sweetest ache

Monday / Saizo x MC

Week 1

Monday (nsfw)

There’s a moment right before he buries himself inside her where he sees too much, feels too much, there’s just so damn much, he can do nothing as the floodgates inside him batter down. It’s when her gasps go sharp, and her fingers are in his hair, fluttering kisses across his scalp, that she bears her soul open for him. 

He doesn’t think she means to, too lost in a symphony of heat and limbs to notice, but it takes his breath away all the same.

She lets out a faint puff of amusement, and he looks at her astride in his lap. There’s an imperceptible rise of her brow, at once questioning and taunting. She’s not quite sure why he’s slowed at this particular moment, with her head tilted back and lips parted, panting, but he sees how she lets him off and goes along with it.

He traces his fingers along her waist and up to her breast in a little apology, outlining the underswell of it with his forefinger. From there, like a practiced musician, his hands play her, caressing her, teasing her, until her hips tremble and she moans, easing herself down onto him. All at once they’re back at that juncture where he sees her soul naked for him, blinding in its longing for his heart.

When he slides home to the heat, to the the exquisite tightness, he hears a harsh exhalation. It leaves his lips the moment she arches against him, and he can do nothing but hold her still and wait as the friction sets off a spark in his whole body. He lifts his eyes. Staring back are the colours of the deepest hurricane clouds. She waits for him, holding on.

Then they move.

He makes it last. He makes it last oh so long. And when they’re breathless, coming down, they don’t so much as shift but wilt into each other, content in letting the cool air stroke their skin.

“Saizo,” she breathes out some time later when he’s packing up the sweetness and light and placing them in the corners of his heart.

“Yes, little lady?“

A pause. “You were different tonight. Is everything all right?”

Her breath tickles, like butterflies against his neck. He invites silence into the dark. It echoes against the walls, a cacophony of uncertainty. He wants to say, 

Go to sleep, little lady,

and I’ll tell you some other time,

and I love you fiercely,

and Don’t ever leave me.

But all he manages in that moment is a sweep of her cheeks and a lingering kiss on her forehead, hoping, praying, it conveys everything he means to say but can’t.

“All right,” she chuckles, hand on his heart. “It’s ok. It’s all right.”

And where there was a fluttering before, there is now the sweetest of aches pulling him down and down and down into her warmth, where he sees too much, feels too much, knows too much— where her assurance to him is in every little kiss she plants on his face.

You silly man.

I understand.

I adore you.

I will never leave you.

He holds her hard against his chest and doesn’t close his eyes— to make it real, and scatter nightmares into the moonlight.

Week 1: Masterpost

  • For @ceka122, and all the Kirigakure ladies, because the SLBP Geek Club isn’t doing its thing without you. Enjoy!
Forever pt.3 (Saeyoung x MC)

Fandom: Mystic Messenger

Pairing: Saeyoung/MC -you
Summary: All of the desire that Saeyoung feels for MC leads to SMUT and SIN∠( ᐛ 」∠)_. 

And! He reassures Mc that he likes her just the way she is! (ෆˊ͈ ु꒳ ूˋ͈ෆ)

Author’s Notes
: Ok so this took me a while to write, like look at it, it’s so long…(that’s what she said) but..god..I hope you guys like it. This is actually born from a request (the desire from Saeyoung -> SMUT) + a new request I got (MC feeling insecure because of her body). So I really hope you guys enjoy reading this! (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。

Pt 1 PT 2  PT 3

The room was beautiful, bright and big. Let us change one thing though, the brightness – I dimmed the lights and set up the room while you were taking your long shower.

We arrived at the hotel a couple of hours ago and honestly it took me all of my strength not too take you in the car and I do think you noticed. Because you were playing the whole ride in the Limousine with your dress – pulled it up over your knees and started to take of your shoes and showed me your sexy legs, which looked stunning in white stockings. The hairdo you wore was now – because of all the dancing and your slight drunkenness disheveled, so you undid it and your shiny locks fell naturally and seeing you so messy yet seeing the whole you, made me uneasy, it made me feel unworthy. But I promised myself that I would prove to you that I can be the man that you deserve and need.

You looked at me, through all that messy hair and gave me a goofy lopsided smile and poked my cheek.

“I love you, you know?” you lulled, but I don’t think you even realize how much I love you, my sweetest. My body aches because off all of the love that I have stored up for you, it might be pouring out of me, if it was… would it heal the world and patch up all of its flaws? Would the love I feel for you save the world of all the pain?

Because that is how you make me feel – saved, healed and loved.

The messy, yet beautiful you leaned on my shoulder and you let out a small laugh. “I love you and all of your silly remarks, I love you, I love you so much Saeyoung.”

