#And be a dreamer with my head in the clouds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sinsofsummers · 2 years ago

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sensational; part ii

6.8k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader follow-up to sensational

summary: you've tasked joel with teaching you about all of the things you missed. he's back for more...teaching moments. warnings: smut (duh), 18+, mdni. softdom!joel vibes in this one, joel gives reader an anatomy lesson, pet names (lots of dollface) fingering, praise kink to the gods, masturbation (f and brief m), reader gives joel a hand(y), grinding, bit of a corruption kink toward the end, jesus there might need to be a part 3 note: well. look at what you guys did. you went and loved on sensational so much and asked for a part 2 so often that i just had to grant your wishes. i hope you’re fckn happy✌🏼🥹 (this is all jokes i’m so excited to write more of this dynamic teehee)

You'd never counted yourself as a dreamer of any sort; when sleep clouded your brain at night, every thought faded along with it. Aside from the occasional nightmare, reminding you of your parents' absence, you hadn't had an actual dream since you were a kid.

Of course, that night in Joel's house had changed everything, in every possible way. In just an hour or so he had taken your world into his hands, shaped it, flipped it, and returned it to you, unrecognizable. His name was carved into everything you saw and touched, and this included your dreams.

He was everywhere in your head when you slept. So much so that you'd begun to forget which was reality and which was a figment of your imagination, which made your patrols with him all the more humiliating.

Your hands were cold. It was all you could focus on as you followed Joel along your normal patrol route. Just twelve hours had passed since that night in his house, when he'd touched you with rough hands and what taught you what it meant to feel desired. His words still rang clear in your head days later:

Trust me, doll. I've got so much more to teach you.

It sent your head reeling just to think about it now. The memory of his fingertips grazing the side of your face as he'd said it, those brown eyes sparkling with desire for you—a vision of contentment.

You had leaned into his touch subconsciously, reaching a hand up to trace the line of his wrist. His eyes had darted to where your fingers pressed to his skin, a soft grin replacing his satisfied smirk. "I'd better get you home, then," he'd whispered.

It had taken everything in you to ignore the small pang of disappointment that had bloomed in your gut, but it was an easier task when he'd dropped his lips to your forehead.

"No one'll miss me at home," you'd protested quietly, trying not to relish too much in the feeling of his beard scratching at the space between your eyebrows.

This sentiment was true. You still didn't know how things had worked out so well, but after arriving in Jackson, Tommy (the fact that it was Joel's younger brother made this seem all the less coincidental) and Maria had been more than accommodating. They'd offered you your own space, a house to yourself. Granted, it was much smaller than Joel's, but it was your own. It had become home in the four short years you'd lived in Jackson.

No one was waiting for you at home. It was a fact that used to make your throat close up, memories taunting you every moment they could. Now it was a welcomed thought, if it meant that you could remain in the heady presence of Joel Miller.

But he'd only shaken his head, his brown eyes flitting down to your lips before returning to your gaze. "I'm sure they'll notice when you don't come strolling out of your own place in the mornin'," he'd insisted gently. His thumb traced your bottom lip when your shoulders slumped. You hoped you didn't look as pitiful as you felt, your lip threatening to push outward in a pout.

"Might not be able to keep my hands to myself tonight if I let you stay," he'd breathed. You didn't care if he said it as an apology, or if it was actually true.

Because who were you to disagree with him? It was Joel.

So without more than a lingering hand on your wrist, he'd walked you to your door. When you'd teased him for such a chivalrous act, he'd cocked an eyebrow, glancing sideways at you. "Can't just let you walk home alone after that," he'd scoffed, his voice rough again in the outdoors. A few people were still milling about despite it being darker than pitch after nightfall. "M'not a complete scoundrel," he said with a wry grin.

Your front door always looked so inviting, a place for you to take a breath and relax after a long day. In that moment, it was taking everything in you to put one foot in front of the other and return to your own place.

"Scoundrel," you'd mused, hoping the amusement in your voice covered the way you leaned back with every step, as if you could claim one more touch of his body—arm, chest, shoulder—to send you to bed with nothing but him on your mind. "Kind of a big word, wouldn't you say?" you'd teased him, just as he'd done to you. "Sure you know what it means?"

The twitch of his jaw was enough of a reward for your attempt at humor, but your satisfied smirk had been wiped clean off your face when he'd darted a glance around before leaning in, hovering just centimeters from your face.

It occurred to you in that moment that you'd truly only kissed him once. A shame, a voice in your head sighed. His lips were devastatingly plump, even in the darkness.

Joel had stayed there, his eyes tearing down to your mouth before warning you in that deliciously low baritone, "I know what it is. Best get inside," his jaw twitched once more and you caught him clenching and unclenching his fists, "'fore I show you what it means to be a scoundrel."

You'd gone inside with a shaky breath and the return of that familiar pulse that, it seemed, only he knew how to ignite.

—

Joel chose not to look in the mirror when he'd gone home that night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stand the way his hair was undoubtedly wild, his eyes hard with desire, and his hands still aching with the memory of her squirming body in his lap.

After four years of near silence, this girl had unraveled him. After all those days on patrol with her, nothing to do except look at her when she wouldn't notice, Joel Miller had been undone.

The next day, waking up early with the stiffness in his boxers begging to be dealt with, Joel spit on his palm and wrapped it around his cock, releasing a sigh. Fuck's sake, he thought with a groan. Can't hardly get a full night's sleep anymore.

It should have annoyed him; it was certainly an inconvenience. But if it meant that he'd get to spend more time thinking about her body and her lips and her eyes when she asked those incessant questions, then so be it. He'd never sleep another wink and be glad for it.

It didn't take long for his release to come, not when the memories of her whines were so fresh in his mind. To think that he'd had her on his lap, hips squirming in that way that only she knew...it was enough to make him—"A grown fuckin' man," he reminded himself—spill into his hands and draw ragged breaths into his lungs to recover.

With an arm thrown across his face, he latched onto the image of her in the heat of ecstasy, her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips wet from constantly biting them.

For a moment, he tried to rein himself in. Can't be doin' this, he'd thought while getting ready for patrol that morning. Don't wanna take advantage of her, or fuck her up cause of my inability to control my own desires.

In reality, he'd considered, did she really know what she was getting herself into? With little more knowledge than the mechanics of reproduction, it had been evident with the events of the previous night that she knew nothing of what pleasure could be. Did he really want to be responsible for her discovery of such things?

But when he went to the stables an hour later and saw her standing in the snow with an extra twinge in her grin and her eyes sparkling despite the echoes of fatigue in her irises, every doubt dissipated immediately. He pretended not to notice the way her eyes lingered on his back when they saddled up, heading out of Jackson for the day.

Joel Miller was never one to deny a woman in need. Why should he have stopped now?

—

"How'd you sleep?"

When you looked over at him, almost shocked that he'd broken the silence, your eyebrow quirked up. "Fine," you answered.

It wasn't that this patrol had been disappointing, it was just...ever since you'd left Jackson that morning, you'd been waiting for him to look at you like he had the night before, or to even acknowledge you in the way that you could still remember him doing.

Maybe it was because Tommy was nearby at the time, or maybe he'd changed his mind after all. Maybe you'd overstepped, asking a man so much older than you to teach you all of this. Maybe it hadn't happened at all—your dreams were rather convincing these days.

If it hadn't been for those girls, hell-bent on making you feel ostracized, perhaps you wouldn't have landed yourself in this position. You probably wouldn't have had any reason to be curious about what it all meant, and you could have gone on in comfortable silence with him on your patrols.

With a heavy mind, you blew out a breath. If it hadn't been for those girls, though—you never would have known the creases that sank into the corners of his eyes when he grinned at you.

Beside you, having held back to come up shoulder-to-shoulder, Joel huffed. "Bullshit, darlin'," he scoffed, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

You tightened your hands on the reins. "Excuse me?" you said sharply.

His chuckle was a soft rumble in his chest, and you ached to feel it against your back. "I saw those sleepy eyes at the stables," he crooned, the corners of his eyes crinkling just like you remembered. "Looks like someone didn't get a good night's sleep."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to believe you slept like a damn baby, then?" You couldn't help the incredulity in your tone, but you blushed when you noticed him smirking, his lips twitching as he fought a smile away.

"'Course not," he shook his head almost dismissively. "Couldn't tell my brain to stop conjurin' pictures of you shakin' in my lap." He adjusted the way he was seated on his horse, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was getting hard at the reminder of the memory.

You, in a similar vein, were trying to ignore the unmistakable feel of heat puddling between your legs. Keeping your eyes forward, you asked, "Is that a good thing?"

Joel nodded. "A very good thing, dollface. You were so good for me last night."

Any air that had been in your lungs left in a rush, and you put a hand to your cheek, warm despite the winter's wind. You thought you heard yourself whine at the sound of the pet name.

Thankfully, he didn't say or do anything to show that he'd noticed. Instead, he tugged his horse to a stop. "Let's get down here," he said. "Walk and talk, yeah?"

The thought of walking beside him after all that had happened the night before was enough to make you freeze in your saddle, suddenly unsure of how to get down. "Yeah," you mumbled, if only to fill the silence.

You could hear the crunch of snow under his boots as he came up beside you, thick gloved hands reaching for your waist. "C'mon, darlin'," he'd insisted, "I won't bite."

There was a note of irony in his tone, and you let him pull you from your saddle, landing in the snow in front of him. Your jacket snagged against his, and you stood there for a moment, letting your frosty wisps of breath coil and furl with his. "What do you mean?" you asked, cursing your ever-present confidence when it came to asking him questions. It seemed that you'd never learn to hold your tongue.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response. "What's what mean?" He stepped away from you to grab the reins in his hand and began to walk forward in the snow.

You shook your head and pushed on, stumbling after him. When did the snow get so deep? "You sounded rather..." you trailed off, searching for the word.

"Oh, here it comes," he mused in that serious tone, hardly covering the teasing lilt that rang clear in his eyes. "Bet you're coming up with a big word right about now, huh?"

You couldn't help it when you rolled your eyes and swatted a hand at the back of his arm. "I was going to say you sounded smug," you finished. "About how you won't bite?"

There it was again. That look of slight surprise at your questions. You waited for a few moments, the two of you trudging along in the snow, before he answered quietly. "We're jumpin' ahead of ourselves, but I s'pose it won't hurt." He shrugged. "Some people like it. Biting."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "Like it?" You looked down at your hands, covered in thick gloves. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Joel smirked. "It can," he considered, "if the person gettin' bitten wants it like that." He brushed your arm with his. "But some people don't like it at all. Just depends."

You braved a look up at his face and swallowed roughly, feeling your core pulse at the sight of his rosy cheeks. "Does it have to hurt?" You didn't mean to sound so desperate; you were just curious. "I mean, is it like...like a real bite?"

It happened so quickly that you hardly had a moment to process. Joel stopped in his tracks, pulled you near, and dipped his head down to your ear. "Don't have to," he murmured, and you were just starting to quiver at the feel of his voice next to your ear when he was brushing your hair from your neck and grazing his teeth against your skin. "Can feel good, if the person doin' the biting knows how."

You couldn't help the hand that shot out to grab his arm, as if it were the only thing that might hold you up. "I'm assuming you know how," you said thickly, eyes wandering on his weathered face. Funny, you thought at the sight of his grin, he looks quite young like this.

Joel shifted his arm so he could squeeze your hand once with his before letting it go. "Don't boost my ego too high, sweetcheeks," he warned, but you could hear the humor in his voice. "Might never let go if you do."

You knew he was kidding, but the prospect that he was being serious made your stomach flutter and forced you to clench your thighs together, bringing the forefront of your attention back to the frustration that was pooling between your legs. "Joel," you muttered in a whine, not quite realizing you'd said it until he was looking at you with a twinge of concern.

"What's up, doll?" he asked, slowing to a stop. "Somethin' wrong?"

A curly tendril of his graying hair was blown into his face with the winter wind, and you wished you could brush it away with your fingers like he'd done just moments ago. "I..." you inhaled deeply, and shifted your weight. "I'm..."

It took him a moment to understand, and when he did, his eyes sparkled. "Oh, doll," he cooed, reaching forward to tug you closer to him. "Need something', huh?"

You leaned your head forward until your forehead rested against him, breathing in the scene of pine and old leather and that heady musk that was utterly Joel. Nodding into his strong chest, you brought your hand up to his wrist and tugged it down, down, down...there.

Joel's large hand cupped the mound between your legs and you swallowed harshly as it pulsed again, begging for the sweet release he'd given you the night before. "Fuck," he breathed, the vibrations of his voice rolling against your skin. "Shoulda told me you were this bothered, baby," he hummed.

You lifted your head. "I've been trying," you said in a pitiful whine, although this wasn't entirely true, and he knew it. "Why does it...why do I ache so bad?"

His smirk quivered, and his pupils were suddenly huge as he withdrew his hand from where it covered your heat, exposing it to the frigid winter air once more. "I think we've gone far enough, don't you?" he winked. "Think we may as well head back."

The implications of what would happen when you got back to Jackson made your head spin. Nodding feverishly, you let go of the twinge of embarrassment at your eagerness. "Yes, please," you hiccuped.

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. "Good," he murmured.

—

This was the worst possible outcome.

Just when you'd worked up to exactly where you wanted to be with Joel, with his hands on you and his intentions leading you back to his house (and hopefully his couch), Tommy stopped you at the stables.

Well, not you. Not you at all, actually. He stalked up to his older brother and said, Meeting at my place, Joel."

He'd just gotten down from his saddle to help you do the same and was letting his hands linger on your waist when the interruption happened. With his hungry eyes locked on yours, he'd been leaning into your touch and hovering his hands just inches from your heat.

You could have sworn he jumped out of his skin at the sound of Tommy's voice; you just hoped it was because of his infamous hearing loss on his ride side and decidedly not because he'd been caught standing so close to you.

"We just had a meeting last week," he said gruffly, his eyes still searching yours. For what, you weren't sure—but you were quickly growing addicted to finding those rare flecks of gold buried in the espresso brown seas reflected back at you. His hands clenched involuntarily, and given the fact that they were resting around your hips, you got a delicious lick of pleasure that shot through your pelvis at the sensation.

Tommy didn't seem to be in the mood for dawdling. "And now we're having one this week," he insisted. "My place. Maria and the others are waiting."

You lifted your chin to see him close his eyes in annoyance. His mouth opened once; he closed it. When he opened it again, his eyes flashed along with the movement. "Alright, I'll be there in a minute," he said tersely, and you pretended not to notice the way his gloved thumb rubbed a slow circle on your hip. An apology, perhaps.

When he didn't move, you blushed with smug satisfaction. It had never been more clear that he didn't want to move.

"Joel, it's important." Usually, you'd never had an issue with Tommy. Now, of course, the sound of his voice clawed at your every hope for tonight.

With a soft look at your lips, Joel jerked his head to look at his brother. "I said give me a fuckin' minute," he said, his words clipped. "Fuck's sake," he muttered as he turned around. "Just answerin' a goddamn question," he finished, soft enough that you were sure his brother couldn't hear.

Tommy grumbled his fair share of disapproving words, but you couldn't help the grateful bubble that bloomed in your gut when you heard the shuffle of his boots as he left you alone in the stables with Joel.

He waited a moment or two before letting out a soft sigh. You couldn't have known how disappointed he was, but the way he lifted a hand to your cheek was clue enough. "New lesson, dollface," he said.

A pang of regret hit your stomach and you found yourself shaking your head. "Please?" you asked in a quiet voice. "I don't want a new lesson."

Joel grinned and sucked in a sharp breath. "I know, baby, I know." The familiar phrase threw you back to the night before, when he'd had his hands all over you, reassuring you with those exact words. But now, it wasn't a comfort. "But if I'm not around and you need to feel good..." His hand trailed down your cheek, brushed against your chest and returned to its previous spot between your legs. "I want you to practice touchin' yourself, yeah?"

His voice had become a near-painful whisper, just loud enough for you to feel rather than hear his words caress your skin. "This of me all you want, darlin'. God knows I'll be thinkin' of you at this damn...meeting," he practically spat the last word, but it didn't take away from the pressure that was building and causing you to blink rapidly. "Think about me," he repeated, "but I want you to explore this pretty body for me so you can tell me all about it when I get back."

The sound of his voice enveloped you, that heady sensation nearly making your knees give out. With a slow nod, you couldn't see yourself ever disobeying him. Not when he asked such sinful things of you.

"Okay," you whispered. "I'll try."

His mouth was in a hard line, his irritation at Tommy's interruption still prevalent. But it softened for a moment when he slid a gloved thumb over your bottom lip, letting it get pulled from its place before bouncing back. You darted your tongue out, wetting your lip in a desperate attempt to taste his leather on your skin; to taste him.

"Good," he said softly. Something new pulsed at the sound of his praise, but you fought it down. "I'll see you soon, doll."

—

Despite everything you tried when you got home—despite squeezing your eyes shut and picturing that dimple in Joel's cheek when he smirked, or the way his arms felt when wrapped around you—nothing helped. The pressure remained, the ache between your legs was ever-present, and yet...

You couldn't give yourself the release you craved. Not like Joel could.

There was no telling how long you tried, hand shoved down your pants in a sour attempt to replicate the feeling he'd given you. Your fingers were clumsy, untrained, and entirely new to the task, leaving you desperate and unsatisfied. A strangled whine left your throat when your mind flashed with the memory of his face near yours, his lips on your own, and his rough hands rubbing that small bud at your center. It was maddening.

He'd asked you to do this one thing, and you couldn't deliver. Of course, you'd never even realized this was a possibility; you'd only ever heard of men bringing themselves to the plummeting precipice of pleasure. You never considered that you could do the same.

But you didn't want to make yourself feel good. You wanted Joel to do it.

After what felt like hours, stuck in your house alone, Joel nowhere to be found, and with your hopes slipping into despair, you gave up. Your fingers would never be as rough or as thick as his. You didn't know how to explore your body when you couldn't tip yourself over the edge to ecstasy; it was impossible.

Weary and defeated, you went to bed with a groan. Joel still hadn't shown up. Either it was a long meeting, or...you didn't want to entertain the thought that he'd possibly forgotten about you. About your task to be completed.

You actually did drop off into a dreamless sleep, but when you woke to the sound of a knock at your door, you were almost positive the dreams had begun again. Swinging your legs out of bed, you trudged to the door with sleep oozing in every movement. The door opened with a click, and you blinked.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetcheeks," Joel breathed. A distant streetlamp, the only one in Jackson, was the sole source of light that illuminated the edges of his broad body on your porch. He looked near-angelic.

You didn't say anything for a moment, only crossed your arms to keep yourself warm in the face of the wintry outdoors. The relief and anticipation at seeing him here paired with the disappointment and fatigue that it had taken so long warred with each other, creating a dangerous mix as you managed to say, "Are you...hungry? Or something?"

He swallowed, and your head swam with the desire to lay your tongue flat on his neck where his Adam's apple bobbed. "Starving," he groaned, and in one step he was not only in your house but he was all over you, and you were wearing nothing but your thin pajamas.

He'd apparently already taken off his gloves, and when his hand came up to cup your cheek your body registered the chill of his fingers with a shock, despite leaning into his touch all the same. He took a moment to look at you before touching his forehead to yours, pressing his lips to yours gently. You could practically taste the restraint on his mouth, and you wanted nothing more than to beg him for everything.

Something about your face must have given it away when he pulled back because he tapped a finger against your cheek. "You look like you need somethin'." He darted a look down to your legs. "Did you do what I asked?"

You weren't sure what made you lie, but you nodded nonetheless. "Uh-huh."

Even in the dark, he was so close to you that you could see his eyebrow lift in question. You didn't know how he knew, but why wouldn't he? This was Joel. "You didn't come," he concluded, and you ducked your head. "Why not, dollface? I thought I told you to."

The implication that his request was, in fact, a command, didn't slip your mind. Your cheeks burned when you forced yourself to look at him. "I couldn't. I don't know how."

