck and desperately into his dark curls. Your begs so weak but raw clawing from your chest, “Everything you want, I promise. Whatever you want from me, I'll give it to you. Even if I screw this one up, I'll try again, give you a son I promise.”

Jon cutting you off, hardly was pulling from you anymore. Shallow thrusts so deep that his entire cock was soaking inside your warm walls, assuring you with a tone as gentle as your promises. “You've never done anything wrong, not with me.”

In truth, it should have made Jon feel more shameful, but he knew it'd be a lie if he pretended otherwise. It was nothing but honest in admitting that the sight of tears down your cheeks was what made him cum. Not mean or malicious, but it took all of your lifetime to be so open with him to cry like that as he fucked you, that it made him spill deeply inside of you once more. Hiding his face in your hair as Jon tucked you away in his neck as you both found ends with the other so closely connected.

Unlike that night in Castle Black, Jon refused to pull out of you. Keeping you tucked into his chest, Jon turned you both onto your side the second he slightly shifted you both from the water. Running his hand down your wet hair as he pulled it back loose properly, your legs tangled as he never left your cunt and you never even slightly indicated with your needy touch that you'd want him too. Only whispers of love, and that he promised, “It'll all be okay, darling.”

For once, even just until you fell asleep, you think you believed him.

Two different views of the land, that was what you had thought the North was. But thus far, the Frost Fangs had been showing most of only one side of such a view. The beauty was easy to see, it sat all around you in it's natural position. But it was also unforgiving as it was cruel. Stealing your breath as it did tearing away your ability to catch up. Each step rose higher and higher to the edges of such lands and yet you had not realized it was that day.

The snow sunk deep down the edge of the hill which you had been climbing, but up and up did you feel something dizzy in your bones. Not only you, all three of you felt it. Something in the air which was different and yet you pressed onward knowing stopping here in an uphill climb was not where it should have been discussed. It was months ago now you had asked Jon if the winter lands you walked towards ever ended, and you had not a clue what it would feel to find out.

Were you but a girl you'd wonder if a man could simply sail that far but the waters Jon said grew as cold as what was coming. That sailors many times have tried to see where it ends and got no further then their ships becoming trapped within the shifting ice and never could go further then the maps already known to the world.

It was not the same as the far stretches of east, the lands of Yi-Ti people did live there and the maesters did write about it, but it was not viable information provided. Much of the other lands were written with little knowledge of what really was there but all knew as far that people did live there. Survivable lands existed, most only did not get there and back with reliable knowledge. But this no one knew, no one came here and came back with stories to not be believed.

This far north, no one came back. Only one. Only a Stark. And only once.

One foot in front of the other with a held back need of air, but you three pressed forward as the top came into view. Exhausted and ragged, you hardly even registered it as your eyes did not look to the sky as you approached, only the snow and ice you walked upon, but it was no mistakening to be there. Waiting for you to see it as it wanted.

The other side of the sights was here, and it was that of memorizing terror. Seeing from afar was not a single bit the manner so close made you feel. It had you so dizzy you felt the wind knock your breath right from your lungs almost having you sway as you stood. The walls of the sky looked like night, but you and Jon had not been hiking for more then a few hours from dawn.

Pitch black it was, only there were curtains hanging from such walls and it was a shimmering green dancing in the air it existed in. Liquid poured into the black to entrap your eyes to its sights without every giving away too much of what it was. You had seen it since, you had seen it from the Nightfort, but it was nothing to this.

The Green was everywhere. It was all around and it danced as if speaking a language to the stars it hid in it's fabrics. Thoros of Myr had said it was mesmerizing and that was the perfect term. Neither you nor Jon spoke a word but watched with wide eyes and parted lips at it. Below though, was not the Frost Fangs.

Mountains were in the distance hidden by mists of snow and dark, but for a long stretch was a frozen wasteland of nothing. It would take days to cross and reach anything which turned into something other then a field of ice.

Jons hand ran gently over Ghosts fur as the direwolf looked to meet Jons eyes, something unspoken running between them in silence as his hand tightened. Ghost shifting a bit closer to him for a moment before his own voice managed to rasp out after what felt like years of silence in the blowing winds of green sights. “We'll make camp here tonight. Make sure we have enough with us before going out there.”