I let out a chuckle and tilt your head gently with my hand on your chin. Your lopsided smile is now gone and you are crimson red, your eyes are hazy and slightly glassy. Ah, look your eyes are completely swallowing me. You wait in anticipation and I pull you closer and give you a deep kiss, you moan sweetly in my mouth and leave me an opening. I softly and slowly prod my tongue against yours. Completely lost in all this lust, you melt into me. You are leaning against me, trying to be steady and you pull away.

Breathlessly you speak up “Your kisses always make me so dizzy.”

Beloved, you are the one who makes it so hard for me to hold back.

Finally we arrive at the hotel, we rush to our room, while holding each other’s hands. We are by now running, touching each other as we go, in your free hand you are holding your shoes.

My love, my beautiful space princess. While we are running the corridors you stop in front of the door and show me the number 707 and you start to giggle like a child.

»Was this your plan, cutie?« and you only nod and type the code and pull me inside.

But what you did next surprised me…you pushed me on the bed and smiled mischievously.  

Then all of a sudden you were on top of me, you came closer, slowly you were near my ear.

“Wait here, I need to prepare for this occasion.”

Dumbfounded you left me…alone on the bed.

Sometime later, I was still alone on the bed and I sighed to myself.

God darn it, she said she wanted some alone time, so that she could prepare for this night, but quite frankly I could take her with or without any preparations…No matter what she wore, how styled her hair was or how much make up she wore…to me she was perfect in every single way.
She said she wanted some alone time, so that she could prepare for this night, but quite frankly I could take her with or without any preparations…No matter what she wore, how styled her hair was or how much make up she wore…to me she was perfect in every single way. 
I often noticed how she fumbled with her clothes and hair, how hard she tried to look good…for me. It did make me happy that she worried but at the same time it pained me to see her that way, why wouldn’t she just realize that she didn’t need to worry about that.
Then I would even worry if maybe it was my fault, that she felt that way. 
Sometimes I even evaded touching her on the parts where she would flinch…but did she not know, how much I desired her?
Today and every day before that…I could barely contain myself, I always stopped myself before I could hurt her and make her hate me. But finally tonight she would become truly a part of me and I would be a part of her.
And then she makes it harder and wants to prepare herself?

I did know that it was her first time and I did want it to be special, that is why this hotel room is the way it is. Filled with flowers, the sheets made of silk and rose petal splayed on top of it, candles lit in safe distance…a sweet aroma filling the room.

I couldn’t take it anymore it has been 40 minutes and my groin is starting to hurt…what was she doing?!

In a frenzy I stood up and opened the bathroom door in which she stayed for all those painful 40 minutes

“MC, what is taking so long?!”

Then…there on the floor she sat with her bath towel covering her. She shuddered and seemed to be in tears?
Slowly I lean down to her and take her hands.
In a hushed voice and calmly I speak out “Hey, sweetheart, what is wrong? Are you alright?”

But she wouldn’t speak she only shook her head.
I came closer and she covered herself with her arms folded in front of her chest. Was she afraid?

I looked around to see if she hurt herself and saw….a bag from a negligee store and the contents of it thrown into a corner…
Ah…I understand.

In a second I came closer and picked her up and carried her to the bed.

“This ends now.” I exclaim as I put her on the bed.

A look of horror on her face.

“This. ” I point at her body.
“And this and all of this. And every small thing that makes you – YOU is perfect!”

As I yell the last part out I pull her closer by her waist then I lay her down, next I slowly hover over her. I gaze deeply into her eyes and try to say the next words with as much confidence as I can.
“You are perfect. In my eyes, every inch of you, your beautiful body, every small part of you, even those things you call flaws - you are perfect in my eyes. I love how you, worry about such things, but I don’t ever want you to think, that to me you are not enough. You are so much more, your body either with stretch marks, small rolls or whatever you call them, I love it all!”

By now I was almost yelling, but you, you wore such a goofy expression, your eyes were shimmering and you started to laugh and then you enveloped me in an awkward hug. Awkward, only because you were,…well for the most part naked.

Then you sighed out and pushed me away.

“Saeyoung, I do want you. I want you so much, my whole body is tingly and weird, but as I was in the bathroom all I could think of was how I wish that I was fresh and clean .That my body wasn’t filled with sin. So that there were no marks on my soul. My heart is crumbling and my lungs are heaving with every breath I take. And you pour all of your sweetness on my heart and it’s all sticky like caramel and soon my heart is covered with it whole. My brain is fuzzy and I can hardly think, all I see are my flaws and I don’t want to be like that, because before you I didn’t know what happiness feels like. But now, now I do.” As you finish you brush your hand against my cheek, but with all of those words…I can’t hold back anymore, I push your hands up above your head.

“No more words, no more explaining, I want you…NOW!”

At that I crush my lips against yours and you breathe me in, the passion has built up over the past few weeks. The longing we felt, how much we craved each other touch. I realize how hard I made it for you, to push you away, to make you feel like you were hated, but honestly I hate myself for it.

I release your hands and slowly kiss your neck, my sanity is long gone and I take a small nibble at your earlobe.