"Sure you do," he whispered. "You did real good last night for me, remember?" His lips ghosted your jaw.

You shook your head. "I don't know how. I've never...made myself come."

When Joel looked at you, you could have sworn his lips twitched, betraying the desire in his movements. "I'm sorry, babydoll," he cooed, bringing his other hand to your cheek. He slotted his lips over yours once more, and it was all you could do not to sink to the floor right there. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

You nodded. "Show me? Please?"

Without another word he bent to brush his lips across your hairline—you could have sworn you felt him inhale with his nose in your hair—and murmured, "In the morning, yeah?"

You pulled away to complain but he only gave you a soft smile. It was then that you could see the exhaustion in his face, eyes downturned despite those creases winking at you in the darkness. "But—"

"Told Tommy you need a day off," he clarified. "'Cause you're...sore..." he splayed his hand on your back and tugged you near, voice low. "Ya know, from all that horseback ridin'."

An anticipatory chuckle bubbled from your chest. "No way he bought that," you said breathlessly as he nipped your jawline with his teeth (you were almost sure it was supposed to be a kiss). "I've been patrolling on horseback for years."

Joel shrugged and looked down at you with a smirk. "Who knows? Maybe I should have told him you were waiting for me to come home and make you fall apart on my fingers," he said dismissively, but his tone did nothing to stop your stomach from flipping.

"Oh," you said dumbly, cursing yourself inwardly for how easily you were rendered speechless in his presence. "He'll...he'll really let us take the day off?" Your mind swam with the possibilities of what you could do with an entire day.

He shook his head. "Not us, darlin'. Just you." Tracing the line of your jaw, his lips twisted into a dry smirk. "I'll have to go tomorrow. But," he whispered, squeezing a hand on your hip and cocking an eyebrow at the way your legs wobbled," I'd gladly go every morning all by myself if it meant you were in your bed all day, daydreamin' about me."

It was a heavier confession that you'd expected out of him, and you let out a breathy sigh. "In the morning then," you asked. You swallowed roughly in an attempt to push down the lump of pure need that had risen in your chest, but to no avail.

Joel nodded firmly. "Trust me," he hummed, "in the morning."

So you'd led him to your bed with no more discussion. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not stay the night; he'd come to your place after the meeting like he'd said, and it was the middle of the night. Why wouldn't he have stayed the night?

Despite everything in you fighting to stay awake, the second you returned to your mattress and pulled the covers up, your eyelids drooped. Joel stood at the end of the bed and shed his jacket slowly. "Sleep, doll," he said, his voice echoing in the otherwise silent room as he bent to kick off his boots. "I'll be here when you wake up."

—

Was he getting too close? Was he pushing the boundaries too far, too soon? Probably.

Selfishly, Joel didn't much care.

—

Sure enough—when morning came, when the dull winter sunlight crept into your house and draped the floor in soft yellow, you felt the dip of your mattress beside you and betrayed Joel's presence. He'd stayed. Like he said.

Quite the dedicated teacher, you thought to yourself with a satisfied warmth. You'd felt him climb into bed last night, but despite your every wish for him to press himself to your back and hold you tightly the whole night, he'd kept at least a foot of space between your bodies. Always close enough to touch, but never giving in.

You rolled over and swiped a hand over your face, a few stray strands falling into your eyes. The breath left your chest when you saw him there, eyes open and waiting for you. "Hi," you said, your voice rough with sleep. Again with the monosyllabic responses, you scolded yourself.

Joel hummed, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through the mattress and into your body. "Looked so sweet like that, darlin'," he mused, his rough hands tucked under his head. He reached one of them toward you and tapped your bottom lip, plump with sheep, with two of his fingertips. "Didn't wanna wake you up."

"You didn't." You weren't sure what made you do it, but you moved closer, shifting your entire body until your nose almost brushed his. Your eyes flitted up to look at the way his graying hair laid messily around the crown of his head, haircuts neglected for who knew how long. "Can we...I want to start now," you mumbled.

His jaw ticked, and he looked like he was swallowing down a grin. "Look at you," he cooed, "so eager. Aren't you hungry, doll?"

You bit your lip and you could have sworn you saw his eyes widen. "Starving," you fumbled over the word, imitating his response to you the night before on your porch.

Joel let go of a chuckle and his eyes danced with mirth. "Always turnin' my words back on me, aren't ya?" When you nodded sheepishly, he slid his hand around to cup the back of your head and he pulled you in, connecting his lips with yours. "Okay, pretty girl," he said. "We'll start. Since you asked so nicely."

His lips were chapped from the cold weather but they were still soft as he pressed them to yours, moving lazily as the two of you blinked away the last clutches of sleep. "Always so soft, these lips," he murmured, and then his hand was moving from your neck to your chest. "Everyone's different, yeah? There's these spots on everyone's body," he said, absentmindedly drawing swirls along the expanse of your chest, making you shiver. "Let's call them...pleasure points."

"Pleasure points," you repeated breathlessly, your stomach fluttering as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Is that—"

He grinned with a nod. "Think I just found one of 'em, doll." He rolled you onto your back and bent his head down, his breath fanning over your chest and warming you through your thin pajama shirt. "This is how we get you all ready for me, when the time comes."

You nodded quietly and let out a shaky sigh as his hands wandered. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you practically preened at the feeling of his lips against your skin while his hands squeezed and caressed your breasts, moving over your stomach. "Joel—"

He paused, hand hovering over the hem of your shirt. "What, babygirl?"

You couldn't help the whine that fought its way out of your throat. "Please," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the pressure that writhed in your core.

Joel's fingers lifted the hem of your shirt, his mouth widening in a grin at the way that your stomach rose and fell in spattered pants. "Come on, darlin'," he crooned, "open those pretty eyes for me. Gotta see you, doll."

It was all you could do not to take his hand in your own and shove it to your core where you needed him desperately, but you did as he asked.

"That's it, baby," he breathed, good girl."

You'd become familiar with the way your stomach clenched at his use of pet names, but this was new. You had done well for him. You wanted to stay that way. "Will you touch me please? I need—"

"So eager," he murmured, leaning in with his lips to your earlobe. "Lemme take my time with you, dollface." And then his lips were wrapping to the soft part of your ear, his teeth grazing at your skin. Paired with this sensation and the heady feeling of his hand on your waistband, fumbling to push his hand beneath it, you arched your back and released a series of high-pitched whines.

"JoelJoelJoelpleasepleaseplease," you were overcome with the pure, unbridled need that was speeding through your body like a tidal wave on a summer day.

"Alright, darlin', alright," he acquiesced, pushing his hand into your waistband and pulling it down over your hips. You didn't even have the mind to be shy about being laid bare to him this way; you just needed him to touch you.

Before you could beg him again, he had his fingertip on your core, sliding it gently through your slick heat. "Oh, baby," he groaned, rutting his hips against your side. His bulge pressed into your hip and you flexed your fingers to reach for it. "M'never gettin' used to how wet you are for me," his voice shook.

One finger became two, and then his fingertips were rubbing sweet circles to your sensitive bud, drawing near pornographic moans to tumble past your lips. "Can I touch you, please?" you begged, your hand fisting your bedsheets. "Wanna touch you, Joel, please."

He hummed against your ear as he swiped another finger against your bud and lifted your hand to his lips. "Sure thing, doll," he said, and placed it in his hair. Your fingers instinctually carded through the coarse strands, and you blushed when his eyes fluttered closed. "Hold on tight if you need to, pretty girl," he grinned, and lemme know if it's too much."

You were going to ask if what was too much, but then he dipped his finger further down your core, notching it at the small opening. You hadn't even thought this far ahead, that things would eventually lead here. Something pulsed and you whined, tugging his hair in your hand.

"Look at you, so ready for me," he murmured against your neck. His tongue swept out to lick a small stripe along the sensitive skin there and when you let out a stuttering breath he chuckled. "You are ready for me, aren't ya, pretty girl?"

You couldn't nod fast enough. "Please," you choked out, and then he was pressing his finger inside you.

It was a small intrusion, but overwhelming all the same. In all your years, you'd never had the thought that it could feel this good to have him close to you like this. He was only as far as the first knuckle, but with the way that his bulge was nudging your hips, he wanted much more. "Good girl," he breathed, "such a good girl, openin' your legs like this."

"Wanna touch you," you whimpered again, vision blurring with the desperation that coursed through your veins. "Please, Joel, let me touch you."

He kissed you, but you could hardly focus enough to move your lips against his. "Already touchin' me," he said. "You want more?"

"Yes," you nodded feverishly, releasing your hand from his hair. "I wanna..." you looked down at his bulge and licked your lips.

Joel's eyes were wide as he whispered, "For fuck's sake, darlin', when you're cryin' about it..." he swiped a thumb across your cheeks, collecting a teardrop you hadn't even known was there. "How could I say no?"

Thankyouthankyouthankyou were the only words in your mind, a jumbled mess as you reached for him. Your finger traced his length and before you knew it, you were reaching inside his boxers to release it from its constraints. "Holy fuck," you whined, bucking your hips into his hand as you saw just how big he was, long and thick and heavy in your hand. "Need it," you found yourself whispering. "Need you."

It was all you could do before he pushed his finger further, then out, and then in, just enough to throw you closer to that addicting edge of ecstasy. Once again, you found yourself enveloped in the thick pressure of pure desire in his arms.

He pressed the pad of his thumb to your bud and swirled circles in your heat, his lips connecting to your ear once more. "Alright, baby. Alright, baby," he practically chanted in a low tone, nibbling on your lobe just hard enough to pinch the skin. "C'mon now, squeeze my finger like that, that's it," he groaned, drawing out the final two syllables, "good girl."

With his hand in the crux of your legs and his mouth connected to your ear, whispering the filthiest things you'd ever heard in your sheltered life, you threw your head back into the pillow and curled your legs toward him, your hand squeezing his cock tightly as you continued your strokes.

The sounds that erupted from your throat as you burst in a state of pure pleasure were the most pitiful (and yet electrifying) noises you'd ever heard yourself make, and you couldn't help but continue rolling your hips into his hands, chasing the feeling until it became more intense and your legs began to twitch again. "Joel," you mewled, voice breaking, "I need you."

A teasing chuckle sounded, and your cheeks warmed as he removed his hand from your slick. "So much you don't know, dollface," he crooned, tracing his index down the line of your nose. He pushed another, shining with your release, into your mouth. The sweetness nearly made you fall apart again. "Don't know if you're ready for that."

Your body was on fire, nearly throbbing with the insatiable need to be wrapped in his arms, with his hands everywhere, his lips anywhere. Your hand had been moving on his shaft, but his hips stuttered with your next words. "I am," you insisted, "I need you, please. I wanna feel you everywhere."

Joel's pupils went wide and he shuddered out a breath, mumbling a string of curses with his eyes shut. He thrusted his hips into your hand and then your skin was sticky and warm with his own release, some of it landing on your stomach where you lay beside him.

"Shit," he groaned with a rueful smirk. "Maybe I'm not ready for that yet." His breath fanned deliciously over your skin as he continued. "Can't hardly last long enough with the thought of stretching you out like that, baby."

You grinned, and you didn't mind the fact that he could definitely see the flush in your cheeks. "No?"

He shook his head. "Fuck no. I don't wanna think about how quickly I'll come if I were to be inside that pretty pussy yet," he said with a short and gentle tap to your mound. When your hips arched off the mattress and you whined at the sensitivity, he cooed apologetically.

"Isn't that a good thing?" you frowned slightly. "I thought I was making you feel good."

"Makin' me feel too good," he mused, bringing his hand up to hold your face toward him once more. He winked. "Can't have me comin' before you do, sweet girl. Not very gentlemanly of me."

You couldn't help the pang of doubt that clouded your face, and it must have been obvious, because then he was cupping the back of your head and pulling you to his chest. Humming into your neck, he smirked. "Besides, I want to be able to take my sweet time with you. To see you squirmin' beneath me like you do, baby? S'enough to make the pope leave the goddamn church."

tysm for reading, i can't believe you guys convinced me to write MORE filth for these two. u made it to the end, lemme know what you thought!

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impala-dreamer · 4 months ago

Text

Life Changing

A Supernatural Story

Dean Winchester x Reader

520 Words

Romantic Fluff ~ Requested by @deanwinchesterswitch

Cozy Drabbles ‘24 Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

Dean bent to tuck the soft red sheet beneath the mattress, ensuring the corner was crisp and the top was smooth.

“Why are we doing this again?” he asked, moving with Y/N to the head of the bed.

“Because it’s nice. Don’t you wanna sleep on clean sheets tonight?” she smiled sweetly at him and tugged on the flannel. “Clean sheets are amazing. Just a little bit of comfort after a long day.”

Dean tugged back, giving himself some slack. “I’m not debating the awesomeness of clean sheets. I love a clean sheet, believe me.” The elastic snapped under the corner and he stood up, satisfied with the fit. “But my sheets were fine.” He gave a forlorn look to the stiff, antique sheets heaped in a messy pile by the door. “Clean, even.”

“Dean, those sheets came with the Bunker. They’re from 1941. Time for an upgrade.”

He slumped a bit and Y/N tossed a pillow in his face which he caught, and a red plaid pillowcase that he did not. Draped in the fabric, he sighed.

“I’m just not sold on the flannel.”

She laughed. “Dude, you spend your life in flannel.”

“Yeah, but not in bed.”

“Well…”

She grinned and he blushed.

“Shut up.”

Y/N tucked her pillow beneath her chin and struggled to fit it into the case. “Just trust me. These will change your life.”

He rolled his eyes to keep up the front, but inside, he was already sold on the sheets, the new sleeping situation, and her. It had taken months for him to come around to the idea of moving into the same room together, to sharing his sanctuary with someone else, but Y/N had more than calmed his fears. Having her there to fall asleep with, to hold on the bad nights, to wake up next to was more than his heart could take. It was perfect.

Minutes later, Y/N fluffed out the heavy blanket and it billowed down over them like a warm cloud. Dean exhaled slowly and felt the world melt away. Y/N lay next to him, their shoulders and thighs touching beneath the sheets.

“What do you think?”

Dean rolled towards her, messing up the pristinely smooth sheets and blanket. He cocked his elbow and held his head, looking down into her beautiful eyes.

“You were right,” he admitted. “They’re awesome.”

Y/N grinned victoriously and lifted her hand to his cheek, softly caressing his stubbled jaw. “I just want you to be comfy,” she whispered. “You deserve it.”

His heart swelled and broke at the same time. He didn’t believe he deserved the comfort of the bed or her arms, but he was going to hold onto it for as long as he could.

Grabbing her hand, Dean kissed her fingertips.

“Thank you.”

Y/N snuggled closer, enjoying his heat. “See? Life changing.”

Dean sank down, placing his cheek on the pillow next to her. “Absolutely life changing.”

“They are great sheets,” she agreed.

Dean shook his head and ran his hand lovingly through her hair. “I wasn’t talking about the sheets…”

#dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean/you #fluff #spn fanfic #cozy drabbles 2024

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animeyanderelover · 9 months ago

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I'm having a tiny bit of a Mihawk brainrot if you can't tell. I'm not sure if his past was ever really elaborated on so there are most likely mistakes in my interpretation because I am not caught up to the Anime yet.

Just imagine...

Growing up together with the very boy that will in the future claim not only the title of "Strongest Swordsman in the World" but will also eventually become one of the Seven Warlord's of the sea. Hawk Eyes Mihawk is a name that will one day struck fear in everyone that hears it, whether it's a pirate, a marine or an innocent citizen.

Yet you have known him ever since both of you were just tiny children. You know all of his quirks, his likes and dislikes and all of his most sacred secrets and most embarrassing moments which he made you promise would be kept only between the two of you.

And Mihawk knows you just as much. He knows of all your dreams and your biggest fears, has been your shoulder to cry on whenever your heart was struck with grief, has witnessed all of your shenanigans and despite his better judgement has even participated in some of your reckless decisions, even if to simply be the one who ultimately saves you from any big troubles.

The dynamic between the two of you has always been like this. You have always been the dreamer, the one who has their heads in the clouds and loves romanticising everything. He can't even recall how often you spent your time excitedly recounting to him a dream you had in your sleep or proclaimed to him excitedly about a new ambition you had in life, every week a new one. One time you told him you wanted to be a doctor, another one you wanted to be a vet and the next time you announced your new dream of wanting to be a shipwright. You were like a pot just foaming over with dreams and positivity.

Mihawk on the other hand has always been your voice of reasoning and the guardian who is always right next to you when your excitement led to an impulsive and poorly made choice. He has always been the one who was your silent yet loyal shadow and the one you could always count on, even if he has dubbed you as an "idiot". He has always been the one who just sat there and silently listened to all of your excited rambling when the words were tumbling out faster from your mouth than you could form them, even despite reminding you that you should probably soon make up your mind whenever you discarded your old dream for a new one. You truly are a scatterbrained fool at times yet he has a weak spot for that bright glimmer in your eyes, a light as bright as the sun.

As adolescence catches up with you two, you stay the same dreamy fool who tends to daydream throughout the day, so deeply immersed in your own thoughts that time and your surroundings are forgotten.

Mihawk remains as the one person you are closest with and is the one who protects you from walking into doors, buildings or people when he realises that you space out again as you let your imagination run wild. Yet as he grows up from a boy to a man, his feelings for you mature. Both of you have always been exceptionally close to each other but it is only as his mind matures and becomes more complex that he starts questioning how he truly feels about you. You have always been the dearest person to his heart but as a child he has never truly considered your relationship as deeply as he does now. You've just always been the person he has known best and with whom he has shared the most, from the good to the bad. You have always been special to him yet it is only now that he realises just how special you really are to him.

He loves you.

He loves your ditzy and airheaded personality, your joyful laugh and the constant glow in your eyes as you look at the world around you as if you are discovering it for the first time and he especially loves the excited shimmer in your eyes when you tell him about your dreams.

Knowledge alone is only half the work though. Mihawk, who was back then only a flicker of what he will be in the future, doesn't know how to express those emotions he has for you. All he knows that he feels very intensely for you and he finds himself overwhelmed with this discovery. It is all chaotic and hectic inside of his heart and his mind. It is something new that frightens him over so slightly as he doesn't know how to control his feelings just yet which is why he decides to wait. To wait until he has understood his love for you a bit better before he will tell you how he feels about you.

Eventually both of you leave the island you grew up together in favor setting sail and heading towards the Grand Line. Both of you had dreams of your own yet neither one of you was at that time ready to separate from each other just yet. Mihawk's feelings for you have only grown since he became cognizant of them for the first time and they only intensify with each passing day, not enabling him to understand them nor to fully control them.

So used has he grown to having you all for himself though that he finds himself uncomfortable and possessive when you choose to engage with locals on an island both of you have landed on, an eerily intense look in those golden eyes of his that seemingly try to pierce the very soul of the person you choose to give your attention too despite him standing right next to you. It always spooks people and you can only slap him on his chest as you chastise him for his rude behavior, although he knows that you are never truly mad at him. Even he is secretly just glad that you give him your undivided attention again, even if he is grumbling as he defends himself against your little lectures.

Both of you enter the Grandline together and it is then that you finally decide to bring up the idea of you two finally separating. Initially Mihawk is quite reluctant as you suggest that idea to him. Wouldn't it be safer for both of you to stick together? After all neither of you two knows what lies ahead in those oceans. You are quite persistent though as you explain to him that you would like to achieve your dreams by yourself and that you think he should do the same. You clarify yourself by assuring him that you don't plan to never see him again but that you would like to do your best without his help with your own strength.

He feels the lump in his throat as he hears your reasons behind your suggestion, his mind struggling to imagine how it would be if you wouldn't been with him and he finds himself drawing a blank as soon as he attempts to consider it. You are someone he has always known throughout his entire life and even hearing your suggestion has his heart shaking with the thought of your absence if that were to really happen.

You two have always been together. Why would you want to change that now?