You said nothing, and until Jon had repeated your name a second time did you turn to look at him, your eyes still wide and unsure but in contrast he had sealed his expression closed and prepared. Only nodding, you turned back as the wind blew your hair in front of your face as if to obscure the view ahead. Had Bran made it this far? Where was he in the lands he too risked everything to go towards, was Benjen somewhere within these misty storms too?

There was no getting around what was to come, fear. It was fear and a desperate wish that you had figured out what you wanted before it had risked being too late. Most of your life what you wanted as irrelevant to what you were expected to do, therefore you hardly ever considered the answer to such a question. The first time you came up with one of your own volition, was perched in the arms of Robb Stark as you both finally knew despite all the war, a family was finally what was coming for you both.

Only, that was shattered. And a falsehood perpetuated by the red womans lies. Now though, your want was not for you. You had part of this. Twice. Jon never thought he'd have even a piece of it. What you wanted, was to have this child, to let him have a family, be a father the way he thought was not an option for him anymore. You wanted what Jon never thought he could have and yet you faced the unknown which none was said to return from.

Neither of you had spoken of the fact that no dreams nor vision had come you to the entire time you both were in the North. Nothing close to it had come, and the closer to the curtain of dancing green which you came the less you felt as if you were being guided somewhere. Because you were on the path it seemed, they had been trying to place you on for your entire life.

But the dreams and visions had never been comforting before, so the lack of them in this face, was not comforting now. Jon nor you acted to the other as if this was the end. It would not help, it would only make you panic more of such worries.

In your final night within the lands man could know to survive, Jon remained awake long after you had been curled up in chest. Bare under the fur together with the warmth of Ghost close on the other. His hands running over every inch of skin he could find and contemplated why he was not afraid. He had seen what led him here, and he had seen who asked him here. Not why or for what or anything of the sort, but Jon had led you here because it was the only answer he could get, the only ones which led to the fate dooming them all.

Perhaps it was death he was not afraid of, he had experienced it before as had you. But it was more then that, it was the fire within Jons soul telling him that it was useless for this to be where his life with you ended. The gods had moved so much in the worlds to bring you back to Jon, and he knew it was not just to end out in a frozen wasteland far from your home together.

The gods did not let Jon gift you with a child for him to never be born the way your son with Robb never had that chance. Many hours that final day, within the safety of the last home you had, Jon had wrapped his arms around you, and you him, hovered over your body as he sunk deep inside of you as your lips hardly once left his. It was quiet and peace even then, and Jon knew he had to hold all of your fear for you to keep going.

He did not have words to explain why he had known you brought him back from death, and Jon did not have words to explain why he knew he was bringing you, Ghost, and this baby all home, the four of you together. He just knew, and he trusted in that for his death and he trusted it now. You all belonged together and you all would fight to stay together, and so if he wasn't going to let himself feel that fear, then he'd hold onto that greater protectiveness.

In those final moments as Jons eyes felt heavy though, there were many he thought of. His siblings lost or gone, friends he had lost, a mother he never knew, and a father he wished he could tell he was sorry he thought he didn't trust more. But it was one face he thought of as he looked down at your slumbering self curled into his chest.

Jon could only hope Robb knew. This was not what he likely thought Jon meant when he said he'd protect you, when he'd take care of you. Jon wanted Robb to know he was sorry he didn't keep his wife safe from the world that killed her. But Jon would not apologize for not turning back and taking you home.

Jon told Robb he was sorry this was the life he gave you after Robb was gone, but Jon would not apologize for doing what the world needed. Keeping you and him together. You were Robbs once, but now you were Jons, and Jon was fighting a very different war then the one which killed his brother.

This war hadn't ended at one death in his heart, and Jon wouldn't give it a second so soon again.

It was the same formation thus far each day. Ghost close to one side of you, ensuring you could feel his large stature giving support as Jon drew you into his side as you both walked. It was not easy for any of them, but he'd never seen you struggle so much to keep going. Jon and Ghost had to be the ones to ensure you kept putting one foot forward each and every step they all made, but you were exhausted and the cold was bitter and horrible around you.