You are squirming underneath me, panting, begging me to continue.



Seeing Saeyoung above me, being dominant and his eyes filled with hunger, hunger for me … it awakened something in me. Something animalistic. As he starts to nibble on my ear, I can’t hold back anymore, I want him, I want him..I want him.

I push myself up and kiss him back, I don’t want to lead, I just want him to take of his clothes. I start to undress him and he only smiles against my lips. How cheeky, how adorable and sexy. He then gently pushes me away and in a painfully slow motion takes his shirt off. I don’t know why, but just that image of him on his knees above me, with his shirt off, made my mind go blank and my stomach make wild turns, it was starting to get hot and by now I was grasping the sheets. He bit his lip seductively and pushed me down so now he was only an inch away from me.

“Tell me, do you find me attractive, do you think I’m sexy?” He asked, while wearing the most seductive smile, I have ever seen. And as I was just about to answer, he let out a chuckle and started to laugh, which in itself made me laugh.

“This is going to be really hard.”

“You mean just as hard as you are?”

And then we laughed even more.

Finally we recovered from all the laughing and being us, we continued. But now, I wanted to lead. So I started to undo his pants and he helped me take them off, I kissed him and planted kisses from his neck to his belly. I slowly kissed him all around his stomach. AS I was just above his center I slowly kissed all around it, I kissed his inner thighs, I kissed near it but never kissed it directly.

Then I licked the palm of my hand and started to pump him, he was already wet just by himself, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t hurting him. I slowly went closer with my head to the tip of his member and smiled up at him.

“D-don’t t-tease meee, ppp-please.” I enjoyed him, being so weak under my touch but I complied and licked his tip, he started to shiver, his head leaned back and he let out a “f-fuck” moan/noise. By now his member was twitching as I licked it teasingly, then I licked him from top to bottom, mischievously I licked him and it made me feel so good, seeing him like this. Suddenly his hands were resting on my head, at first he was only petting me gently in a way as if he was praising me, how good of a girl I was. But as I was probably, being a little too mean, he pushed my head and his member was in my mouth, he started to move his hips at first slowly and after a while more daringly and deeply into me and I loved it, I loved how he moaned, how loud he was and how I made him feel. I could hardly breathe but, as he heard how I moaned in pleasure, just by giving him head, he started to moan even louder, he was saying my name over and over again, then he looked down at me. Those hungry eyes, that desire, I felt it in my core.  Just that look felt so good that my whole mind began to turn hazy.

I held on to his hips with one hand and with the other, I tried to pleasure myself. I was feeling frustrated I wanted to feel him in another hole, throbbing and hot. As though he noticed, he pulled out and smiled at me. “Good girl. Now my turn.”

He turned me on all fours and without a warning started to lick at my entering, his hands were grabbing my backside and with the sounds he was making, like he was truly enjoying pleasuring me, well that was the thing that made me go even wilder, I held on to the sheets and moaned out his name “Sa-saeyoung, please…”

I was trying so hard, to tell him to stop, it was a feeling I felt for the first time and It made me feel as if I was floating.

Only his humming noises of appraisal could be heard as he was eating me out and enjoying every minute of it, then he continued while using his finger, gently pumping in and out, I heard him take a deep breath and he spoke up “You taste better than honey butter chips, sweetie.” At that moment I had to bite into the pillow, because I was starting to feel something in me built up and I felt how my walls were clenching his finger and at that he only let out a low growl and bit my backside.

He pulled his finger out, I looked back at him and let out a moan of frustration built he only teased me more, by licking all of me off of his finger.

“Well are you ready? Ready for me to take you to see the stars?”

He didn’t wait for my reply, he only positioned himself near me and rubbed a few times against me and then he pushed inside, slowly and it didn’t hurt at all.

It felt like all the buildup I had inside of me was being released, we both took a while to get back to planet earth, since just by him inserting himself into me, felt so, so good, we both only let out a loud “aaaah”.

Then he took hold of my hips and started to move, as he felt that I was very, very wet for him, he started to pound harder into me.

With every thrust I felt him near, there where it felt as though I could finally feel my release, as if he knew he only teased me. I pounded my hands against the mattress, with ever thrust he made, it felt good, but my body knew exactly what it wanted.

So I turned to him and pleaded

“Saeyoung, p-please, harder.”

He was all covered in a layer of sweat, his muscles were now more visible and the way his hands were grabbing me – all of the veins being visible, how his muscles were flexed and how he bit his lip in ecstasy, my whole body shivered from my back to my head. He winked at me and pulled me by my hair. He was starting to get rough, he yanked me up looked at me and said.

“Tell me exactly how you want it.” At that his thrust were just one sudden movement, but I needed for him to thrust in motion, deeper to hit there.

“Fuck me, fuck me deep, please.”

At that he growled, took both of my arms and started to pound in me, uncontrollably, hard and with so much build up frustration.