Both of you spend a lot of time arguing over this issue but ultimately you win him over, the light in your eyes persuading him by tugging at all of his heartstrings. His obsession has just started to bud and it isn't until a while later that it springs to its full awakening which is why Mihawk eventually caves in and agrees to your suggestion.

Both of you separate at the next island you land on but both of you make a promise to each other. That you'll meet again on this very island one year from now on to see how far you two have come with your dreams.

His heart is heavy when both of you bid each other goodbye, his hands holding yours tightly as he relishes one last time for the next long year in your brightness. The words he has been wanting to tell you for a while now linger on his tongue, the temptation strong to let you know about his feelings for you in a last feeble hope that his love may change your mind. Yet he knows as he looks into your beaming eyes that your mind has already been set so he can only swallow his feelings back, although he vows that when you two will see each other again, he will be strong enough to finally confess his love to you.

One year passes and he returns to the same island as a completely different person. Within only one year Mihawk has risen to unbelievable fame. He feels content with what he has achieved within the last year as he has grown into the strong man he swore to be one year ago on this very island and considers himself now ready to finally tell you about how he truly feels for you. The budding obsession as blossomed over the last year as your absence has forced him to fully acknowledge as well as embrace everything he has been feeling for you and now more than ever before does Mihawk plan to keep you by his side.

Only that you never show up.

Initially Mihawk decides to ignore the growing heaviness in his heart as he decides that maybe you experience some delay. The weather in the Grandline is after all infamous for its changing mood. So he waits for you.

One day.

Two days.

Three days...

With every sunset that he witnesses on the island, he feels a part of him silently dying with it. Emotions brew up inside of him as a few days turn into nearly an entire month and he finally can't deny the haunting truth anymore he has been trying to deny.

You won't return.

His heart shatters as he finally acknowledges this fact. There are so many emotions inside of him, far too many for him to identify each one of them as they blur together into one big storm that has his chest tightening and his heart silently screaming.

Why didn't you return?

He can only come up with two possible explanations and he truly doesn't know which one would be worse. Either you have forgotten about him and the promise you two made or you have died on the sea.

He dedicates months trying to find out the truth about what happened to you. He reads every single newspaper, somehow dreading yet hoping to find an article mentioning your name yet he is always left disappointed. He travels to the island he knew you were heading to after both of you separated in hopes of gathering information yet no one from the locals can give him any useful information about you. He goes through all the newest bounty posters to see if your name and face appear anywhere only to be left with a growing hole in his heart.

The last hope of his is finally shattered when he sails all the way back to the place both of you grew up in only to be met with the same dreadful emptiness as no one in the town has heard of you since him and you left the island on a ship over a year ago.

Nothing.

There is no trace of your existance in the world, no matter how long he searches for you as if you were only a fickle imagination of his own. He doesn't know whether you have forgotten about him, if something has happened to you or if you have met your end somewhere on those unpredictable seas.

It is a torment unlike anything he has ever experienced as the lack of knowledge drains him slowly and tortures him as he is unable to find any closure. No matter what, Mihawk seems to be destined to suffer one way or another. Hope is titled as the most beautiful thing in the world yet it is hope that only prolongs his suffering as a part of him is unable to accept the possibility of your death until he has proof.

As months turn into years, his heart shrinks and withers like a flower deprived of water and sunlight. The ambitious and determined man turns into a husk of what he was, his dream stolen from him without having been able to do anything. There is a growing resentment sharply directed against himself as the last few days with you haunt him.

He shouldn't have agreed to separate from you. If he would have just been more insistent, would you still be here with him?

The anguish of his lost dream nestles itself deeply into his shriveled heart as the perpetual heartbreak changes him. Colours seem to fade from the world around him as a feeling of numbness spreads like roots in the earth. There is nothing that excites him anymore, not even when he is dubbed as the strongest swordsman in the world. The title and the reputation that comes with it hold no meaning to him anymore, not when he doesn't have you to share his glory with. The hole in his chest is torn open as time flies by and every ship that crosses his path is dragged into his suffering as he wields Yoru against them. There is no meaning behind the carnage he leaves behind but he has lost sight of why he should care, the dwelling bitterness and sorrow inside of him tainting his honor.

He has lost the ability to live, feels more akin to a ghost as he drifts through the seas and clashes with opponents who are swatted away like flies only to be forgotten by him soon after.

There is a new listlessness clinging to him, his sharp eyes unable to see the worthwhile in this world now that you are gone. Everything is buried deep inside his chest and mind though so that no one can ever have those memories and feelings he has shared with you. Some people hoard gold and jewels, Mihawk's most precious treasure are the memories he has made with you over the years as there is nothing else he has left of you.

When the Marine offers him the title of a Warlord, he is only half the man he used to be. Surely you would have objected to this offer as you have always been rather warily of the government and if he would have been the man he once was, he would have sliced the person who had made such a ridiculous offer to him into dices.

That man is already dead though...

He accepts the offer after a while, although not because he is suddenly fond of the very people he used to hunt down. He just doesn't know what he should do with himself anymore. It feels like his life has halted and is just waiting for you to return, even if by now he has a feeling that he will never see you again, forever left in the darkness about your fate.

Someone once said that time heals all wounds. Those words are a lie. Mihawk doesn't heal as years just seem to trickle by faster than he can even realise. There is nothing of substance to his life, nothing worth to remember. Only the hole where his heart used to be reminds him that he is still breathing, the haunting emptiness inside of him something that will remain the only thing loyal to him until his body rots away.

The presence is barely something he takes notice of as he only lives in the past in his mind, clinging to every memory he has of you out of unadulterated fear that he may eventually forget what your voice sounded like or how you always looked at him with those bright eyes. If even those memories were to abandon him, he would lose even the grasp of his own identity within the never-ending cycle of the dull and forgetful life he lives now.

Many years later a miracle happens though. He finds you. On a random island within the Grand Line, he finds you again.

He doesn't even want to believe it when he initially sees your face. Maybe his mind is just playing tricks on him out of delusional desperation but as golden eyes trail you, he realises that he hasn't gone mad. It is you...

The weight of uncertainty that he has been carrying around with him for so many nights suddenly evaporates, its haunting shadow covering him no more.

There is no relief though for him though. No matter what outcome would have proved to be true, he always knew that he would end up getting hurt.

Why are you here? Where were you during all those years? How could you abandon him and betray his feelings so easily?

In that moment, as he stands there motionlessly as only his gaze follows you, he feels like a small boy again. Helpless, confused and hurt beyond words. Emotions he has been hiding behind inner walls for years threaten to burst out of him and an urge to unleash all of those seething emotions overcomes him yet none of those thoughts or desires are ever put into action. As if someone put a spell on him, Mihawk finds himself unable to move, as rigid as a statue. Perhaps his body is just in shock and in hindsight it is good that he finds himself unable to act in that moment to gain some semblance of control again. Otherwise who knows what he would have done in that moment.

He watches as you stroll through the city, your laughter which used to bring him only comfort and warmth seemingly mocking him as he feels a new shadow swallowing him up and filling his heart with a bitter taste.

Betrayal. You betrayed him.

You willingly chose to break the promise you two made decades ago and discarded him as if he were an disposable object instead of the person who spent your entire youth with you.

Did you even once consider how he would feel? Do you have any idea what he turned into because of your decision?

You left him! Didn't even bother to contact him to let him know that you were still alive! Whilst he spent endless days and nights mourning after you, driving himself insane as he didn't know of your fate, you were on this island and enjoyed your life!

A life without him.

Did he mean that little to you for you to make the decision to never see him again so easily? Did all the years he was by your side mean nothing to you?

His heart dies as he can only stand there and follow you with his gaze. All heartbreak, all of the grief that have eaten him alive from the inside out for countless seasons drain in the new cold rage that suddenly floods his veins, his pupils narrowing as his gaze zooms in on your smiling face.

What use did it have to mourn someone who lives? What use did it have to feel heartbroken over someone who clearly doesn't care about the pain he went through?

Mihawk has already wasted too much time dwelling in his own self-pity and in that moment he despises you for the shell you have turned him into.

You made the decision to disappear without a word. Now it is time for you to pay the consequences of that decision. He isn't here to catch up with you for old times sake after all.

No. He is here to take you.

And just as you didn't care about his feelings during all those years, this time he won't care for yours either. He doesn't care to hear your reasons and he doesn't care about your apologies if you should dare to voice them to his face. It is already too late for any of that.

Years too late.

#yandere one piece #yandere op #yandere one piece live action #yandere opla #yandere mihawk #yandere dracule mihawk #yandere x reader #yandere x you #one piece x reader #mihawk x reader

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cherryheairt · 5 months ago

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Dragon Dreamer pt. XI

part eleven y'all. The closer I get to the season ending, the more nervous I get, I hope I can make do with book summarizations, though canon will be changed around. it has been two weeks since Jaehaerys' death, for time to move forward.

tags: @alexandra-001 @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @pedro-pascal-love @purple-1995 @reyndaisy @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @thelastemzy @saintkittykat @hueanhdang @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97

cw: mention of violence and death

🗡

Dusk had made it quite far, traveling a lot further in less time than Cregan could on horseback. Around him, Cregan saw through the direwolve's bright eyes. The men had rallied quickly, saying swift goodbyes to loved ones before they left. The greybeards had already started their march to The Twins, leaving the younger men to follow after them with their larger force. It would not be weeks before they reached the Riverlands, but their pace was steady, and the men were rearing to fight for their Queen at Lord Stark's command. Ahead, Dusk met with Lord Henry Hornwood, the man who would lead the greybeards in Cregan's stead. His son, Germen, was old and experienced enough to lead if Henry did not return. None of the greybeards did.

"Lord Stark," Henry bowed slightly toward the wolf, sensing the look the wolf gave him to be all-too-knowing. "We have made fine progress, and have picked up more fighting men along the way. Each House swears themselves to your cause–to the Queen's cause."

Cregan, or Dusk, nodded firmly. The only thing that hindered him when he warged was the ability to talk being taken away from him. Everything else was a bonus; faster speed and strength, hearing, stealth.

"Dragon!" One of the bannermen shouted, causing many of the Northerners in the camp to duck down for cover.

Cregan looked up, Dusk's sharp eyes spotting the nearly invisible white dragon passing the army of men. Against the clouds, only the movement of wings could be seen. Morningstar. Daenys was coming to Winterfell.

Cregan sent his mind back to his own body, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden shift. He could leave Henry to deal with the rest for now, knowing Dusk would be following them until Cregan could start his march with them. Back in his solar, he sat up in his chair. Good or bad news, he needed to prepare for the Princess' arrival.

🗡

As Morningstar landed, she seemed to call out for something, or perhaps someone. Daenys pet her neck with a short 'thank you' before hopping off from her wing and marching toward the gates of Winterfell. They were already wide open, Cregan standing the open space surrounded by the two guards who always manned it.

"That was fast," Daenys commented, amused. "I didn't think you would know of my arrival so quickly."

"I have my ways," he said vaguely, grinning as he kissed her hand. When Cregan leaned back up, he kept the hand gently placed in his. "I have chambers and a meal prepared for you—"

"We cannot stay." She said curtly, shaking her head. "I wish we could, but this is more urgent."

"We?" He asked, bemused.

"Ser Alfred Broome has been murdered. An assassination attempt has been ordered for the Queen by the usurper. Luckily, she was saved by her Queensguard. We are still left without A Master of War."

"And what does that have to do with your visit to Winterfell, my Lady?" He asked hesitantly, already able to guess why she had come to him.

"I offered your name as a potential Master for the Queen's Council. Rhaenyra has accepted." Daenys told him.

"A seat at the council?" His brow furrowed, looking down at Daenys with a conflicted look. "I am commanding my men as we speak, sending ravens nearly every hour to rally the houses to fight."

"Can ravens not be sent from anywhere?" Daenys challenged. "You are smart, Cregan. Smarter than those power-hungry fools on my mother's council. They wish to push her out, lead in her stead and lead the realm into a war that it would never recover from. They need a strong voice of reason, another man that they might actually respect in Daemon's absence." She pleaded, placing her other hand over the one that held hers.

"Daemon has gone?" He asked.

"To Harrenhall, where I hope to meet him and bring him back to Dragonstone. He is not sending any news of his success in the Riverlands, so I can only assume he is acting in his own best interest."

"Please, Cregan. Come with me." Daenys squeezed his hand lightly, a pleading tone to her voice. "The Queen would be grateful for your council."

Cregan avoided her stare this time, knowing he was weak to the Princess' whims. With a sigh, "I will come to Dragonstone with you, my Lady." He conceded. The guards behind him stood up straighter, shocked at the news. They shared a glance amongst themselves.

Their Lord was ready to go into the snake pit for this war.

A Stark had never sat on a Monarch's council, only ever used for his men and fealty.

"Alaric, send for a servant to pack my things. Leon, tell my council that I will be gone for a while and to send all my important ravens directly to Dragonstone. The Maester will lead in my stead." He barked behind him, earning obedient nods as the men scurried off.

"Allow me to feed you, at least, before we depart. You must have been flying for a while."

"Please, Cregan—do not make me eat." She stepped back from him stiffly.

When he stepped forward to comfort her, she shook her head. Cregan stilled. "But I won't deny a pig or cow for Morningstar." She asked hopefully. The flight back would tire the dragon out, she knew.

"Very well." Cregan nodded, biting his tongue. "I will send food for her. Give me only a few moments, Princess." He tucked back into the Great Keep to fetch a guard to send for food.

When Cregan returned minutes later, a servant carrying his things followed behind. A butcher, Daenys presumed, exited another part of the keep with a pig being lead outside of Winterfell's walls. Daenys nodded towards the man gratefully when he shuffled past her back inside, Morningstar having eaten her fill.

Cregan, clad in his lordly Stark sigil and pelts, met Daenys near the dragon.

Daenys hummed curiously, glancing around. "Where is Dusk? I figured the pup would have seen you off."

He adjusted Ice on his shoulder restlessly. "He has gone off with my men to act as a scout." A half-truth, but Cregan truly did not know how to bring up his ancestral talent, for it was such a hard thing to explain to southerners. He knew she would understand, but the information was unneeded currently.

"A shame. I would've found a way to take him with us." She smiled up at him cheekily.

Daenys clipped his cases onto a storage part behind the dragonsaddle, reaching out a hand for Cregan to take. Nearly blushing like a maiden at the offer for help, Cregan took it anyway and sat behind his Lady.

"You will burn up in those clothes, Stark." Daenys said, nodding towards his heavy clothes.

"The price I pay for you, sweet girl." He huffed, though held no animosity towards her.

"Ready?" She asked. Cregan could only nod, clenching his jaw and firmly wrapping his arms around her torso.

She'd never sat a man grown on her saddle before, only her younger brothers. It was strange to have someone sat behind her and not in front. Humming, Daenys ordered her dragon up, "Sōves!" Morningstar trilled as she took flight again, already knowing the way home without Daenys having to steer.

Cregan held tight to her for the entire liftoff, mearly buried into her neck while holding his breath. When the dragon steadied herself above the treeline, Daenys laughed at his still-tense hold. She grabbed one of his hands from her belly, intertwining it with her own. "Scared, my Lord?"

"I would be a fool not to be. I must be the only man of no Valyrion blood to ride a dragon. I don't know if I should praise or curse myself." He laughed nervously.

Daenys shook her head softly, laughing more boisterously than he. "I praise you, good Lord. Not every man would be so brave to even get close to a dragon."

He squeezed her hand back, twice. "I guess I must get used to it. After all, my Lady wife having a dragon at her disposal means that I must grow accustomed so such flights."

Briefly, he ran his fingertips over the emerging scar on her forearm, still in the healing process from her bite. The small scar on her neck was already healed up, leaving a white line cast halfway across her neck. None but Cregan knew of them, due to her long-sleeved dresses and shorter height. She shivered at the delicate ghostly touch, earning a breathy chuckle right into her ear.

"Do you want for one of your own?" She teased, glancing back at his pale face.

"I think I will be content with Dusk, safe on the ground." He jested, overlooking the sights that they passed. At the dismantled campsites were abandoned firepits or forgotten items men must have left behind in their haste to get ready. As they flew further, Cregan and Daenys were able to spot the marching greybeards easily. The mass of over 2,000 men spanded far across the winter desert. As they walked, they formed a sea of greys and browns that Daenys had grown accustomed to seeing northerners wearing.

Morningstar passed them quickly on her way towards the Riverlands.

Daenys thought for a moment, "I should like to stop at Harrenhall before we return to Dragonstone."

She knew it was her only chance to help Rhaenyra outside of the council. Not that she spoke during the meetings, anyway. Her, Jace, and Baela were practically disregarded by the old men once they started to speak, thinking that their experience overruled their titles. Rhaenyra would refuse Daenys' ask to fetch Daemon personally. Both the husband and wife were incredibly stubborn, refusing to give in to the other. The Queen didn't wish to put her children in harms way again, but they needed Caraxes and Daemon back quickly.

Cregan stiffened behind her. "Harrenhall? Where Prince Daemon is staying? What exactly is your plan of action for talking your uncle into coming back to Dragonstone?"

Daenys rolled her eyes, grateful that Cregan could not see her face in front of him. "I will simply aid him in treating with the Riverland Lords. Gods know he will only make them riled up with his disrespectful attitude. We need allies, not enemies. Daemon has never been good at making friends."

Cregan stayed silent at her words, conceding to her once again. He hoped the stay would be brief, only a few days or less. He did not wish for Daenys and himself to be exposed at Harrenhall, so close to the Crownlands and not protected by water like Dragonstone was.

Daenys felt faint halfway through the flight, glad it was almost over and done with. Perhaps the lack of food was getting to her. She felt the panging of her stomach starting to hit her only now. Perhaps the only time she wished to eat was when she camping with Cregan, sharing their kills that had roasted over the fire from their own hard work. Being so used to working for her every meal for weeks, then being served plates three times daily made her feel spoilt. Even more so for throwing them away like a bratty child.

Daenys would eat at Harrenhall if there was time. It would make the headaches go away, according to her basic knowledge of the body. Either from hunger or stress, there were little other reasons for such sudden pain. Only one was an easy fix.

She breathed deeply, trying to wish the nausea away, waiting for the castle to come into sight.

When it had, already in the very late evening, Daenys grimaced at the sight. It was hardly a great castle anymore, with no guards keeping watch outside of it or at the doors. It would be easy for Daemon to claim, as well as any of their enemies.

Caraxes howled out at the sight of Morningstar's bright scales. In the night sky, sun barely below the horizon, her magnifice stood out against the dark skies. Any higher, and she could perhaps be mistaken for a true star. Morningstar roared back, greeting the elder as she was guided to land.

Daenys dismounted outside of a large and ungated entrance, a field holding a weirwood tree. "I didn't know there were many weirwoods so far south. I thought the Old Gods were abandoned by Southerners." Cregan commented, slowly following her footholds and climbing down.

"There are only a few. Namely in the Riverlands, and one in King's Landing. Some descending from the First Men have stayed loyal to their ancestors' gods, others moved on." Daenys shrugged, not having much opinion for either religion. The trees were beautiful, though. A haunting and deep aura surrounded them. Almost intimidating, if it weren't a tree.

"Go find Caraxes. Stay with him, and call out at any sign of more dragons." Daenys commanded the dragon, watching her fly off to the rocks that Caraxes made his temporary home.

Daenys takes Cregan's outstretched arm as they walk into the gloomy hall. As they wandered through the dark, damp halls, it took an embarrassingly long time to find the dining hall, where Daemon sat. A young boy sat in front of him, looking flushed and nervous under the intense eye of the prince. An older man sat in, too, who Daenys guessed was Simon Strong–Harwin and Larys' granduncle.

The man had watched over Harrenhall alone ever since Lyonel passed away with Harwin. Since the estate passed to Larys, the knight had been left at his own nephew's mercy ever since. But now, seeing as the old man was not dead, he had allied himself with the Blacks.

Ser Strong and the young boy stood when Daenys entered, shock apparent on their faces.