It bothered Jon and Ghost, it was brutal and freezing but yet it was as if it was worse for you. Not much of a voice beyond a strain in your throat but you would give enough to ensure you were alright, enough to ensure the little wolf pup inside of you was doing far better the you, yourself felt. It had to be enough.

The lands here did not end, so Jon kept you going.

Almost tripping over you feet at one point, Jon stopped. Turning to grasp you by the arms and you held his in return to steady yourself. “I'm fine, I promise.” One hand turned your face up by your chin to meet his eyes. Grey wide and worried as you looked less uncertain of the words coming from your ragged face. You were in a rough place, more then Jon and Ghost.

But Jon couldn't coddle you, he couldn't tell you not to push yourself the way he does, not this time. So, running a hand down your face, Jon gently warmed your cold lips with his as your hands came gently to hold at his waist, his free arm wrapped around your back pulling you into him. A chaste kiss all you shared, all the time asked of you, when the cold whirled.

Spinning around and around, did you and Jon part from one another as it plummeted in the already fatal winds. Ghost almost wrangled you into Jons chest, a growl low in the direwolf as Jon turned to look in one direction and you the other. There were no maps for where you were, but now there were no sights. Only the snowy mists.

Racing hearts beat in tandem, a match between all three of you as in such a clearing of nowhere in between mountain peaks did you become blind. A dagger clutched in your left hand, made of a black stone shining like glass, and the arm not around you, Jon had grasp tightly the hilt of Longclaw.

You knew what the cold, white winds meant and all stories of Old Nan said that only here did the white walkers come with it. They made no sound. A figure emerging from the blindness, a horse that was too obscured by snow to see, but you and Jon felt the cold freeze you to the spot and fuse weapons to your hands. Ghost kept you pressed up between he and Jon as the later never let you leave the safety of pulling you into his side.

Still as it approached, it made no sound. Graceful as if walking through a clearing meadow did it come face to face. Taller then any man you've ever met with eyes blue like crystals. Its skin, a blueish white like flesh made of milk and drenched in ice keeping it's beauty forever. It looked a man, but was not your kind at all, and you knew not what to think of it.

Ghost growled as did the sensation rumble through Jons tense limbs for a fight, but it only approached you the moment it climbed from its dead horse. Eyes first on Ghost, only to then look at you. Hardly six feet away did it stare at you down to your stomach. Not visible well under the sheepskin and your size at five months hardly what most women would call healthy out here, but it could be seen if known you were in such a state. The entire time it walked forward with eyes on you, until the wind around stopped.

It blew everywhere else, but not around the figure before you three. As soon as the winds stopped and cleared for only this creature, did it close the gap. Your hand could have broken you were holding the dragonglass so tensely, but you had not any thoughts you understood. None as you looked upon the death waiting to take you all as it stood in front of you in your waking, true life.

But Jon, he had seen him before. More then once. This thing had watched Jon kill one of it's own at Hardhome with the sword tight in his grip now, and he had looked Jon in the eye as he raised thousands of free folk with blue eyes to demonstrate one kill from him could not match thousands beside them. Then he invaded his dreams, more and more he watched Jon as he watched him until finally he called to him.

Jon was here for answers, and he would either get them from this creature, or kill it. But he would not turn empty handed, and he would not leave any of you behind. Whatever the Others wanted, they did not want it as much as Jon wanted to protect his home and his people, and he did not come out here idly to die before doing just that.

They stared at one another, Jons eyes so dark they painted black with a challenge on his expression to match Jon this time. Silence sat between them, pure silence as a white creature the height of half a giant, stared down at just a man, who no longer held fear for it.

But then it opened its mouth and a loud crackling like ice screamed out in your ears. Long and drawn out as if calling to something, and only as you and Jon looked around as the wind died down everywhere did you all realize it. It had tested if Jon would attack it, because animals and blue eyed corpses were in each direction you looked, it had you surrounded.

Before your eyes did the appearance of a great structure appear from the mists hiding the distance beforehand. It walked from you all towards such a strange fortress, but you could not turn back. It had you, Jon, and Ghost trapped in its home.

There was no turning back now. Only stepping forward into the jaws of a frozen death.

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