It was wild, I smelled him and myself, all of it mixing up together, I felt how wet we were all over our body’s how my hair clung to me, how I heard the pounding of flesh and him moaning.

Then there it was, that sudden movement, that sudden motion he made, finally made my vision go white and I became numb, all I felt was this lightheaded feeling and this sudden, yet blissful relief. Right after me I felt how he twitched against me and how his hot fluids poured into me. He plopped himself right down on me and started to kiss my head.

Breathlessly he cried out with a big smile on his face “To infinity and beyond!”

I only laughed and replied “I love you too, you dork.”

anonymous asked:

keith x lance 12

12. A slow kiss

Lance has one speed, and that speed in not slow.

His mom has a story she likes to tell to anyone who’s willing to sit through a half hour epic of an event that probably occurred within the span of 10 seconds. It starts, Lance learned to run before he could walk. On one fateful morning almost two decades ago, tiny chubby baby Lance had hoisted himself up with the help of the sofa, and instead of taking one of those awkward baby deer steps before falling down, Lance hurled himself across the carpet, tiny legs propelling him forward in a run towards the family dog.

He face planted and scream-cried for a straight hour after, but still. Lance feels it set the pace for the rest of this life. He falls in head first and figures it out as he goes, with varying degrees of success. 

Somehow, this thing with Keith? Feels like an outlier. Every semi-romance he’s ever been involved in has been a crash collision of flirting, hormones, burning bright and burning fast, angled over gearshifts and movie theater arm rests. Fun, lovely, a rush he’s constantly chasing.

When he kisses Keith, it’s a question mark. A tiny, soft peck, and afterwards one of two things will happen. Keith will move away, not in the mood, or in the middle of something, or in a moment where that strange, clunky shyness he has takes over. (Because Keith is shy. Keith, who’s so blunt and rash and goes after what he wants with such clear cut precision, gets visibly tense whenever confronted with physical affection.) Or–


Keith doesn’t move, and waits.

“What?” he asks, face red.

Lance shrugs. “You make this really ugly face when you concentrate.” It’s really cute, he doesn’t add, and leans forward again.

This thing with Keith is slow, like moving through water. Painfully slow, at moments, but with the sweetest ache that has Lance’s fingers curling tight into Keith’s clothes, holding his breath even when they stop, waiting, anticipating on the edge of Keith’s bed where they’ve been perched for the last hour. Keith cleaning his blades, Lance watching him and pushing his cuticles back with the blunt edge of butterfly knife, talking about–he forgets. It stopped being important when the fall of hair in Keith’s eyes became too distracting to ignore and he leaned forward to push it back.

It takes many chaste kisses before lips will part. If it gets too deep too fast, Keith moves away. If Lance does something new like bite at his lips or suck on his tongue, Keith moves away. If a hand lands on a hip or thigh, Keith moves away.

So. Slow. Lance surprises himself with how slow he can move, with how much he likes it. Really, really likes it. 

They pull apart for a moment, foreheads and noses bumping, mouths open but separate, sharing breaths. Lance lets his tongue run over Keith’s swollen bottom lip, and they melt together again. 

But there are times like this, right now, where Keith forgets himself a little, and wraps his arms over Lance’s shoulders and lets himself get pulled further into Lance’s lap. Trading s l o w languid kisses, hot, syrupy until every edge of tenseness in Keith’s body fades away and they fall back against the bed. He makes this sound, a broken off whimper, pressing closer as he rolls on top of Lance.

It’s a rush.

Jon x Sansa Week: Day One

I. Children

There are no illusions that they are marrying for any reason other than love of House and good of kingdom, but Sansa still appreciates that Jon makes an effort to appear both devoted and solicitous. It’s why she’s not completely surprised when, the night before the ceremony in the godswood, he offers her a way out.

“We’re a good match Jon,” her thoughts on the social climbers already circling the restored Targaryen monarchy, currying favors with the Starks. She had every intention of taking advantage of this interest to rebuild the North and no allusions that it was anything more than politicking. “And I’m not letting anyone else think that they can use me to gain Winterfell.”

Jon’s eyes were dark in the shadows of her private solar, but the stubborn set of his jaw was easily read, “You might find someone you could love one day, who you’d want to spend your life with. Marrying me could stop you from finding happiness.”

“Who’d want me after I’d been set aside by the hero of the realm?”

There were several things he could have said, and by the tension that now radiated through him, more than one remark of indignation on her behalf had occurred to him. Still, “We were raised as siblings. We could both be pardoned for not being able to move past that.”

“We’re much closer now that we are cousins than we ever were before,” Sansa tutted, thinking of the guests and the wedding feasts, of Harry Hardyng sending her covetous looks across the hall, and of the hours of labor she’d personally put in to outfitting them both.