"Ser Simon Strong, my Lady. Castellon of Harrenhall. We were not expecting the company of a Princess, as well as the Prince—"

"King." Daemon sharply interrupted, eyeing Daenys suspiciously.

"Yes, the King Consort has been staying with us for a few days now while we await the Riverland houses to pledge to your mother." He bowed politely, sitting himself back down at her acknowledgment. Vaguely, she was happy to meet another one of Harwin's family.

"M-My Princess." The boy bowed deeply, hand tightly clutching the pommel of his sword. He wiped the other hand on his breeches, obviously nervous. "I am Ser Oscar Tully. I have come in place of my grandsire, paramount of Riverun." He stammered his way through his sentence, glancing back between Cregan and Daenys.

"Sers." Daenys nodded her head. "This is Lord Cregan Stark. I am escorting him back to Dragonstone upon the Queen's request. I hope you do not mind our intrusion. We hope to sit in on The Consort's meetings with the Riverland lords."

"My Lords." Cregan followed her polite action, though more tense than she. In front of other lord's presence, his voice changed from the soft-spoken and low one he used with Daenys. It was more serious and lordly. He seemed to fill a room with his presence and demand respect.

At the title, Daemon bristled once more. "I have this handled well enough, I believe your mother is expecting you to stay by her side as you always are."

"That is a husband's job, not a daughter's." Daenys said. Before Daemon could start a fight in front of respectable allies, Daenys sat herself down right next to Oscar, who got more flushed if that was even humanly possibly.

"And does your grandsire pledge for The Queen, Ser Oscar?" Daenys asks softly, knowing exactly how it felt to be in his shoes. A young man, too green to be taken seriously surrounded by older and more experienced men.

"As I was telling His Grace," Oscar glanced between Daenys and Daemon, unsure of who to address formally. He had only arrived minutes ago, not yet saying his piece in place of his grandsire. "My grandsire is incapacitated. He lies in a kind of waking sleep, unable to do much more than take meager drink."

Daenys nodded, sympathizing with the riverland boy. Her own grandsire was in similar condition for years before his passing, forcing him to practically be a corpse in his bed, haunting the Red Keep.

"So, he's alive?" Daemon asked, displeased with the information.

"Yes, gods be good." Oscar brightened considerably.

"Well, my time is short, and I am in need of an army. Perhaps you might place a feather pillow over his head and speed along your inheritance?" Daemon leaned closer to Oscar, speaking of the boy casually murdering his own kin like it was nothing.

Oscar leaned back, closer to Daenys. The Princess placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, appalled. She looked to Cregan, who had the same look that she did.

"Daemon!" She hissed. Clearly, she was right in needing to be here to mediate.

Daemon stared at Oscar, waiting for his reply.

"I love my grandsire, like a father." He told the Prince adamantly. "My own Lord father died suddenly, himself a young man. Lord Grover raised me in his stead."

Daemon sat back, sighing deeply as he rubbed his temples. "Very touching, indeed. Are you here to speak with your grandfather's voice?"

"While he still lives?" Oscar asked. It was an uncommon thing to do, though not unlawful in dire times like these. "That is not our way."

"Then you're of no use to me."

"I can see why the Blackwoods and the Brackens did not fear to start a war." He spoke again, this time to Ser Simon. "House Tully is a fish without a head. Remind me which one of your countrymen pledged for Aegon? Was it Bracken or Blackwood?"

The barrage of insult rendered the Tully speechless, merely staring at Ser Simon for help.

"It was House Bracken, Your Grace." Simon wisely covered for the boy.

"Who could remember?" Daemon scoffed, standing from his seat and grabbing Dark Sister along the way. "Summon House Blackwood here. I require men of action to lead my host of Rivermen." He barked, passing Daenys without another word.

Ser Simon pursed his lips, comfortingly patting Oscar's shoulder before speaking. "Princess, my Lord, I will have proper chambers and meals set up for you both for the duration of your stay. Excuse me."

Simon left to order for their accommodations as well as send the necessary ravens.

Daenys sighed, glad for the conversation to at least be over.

"Allow me to apologize for my father, Ser Oscar." He turned to her, stormy blue eyes finally meeting her own now that Daemon's absence no longer frightened him. He truly was a fish out of water, sent to meet with a King at his young age with no advisors at his side. How irresponsible of his grandsire to not make preparations while he is in such a state. "No one is expecting you to do such treasonous actions just to be able to succeed your grandsire. The Crown sympathizes with your troubles, as we have experienced such things ourselves."

He smiled gratefully, looking downtrodden. "I truly do wish to help you–help Her Grace get her throne back. But, my grandsire believes Aegon to be the rightful king, and I can not declare otherwise while he is still Lord Tully. I'm sorry, Princess."

Daenys smiled, standing from her seat with all the poise that her septas forced upon her. This time, unlike with Cregan's first meeting, she knew how to perform confidently. Oscar stood to meet her, standing only a few inches taller than the Princess.

"Please, Ser Oscar, I implore you to stay for at least the night. I'd hate to see you start your walk back home when it is dark out. I'm sure Ser Simon will not mind. Many of these rooms are thus unoccupied."

Shifting on his feet unsurely, he nodded. "If you wish it, Princess. I will leave after breakfast on the morrow. Goodnight, Princess, my Lord." He bowed his head, very briefly passing a kiss on Daenys' knuckles before he strided out of the dining room.

Cregan, behind Daenys, turned to her, finally able to speak alone. "Your father is quite the character. I'd heard of the Rogue Prince, but to tell a boy to do such a thing..." He trailed off, raising a brow at his betrothed.

Daenys took his arm, guiding him to sit back down next to her while they awaited supper. "No one can be prepared for him. I hope the Blackwood's are not easily offended, lest we lose another great house to the Greens." She stressed, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.

He sat back in his seat, sipping at the wine a servant had left when the meeting was being held. "They are known for their boldness, Blackwoods are. They will take any excuse to fight, especially for what they believe is just. Even Daemon couldn't scare their Lord off." Cregan told her reassuringly.

They supped together peacefully, making small conversation about what had occured in their lives during their small separation. Eventually, they both finished their plain stews and were shown to their rooms. Adjacent to each other, Cregan turned to Daenys before they entered. "If you need anything, tonight, come to me." He whispered to avoid an echo in the hallway.

"I will." She said, leaning up to kiss his cheek 'goodnight'.

The room was decently spacious, with windows overlooking the sea. The sound of dripping in the castle had started to become a white noise for her, growing used to the sound and even finding its rhythms soothing.

Daenys lay in bed, dressed in a shift given to her by a maid, apparently having no Lady's clothes in the castle being used for a while. While those collected dust, the maid simply allowed the Princess to borrow one of her own. She slept only a few hours, dreamless and pleasent. She was only awakened by heavy footsteps striding past her doors. She tiptoed to her doors, cracking open one to see Daemon's ghostly robed figure walking back to his room, cup in hand. Daenys, ever curious, made her way to where he had come from.

She found a lit kitchen, with a pretty black-haired lady dressed in an apron working over the counters. "Oh, forgive me—" Daenys began to apologize, not wishing to interrupt the woman's work.

The woman did not glance up, busy with her herb grinding, though she did speak. "Wandering the halls so late in the night seems to run in the family." Her voice was accented, though not too differently from Daenys' own. She seemed to be from the Riverlands, too, but did not sound like Simon or Harwin.

"Yes, he woke me up with his parading through the halls. I don't know how you get much sleep in these halls, with all the echos."

The woman looked up at her, smiling knowingly. "You grow used to them. Well, some do. Most run off when they get spooked. Shame, really. Harrenhall has been quite peaceful for me."

Daenys hummed, slowly approaching her table. "What is all this?" It didn't look like kitchen ingredients, but more so poultice, salves, and teas.

"Poisons." The woman says plainly.

Daenys meets her eye, which holds no amusement. Was she serious?

Before Daenys could question her, the woman snorted. "You are quite like the Rogue Prince, aren't you? So serious."

Daenys huffed, taking a seat in front of the counter on a raised stool, watching the woman's work with interest.

"A Princess must be cautious of strangers." She said. "Are you...a witch?" She used the word lightly, knowing of its negative connotation but not having a better word for it.

The woman's almost glowing green eyes appraised the girl in front of her. "Do you think I am?"

Daenys blushed, not knowing if the woman would be offended or amused. "I think witches are interesting. They can do things someone like myself could not imagine, though they've gotten shunned by men who do not understand their ways." She tactfully avoided the direct question.

She nodded thoughtfully in turn. Pausing to lick whatever residue had gotten on her thumb, "I am Alys. As of right now, I am simply making a tea." Quite the complicated recipe for tea, but Daenys did not question it.

"You're a maester, then? For Harrenhall?" She wouldn't be surprised, with so few staff for the castle, a woman having to be its maester was a likely thing.

Alys' eyes sparked with amusement. "That's what they ask of me. The last one fled in the night, and I am the only one with the stomach for it, it seems."

"Fled? Is Harrenhall so bad?" Daenys asked.

"Just never settled in. How are you settling in, Princess? I hear you often experience poor sleep. Tonight shouldn't be much different."

Daenys shook her head, noting the knowing tone of Alys. She seemed to not judge, so Daenys didn't mind being questioned about it. Who would she tell, anyway, in this abandoned fortress?

"I was sleeping just fine here, until the Consort woke me. What are you doing working in the dead of night?"

Alys smiled, "I work better in the quiet and dark. Like a nocturnal animal, I am. The moon gives me inspiration."

Daenys laughed, feeling the tenseness start to melt off. Perhaps Alys doesn't enjoy the company of Harrenhall, though she fit its aesthetic perfectly. The witchy woman looked as haunting and dark as the place she lived in.

"Hm, since you're 'a maester', you can make poisons, yes?

"I can make much more than poisons. I find them boring, too simple. The mind is what truly controls and kills the body." Alys told her. It reminded Daenys of how the Green council controlled Viserys by keeping his mind muddled by milk of the poppy for years straight. He never attended court, never helped the realm, and could not do anything but sit in bed and rot. Poison would kill a man immediately, but the smarter route was to control them.

"Would you like a tea, to help find sleep?" Alys offered, reaching a chalice out to Daenys. She eyes it a moment, considered.

"I have to be up soon, anyways. I'd hate to meet Lord Blackwood in a groggy state. But, thank you, Alys. Maybe another night."

Alys nodded, placing the cup onto her table, watching the Princess leave for her chambers.

On the way back, she passed Cregan's. She hesitated at the door before deciding against entering. She need not wake him for nothing. Daenys spent the rest of her night watching the rain drizzling down to the sea from her window.

Come morning, Daenys dressed with the help of the same maid that offered her night slip. Overnight, the maid has washed the dust from formal dresses that were stored away. Daenys wore a simple dress that might have once belonged to Ser Harwin's mother, who she regretably did not know the name of. It was a light blue with red accenting, two colors she was already used to wearing for her houses.

She met Cregan in the hall, nodding to him. "I could ask for some clothes to be given to you to borrow. You must be miserable in those." While he forwent his pelts, he still wore his thick tunic and leathers, along with sigil on his chest. She tugged at a strap crossing his chest, raising a concerned brow to him.

Cregan smiled at her concern. "It is only a bit of discomfortable weather, not a problem you need to worry about, my Lady."

They entered the dining room together, Ser Simon Strong already there at the head of the round table to greet them. Oscar sat in the middle of it, to not be in anyone's way. His face lit up from his bored expression when he saw her walk in. "Princess!" He stood, stumbling slightly when the chair got caught on a crack.

Daenys stifled a laugh at the action, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. "Good morrow, Oscar. Simon, I hope you did not mind him staying last night. I asked it of him for my own peace of mind."

Simon smiled kindly, waving her off. "All guests are welcome. We so rarely get any." He reminded her a lot of Lord Lyonel, which was obvious considering they were uncle and nephew. Though, Larys' genes clearly did not come from either of these kind men.

Cregan sat next to her when she took a seat next to Oscar, hoping to send the young man off with a pleasant mood. "Did you sleep well, Oscar?" She asked, splitting her roll of bread to butter it.

He nodded energetically, looking much more himself than the day before. Daemon tended to drain people of their energy. "I did, my Lady, thank you. And you?"

"Pleasently, yes. The rain was quite soothing." She said. After so long with all light snow and no rain like she had grown used to on Dragonstone, she had missed the calmness of it.

He nodded, digging into his own heavier breakfast for his walk today.

"How are the Blackwoods, Oscar?" Daenys asked. "I've heard they carry bold temperaments, but you must know them personally."

He nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "At times, too stubborn for their own good. Samwell was their Lord for some time, though the battle at Burning Mill unfortunately led to his brother Willem taking over until his son grows to be of age."

She nodded, intently listening. "And Willem, do you think he'll be a smart choice to lead the Riverlands in Lord Glover's stead?" Daenys asked tentatively, not liking the fact that Daemon was trying to replace the Tullys as rightful paramounts of the Riverruns, even temporarily. Lord Glover was paramount for many years for good reason, and Oscar was his rightful heir. Calm-tempered and sweet, not so bloodthirsty like Daemon clearly was.

"He leads the Blackwoods well in place of his brother. His son and sister are quite like him, hard-headed but loyal. They will serve you, or I suppose the Prince, well." Oscar complimented. Daenys nodded between bites, praying to whatever Gods Harrenhall followed that Daemon wouldn't offend such stubborn people, ones that had recently lost their kin.

"Thank you, Oscar. I hope all goes well today." She said, softly sighing and leaning back into her sest after finishing half her breakfast.

His stormy eyes meet hers again, kind smile reassuring. "If they do not like the King Consort, then I am certain they will like you. Anyone who doesn't would be a fool."

Daenys blushed, feeling a girlish laugh escspe her. "You are very kind, Ser."

When the young Tully decided that it was about time he set out, to check on his house and grandsire, Daenys bid him farewell at the entrance.

"Safe travels, Oscar. Please write to us at Harrenhall with updates. I wish for your grandsire's good health."

He thanked her, promising to write with a gentlemanly kiss on her hand. On his horse, he headed back to House Tully.

Daenys walked back to the dining room, where Cregan and Simon were lightly chatting. It was barely another hour before a guard escorted three people inside the room.

"Lord Willlem Blackwood, his sister Alysanne Blackwood, and his son Davos Blackwood." Before returning to his post outside of the doorway.

The three who were previously sitting down stood to greet them, bowing their heads in greeting. Simon spoke first, "welcome to Harrenhall, my Lords and Lady. May I introduce Lord Cregan Stark and Princess Daenys Velayron." He coughed slightly, sitting himself down once more. Daenys clasped her hands together in front of her, assesing the three in front of them.

Willem has a handsome man only slightly younger than Daenys' mother, with brown hair and facial hair to show his maturity. His sister Alysanne was a tall, slim woman with strong features and pure-black hair. She had a sharp and assesing look in her own brown eyes. Davos, the youngest of all, was Daenys' age with forest green eyes and shaggy dark brown hair. Comely, like his Lord father.

"My Lord, it is pleasing to see you have arrived here with no trouble. We are only waiting for Daemon before we start." She said politely, nodding towards the table for them to sit.

Willem, Alysanne, and Davos sat in a line across from them. Davos was straight across from Daenys, while Alysanne sat parallel to Cregan. Willem sat near the opposite head of Simon, waiting for Daemon to join.

"I wasn't aware that two Valyrions would be meeting us at Harrenhall. I must admit, I was surprised when Prince Daemon summonded me from Raventree. Usually, when people summon armies they send ravens. Or come personally." He nodded toward Cregan. "Word has spread far and wide that three dragons were sent to be messengers for the Queen."

"Yes, my brothers and I treated with houses across the realm. The Queen thought it to be more personal, but the King Consort reigns differently." She told him, sipping her wine. She felt the internse stare of Davos on her, which she met curiously. His hair was quite different from most men she had seen, the style shorter in length. He had a small white scar spanning from his top lip to his nose, though it did nothing to make him seem less handsome. Daenys found it hard to keep his gaze, and he knew it, smirking into his own cup when she looked back to Willem and Alysanne.

"No worries, Princess. It was a short journey to Harrenhall." Willem said dismissively. He seemed like he didn't care if he stayed at home or came to the castle, a more easy-going individual. Daenys was relieved at that, at least.

Alysanne, on the other hand, was bolder than her brother. "I think the Queen's command to be more convenient for the houses. If the King Consort is asking for men, why is he not coming to us directly? You are the ones with dragons, after all."

"Daemon must hold Harrenhall. Caraxes is a deterrent for the Green's dragons, he must stay here at all times. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, my Lady." Daenys said.

"And you? Must your dragon also stay?" She challenged.

"My stay in Harrenhall will be brief. Daemon is the one who called for the Riverland houses, not I. It is only appropriate that he meets with the Lords."

As if on cue, Daemon comes stumbling in as if he were sleepwalking. He sat down next to Willem Blackwood, staring ahead at the cup clutched in his hand. A tea? Daemon rarely drank enough to be drunk, and would certainly not be irresponsible enough to do so before a meeting.

Simon, again, made introductions, and gestured for Willem to say his piece.

"Your Grace, the Blackwood House and all of its men pledge to the rightful Queen Rhaenyra. I now rule as regent until my nephew Benjicot comes of age, but he swears himself to her cause, too. The Brackens are venal cravens, and they must pay for their treachery against the laws of gods and men. And against the Crown."

Daemon seemed to breath in deeply, as if he had to think about his own bodily functions in order to perform them. He placed his cup down, looking between Willem and Simon. "Who are you?"

The room was dead silent. The Blackwoods shared glances that Daenys couldn't quite read. She had half a mind to kick him out and conduct buisness herself.

Cregan, too, sighed beside her quietly.

"Ser Willem Blackwood of House Blackwood, your Grace. As I said." Simon said, pointedly.

"Well met." He murmured back, still bleary-eyed. "What might I do for you?"

Daenys clutched her hands together tightly over the table, pursing her lips to prevent herself from saying something she'd regret. Across the table, Davos held an amused look, smirk still plastered on his face.

"...it was you who summonded me, Your Grace." Willem looked regretful now, unknowing if a cruel prank was being played on him. Surely, this was not the King Consort. "I was given to understand that you wanted an army."

"Well, who doesn't these days?" Daemon said plainly. "You Blackwoods certainly never miss a chance to bloody your swords, do you?"

"Some twenty years ago, my Lord bent the knee to King Viserys and acknowledged the Princess Rhaenyra as his rightful heir."

"So, you fight for this old oath? Not, of course, for your thousand-year-old feud with the Brackens?"

Willem shifted in his seat. "I once vied for Queen Rhaenyra's hand, before she wed Ser Laenor. I always liked her spirit. She had the true blood of the Dragon."

Daenys' brows nearly raised all the way to her hairline. Couldn't he have simply said, 'I am loyal to the Queen' instead of telling the King himself that he once tried to ask for his wife's hand.

"And you're prepared to march without the leave of your lord..." he trailed off, attention caught by a servant girl coming into the room. He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, as if seeing a ghost. The rest of the room sat in the silence, wondering what in the seven hells was going on. When she finally filled his cup and left, Willem started again.

"Once you and your dragon bring the Queen's justice to the Brackens, our armies will be yours." He swore.

Daemon nodded, but Daenys was unsure if he was aware of what Willem had said. He left immediately after, looking haunted by something no one else could see. Daenys was quick to attempt a recovery.

"Daemon will deliver justice to the Brackens for your house, for Her Grace. He may be crass and dismissive at times, but I assure you, he does not break his oaths." She stood from her seat, leading the others to follow.

Willem nodded, a tired look on his face. "I hope so, Princess. I will leave, back to Raventree Hall. My son and sister will remain—"

"I will not." Alysanne told him, looking around the crumbling castle's hall. "I do not wish to sit around in his hellhole for any longer. I will lead my own betallion, one with men I trust from our House." The Lady said, insistant.

Daenys bowed her head to her, "I am grateful for your eagerness to fight, my Lady."

Alysanne left first, presumably to her horse outside.

Davos, too, started to protest. "If Alysanne gets to lead her own men, why must I stay here?" He started, quickly being shut down by Willem.

"I trust you to discuss matters in my stead, Davos. It will not be forever, just until Daemon keeps his part of the deal." Davos clutched at his dagger's pommel, irritation at being 'useless' evident all over his face and stance.

Willem soon left after, calling for Davos' horse to be escorted to his own stall in the stables. Daenys looked to Cregan briefly, unsure of how to comfort someone left behind as a means to an end. He could offer nothing but a sympathetic shrug. "Ser Davos," she started, watching him turn to her with a clenched jaw.

"We are glad to have you here. I promise, it will only be for a short while while Daemon figures out how he wants to go about the business between the Brackens. You will get your chance to fight." She said, stepping forward a few steps closer to him.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, not wishing to release his anger on the wrong person. "Hm." He nodded. "Is Lord Stark going to be leading his men, or has he been called upon by the King to also stay in these damp halls?"

Cregan stiffened next to Daenys, "I am here at the Princess' bidding. To join the Queen's council."

"Ah, so you won't be fighting."

"Who says that?" Cregan asked.

"Never met a councilman who actually led men to battle. Most prefer to stay in their castles, safe and comfortable." The Blackwood snickered.

"My betrothed asked me to come to the Queen's council as an advisor. Once my men follow on foot, I will take my leave to lead them." Cregan said, firm and absolute. Daenys felt a shiver crawl up her spine at him calling her 'his betrothed'. Imagining him calling her 'his wife' was something she couldn't even fathom.

"Bethrothed?" Davos asked, looking to Daenys with a rasied brow. "Hm. I thought the Princess' hand had been free for many years, now."

She felt her face grow hot, "it has. The betrothal is recent."

"So, not solidified, then?" He asked, nodding to himself.

Daenys moved to answer, to say that she had no intention of breaking her oath, but he didn't notice and continued.

"May I see your dragon, my Lady? I saw the two from afar on the way inside, but I know better than to approach one alone." Davos asked, a light look replacing his smug one.

Daenys, bemused, looked out to the nice morning weather. "You wish to approach Morningstar? For what reason?"

"Morningstar. That is a fitting name. 'Lightbringer' they call her, right? I simply wish to know what it means to be in the presence of one, take it as you fulfilling a silly boyish dream I've always had." He said, bashfully. Beside her, Cregan rolled his eyes.

"It is a fitting name for her." She smiled, "I will show you to her, of course."

Cregan eyed Daenys, but did not question a princess in front of another so brazenly. He ignored the triumphant look Davos shot him, thinking himself above childish games.

The weather was the most pleasant thing about Harrenhall, when it was not storming furious upon the castle. Daenys, Cregan, and Davos made a line while walking on top of the rocky sealine towards the two perched dragons. She did not understand how they lounged so comfortably on such jagged rocks.

Caraxed whined out as he spotted Daenys, a familiar face he had not seen in weeks. It seemed that Daemon had neglected the poor red beast, leaving him without good company until Morningstar arrived. Morningstar huffed at the sight of Daenys, making her discontent plainly seen. "Spoiled girl, we can not always sleep in snow blankets or dragonpits." She cooed, rubbing her chin.

She turned to Davos, who stood many feet behind herself and Cregan. He hesitated now in the presence of an actual dragon, breathless as he stared at her majesty. Cregan smirked at him, pointedly rubbing the dragoness' snout himself.

Daenys waved him closer, nodding her assurance. "She will not harm you, though she may think herself a grand jester when she knocks you over. It makes some of the dragonkeepers nearly shit themselves with fright."

Davos, not at all comforted by her words, stepped foward slowly, one foot at a time. The dragon silently allowed him to stroke her snout, eyes shut with content at bring given so much attention at once. Spoiled girl, Daenys smiled.

The Blackwood boy grinned boyishly at the achievement. "No one will ever believe me when I tell them I pet a dragon."

"Our secret, then." Daenys mused.

Soon, they went back inside of the castle, leaving behind the two dragons (though not after Daenys gave a bit of her attention to Caraxes, who did not let the boys near him like Morningstar did). Davos went off to his guest chambers after leaving a prolonged and dramatic kiss on Daenys' hand.

Cregan huffed beside her, now left alone with only each other in a broken down hallway.

Daenys, waiting for his next words, looked up to him. He didn't speak his thoughts on Davos, knowing that they were perhaps too childish and jealous to speak in front of his lady.

Comfortingly, she patted the arm that laced with her own. "Come, Cregan. Show me how Northerners pray. I would quite like to learn, now that I have an opportunity."

He seemed shocked at her ask but agreed eagerly nonetheless. They made their way through the twisted halls to the outside of the castle, where they had first entered from. The weirwood stood tall and strong on top of the enclosed hill.

Though ancient, the tree was still vibrant with life. It's red leaves were like blood against the stark white trunk and roots. Cregan kneeled in front of it, urging Daenys to do the same with a keen look. "There is no certain way to pray. It comes naturally to everyone. I like to speak my thoughts when I am alone, I find it relieving to speak what I cannot usually say. The Old Gods do not judge, but simply listen. In your head or aloud, they will hear."

She might have been able to speak her thoughts to the Old Gods if she were alone, but it would be embarrassing in front of another. Cregan must have thought the same, bowing his head and closing his eyes as he looked at peace.

Daenys followed his actions, thinking of whatever first came to her mind. Was she supposed to merely speak to the Gods, or ask for something? Perhaps that was overthinking it. It should not be a conditional ritual.

She thought of her brother first. Young Luke, a bright light lost to the storms. She missed him every minute she was awake, wishing things could change.

She thought of her mother, who wore a crown too heavy for her head. Visenya, Luke, and now Daemon and her own council causing her so much grief and distress in such trying times. She wished that Rhaenyra would keep her strength and stand tall always.

She thought of Helena, so close to her now while she stayed at Harrenhall. If she could only fly to her, plead for her to save herself from the war. She wished for her safety.

She thought of Cregan. The man right next to her, a permanent warmth at her side. She wished he might always be there, where he had begun to fill a void in her soul.

Daenys opened her eyes, finding Cregan already watching her. His expression was thoughtful, affectionate. A similar look he wore when they were on top of The Wall.

"What?" She breathed out, confused by his distraction. "Aren't you going to pray?"

"I already did." He answered.

"That was quite short."

"I only asked for one thing."

"And what is that, my Lord?"

"You to stay by my side." He laced their hands together, squeezing once as the feeling and his words made her heart flutter.

She brought his hand to her lip, closing her eyes lightly as she pressed them to his knuckles. "You need not ask the Gods for that. I would do so anyway."

🗡

Daenys disobeyed her mother when she ushered her and her brothers to their temporary chambers at driftmark. She did not wish to sleep again, not after Laena's funeral—and the vision that preceeded it. She was tired of death. At least she qas allowed to hide her mourning for Ser Harwin amidst the guise of Laena's funeral.

Daenys was saddened by Laena's death, truly, but she had never met the woman except in her one dream weeks ago. Her death was not preventable, not my maester or Daenys. Ser Harwins, though, was. A fire, a trapped door, the hazy smell of smoke that filled her lungs and suffocated her the same way it did Lord Lyonel. The man refused to leave his father's side, even through the unmoving door. She was forced to stand there, behind Ser Harwin, unable to command him to leave the cursed place and save himself, she watched as he succumbed to the flames.

Merely days later, it was a similar scene with Lady Laena. The woman approached her dragon, face wet his tears but eyes hardened with decision. Daenys watched as Vhagar, ever loyal, hesitated to follow her rider's command. She, too, succumbed to fire.

Daenys began to resent fire. Even the flames of her own dragoness, she avoided. When it came time for Morningstar to sup, Daenys swiftly made her leave, though she always used to dine with her. How many would fire take from her? Perhaps she would succumb to her own fiery fate, one day.

She sat outside of Driftmark, with Morningstar as she usually did. To avoid everyone and her own mind, the cold sand and salty breeze welcomed her. Driftmark was a far cry from King's Landing's stench and filth. Mayhaps she was biased, though, seeing as the ocean was so much more serene in such a place. Unoccupied by loud fishermen and port traders.

Daenys' head lifted from her lazed resting spot in the sand. A small shadow was moving across the grassy hills nearby, black against the moon's light.

She sat up, curiously moving to follow it. It did not take long, with the figure moving cautious and slow.

Ahead by a few feet, she made out Aemond's white head of waves. "Uncle?" She called out, sliding herself down a grassy knoll while trying not to slip on her skirts.

He turned to her as if he was caught committing a crime, looking behind her for any more unwelcome guests.

"Daenys." Was all Aemond muttered, waiting for her to meet him

"What are you doing, sneaking about? Shouldn't you be with Aegon, drowning in his cups?" She had meant to sound teasing, but with such little energy she only sounded tired and plain.

Aemond sneered, scoffing at her suggestion. "We do not share interests. I have always kept to my studies, as a prince should. That fool wouldn't know his histories or High Valyrion if it smacked him on his fat head."

Daenys snorted, covering it with a hand. Her septas would surely have scolded her for such things. "On that, we can agree. But you avoid the question at hand, uncle."

Aemond lost his amused smirk, looking to the grass and kicking at it with his shoe tip. "Going for a walk. I mourn Lady Laena greatly."

"You've never met the woman."

He rolled his eyes, looking up at her from her slightly lifted spot on the hill.

"I am owed a dragon. And I will not let the opportunity pass me by, it may be my only one." He answered, puffing up his chest like a knight.

She nodded, pursing her lips. "It may be your only opportunity because she'll either kill you or accept you. There is no middle ground."

"I will take the chance," he said confidently. "I am tired of being the only one of my family to not own a dragon. I am the only one who cares to learn of our heritage, the only one with proper blood–" Aemond cut himself off from his rant, flushing red at the slip of tongue.

Daenys merely stared on, unphashed. It was not news to her, nor anyone else, of what others thought of her family.

"We do not own dragons. We are dragons." She stated.

He stared at her this time, bemused. "You will not stop me? Vhagar is your late aunt's dragon."

She shrugged, "dragons have no inherited bond. If she is Rhaena's, then she will eat you. I do not care who the old beast chooses, so long as she gets some rest from her long days."

Aemond smiled slightly, a much more pleasant expression that the serious one he usually forces. "We should fly together, once I claim her."

Daenys laughed shortly, nodding her agreement. "I won't deny a peaceful night of flying, but you should take your first ride alone. You won't want the memory sullied by another."

He thought for a long moment, almost speaking again, before he built his last bits of courage and marched towards a sleeping Vhagar.

Daenys watched from afar as he bonded with the oldest dragon in the world. Briefly, she felt a sense of pride in knowing his confidence was not misguided. Her sympathies went to her cousin, but she had high hopes for Rhaena to find another dragon. There were many wild ones, after all, who've gone unclaimed for years.

After what must have been an eternity for young Daenys to wait, Aemond landed with Vhagar, leaving her saddle to meet Daenys at a side entrance to the keep.

"Did you see us!" He exclaimed, breathless from his exhilarating flight.

Daenys nodded, sharing his excitement. "She is a beautiful dragon. 'The Queen' for a reason. How was your first flight?" She asked, curious. It has been so many years since her first, but the memory never left her mind.

"Indescribable, I thought I would fall off a million times, but!—" His wild gesturing was cut short by a yell. Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela and Rhaena had met them in the entrance hall to Driftmark.

The rest was history. Daenys stayed to the side during the scuffle, being the eldest she thought the boys would settle it amongst themselves and grow tired fast. That is what always happened when Luke and Jace fought. She was wrong. Never in her life would she imagine that sweet Luke would bring a dagger to a childish tiff, much less use it.

Aemond wasn't innocent, though he was outnumbered greatly. The look in his eyes as he stood over Jacaerys with the rock caused both Luke and Daenys to charge forward to protect their brother. Luke, being closer, unfortunately got there first. He slashed Aemond's eye, making him drop the rock in agony. Daenys clutched at Luke's tunic, dragging him back into her embrace as Aemond clutched his eye.

She knew what Luke did was an act of defense, a justified blow. But if she stopped him that night, gotten to Aemond a mere second sooner and grabbed the stone from his grip, Luke would still be alive years later.

The children of Viserys and Rhaenyra stood beside their mothers. Alicent and Rhaenyra both protectively stood beside their children. Aemond was being taken care of by a maester, while Alicent vied for Lucerys to have his eye taken in retribution. Both Viserys and Rhaenyra vehemently denied the Queen's request.

The night became a blur. Daenys was loyally plastered in front of Lucerys all night, if Ser Criston decided he wished to disobey the King on a sudden whim. Her mother ended up with a slash on her arm but barely flinched as it happened. Daenys wondered if it was her fiery Targaryen blood or her motherly fury that allowed her to be so strong. She couldn't imagine herself being like Rhaenyra, not in a hundred years.

She did remember sharing a glance with Aemond, her eyes filled with unshed tears for her Uncle. His only eye was muddled with a plethora of conflicting emotions, before he left her gaze.

"Do not mourn me, mother. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

She would grow to regret her encouragement.

She wished it was her that had taken Aemond's eye.

She wanted his other.

🗡

sorry for kinda putting cregan on the sidelines during the meetings. There's not really much for him to say during them and he's not the type to interrupt in a conversation that isn't his. Trying to add sweet little moments between them and the big drama parts 🙂‍↕️

cregan when Oscar tries to flirt with Daenys, knowing he's just a harmless boy: 😐

Cregan when Davos looks her way: 🤨

yall i like davos way too much i might just write an au one-shot of the three of them getting together i cannot do this #creanyvos

also alysanne is NOT meant to sound like a bitchy character, I imagine her as defiant towards authority and challenging their every word, respecting only those who earned it. I got rid of the suggested temporary like she had for cregan (sorry!!!) bc i think she'd be wanting to dive deep into battle with her men, not left behind politicking.

Kind of want to establish relationships between Aegon, Aemond and Daenys. Gives the feud and war more meaning, I think. A more mutual understanding and hint of friendship between Aemond and Daenys, for being targets of Aegon. A more one-sided hate for Aegon from Daenys. He has mostly no care for her at all, only thinking her another annoying bastard of his sister. Also! Aemond deserved to feel a little happiness right after claiming Vhagar, its sad he ran into the Velayrons right after, although Rhaena had the right to be upset.

Currently regretting naming the dragon Lightbringer so early on in the story. It would've been so much more fitting if Daenys and Morningstar had earned the title in a battle, instead. Maybe if I rewrite the series in two years when s3 comes out lol

cough light blue is a stark color cough red is a targ color cough cough

this already is getting posted too late so i can't include the big event that i had planned for the chapter, it'll be way too long and convoluted and must be its own chapter. next one might be thursday, we'll see though.

#dragondreamer #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark #hotd #hotd season 2 #hotd fandom #hotd x reader #hotd oc

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wings-of-ink · 1 month ago

Text

How about a little something extra for your reading pleasure?

Below is the little story (around 3800 words) I posted about doing here. It's a fictionalized retelling of how we found our little Shadow cat. It's not terribly dramatic or anything, but it's a bit cute, especially for those of you who are a fan of Nathanael in the story. You get to see a little more of him at a different stage of his life. ^_^

~~~

Nathan stretched, looking up at the clear sky. It was bright, big, and beautiful, as always. Puffy clouds were rolling by, occasionally blotting out the sun, but only for a moment.

"It's gonna rain tonight," a voice said behind him.

Nathan turned, spotting his friend, Andrina, as she approached carrying a crate. "You think?" he asked, turning his face back to the sky. "Doesn't look that way to me."

"Here, you oaf, take this – it's heavy," she chided, thrusting the crate into his hands. "That's the last one."

"Thank you, dear," he said, lugging it onto the back of the wagon with the others.

"I'm tellin' you, cover that shit with a tarp unless you want all your merchandise soaked." Andrina heaved herself up on the side of the wagon, light ginger hair flopping over her face, concealing her bright blue eyes. "You have one right? I'm not helping you dry all this shit when we get home."

"Yes, Mother, I'll get right on it." Nathan laughed.

"If you weren't so bad at takin' care of yourself, I wouldn't have to mother you!"

Nathan rolled his eyes as he began to unfasten the tarp from the other side of the wagon. He sighed. He really needed to get something with a roof. Not that selling out of the back of the wagon was difficult, but it was becoming a hassle this way. He paused for a moment as he fiddled with the ties binding the tarp together. That feeling was settling in again. Something felt like it was missing. He was anxious, restless, feeling like he'd long forgotten something. He had hoped this feeling would leave him for good, it seemed as though he was wrong.

How long had he lived here again? Four or five years now? He liked living with Andrina and Erik, they'd become wonderful friends and he didn't want to leave them just yet or maybe ever. It had been long since he had such good friends. Settling anywhere for long always left him with these odd feelings. He hated it and wished he could just settle somewhere like most people did. But, if he wanted to try to live a somewhat normal existence, this was the way it needed to be. Maybe one day he would figure out a way to live that didn't make his skin itch with dissatisfaction. Maybe he would figure out why it was this way for him. Someday.

"Nathan?" a soft voice asked.

"Hm?" His attention snapped to the figure standing next to him. Erik – dark brown eyes peeked through his messy black hair with a look of concern.

"You did that thing again. Are you sure you don't need to see a healer about that? Andrina said your name but it was like you couldn't hear." Erik's thin bony hand gently touched his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I was just lost in thought. I promise I am well, my mind has just been loud lately."

Andrina reached across from her perch on the wall of the wagon. "Hand over the tarp, cloud-dreamer, and let's get on the road."

Nathan nodded, unrolling the tarp and giving the end of it to his friend as they all worked to secure it. Before long, they were on the road again and heading home. Andrina sat on the back of the wagon smoking her pipe as Erik sat at the front with Nathan while the horses walked the familiar path, not needing any guidance.

Erik nudged Nathan's shoulder. "I think I might know what's going on with you," his quiet voice said.

"Yeah?" Nathan raised an eyebrow. It was unlike Erik to speak up in such a way so casually.

"Yes, you should grow the beard." Erik smiled, trying to stifle a laugh.

Nathan snorted, raising a hand to feel along his chin. He'd kept it smooth for as long as he could remember. "Do you think I'd look good with one? Would it age me?"

Erik shrugged. "I think it would give you an attractive flair. Maybe make you look smarter."

"Ha!" Andrina laughed. "No, it'd make you look like one of those scammy so-called magicians that swindle kids for pocket money!"

Nathan pouted and Erik chuckled but notably did not disagree.

Erik went quiet again before taking a deep breath. "I think you're a little lonely."

Nathan almost laughed. "What? How could I be with you and Mother Hen always around?"

"There's different types of loneliness you know. There's a type for romance, for friends, for family – for silence…you just need to figure out which one tugs at your own heart. We've known you long enough to see the signs, even if you ignore them."

The conversation stopped there, giving Nathan a great deal to think about. Erik had a way of doing that to him. He was such a mild person but had a way of sneaking deep truths in without warning. And Andrina's uncharacteristic silence spoke volumes about her agreement.

Was it really that simple? Was he just missing out on something? But what could it be? He lived comfortably enough, had friends old and new all around, and his business was flourishing…what was missing?

"Hey!" Andrina called. "That little shop at the edge of town was opening today. We should eat there when we get home."

The men agreed and the rest of the way was filled with amiable silence and pipe smoke.

~~~

Andrina had been right.

It started raining halfway home. The bright sky slipped to grey as clouds blotted out the sun and a steady trickle began to fall. A cold chill clung to the wind from the north as well. When they arrived at the eatery, which appeared to be little more than a large shed with a stone oven in the center, they found a table without issue. It was late enough in the day, the rush of patrons clamoring for dinner had already gone. The warmth of the place was very welcome after their journey.

A clearly exhausted employee slapped three tankards on the table. "Welcome to Pista's Hut. We have ale. You get ale," they said, voice flat.

The three friends nodded, not about to argue.

"You're late for dinner, the cook will throw what we have left in the oven and that will be that. It'll be out in a bit." They walked away without another word.