“Sansa -”

“Jon,” She knew he understood that this was the best course for them both, but she knew he was also fiercely protective of all his former siblings and had been struggling to mesh the two impulses. “I - I don’t know that I have it in me to love a man like that anymore. After everything that’s happened, I’m not sure I even want to try, and you - you are already family. You won’t undermine Bran or Rickon. Winterfell is as much yours as it is any of ours, and it’s home. Not power or status.

“I trust you and I feel safe with you. Don’t underestimate just how important that is for me.”

“You deserve more than that,” His Northern accent is thick with emotion.

So do you, Sansa thinks. Jon could fall in love with a clever, beautiful warrior woman who adored him and desired him. There were more than a few here in Winterfell now that would only need a word or two of encouragement to pant after him. If she were kinder, maybe Sansa would step aside. Jon could be happy.

“I don’t know that I can ever love a man as a woman should. I know too well how different life is from the songs, but… I do think that I could love my children the way a mother ought to,” Jon stilled at the mention of children, and she wondered if he’d wanted to remain chaste in their matrimony. “I know I could love our children Jon. I could at least have that.”

The silence stretched between them, expectant with something left unsaid. Sansa couldn’t pinpoint what, and so she fidgeted - taking in the angle of their chairs before the hearth and the space between them and the bed and the door to the hall.

Jon longed for a family of his own, Sansa knew. Perhaps he thought she was manipulating him? Would he resent it when he found her cold and stiff in their bed?

“I’ll see you on the morrow, my lady,” He murmured, the words as loud as a shout in some guilty corner of Sansa’s heart.

It would be enough for both of them, their marriage, it’d have to be.

* * * * * * *

And it seemed to be. Jon was as gentle with her in their marriage bed as he was outside of it, and Sansa found pleasure there before she first found she was with child.

Their first babe is a daughter, with dark hair and indigo eyes, and they call her Lyarra, after her great-grandmother.

Sansa loves her more than she has ever loved anyone. It is a love that makes her fierce, and yet fills her with the sweetest ache. She will try to protect her from everything, and she will fail. And it is that knowledge that whispers through her and leads her to the godswood to pray. To pray that her daughters trials are softer than her own, that the happiness she finds can be sweeter and longer. And she says little prayers for herself now too - she has a reason to go on now, to be her daughter’s mother for as long as she can.

It is a different sort of ache that clenches her heart when she finds her Lyarra with Jon, giggling at the faces he makes for her and laughing as he bounces her on his knee. A different ache altogether when she wakes in the middle of the night to find father and daughter sleeping together in a chair by the fire.

Parenthood, family and friendship they can manage, Sansa tells herself when she finds herself in Jon’s bed a handful of moons after Lyarra’s birth.

* * * * * * *

Their next babe is born three moons after Lyarra’s second name day. He is silver haired and grey eyed, and they give him the name Jon was born to but never worn. Jaehaerys is as serious a babe as there ever was, thoughtful and melancholy where Lyarra was impulsive and joyful. It is perhaps the only silly thing about him that they call him Grey - for his Stark eyes, for those who whisper that he is the Silver Prince reborn, for the direwolf and the brother whose name Sansa doesn’t know if she can give any of her children.

Benjen comes two name days and 10 moons later, and Lyarra is disappointed that he comes to late to be her name day present. His eyes are a Tully blue, but the rest of him is pure Stark. It is a secret that only Jon knows that his name was to be Eddard, that in his first hours she had whispered it into his hair as she pressed kisses to his face. It is only Jon that knows she cried uncontrollably after, when she had rocked him to sleep. So they announce a different name for him at the feast, and Benjen grows up without as many ghosts and with a longing for adventure.

Rhaelle comes nearly four name days after Benjen, and Sansa comes close to dying in the birthing bed. It is nearly a moon before she is strong enough to hold her, and three more after that before she begins to feel anything like herself. The Maester warns against more babes, and Sansa mourns the thought that she will never again carry a child, and worse that her last will not nurse at her breast. Indeed, this second and last daughter is nearly a stranger to her - silver haired and violet eyed and always in her father’s arms. And still Sansa loves her, this ethereal moonbeam of a child who thinks her father can defeat all the monsters and that her mother is the most beautiful woman in the world.

* * * * * * *

Lyarra is 10 when the first mention of a betrothal is made, but this is easily set aside. The realm is at peace and she is still too young, and it isn’t only Sansa who holds on a little too tight in the moons after.

Still, the murmurs begin again at 12 and more strongly still at 13, and not even peace and the edge of Jon’s blade will stop them now. It is to be expected of all nobly born girls, and more so of royal ones, so it is good that Starks and Targaryens have learned much about the pretty lies that hide ambition and betrayal.

If Sansa sometime dreams of Joffrey and King’s Landing, then it is a reminder she will gladly bear so that their daughter will not have the same scars that she and Jon do.