Andrina chuckled. "Well, you two can never decide anyway, so this works in our favor. Ale's good at least."

Erik shrugged and picked up his tankard. "I'll eat anything."

Nathan sipped his drink, his thoughts still stuck on what Erik had told him earlier. The ale was good…

A while later, the server returned holding a metal tray and slapped it in the middle of the table. "Okay, we only had some dough, tomatoes, and a bit of cheese. The cook whipped this up for you. Smells good at least, and it's the best we got." They dropped a heavy cleaver on the table, making everything on it rattle. "Here's a knife to cut it. I'll bring more ale," they said before turning heel and walking away.

The three friends stared at their meal. What appeared to be a giant bit of flat bread was stretched wide on the tray, smeared with crushed tomatoes, bits of cheese melted on top. The bread was toasty in places and the top of the construction steamed, wafting a tasty fragrance into the air.

Andrina grabbed the cleaver, which Nathan quickly took from her. "Not after what happened last time, Andi."

She flopped back dramatically into her chair, cheeks puffing out. Erik covered his mouth as he tried not to giggle.

Nathan studied the food and began to cut the best way he could figure out. It was shaped like a pie or cake, so he split it into triangles. They each took a slice and began to eat silently.

After a few bites, they all looked at each other in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.

Erik began, "Is it just me or is this damn delicious?"

Nathan concurred, "It is absolutely delectable."

Andrina stuffed her slice into her mouth, working it around as it burnt her tongue.

The three devoured the construct, save for one small piece. When the server came to collect their dishes, they took the last bit, uncaring if strangers had touched it, and began to eat. The morsel seemed to cheer them up at least.

Thunder rolled outside as the friends finished their drinks. Home wasn't far at least, though they'd probably be soaked through by the time they reached it and put the horses and wagon away.

They piled outside after a time, huddled under cloaks as the rain continued. Nathan checked the cargo for tampering and the horses, slipping them a few sugar cubes for their wait, making promises of comfort to come.

He was about to load up when he heard a small clamor, like things falling, drawing his attention to an alley beside the eatery. It was dark, nothing but bins of waste scattered around.

"What is it?" Andrina asked.

Nathan shrugged. "Just thought I heard something."

He moved to the driver's seat of the wagon and was about to get seated when he heard something else.

Mew. Mew.

He stopped and looked again, still not seeing anything.

Erik leaned over. "Is that an animal? Look there by the bins."

Nathan couldn't see anything, so he went down the alley, walking slowly and listening.

Mew.

Mew…

Little squeaky sounds came from under a large bin. They ceased when Nathan reached it. He squatted low and peered under it, trying not to gag from the smell.

A little soggy ball of fur stared back at him with scared green eyes.

Nathan began to reach for it but stilled a moment. "Are you a rat? Are you going to bite me?"

Mew.

"No, you must be a cat…I think…" He scooped up the tiny thing.

Nathan brought the creature over to an awning with a lantern hanging so he could see. It was a tiny kitten cold and wet, no bigger than his palm. It mewed in distress but didn't try to get away from him.

"My, my you aren't very old. Is your momma around?" Nathan looked back down the alley.

"What is it?" Erik called from the wagon.

"A kitten!" Nathan answered. "I'll be a moment, I'm going to look for its mother!"

Andrina groaned dramatically and then laughed as Erik chided her.

Nathan held the kitten close to his heart to share his warmth as he slowly plodded down the alley, calling in a sweet voice for any critters. After peeking around to the back of the building and spotting nothing, Nathan headed back, finding that the disenchanted server from earlier was taking a crate into the alley.

"Excuse me, dear, have you seen a mother cat around here?" Nathan held the kitten up for reference. "This one appears to have gotten lost."

They shook their head. "Nah, that one has been out here all day. Saw it this morning. If the momma didn't fetch it by now, she's not coming back."

Nathan's heart sank. "All day? It's been raining…"

"Just leave it where you found it, nature will take its course."

"No!" Nathan suddenly spat. He held the little creature closer and then cleared his throat. "No…Sorry, I'll just take it then."

"Fine by me."

Nathan hustled down the alley back to his friends and hopped up into the wagon. Passing the reins to Erik, everyone stared at the little furball who had gone quiet.

"We have a cat now?" Andrina asked.

Nathan sighed. "We…have a cat now. For now, I suppose. I'll figure it out."

The little creature snuggled closely to Nathan's chest the whole way home. It didn't make another sound, happier now that it was warm and blocked from the rain. There was a pull at Nathan's heart, a clear sadness a the sight of the defenseless kitten.

Once home, they guided the horses and cart into the barn and Nathan left his friends in charge of the horses. This kitten was little and too young for solid food. They didn't have much to offer it, but if there was one creature who could help it was Jaala – the goat who hated him.

Erik seemed to be the only one whom the goat respected enough to milk her, but Nathan had some extra sugar to offer in exchange for a bit of milk to help the kitten. He found a crate, filled it with straw, and settled the kitten inside who began to mew as soon as the comfort of being held faded.

"Just a moment little one, I need to make sure I can feed you."

Grabbing the milk pale, he checked to make sure it was clean before facing Jaala. She glared at him immediately, snorting in displeasure and standing defensively in front of her sleeping kid.

"Sorry girl, just me tonight," Nathan said as he searched his pockets for sugar. "Here, to sweeten the deal." He held out a cube to the goat who glared as she plucked it from his hands, biting his fingers in the process. Nathan tamped down his reaction.

He placed the bucket down as the goat barely tolerated his presence. "I need just a little bit of milk. Do you hear the kitty? Just like your little one, he needs something to eat." Nathan offered another sugar cube which the goat snatched right away.

As she chewed, he positioned the bucket and knelt beside her, quick to offer another sweet to keep her agreeable as he began to milk her. He rationed the last two cubes to get enough for a good meal for the kitten, quickly packing up and giving the goat her space when he was done.

The cat continued to mew from the safety of its little nest. Nathan sat in the straw and plucked the furball up again, bringing it to his chest. Pulling a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his robe, he soaked a bit of it in the milk and brought it to the little kitten's mouth. It latched on right away, suckling hungrily at the cloth until it was practically dry. Nathan dipped it again and repeated the process until the little one had drank all there was. And with a full belly, it fell asleep in his hands.

Nathan took the crate and the kitten inside with him where his friends had started a good fire. He changed his clothes and put on something dry, keeping an eye on the little one. All of them sat around the fireplace, sprawled on the couches and rugs there.

"Sucker," Andrina chided with a smile.

Nathan sighed. "I couldn't leave the poor thing to die."

Erik's dog, a massive black and white hound, sniffed around the crate, wagging his tail happily before getting up on Erik's lap. "Reminds me of when we found you," Erik said, patting his dog's head.

Nathan wrinkled his nose. "Yes, yes, I'm akin to a half-drowned cat with no teeth."

Andrina began packing her pipe. "You gonna keep the thing?"

He shook his head. "No, I'll just make sure it doesn't suffer and I'm sure one of the shops or farms could use a mouser."

Erik and Andrina looked at each other and smiled. They knew better.

As the days went by, most of Nathan's attention was on the little kitten. Once it was all dried and cleaned up, fed and happy, it still didn't shut up – unless Nathan held it. He kept it close, swaddled around his chest in a sling since its little cries made him feel…odd. Many of the townspeople stared when they realized a small kitten was tucked close to his chest, but Nathan didn't mind. He was already the oddball in town as it was, he would be stared at and whispered about anyway, this just gave them something to actually chatter about.

He talked to the little cat most of the day, asking its opinion on prices and what goods would sell the best in the coming season. The little creature didn't have much to offer but helped Nathan think by just listening.

Jaala the goat even became a bit friendlier, she almost didn't bite. But thanks to her generosity, the little kitten grew quickly. It filled the little sling and was able to reach out far enough to tap Nathan on the chin with little claws. Once the little one was big enough, Nathan could tell it was a male, and quickly dubbed him, "Cat," and sometimes, "sweet boy" when no one was watching.

As more time passed and the cat outgrew his little sling, he instead rode upon Nathan's shoulders instead. The merchant was not short of offers to take the cat who was growing to be quite a handsome sight – completely grey from nose to tail with bright green eyes. He had a dignified appearance – a dignity which ended strictly at his looks, Nathan observed. He was rather inelegant for a cat, his timing for everything could not be worse and he had nearly killed Nathan no fewer than 15 times on the stairs. But the little thing had no fear of dogs, or any other creature large or small. Nathan knew better by now that it wasn't bravery – he was just too dumb to know better. Nathan turned all of the offers that he received down, of course, saying that the cat had a bit more growing to do…

A whole season came and went before folks stopped asking. Everyone but Nathan knew the little stray had already found a permanent home.

As he sat lost in thought in the barn, staring at his wagon, a little paw came up to pat his chin. Luckily, the scruffy beard there protected it from the wicked claws.

"What do you want, Cat?" he asked, absently bringing his hand to the cat's head and scratching. "Oh…guess I answered my own question." He laughed. "You have trained me well."

The cat reached up and rubbed his head against Nathan's new beard, enjoying the scratchiness against his fur. The rumble of purrs became loud.

Nathan smiled. "You really are my sweet boy, aren't you. What do you think we ought to do, hm?" He glanced at the wagon, the goods stored there were dwindling. The thought of traveling to refill his stock was a bit exciting, even if he didn't need to go very far. "I want to take you with me, but I worry…"

Moow?

"No, we tried the leash, you rolled around like it was a snake trying to eat you."

Mrrrr.

"You did too."

The cat huffed.

"And Andi says I'm the dramatic one…"

Meoooow.

"I do trust you, I just worry you'll wander off and get lost. You may look elegant, but you're not the brightest. And what if someone tries to steal you away?"

The cat turned fierce eyes on Nathan and stared.

"You are so strange."

"Says the man talking to a cat," Erik's voice responded, making Nathan startle.

"Blessed stars, you scared the shit out of me!"

Erik chuckled as he approached, sitting across from Nathan and his cat in the straw. "Well, I'm not sorry…I came to check on you."

"Check on me?" Nathan scratched down the cat's back, bringing back his purring.

"Mm-hmm, you're doing that thing again."

"Yes?"

"It's a little different this time. You're not completely despondent." Erik laughed. "It's been nice. You've seemed happier now that you have a pet."

Nathan shook his head. "I don't have a pet…I…" He stared down at the purring mess in his lap which was currently working its claws into Nathan's fine robe.

"No, no, you're right. You don't have a pet…You are the pet. That little grey thing has you completely wrapped around his paw. You wore him around in a sling meant for children for crying out loud."

"He was cold…" Nathan bit down on a smile.

Erik snorted a laugh. "You're sweet you know. And I want to say something as a friend. Something me and Andi have been talking about for a while now."

"Go on, don't hold back."

"We all have secrets. We all have private things that we desire – hopes and even dreams that we aren't always aware of…. In a strange way, I think you've found one of those things you've needed. You still try to deny it – you haven't even named the poor thing, and we all know that cat isn't going anywhere."

Nathan nodded.

Erik continued. "You're restless. I know you are. I don't know everything about you, but we've been friends for years now and I think you're trying to hide just how restless you are even from yourself."

The truth stung.

"I wanted to tell you that it's okay. Some people aren't meant to settle at all and others are only meant to settle once they've found what they need. Me and Andi aren't going anywhere, you know that. One day we may even go our separate ways, maybe partner up with a lover or something, but we won't wander far from here."

Nathan nodded.

"Figure out what works for you. You now have a little someone that will go with you now. You can always come home."

"Should I call you 'poppa' now? That was a lot of wisdom considering how much younger than me you are." Nathan laughed.

Erik lightly kicked him in the foot. "I don't know where it came from…I actually came out here to warn you."

"About what?"

"Your little bundle of joy took a huge shit in Andi's bed and she is furious."

"Again?"

Erik nodded.

Nathan tried to hide his grin. "Guess I'm on laundry duty today then…I'll get to it in a moment."

Erik stood, clasping Nathan's hand in his own for a moment before leaving him in peace.

The little cat reached up again, purring and rubbing against his beard. Nathan wrapped his arms around the little furball and lightly hugged.

"How do you do it?" he asked as if the cat could answer. "Are you a magic cat? Hm? You can tell me, just whisper your truth to me." Nathan turned his ear to the cat who only nibbled at it in response. "I don't think I've ever had a pet before…"

MOOW.

"Sorry, I don't think I have ever been a pet before." He sighed. "Fuck sake, Erik is right. I am horribly smitten, aren't I? And you do need a proper name…"

Nathan stared at the cat's expanse of grey fur. He recalled how whenever the cat chose to hide he was impossible to find. The only way to spot him in the darkness was to catch the glimmer from his eyes.

Nathan picked up his sweet boy, staring into his eyes. "You're impossible to spot in the dark, you are so completely grey that even your toes match, and you are always following me…you are always…in my shadow."

Meow.

"Shadow."

Mrp?

Nathan smiled. "My little Shadow."

#god cursed if #twine if #interactive fiction #extras #gc if extras #drabble #short story #sometimes your missing piece is a cat #gc if world

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artist-issues · 2 months ago

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The reason I think the song bodes so well for Mufasa is that they got Scar and Mufasa right. I was talking with @doverstar about this and so some of these thoughts are her thoughts

Mufasa, as a character, is the kind of guy who turns everything into a lesson when we meet him as Simba’s father. Even though Simba is apparently his only son. That means he’s got a reflective, old soul when he’s still a just a relatively young King—to be ready to give great fatherly lessons. And obviously we know he got that from his own father.

So in the song, to have him be the kind of guy who goes “You see that tree? Those birds are watching the world unfold!” is perfect. He points out the tree and the birds and their place in the world, their unique perspective, like it’s an exciting thing, the kind of thing any little boy should be excited about—he points it out and starts to wax philosophical the same way other ten year-old boys would point out a superhero or cool animal to their friends.

An old soul, already gleaning lessons out of the world he’s growing up in, and likes talking about them. Like he’s a young dreamer with his head in the clouds. But when Taka sings “No one looks down on me,” Mufasa responds in this patient tone, “They look down on us, brother. Some things you chase but cannot hold.”

He’s not going to let Taka change his mind, even if (from my understanding) he’s relying on Taka as his only friend right now. He’s not insecure. That sounds like the kind of strong-willed kid who could grow up to be as powerful a character as Mufasa.

And then there’s Taka.

In The Lion King, we know Scar wants everything his own way. (That’s what makes him a great foil to Simba, “we’ll-do-it-all-my-way”)

And that’s in the song. “When I am King they will do as they’re told / Those are the laws for my brother cuz I say so /“ He’s entitled, he thinks life should be ordered according to what he says.

But I think the way more interesting part of his characterization in the song is when he sings, “No one looks down on me,” and he sings that right after Mufasa says, “where they (the birds) go can’t be controlled.” Controlled. A no-brainer response, for a songwriter, would be to have the future-villainous-usurper get his feathers ruffled. The low-hanging fruit would be to have Scar respond with something about how he can control the birds because he’s going to be King, the boss, the authority.

But Lin-Manuel Miranda did not go for the low-hanging fruit. He had Scar respond, instead, with something that almost feels off-topic: “No one looks down on me!”

But it’s NOT off-topic if you know who the character, Scar, really is. Scar is all about how he’s perceived by others.

He is insecure. His life is lived hoping that others will give him everything. The throne, the food, the power, yes—but more importantly, he wants them to give him respect, idolization, adoration, and admiration. He does not want to be looked down on. That’s what’s most important to him.

He’s the total opposite of Mufasa in that way, because Mufasa gives his life for others, while Scar hopes others will give him everything.

He doesn’t lash out at Sarabi until she mentions Mufasa—specifically, until she unfavorably compares him to Mufasa. It’s all about not wanting to be looked at as less-than. Instead, the very essence of Scar is selfish narcissism. He wants everyone to treat him like he’s the best there is, like he’s worth giving up everything for.

That’s why at the beginning of the song, he says “When I am king…my brother, you’ll always take my side.” Because he believes that he should be seen as the always-right wonder child. That’s what he wants. Even when he sounds protective of Mufasa, it’s protective by association with himself. It’s sweet, but if you listen, Taka is saying Mufasa’s whole status as his “brother” is dependent on Taka’s decree that that is what he is. So if someone denies that Mufasa is his brother, they’re defying Taka’s little princely will!

Meanwhile Mufasa is all about being a vessel of lesson-sharing and selflessness. So they really got the characters right, at least in that one song. I hope the whole rest of the movie will be like that too.

#scar #Taka #Mufasa #Mufasa 2024 #Lin-Manuel Miranda #lebo m.#the lion king #songs #Disney #characterization #character meta #analysis #writing #storytelling #live action remake

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catsteeth · 7 months ago

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Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader

+:✿ Chapter 6 ✿:+ : Dreamer

Last Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister. You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his.

CW: MDNI, afab reader, pining, NSFW themes, Threats of non-con, misogyny, Violence, mention of violence, mention of arranged marriages, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes.

A/N: I am dedicating this chapter to all the Podrick girls who have stuck with me through this incredibly long hiatus, and even supported some of my other works. I truly love you all so much, you know who you are.

Word Count: 4.7K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You had been traveling north with the rest of the Knights watch for a few weeks now. Yoren was serving you well, keeping the men far from you and in line. Although not many of them were ignorant enough to say anything disrespectful to their Lord Commander's daughter.

That was until some man on a horse began to take offense that you weren’t working like the rest of the men.

As you practiced your aim with an arrow, your brain felt clouded, you kept having a thought of Lannister horses trotting in the night, coming closer and closer.

You tried to push it out of your head as you exhaled and shot the arrow hitting a tree, right on the mark you aimed for.

As you walked over to the tree to retrieve it you overheard two men, one in the river fetching water, and the other who sat on a horse.

“Why doesn’t she work like the rest of us?” The man on the horse said, louder than necessary. You ignored it as you pulled the arrow out from the tree bark, walking back to your mark to try again.

“She aint a Knights Watchman.” The man in the river said,

“Ain’t it a girl's duty to cook and fetch water?” The man on the horse paid no attention to the man in the river's remark, he stared at you as he said it.

The man in the river stood to his feet, “She’s a Mormont, you’d better mind your tongue.” He warned. Maybe out of actual respect for your name, or maybe out of fear of your father.

“A Mormont is she?” The man on the horse said, He smirked. You began to aim with your bow and arrow, you exhaled about to let your arrow fly when the man shouted, “Bear girl! How would you like to warm my tent tonight?” It was loud enough to get the attention of all the other men in the camp. It fell silent.

You dropped your bow and arrow. Finally looking over and acknowledging the man who had been bothering you.

You walked over, with a huff, and stood in front of the man on the horse. You petted the horse's snout with a smile as you ran your hand along the horse's neck, and along its body, until you were facing the side of the beast. You looked up as the man looked down upon you.

“Is that a yes?” The man smirked, you smirked back as you grabbed hold of the man's saddle and with haste pulled the horse off its balance, making it fall on its side and the man with it.

The horse's weight on the man's leg broke it. As the horse got back up the man stayed on the ground, holding his leg and wailed, “She broke my fucking leg!”

As you walked away, you said back much more calmly, “I didn't, your horse did.”

As you went to grab your bow and arrow that were on the ground, Yoren walked up to you, “We need men for the night's watch, not cripples.” Somewhat disapproving but also amused by your display.

“He’s got a clean break in the lower bit of his leg.” You said, aiming your bow and arrow, “A split and a crutch and he’ll be fine before we get there.” You said as you released the arrow, hitting in the exact spot you did before.

“How do you know that?” Yoren asked, his eyes were narrowed and his brows furrowed. He was suspicious at the same time he was curious.

“Mmm.” You shrugged, “The way he fell?” You said dismissively.

Yoren huffed, turning his attention back to the man wailing on the ground, “Get him up.” He said to the men surrounding him “And quit your whining!” He shouted to the man on the ground.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Podrick was staying in an Inn just a few miles outside of Winterfell.