Lyarra is too old for Sansa to brush out her hair, or so she says often and with great conviction. But the night before the feast for Grey’s name day, Sansa insists. These quiet moments between mother and daughter will come less frequently than the changing of the seasons in the coming years, and opportunities like this must be grasped with both hands.

“What would you like in a match, Lyarra?” Sansa murmurs, her eyes on her daughter’s hair thick and long and shining in her hand. Even from her pragmatic daughter, she expects enthusiasm and talk of handsome knights.

“I’m not sure, really,” Lyarra is uncertain as she never is. Sansa’s eyes meet her’s in the looking glass, a gift from an admiring, would-be suitor. “I suppose I should ask for someone handsome and charming, and I know you and father won’t let me match with anyone who doesn’t come from a good family, but… I just wants someone who loves me, who’s good. Is that silly?”

Sansa presses a kiss to the top of her head, and it is her father’s voice she hears when she says, “Someone brave, and gentle, and strong.”

“Yes,” Lyarra’s face is beaming, even in reflection her relief about being understood in this is tangible. “Some who is brave,and strong, and who is gentle and likes to smile and laugh, and who doesn’t care when I am improper, and who will worry when I am upset, and who will take to heart when I am cross… And not just because Father is important.”

My sweet, summer child, Sansa thinks, if we can get you a man who is half of that then we are lucky indeed.

With the confidence of someone who still believes in people’s goodness, Lyarra continued, “I think - well, someone like Father. Someone like Father, who would love me the way Father loves you.”

And gods help her, Sansa almost corrected her.

Of course, Jon didn’t love her. Or, of course he did, but certainly not in the way Lyarra meant, the way a man loves a woman. She was his sister turned cousin, a childhood companion turned battlefield confidante. She was the woman he married to secure both of their claims and home. The mother of his children.

There was a nuance here, wasn’t there? Something Lyarra was missing, as a maiden sheltered from the ways of men.

The idea chased her to her bed. To the bed in the chambers she shared with Jon, where he was waiting with a cup of spiced wine to share before the fire.

Sansa tried to keep her mind on the day’s events, on what the next morning would bring, but her mind kept coming coming back to it, picking at it like a snagged stitch in a line of precise embroidery. His eyes were always this kind and warm. He smiled like this for all of his close friends. His voice was rough from the conversation of the day. It was only familial affection that moved him to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Only the intimacy of their shared children, that kept him from turning away as she dressed for bed. Only human nature that lead to him pulling into his arms, to then tumble back into the furs on the bed.

And after they had lain together again in the morning, when Sansa drank the Maester’s tea that kept her from getting with child, when she had finished again her fantasy of carrying another of Jon’s children, Sansa allowed herself to believe that maybe Jon loved her, truly.

The thought felt right, and that filled her with a sudden rage. How had she missed it? Had he loved her when they married? Had he grown to love her since? Surely, he loved her by the time Rhaelle had been born, because hadn’t she noticed even then that he stayed at her bedside far more often than he should have?

“I told him that I would never love a man, not as a woman should,” Sansa told the spaces in between the life they had built together.

But when Sansa forgives Jon this betrayal, the guilt remains deep in her heart.

* * * * * * *

It is when the babes Sansa holds are her own grandchildren - when they have the names of relatives that her children never knew, and the ache in her heart is still sharp as she watches them play as these babes too become children - that Sansa realizes that Jon is getting old.

Her own age was something that had long since occurred to her. She felt it in the lingering stiffness of her hands, in a certain disdain for niceties and propriety that had long been her shield against the world. She saw it in the fine lines of her face and the gray of her hair; in the passage of time, and how time was something that was getting away from her.

Somehow it never occurred to her that time was escaping Jon as well. But Jon was slower in the training yard than he had been last year and, if he was still the best swordsman there, he wouldn’t be for long. His hair was shot with silver, and he felt the cold more deeply.

They had both of them outlived their parents, Sansa realized. The oldest Starks in generations, and someday Jon would join their ancestors in the crypts, a dragon raised as a wolf.

“I don’t forgive you,” Sansa would tell Jon later, when they had their cup of wine before the fire, his fingers laced with hers. “For getting old.”

She felt him laugh more than she heard it, and wasn’t that an improper thing for an old woman to be in a position to notice. “I tried my best not to.”

“I still don’t forgive you.”

“So should I retire to some hermitage to spare you the sight of me? Leave you to take up with a younger man?”

Whatever Jon read in her glare made him laugh harder still and, whatever indignation Sansa had been able to summon, melted away as it rolled over her.

There had been a time or two when a galant knight had come for meat and mead at their table, and had had a charming smile and quick wit and Sansa had let herself linger in a flirtation. It was good to be admired, to looked after and lusted for, and she had trusted none of them and indulged none of them past propriety. And yet there had been a time or two when she had wondered what it would be like to have one of these other men in her bed. And she sometimes daydreamed about chasing that fluttery feeling to see where it lead.

Infatuation, she would have told all of her children and she would have been right.