Neither of you were aware of just how close you both were to one another. However Podrick grew more and more on edge as time passed. He was thinking of you constantly. When he was training with a sword he thought of you, when he was eating he thought of you, when he was bathing he thought of you, when he lay down for the night he especially thought of you. He often stared at the scar on his palm, a constant reminder of you.

As he looked at the scar, he looked up to see Brienne staring at Winterfell. She knew Sansa was there, and in danger. She tormented herself with the thought.

“She’s far away from the Lannisters. This is her home. Maybe Lady Sansa is better off here.” He said, partially wanting to comfort Brienne while partially wanting to be done with this mission and get on with finding you.

Brienne turned to Podrick, “Safe with the Boltons? Who murdered her mother and brother? She is dangerous even if she doesn’t realize it.” She said with annoyance. As she did an old man came into their room, he placed new firewood beside their door. “Thank you. You live here a long time?” Brienne asked just before the man was about to leave.

“Aye.” The man nodded,

“Did you know about Lord Eddard?” Brienne questioned, Podrick looked at her with concern. He knew it was dangerous to discuss such things now.

The old man narrowed his eyes at Brienne, “I knew him. And his father before him. Starks are gone now-”

Brienne interrupted, “Not all of them. I know who's inside that caste.” she said with confidence.

The man scoffed, “Everyone knows. The Boltons.”

She shook her head, “I’m not talking about the Boltons.” Brienne walked closer to the man, “I need to get a message to her. Sansa Stark.” She was fearless, it reminded him of you, it was his only comfort now that you were gone.

“Who are you?” The man questioned,

“Someone who swore to keep her safe.” Brienne said with the same cold tone as the man had with her.

“Swore to who?” He practically spat at her,

“Her mother.” She said, again matching the hostility of the man, showing she was not afraid of him.

The man smirked, “Her mothers dead.”

“That doesn’t release me from an oath. I served Lady Catelyn. I still serve her. Who do you serve?” That took the air out of the room.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

That night, you and the rest of the night's watch slept in an old abandoned barn.

Your dreams as of late were stranger than normal. More real, but vague at the same time. And tonight it was worse. You felt the heat of fire, you could smell the smoke of the fire ripping through dry grass. You heard the horns of battle, heard the sounds of men grunting, the sounds of fighting. You saw fire, and two arrows released. You felt the pain of a knight cutting into your side. That's when you woke up.

You sat up with a loud gasp, your eyes were wild and wide. Yoren who slept beside you always was awake and immediately took you in his arms.

“Calm yourself, Lass!” He said as you panted,

“Fire, a sword, and arrows!” You said breathlessly clinging onto his coat,

“What?” He asked with narrowed eyes. Though before you could speak you and Yoren heard horns of battle ringing outside the barn you were all staying in, Yoren released you and stood “GET UP, YOU LAZY SONS OF WHORES!” He shouted waking the men up, “ARM YOURSELVES!” He continued to shout and wake up more of the men, He turned to you grabbing you by the shoulders, “You need to leave. You need to go far North.”

You shook your head, “You said my father would kill you if you didn’t take me with you. He’d kill me if I left you.” He looked at you as if you both knew that wasn’t true, you shrugged, “Well maybe not kill but he’d be ashamed and that's worse.” you conceded, “I can fight you know that.”

He huffed and shook his head, “I’m not fighting you. You’re staying out of sight and going North.” He said as he turned his attention back to the men “THOSE MEN OUT THERE WANT TO FUCK YOUR CORPSES– OUTSIDE NOW!”

As he and the rest of the knights watched, one of the men holding a torch accidentally set the dry grass aflame. You smelt the fire and knew it was the same smell from your dream.

“Where's the bastard?” A Lannister guard shouted,

“More than a few here. Who's asking.” Yoren asked gruffly.

You paid little attention to what they said. You were too busy attempting to stay out of sight of the Lannisters. If you were found the consequences would be worse for both you and the Knights Watch.

“Last chance. In the name of King Tommen. Bring us your bastards.” He said threateningly.

“No I don’t think I will.” Yoren said, confidently.

“So be it.” You finally looked over at that exact moment, to see Yoren shot with an arrow through the chest. You wanted to scream but you held it in.

Even with an arrow in him, he was just as brave, “I always hated crossbows. It Takes too long to load.” Yoren said as he cut through the man with the crossbow. But he was no match against the rest of the Lannister guards. He was slaughtered before your own eyes.

You knew there was nothing more for you to do, so you ran, ran as fast as you could. Though a man intercepted your path. A balding man wearing Lannister colors. He smirked at you as you tried to run past him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The man said as he grabbed hold of you, his hand covering your mouth. You saw him pull out a dagger and shove it deep in your side. You cried out, and he laughed. But then you bit down as hard as you could. The man screamed as you bit his finger off, finally letting you go. The horrid taste in your mouth lingered as you ran.

Ran until your legs stung. The pain from your side only worsened as you ran. Becoming more and more intense and less and less easy to ignore.

You stopped for a moment beside a river. You kneeled down to take a drink from it. You knew it wouldn’t help, but your mind and body were slipping out of consciousness rapidly as the pain grew. Soon, it was all fuzzy. You had no balance, and no feeling, your hearing was leaving you as well but you heard one last thing before it did.

SPLASH

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You awoke in a warm bed beside a fire. You looked around at the room, it looked like an Inn though you’d no money.

You saw a woman in the corner of the room ringing out a wet cloth into a bowl, as she began to walk towards you, she smiled.

“Who are you?” You questioned, your eyes were hardly opened. You were so weak and clearly slightly frightened.

“Baelise.” She said sweetly as she dabbed your forehead with the damp cloth.

“Where am I?” You asked, trying to sit up, but the pain in your side was too horrid.

“A brothel. I found you in the river.” She said as she pushed you back into the bed,

“A brothel?” You asked with wide eyes,

She held a laugh, “Don’t worry, I own it.” You looked around the room, looking for any sign of a man who might have come in, “No one has touched you.” Baelise assured you, knowing what you were afraid of.

“I need to leave.” You said panting from the pain.

“You need to rest, and eat. Lay down.” She said as she put the damp cloth back onto your head, “What happened to you, sweetling? Did men do this to you?”

“Lannister guards attacked the knights watch.” You said pained.

“You were with them?” She questioned, it was odd for a woman to be accompanying the Knights watchmen.

“My father is their commander.” You said with a husky voice, “I dreamt of it,” You said, you weren’t sure why you said it but you did.

“Of what?” She stopped dabbing the cloth on your head, almost stunned by what you said.

“Death. An arrow, a sword, and fire.” You said, your eyes closed now, trying to block out the pain.

“Do you do that a lot?” She questioned,

You realized you’d said too much, “How long til I can leave.”

“Whenever that nasty cut heals.” She said with a huff, continuing to dab your forehead. You pulled down your covers, revealing your naked form. You saw the stitching she had done on your side. It was well done for a Brothel Madam, well done for anyone in fact. “I cleaned it, and sewed you up.” She said sweetly as she pulled the cover back over you.

You grabbed her wrist, “Milk of the poppy, please I need it.” You pleaded,

“I’ll give you what I can. One of my girls is expecting a child soon, we’ll need it.” She said soothingly as she stood to get it.

“She should give her essence of nightshade for that, not the milk.” You said with expertise,

Baelise looked back at you with a smile as she rummaged through her various remedies and elixirs. “You have dreams don’t you?”

“We all do.” You said almost frustrated that she remembered what you said before.

“You have dreams that come to fruition.” You looked back to her, as she approached with a spoon full of the milk, “You lose yourself in thought, when you do, your mind goes to the future. You hear them speaking, you see visions of what is to come. Only brief moments, but enough.”

“How do you know this?” You asked as you drank the milk in,

“I saw you coming, (Y/N).” She said removing the spoon from your mouth. “I saw you fall in that river. Saw your lifeless body drift up the stream towards my brothel. I stood outside waiting for you.”

You laid there, debating whether or not you could trust her. Whether or not you should tell her any more. Though you felt you could trust her. She knew your name, maybe her talent was much more powerful than your own, maybe you could learn from her, “It only started a few moons ago.” You said softly,

“It comes to us when we are ready. Like our moonblood.” Her tone was soft and gentle like a mother.

“I saw the attack before it happened. I think at least. How do I stop it before it happens?” You said pained although this time it wasn’t from the cut in your side.

“It is sometimes beyond us to stop such outcomes. You can try, but no one will listen. They’ll think you are mad.” She said as she continued to dab the damp cloth on your forehead.

“This is a curse.” You scoffed,

“Gifts are not good nor bad. They are given.” She smiled at you softly, “You’re a healer yourself aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You said, your voice soft and gentled from the milk.

“You always know how to treat a person's wounds do you not?”

“I studied for-”

She interrupted you, “The most knowledgeable masters make mistakes. Outlook symptoms. Prefer to take shortcuts. You do not. You can place someone's hand in yours, examine a cut with your eyes alone, even hear the way a bone breaks and just know exactly what needs to be done.” She said, and you nodded. “It’s part of your gift.” You felt your eyes grow heavy, from the poppy no doubt. As you felt yourself drift into sleep, Baelise, tucked your hair beside your ear and whispered, “Sleep.” Before leaving you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

That night Podrick dreamt of you. Not unusual but this time it felt as if it were real.

He saw you in his chambers back in king's landing, wearing the dress you wore when you first laid together. “Podrick?” You asked softly, though Podrick tried, he couldn’t speak.

He tried to reach out to you, but each time he tried he felt further and further away from you.

“Podrick!” Brienne shouted, waking Podrick up from his deep sleep. He sat up disorientated, he held onto his head as he tried to come back to reality. “You sleep heavier now that we are sleeping in an inn. Perhaps we should return to the ditches.” Brienne said sneeringly.

“Just… Having strange dreams.” He grunted,

“As long as they do not affect our mission.” She said looking back to Winterfell.

He shook his head, “They won’t, My Lady.”

Brienne looked over to him. She felt badly for always being so short with him.

“What are they?” She asked reluctantly. Podrick looked at her confused, not knowing why she would want to know. Brienne sighed, “We have been cooped up in this inn waiting for a sign from Lady Sansa, with little to discuss. This might be something of interest.” She conceded,

“A woman.” He said, the longing very apparent in his tone.

“Never mind, I do not need to hear that.” Brienne said with disgust.

“Not like that.” Podrick shook his head, “I knew her from Kings Landing. She was Handmaiden to Margaery Tyrell. A Mormont who was held captive in the south.�� She smiled as he recalled the memory of you, “She was a brave woman.” He nodded.

Brienne hesitated to add to what he said, “I remember her.” she said, thinking it might offer him some comfort.

“You do?” He asked, perking up like a starved dog who smelt food.

“Yes, she was practically connected to Margaery Tyrell’s hip.” Podrick sat closer as if he were a child listening to a story before bed, Brienne looked at him with furrowed brows but continued. “She did not speak much. Handmaidens rarely do. But she complimented my sword. Unusual for a Lady I thought.” She said looking out the window, thinking that was the end of it.

“She’s an unusual woman.” He said as a compliment with a smile on his face, he looked back up to her, “She told me about you.” Brienne looked down at Podrick with curiosity, “Said you were exactly what she wanted to be as a girl.”

“A very unusual woman indeed.” Brienne scoffed. “Do you think she poisoned Joffrey?” She asked, her curiosity taking over her, “Mormonts despise southern houses. Despise the Crown. She had the opportunity to do it-“

“No. My Lady.” He said in haste, “She would spit in Lord's drinks. Never poisoned them.” He shook his head.

“The armored girl the boy from the inn talked of. You think that was her?” She asked softer than normal.

“He said she was a Mormont. No other Mormonts are that far south.” His tone was slightly deeper

“I gave you chance after chance to leave. Why didn’t you go find her?” Brienne asked as she turned her attention back to him.

Podrick looked down, slightly disappointed in himself, “I don’t know where she is. Don’t even know how to try and look.”

“Once Lady Sansa is safe, I’ll help you.” Podrick smiled as was about to thank her before he noticed something behind her,

“My Lady!” Podrick shouted as he pointed towards the broken tower, where a candle was lit.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Back in the brothel, Baelise continued to teach you more of your gift, as you tried to get your body out of bed.

“Did you dream of anything tonight?” Baelise asked as she watched you attempt to get out of bed.

“Just a brown horse, with a-” You grunted as you finally stood. “A white spot on its head.”

You finally were able to stand without assistance. Baelise knew that your time with her was coming to an end. She smiled at your progress but knew that she’d one last thing to teach you.

“Have you heard of the Lord of Light?” She asked softly,

“Ramblings of it, here and there.” You grunted as you got accustomed to limping around the room.

Baelise lit the fire, “The Lord might offer you further clarity.” She said as she fed the fire another log.

“My family served the old gods.” You said dismissively, trying to pay closer attention to your unsteady steps.

“And yet the Lord of Light might allow you vision through fire.” She said as she stood, dusting her hands clean from the wood, “Peer into it. Deeply.” She said as she took you by your shoulders and turned you towards the fire.

You huffed, “I see nothing.” You shook your head, “Perhaps the Lord of Light does not like me.” You said as a jest.

Baelise rolled her eyes, pushed you closer to it, “It does not happen in an instant. Keep looking.”

You did, as you did you could swear the fire morphed before your eyes.

“Wildlings cross the wall. Welcomed in by some man… pretty as a girl.” You blinked hard as you looked away. You struggled to stand on your own, Baelise helped you up. “My father is dead, or is going to be. I must leave here now.” You said as you hurriedly began to put your armor on.

“Are you certain?” Baelise asked as she helped you,

“You don’t know my father.” You said, finally finishing putting on your armor. As you rushed to the door you looked back to Baelise, “Thank you.” You said earnestly, she smiled and nodded as you made your way out.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

In Winterfell Podrick and Brienne were determined to find Lady Sansa.

They heard the sounds of men and hounds in the distance and followed. As they approached the men shouted “It’s a bloody woman!” As Brienne pulled her sword out, so did Podrick. Brienne kills most of the soldiers on horseback, then knocks one off his horse before slitting his throat.

Podrick, his fighting skills having improved under Brienne's teaching, fights and kills a Bolton soldier, but falls off his horse in the process. He then challenges another Bolton soldier, killing him as well. He thought you’d be proud of him for that.

Once all the soldiers are dead, Brienne steps towards Sansa. She laid her blade on the ground before her, kneeling, “Lady Sansa, I offer my services once again. I will shield your back and keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear by the old gods and the new.” She vowed,

Sansa began “And I vow… that you shall always have a place by my hearth- and…”

“Meat and mead at my table.” Podrick said, helping her along with her vows.

“Meat and mead at my table.” She stumbled, “And I pledge to ask for no service that might bring you dishonor. I swear by the old gods and the new. Arise.” Sansa vowed in return.

Podrick smiled, as what was Brienne’s only wish finally came true.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You however, were in Winterfell's woods at the same time. Limping your way North, the pain in your side, still greatly disabling you.

“Who is this?” A Bolton Soldier said, “Not the redhead we're looking for.” Another Soldier said.

You paid them no mind, not even looking at them. You had your bow and arrow, and your sword. If anyone dared try and fight you, you were confident even now you would win.

“No, but she is a pretty thing-” The first soldier said, “Oi little girl!” He shouted,

“Fuck off.” You rasped,

The man scoffed, “You don't look like you're in much of a position to be a cunt.”

“I said fuck off.” You rasped even louder,

“Come on, birdy. We’ve been out here a while. Give us a little fun and we’ll get you a ride wherever you like!” The second solider said.

You finally looked over, and saw one of them was on a brown horse with a white spot. Just as you dreamed. You smirked,

“Yes you will.” You mumbled, “Alright then.” You said louder, voice still raspy from the pain.

The men laughed as they got off their horses, “That's a good lass.” The first solider said taking a step towards you,

The second solider however grabbed the first one, “You ain’t going first, I’m the one who convinced her-”

“I don’t want used cunt-” The first solider argued back,

You interrupted, “No need, I’ll take you both at once.” You said with a smirk.

They both chuckled as they undid their trousers, “You are a whore sent from the Gods aren’t you?” The first solider said, you stepped towards them.

“Perhaps.” You said before pulling your sword out and stabbing through the second soldier’s chest. Before the other could pull up his pants to get his own sword, you pull your blade out of the solider and cut through the other with just as much ease as the first.

You huffed, over exerting yourself in an already fragile state. Though you were more upset by the blood that had gotten on yourself.

You looked up at the horse with the brown coat and white spot, and smiled at it. “Come on,” You said it to as you mounted the horse, “We’re going North.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As Podrick and Brienne made their way into the Castle Black gates. He looked around for any sign of you. He knew that this was the place you would go if you had gotten away. And when he didn't see you, it worried him terribly.

As he watched Jon and Sansa reunite, he looked over to Brienne hoping this would comfort her in some way. And hoping she still meant what she said about helping him find you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱ The pain had gotten considerably worse over the next day as you rode, never stopping once. You rode hunched over in pain grasping at your side.

Both you and your new horse which you’d given no name, were exhausted, and starved. But it would be worth it, as you approached the gates of Castle Black, two men stood above the gates wall, looking at you with confusion.

“Open the gate.” You rasped, your voice was weak and breaking.

“You a Bolton?” The man shouted back down at you.

You huffed, looking up at him though still hunched in pain, “Do I look like a fucking Bolton?” You said your voice husky, “I’m a Mormont! Open the fucking gate!” You shouted though your voice was still unable to carry very far.

“Open the gates!” The men shouted.

As they did you rode in on your horse, everyone starred at you. Three men rushed to your aid as soon as they saw the blood that coated your side.

The men helped you off of your horse, you almost cried out from the pain of it all.

“The horse needs to eat.” you said to some man who then dragged the horse off to the stables.

You looked around for a moment, hopping your father was still there, somewhere. But when you looked around you saw Wildlings, and you knew your father was dead. You didn’t hate them, you didn’t know them. But your father would rather die then see them beyond the wall. That much you knew. As you kept looking, you saw Jon Snow, and Sansa Stark, looking at you with confusion and surprise, you looked at them with the same look.

A sharp pain ripped through your side once more, you hunched over gripping at your side, wincing in pain.

As you did you felt familiar hands on you, as you looked you saw the same brown eyes you loved for so long.

“(Y/N)...” Podrick said softly, his eyes were wide and worried. He wanted to smile and embrace you but your state concerned him far greater.

Before you could say anything the pain overtook your senses. Your hearing and vision left you just as they did in the river and you fainted. Thankfully this time, in the arms of your lover.

“You’ve a way with women.” A tall wildling man with red hair who was standing near by said.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: NEXT ONE WILL EAT I PROMISE JUST LET ME SET IT UP OKAYYYYYYYYYY IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND SUCKS THE NEXT ONE WILL BE BETTER AND COME WAY FASTER... K, love you… xoxo

-Bambi

BELOVED TAGS:

@ryn-away @boojaynaqueen @holierthancunt @symonedoesart

@siimiasoi

@evilunicorns4minions

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dipperscavern · 11 months ago

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someone shoot me cause i can’t stop thinking about jon snow helping you sleep.

you’ve always been a dreamer. growing up with the starks, you’d tell jon (or anyone who asked) about your dreams the night before, either furrowing your brows at the bizarre nature of them, or laughing as you recall dreaming maester luwin having hooves for feet. this didn’t help the fact that you naturally didn’t sleep much. when you did, dreams plagued your mind so often it felt like you weren’t even sleeping at all.

but dreaming often also meant nightmares followed suit. usually, you’d try and calm yourself down, but if it was an especially bad one—you’d find solace in jon’s arms. a risky move in winterfell, but it was either that or you didn’t sleep. and jon slept best with you anyways.

not much had changed in that while at castle black. the only difference is, if you couldn’t sleep, jon would put you to sleep the best way he knew how.

strong arms would cage you in, his calloused hand wrapped in yours, anchoring you as he pays close attention to the space between your thighs. slow drags of his hips as he kisses you sickly sweet, breaking you down piece by piece until your worries melt away, & your brain is only clouded with thoughts of him. his lips on your neck sending goosebumps down your skin, as bolts of pleasure shoot up your spine.

he’s good at this. too good.

too good at making you forget what was even keeping you up in the first place. mind numb as you can’t remember where you stop & he begins, and that’s just how he wants you. his thumb comes to wipe away any stray tears that fall, while his brows pinch in concern until he feels you clench on him, strings of curses falling from your lips as he brings you to the edge. and it’s with a shudder of his name you cum, sighing & running a hand through his curls as you come down from your high, thanking him because that was just what you needed. & he knows.