Love, well, love she had never been able to describe for them, though they all seemed to have found a measure of it.

Now, in the comfort of the chamber she had shared with Jon for as long as she cared to remember, Sansa thought she might be able to. Love was what remained when everything else was done. Love was in the gaps between pretty words, and tokens of affection. Love was in knowing someone so well that time didn’t change them at all. Love was wanting to see them in the faces of your children. Love was being willing to lose yourself in them, and trusting that you would always be found.

And later, in Jon’s arms, counting the beat of his heart like a promise, Sansa would put into words for the first time the truth their marriage was built on.

He is the kind of heartbreak that hurts the most. He is pain and disappointment wrapped up in a pair of deep hazel eyes and you can never forget how beautiful you drowned in his colors, how addicted you were to his taste, how poignantly toxic he was. How could you not remember? He was the sweetest ache, the rush of blood when he cut your veins, the headiness when there was nothing left but surrender. He is the heartbreak that hurts the most, but darling, isn’t he the most beautiful one?
—  Beautiful Disaster | Genefe Navilon
After the Endgame: Part 4

With Trespasser quickly approaching, I figured I’d start writing about Isii’s life after the end of Inquisition.

Post-Game Stories so far:
Still Hurting
After the Endgame Part 1: Rough Night
After the Endgame Part 2: The Bull
After the Endgame Part 3: The Wolf

I wasn’t originally planning for this to be the fourth installment, but I got a lot of requests to show the events of Part 3 from Fen’Harel’s perspective.

Part 4: From the Wolf’s Eyes

He could tell the demon would not pose much of a threat. He could see the fear plainly on Despair’s mimicry of his own face. The fact that these creatures continued to use his form to torment her ate away at him, though he understood why.

Desire showed her what she wanted, which was him.

Despair showed her what she’d lost, which was him.

The spirit fled and he turned his attention to Isii. She was kneeling, hands pressed to the dirt, practically curled-in on herself as her body shook, her breaths ragged. Even though she’d been crying when he found her, he could read the subtle changes in her demeanor.

She was afraid of him.

Part of him had hoped that, over time, she would see that he meant her no harm. When he wasn’t chasing away demons, he simply watched over her. He wanted to be near her. When he slept, when he dreamed, it was always of her. Better to be conscious in the Fade than to replay old memories. Better to seek her out than to dream of things that would never be. He told himself he shouldn’t - that it was wrong to be there when she did not know it was him. That it was wrong to see her suffer in his absence when he could tell her he was right beside her. He was a coward, only appearing as the Wolf, but the alternative would raise too many questions.

She would ask him to come home and he did not know if he could refuse.

He watched her trembling form. All he wanted to do was hold her, to comfort her and tell her everything would be alright.

But he did not want to lie to her.

I should not be here, he told himself. I am doing little more than frightening her.

He turned to leave.


Keep reading

A/N: Inspired by [this] lovely piece of artwork by fairytalesandtimetravel and emmaaswaan’s enabling [x]. ;))

Word Count: 1,520
Rating: F for Feels and Fluff, perhaps?



She dimly hears her father’s frantic roar amid the sounds of battle echoing around her as she races across the field. What she’s doing is reckless and absolutely dangerous — and she knows David’s going to give her a shit-ton of grief over it later — but she knows if anybody’s got her back, it’s him. He’ll make sure to cover her, he’ll give her the chance she needs to get to Hook. 

God. Her chest tightens at the thought and her emotions threaten to surge up and overwhelm her in their depth and magnitude but she forces it back. She can’t think about that, she can’t lose her focus now, not when they’re so close. She needs to get to Hook, she just needs to get to him and she can deal with the rest later. 

There’s someone coming for her, she can sense it on her right side but she knows she’ll lose time and ground if she tries to engage now so she keeps pushing for more speed, hoping she’s quick and agile enough to simply outrun them. She hears the zing of an arrow, the sharp painful cry that follows and she smirks. Robin. Another potential attacker goes up in a flame of bright purple fire just to her left and her heart swells with hope. Regina. 

The cavalry’s here and they’ve all got her back. She’s going to make it, she’s going to get him back. She hangs on to that with everything inside of her, holds on desperately as her feet pound into he uneven terrain. Her side is cramped and her lungs feel like they’re going to explode but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is him, is Hook. 

The first sight of him laying in the glass coffin jars her, makes the breath back up into her lungs and her heart feel like it’s going to shatter. No! Oh God, oh God, oh God! The tears come, she can’t stop them anymore, and all she can see in her head is him — the way he looks at her like she’s everything, his stupid smirk, the ocean-blue of his eyes, those adorable little dents in his cheeks that frame his mouth. 

She’s near hysterical by the time she reaches him and she wastes no time shoving off the offending top of his prison. She’s sobbing by then, breaths coming out in short, little puffs of air. Oh GOD. 

“Hook!” she cries, hands everywhere — over his chest, down his arms, his face. Oh God, oh God.  He’s real and here but cold, he’s so cold and his heart too still and she can’t breathe. “Hey, hey it’s me. Come on, come on, wake up!”

She uses the last of her strength to pull him from his resting spot. She doesn’t want him there any longer so she sits his lifeless form up, braces it against her as she grunts and groans and pulls to free him. She collapses to the ground under his weight and cradles him in her arms. She keeps talking to him, incoherent words that sound more like pleas than anything else.

Her heart aches, everything aches because it’s Hook and she just wants him back — wants him to give her those Godawful innuendos, and smile at her, and be there for her like he’s always been. She misses his laugh, his constancy, and the way he can look at her and just know exactly what’s on her mind. 

“Hook, please,” she begs, laying him gently on the ground and hovering over him. “You idiot, come on!” She shakes him lightly — vision blurry and breath short — and touches her forehead to his. “You told me you’d always come back for me, you stupid pirate! You don’t get to do this okay? Wake up!”

She knows it doesn’t work this way though, knows that only True Love’s Kiss can break the curse — but he’d tried to kiss her before and it didn’t work. The sob that escapes her mouth is the exact moment her heart shatters. She is the Goddamn Savior and she couldn’t stop this, she couldn’t save him — the one person in her life who’d always put her above anything else, who’d loved her unconditionally across time and space.

God. She had to try, she owed it to him to at least try, didn’t she? Her tears are rolling down her face, dripping onto his cheeks and it makes her cry harder. His voice and Henry’s voice are screaming at her in her head — loud and confusing and suffocating — to trust her gut but the fear chokes her, doubt freezing her insides.

What if it doesn’t work? God. What if it doesn’t work?

She looks at him, hand smoothing back the unruly hair falling over his brow as her hands cup his cheeks and her eyes move across every familiar curve and line and dip of his face. “Hook,” she murmurs brokenly. “Killian.”

Something blooms in her chest then, unexpected and bright and warm and beautiful and it’s so much that it steals the breath from her on a sharp gasp. She loves him. She loves him. She loves his tenacity and his stubbornness that rivals her own. She loves his kindness and his ‘good form.’ She loves his ridiculously attractive face and his insanely large capacity to love. She loves him.

She doesn’t even hesitate when she lowers her mouth and presses her lips firmly against his. The rush of wind and light is stunning and breathtaking and overwhelming as is the complete and utter joy that rises in her. 

Emma smiles through her tears, and waits for that first inhalation of breath from him. “Hook?” It never comes and her face falls in doubt as he continues to lay still beneath her. “Hook!”

Panic starts to flutter in her stomach, it’s heavy wings beating straight to the heart lodged in her throat. “No. No, no, no! Hook!” 

She leans over him, her hair falling around them like a curtain, shielding them from the rest of the world, as the sorrow engulfs her and springs new tears to her battered heart and spills them through her red-rimmed eyes. She loves him! It should have worked! Why didn’t it work?

“I don’t think it worked, love,” his gruff voice replies suddenly, making her sit up in surprise. “Perhaps you should try it again.” He peeks one eye open at her before his lips curve up into that infamous smirk she’ll never tell him she adores.

Her hand lashes out to hit his chest as she glares at him. He grimaces and his body jerks as his hand closes around her wrist. “Ow! Hey!”

“You’re an idiot!” she shouts, relief coursing through her as he moves up onto his elbows. She hits him again for good measure with her free hand but he simply tugs her forward and crushes his mouth to hers.

The heat is immediate, the spark igniting between their joined hearts and linking them together. She resists only for a second then abruptly gives in and melts against him. She loves him. It’s a truth and a fear and a hope and a strength and never in her entire life did she think she’d make it here, especially not with Captain Hook, but the world works in mysterious ways.

Her lips move beneath his in a well-known rhythm and everything falls into place — he is safe, he is here, and he is hers. He hums contentedly then pulls away briefly before going in and brushing his mouth over hers once more. She feels his smug little grin against her lips.

“I knew you loved me.”

She gives something between a laugh and a sob before gripping onto the charms of his necklace and pulling him in for another kiss. She nods her head, comforted by the warmth and life in him, overjoyed with happiness and…love.

“Yes, you stupid pirate, I love you.” 

Then her mouth is on his again and she uses him as her anchor while his hand reaches up to cradle the back of her head like she’s precious — she sighs into him at the gesture. They’d found each other and saved each other and now they loved each other. It’s over. It’s finally over – the heartbreaking loneliness and the gut-wrenching pain and the bitterness in guarded, hardened hearts is all gone and healed with the acceptance of love.

She savors every little detail about the moment — cherishes the way their hearts beat in tandem, the way they fit like they are simply made for each other, and revels in the knowledge that this is their happy ending, this is their forever after. They’ve finally found home, together, in each other’s eyes and arms and lips and it leaves the sweetest of aches in her heart.