“yeah? y’ feel better?”

you nod your head, a quiet “mhm” coming from your mouth as he wraps his arms around you. you settle into them, head facing his chest as he traces your spine.

jon has a small smile on his face. knowing that he’s the reason for your pleasure, knowing how much you trust him not only with your body, but with your problems. if you can’t sleep it’s him you come to, and you knowing he’ll fix it brings him more satisfaction than he’ll ever admit. he may not be able to control a lot of things, but one thing he can control is how much pleasure he can give you. not just with your body, but with your mind. you know you’re safe with him, time and time again has proven that this may be the only safe place left in the world.

with jon. in his arms.

i actually need him so bad it’s not funny :( sigh want him to make me forget my problems.

#sigh #jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow prompt #game of thrones #asoiaf #id let him #god would i let him #first time posting smut on tumblr. shaking in my boots #want him to shake my boots #LMAFAO WHY AM I FUNNY #how many tags is acceptable #cause here i am having a whole conversation with myself #kill me #wait fuck me first

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sarawritestories · 9 months ago

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Umbrella

Rhysand x Fem Reader

A/N I got splashed twice; First by a truck driving through a puddle and then a car did it later on my walk to the train a few days ago, so I needed to put my feelings somewhere.

Summary: You didn't want to leave the comfort of your bed. But the shop needed to be opened. You didn't expect the rain or a speeding cart to run through a large puddle drenching you. Your High Lord finds you on the verge of tears he makes sure to brighten your gloomy day.

Content warning: mild cursing, slight feelings of failure and insecurity

One drop became two, then in a blink of an eye, the sky opened and unleashed a downpour that had you not had your umbrella would have had you drenched in seconds. You knew you shouldn't have left the warmth of your bed or your mate this morning. But the bookshop wasn't going to open itself.

Cassian had offered to fly you to work, but you insisted on walking. Something you enjoyed doing for centuries. He had insisted you bring the umbrella despite the sun rising and a few clouds in view. To appease him, you did, and you were thankful for listening to the general, though you would deny if anyone asked.

The wind whipping against your face made it difficult to walk, this being a more violent storm than Velaris had seen in a while. You stood at the corner of the city about to cross when a cart at full speed barreled down the road. You saw the wheel collide with the deep puddle, watched the water become airborne over your head, and the cold water colliding violently against your body. Your mouth fell open, umbrella still upright as you kept moving, not fully comprehending the events that took place.

By the time you reached your shop, the cold water had seeped through your clothes and provided you with a chill you couldn't escape from. This was not how you wanted to start your day. You swallowed down the tears that kept threatening to fall as you opened the door to your bookstore. Making a beeline to the hearth to start a fire. In hopes you could at least dry the sweater you wore. You held on to hope that the rain would bring in customers who want to cozy up with a book on the gloomy day.

☂️☂️☂️

The hours ticked by as the rain continued to pattern against the windows behind you. The store was quiet, not one person wandered in, either for shelter or to shop. You leaned your head on the counter. The feeling that had been bubbling to the surface for months beginning to consume you:

Failure

Rhysand insisted he buy you this store. "Darling, let me help you make your dreams a reality," he had said as he handed the keys to you and closed your fingers around them. "Go on, my Little Dreamer. Let's go see your new store."

Guilt creeps up to your throat. Your grand opening consisted of the Inner Circle. Azriel bought a few books for himself and one he thought Nesta would enjoy. You hadn't had the heart to tell him that she had that book already.

Rhys was beaming as he looked at the tomes amongst Aisles. His fingers grazing amongst the titles. You could see pride as he wandered every aisle.

A look you now dreaded every time you walked into a family dinner and someone asked you about your shop. You always danced around the answer.

Ding

Your head perked up as the bell from the door chimed, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. Familiar black hair and and tan skin was shaking off his umbrella before leaning it against the side of the wall. Rhysand's smile bloomed on his face causing butterflies to flutter in your stomach. Even after all these years his beauty still took your breath away. "Hello, Darling." He smiled walked around the counter and pulling you close. His brows furrowed as he noticed your damp clothes. "You're drenched, Love." He turned and noticed the clothes in front of the fireplace, facing you once more his thumb began to idly swipe against your hip.

You sighed, and averted his gaze, "I was splashed by a cart on the way here." You shifted under his touch, "I didn't have enough time to react."

Rhysand hummed, and you glanced over at him and noticed him staring out the window. He smirked, "Close the shop." It wasn't a question.

"Excuse me?" You tilted your head as his violet eyes met yours stars twinkling in his eyes and something, playful.

"Close the shop. Your mate wants to spend the day with you." You opened your mouth and he kissed the corner of your mouth, "No one is right now and all the stores around are closing early today."

You tugged the bottom of your lip behind your teeth. Debating whether or not you could afford to have the store closed. Rhys' eyes turned pleading and he even jutted out his bottom lip that sealed that swayed you. "Okay."

Rhys smiled and slid his hands, to yours. "Great!" And he pulled you away from your counter and headed out side leaving behind his umbrella. You were quick to grab opening it as Rhys ran to the middle of the street releasing your hands. His arms spread out against "Rhysand, what are you doing?" You shrieked as he began to laugh. "You're getting soaked!"

"I can't let you be alone in being soaked to the bone can I?" He lifted his head to the sky and smiled as the water coated the male's skin. You watched him in awe and wondered how often he did this when you didn't noticed, especially after returning from being with Amarantha. His violet eyes bright and twinkling, "Come dance with me." He held out his hand and slightly bowed.

You shook your head, "I should get back inside."

Darling, Rhysand spoke in your mind, Are you really going to deny your High Lord a dance with his Lady? He quirked a brow and you rolled your eyes.

You're insufferable. You thought to him as you closed the Umbrella and ran to him. The minute you were within his reach he lifted you up off the ground and you began to laugh. Once he put you down he gripped your waist, his hands lacing with yours the two of you began to sway. No words needed to be said he just held you and began to dance in the middle of the street. The two of you began to laugh and he spun you out, and when he spun you back, his chest pressing against your back, he kissed your cheek. He held you close and your eyes closed leaning your head against your shoulder. You didn't mind as the rain trickled against your skin.

You're a vision, My Love. Rhysand spoke in your mind. You hummed and Rhys continued to lead into more dances until exhaustion befell on both of you.

☂️☂️☂️

Rhys had brought you some dry clothes as if he suspected you needed them. You smiled as you found he packed his sweater that was your favorite to wear with some shorts. Rhys was sitting by the fire in the book store when you walked in with dry clothes, clean thanks to Rhys' magic. "Feel better?" he asked as you crawled into his lap.

"Always with you, My Love." You paused and threaded your fingers through his hair. He purred at the touch closing his eyes as you continued. "I thought you and Cassian were heading to Windhaven for meetings."

"Devlon cancelled, he didn't want the rain and the wind to mess up his hair." Rhysand joked as he creaked his eyes open.

I frowned and straightened my posture, "Rhysand."

Rhysand opened his eyes and his hand rubbing your back in a soothing manner. "You are more important, Darling."

You shook your head, pushing away as far as his arms would let you, which was not far at all. "Rhysand, you shouldn't have. I got wet. You're High Lord you have responsibilities. I'm-

"My mate," he finished, leaning up to kiss your nose. "You come first. You will always come first." He gripped your hand, placing it over your heart, "Especially when she opened up the bond, and her sadness was so palpable I fell to my knees in agonizing pain. Then Azriel told me that his shadows witnessed what happened. You needed me. I'm here." And that was the end of it. He wasn't willing to budge his priorities, not when it came to you.

You leaned back into his embrace head on his shoulder as he leaned his own on top of yours. The two of you sat in silence. "It wasn't just about the rain today, was it?" His voice was soft and gentle."

"No, it wasn't." Your voice laced with exhaustion.

He kissed your head. "We'll talk about it more in the morning. Right now, I want you to sleep. I'll be here when you wake." He kissed the side of your head as your eyes drooped closed. "I love you, Darling."

You yawned, "And I you, Rhys."

A few weeks later ☂️

The sun illuminated the store, and you were grateful as swarms of people were scouring for books, looking for new adventures to take. You and Rhysand talked for hours on what was needed to turn business around and turned out his frequent visits helped. Everyone wanted to shop where the High Lord did.You took a minute from helping a customer to smile, down one of the Aisles Rhysand stood an apron around his hips helping a customer find a book. His eyes glittered, and his smile brought her customers at ease. He insisted that if he was coming to the shop, he would be on the floor assisting but never missed a chance to glance your way with a playful wink.

You were a lucky female to have a caring, loving, and passionate Mate. Your best friend. Your High Lord.

And he loved his wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Book Shop owner.

Fin.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand fanfic #rhysand fluff #rhysand x you #rhysand is the most handsome high lord #high lord of the night court #Spotify #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #rhys darby #Rhys fluff

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hopcflowered · 10 months ago

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tag dump !!

#dreamers dream until they don’t. ﹙ musings ﹚#my mind's always moving much faster than my mouth. ﹙ aesthetic ﹚#her head up in the clouds where has she gone now? ﹙ reflection ﹚

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damthosefandoms · 1 month ago

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There's death at my door and I swear that it's following me

(ao3 link)

Summary:

“I’m going to finish it,” he says out loud to anyone who might be listening in his empty house. “I swear. I have to for school, anyway. I’m not handing in an unfinished paper.”

There is no response but the sound of Ponyboy’s own breathing.

“It’s not easy to write, Johnny!” he yells. “This is the part where I get you killed, you know!”

Nothing.

Figures he’d be quiet dead, too.

---

Neither of the greasers who died that cold, September night in 1967 had a funeral—Dally had nobody to set one up, except his friends who couldn’t afford it, and they never found out where the cops took him after they killed him anyway. But a month or so after everything ends, they find out Johnny’s mother had him cremated and that she and his father kept his ashes.

Ponyboy is particularly pissed off. Something about Johnny being trapped in that house his whole life, and even now, after death, being kept in a place he hated more than anything else…

“It ain’t right. I…we loved him more than they could ever dream of.”

As the remnants of the gang sit around the Curtises’ kitchen table, defeated, Two-Bit half-heartedly jokes they should steal his ashes. Darry rolls his eyes. Sodapop says that’s horrible. A heartbroken Ponyboy says, “Dally would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

A week later Darry and Soda wake up to Pony making eggs for breakfast, with a new centerpiece on the table.

“Tell me that is not what I think it is,” Darry mutters, gesturing to the cheap urn.

Pony’s face goes red. “So, uh… this kid Mark at school taught me how to pick locks, and…”

“Ponyboy Michael Curtis!”

“C’mon, Darry, I had to! It was eating me alive. They don’t deserve him! I’ll bet they won’t even notice he’s gone!”

His brothers look at him like he’s finally lost it. Maybe he has, because Mark’s advice had gotten him nowhere, and Pony swears the Cades’ door unlocked on its own last night.

“All Johnny wanted was to get out of Tulsa. The happiest he ever was, was watchin’ the sunset back there on Jay Mountain. I needed to go get him so we could take him there.”

“Ponyboy…”

“I had to. I just had to. If not for Johnny, then for Dally, okay? ‘Cause god knows we couldn’t do anythin’ else for him.”

He’s got a lot of reasons to believe this is what Johnny wanted.

That weekend, the whole gang drives up to the remains of the church, so they all can say goodbye. Ponyboy pours Johnny’s ashes out over the cliffside where they watched the sunset, and if a little bit of dust gets on his hands, well. He stares for a minute before he goes to wash it off at the old water pump.

“You gotta go, Johnny,” he mumbles. “Don’t stick around me. Don’t do that to yourself. Move on.”

He’s always had a weird relationship with death.

---

Ever since Ponyboy was little, he’d been told he had a strong imagination. His brothers call him a dreamer. His dad used to laugh and say he had his head in the clouds; his Mom said he was just the creative type. He learned pretty fast that no one else saw the things he could see, and he learned even faster not to talk about it. He thinks his brothers never believed him, but they also never forgot.

It’s one of those things where Ponyboy doesn’t see things unless he needs to. He got real good at tuning out the supernatural at a very young age, and it’s not something that comes up in his life very often anyway; death may follow him wherever he goes, it may show up at his door but he does not let it in. He doesn’t know why he’s like this. It’s like there is just something special about him, something he figures he won’t understand until he is much, much older. Or maybe he never will, and he’s just crazy.

The first time death comes to visit, Ponyboy is not feeling well. It’s been a month, it’s almost Halloween, and it is the first time since Johnny and Dally died that he’s sick again. Pony’s got just a low-grade fever, but Darry lets him stay home because that’s for the best. He promises to work on his English assignment.

Darry and Soda head out to work with promises to check up on him during their lunch breaks. He picks up his notebook and flips through it, but he is at the part where he runs into the church to save those kids and he can’t bring himself to pick up the pencil and admit that it was his cigarette. His fault.

His pencil rolls over the edge of the desk. It clatters to the floor and Ponyboy reaches down to get it. When he sits up, Johnny’s ghost is staring at him, pointing at the blank page.

He blinks and he is alone again, but he can still feel the presence and knows deep down he isn’t. He sits back and groans. He can’t be normal for ten minutes?

“I’m going to finish it,” he says out loud to anyone who might be listening in his empty house. “I swear. I have to for school, anyway. I’m not handing in an unfinished paper.”

There is no response but the sound of Ponyboy’s own breathing.

“It’s not easy to write, Johnny!” he yells. “This is the part where I get you killed, you know!”

Nothing.

Figures he’d be quiet dead, too.

But writer’s block grabs him by the throat and doesn’t let go, so Ponyboy picks up his pencil again and begins to doodle on that blank page a picture of his current situation.

He falls asleep at his desk, and when his brothers come home, they find him there, snoring over a picture of himself at his desk, writing in his notebook while Johnny Cade stands watching over his shoulder like some kind of guardian angel.

---

Time passes and school starts up again, and around a year or so after the Windrixville nightmare, Ponyboy announces to his brothers that he’s going to some school dance with a couple of friends. He’s really non-committal about the whole thing, but Soda thinks it’s a good idea, and maybe Pony doesn’t really like the group of guys he’s going with but he knows he has to get out of his comfort zone and this is one way to do that. He promises to be back before curfew, so it’s not like he’ll have time to get into any trouble.

Apparently, his first mistake was one he’d made literal months ago, back in the spring—saying no to going out with Angela Shepard.

He knows it was shitty of him, the way he'd barely even acknowledged her presence after she waltzed up to him that day, but he also he knows it was never about him. It was her, expecting Pony to have her back whether or not he actually was interested in her, because that's just what Curtises and Shepards do.

But the day she approached him was—would've been—Johnny's seventeenth birthday. So, you know. There are a lot of reasons he'd turned her down.

And now here they are, in October of 1968, at this stupid school dance. Mark’s brother Bryon brought a date and Bryon never liked Ponyboy anyway, so he and Mark walked off together to let those two hang out, and then Mark wanted to go out to Terry’s car because he brought alcohol or something—Pony was not interested in drinking the slightest, but he followed anyway—and then his second mistake must’ve been simply being at the dance or something, he doesn’t actually know. He doesn’t think he spoke to Angela the whole time.

(Later Ponyboy finds out she was trying to piss off Bryon, who he later finds out is her ex. She was mad he'd brought a date, or something like that. He still doesn't really get the whole thing, and probably never will. If you ask him, Angela should've known better than to have taken it all personally when she'd known exactly what she was doing.)

They’re sitting on the hood of Mark’s friend Terry’s car and some guy walks up that Ponyboy has never seen before.

And the guy just swings at him! Of course he swung back!

Pony knows that he does not have a tough reputation, but he is one hell of a fighter—he may have gotten his ass kicked in the rumble but he also helped kick ass, and he’s been working out a bit with Darry so he can keep up with the track team, and he was briefly considered an accessory to murder, so clearly he can handle himself. Just ignore the fact he'd been drowning in the fountain for that whole thing. He figures Mark didn’t get the memo, because when the guy smashes a beer bottle to swing at Ponyboy’s head, his idiot friend decides to pick that moment to tell the other guy to relax.

Next thing Pony knows Mark’s on the ground bleeding and the school-sanctioned cop appointed to keep kids from killing each other at the dance grabs him to haul him away. Some job he’s doing.

He goes to get Mark’s brother, and he explains that the guy meant to hit him and not Mark, and Bryon says something about Angela Shepard but he doesn’t really explain. Pony decides he doesn't care. Mark groans and his eyes open, but it’s like he can’t see anything and Pony winces, because he knows all too well what is happening.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Shock,” Ponyboy says, and he takes Dally’s old leather jacket off and throws it over the guy until the ambulance arrives and the EMTs take over. He’s careful not to let any blood get on it, though. It’s already been through enough.

Ponyboy thinks maybe he has, too.

The brothers get into the ambulance and Cathy Carlson, the girl that Bryon took to the dance, walks up to him and asks what happened, so he tells her. She mentions that Bryon borrowed a friend’s car to drive them there—Two-Bit drove Ponyboy to the dance and then ditched him for the first girl he saw at the party, and must be long gone by now—and she points it out to him in the parking lot. She heads off to see if she can get a ride to the hospital from someone.

Ponyboy wants to thank Mark for stopping the fight, if he can. He’s not as bad as everyone thinks he is; Pony’s got no clue why Dally used to be so insistent he stay away from the kid. He also kind of figured Bryon would need a way home too, so…

He hotwires the car. He hopes he didn’t break anything in the process, and he makes sure to have Cathy drive, because she has a license and Darry won’t let anyone but himself teach Pony—and he won’t do it until Pony’s sixteen. Probably for the best considering Soda and Steve have a million speeding tickets each and Two-Bit is chronically under the influence.

When they leave, Ponyboy and Bryon have to help Mark walk out because he can’t on his own just yet. Pony’s in the middle of saying he gets it, “I had this killer concussion last year after some soc kicked me in the head during the big rumble, and I remember bein’ out of my mind loopy after, laughin’ at how I couldn’t run… straight…”

He trails off.

He realizes he recognizes this hallway. The door across from him is slightly open and it is the room Johnny died in.

Mark half-falls ‘cause Bryon kept walking and Pony didn’t, and it takes Cathy asking if he is okay to snap him out of it. He says yes but his chest is starting to feel tight and his eyes burn.

He blinks a few times and shakes his head and mumbles a “sorry,” which just gets him an odd look, but no one really asks after that. They get Mark in the car and the only thing he says for the entire ride home are the directions to his house.

Except they don’t get all the way to his house, because they are driving down the street Dallas Winston died on and the pain in Pony’s chest gets worse and he looks out the window toward the street lamp and yells “STOP!” because he sees someone standing there and is convinced they are about to hit them.

Everyone stares at Ponyboy like he is insane but he does not care because Dally is crumpling to the ground just like he did that night, calling out Pony’s name and dropping dead. Then he is standing up, and the bullets are hitting him, and it repeats and repeats like some horrible loop. Pony feels like all his hair is standing on end. He can’t breathe.

Don’t think about how you heard Dally and Johnny’s last words, how they called for you, but you’ll never know Mom and Dad’s. If they screamed for help. If they held each other as they died. If they watched the train coming and knew they couldn't run.

“Uh, I forgot to tell y’all a turn, I… I’ll get out here. Thanks for the ride.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he gets out of the car and shuts the door. Cathy’s got the window down and she asks if he’s okay and Pony is normally a good liar but he isn’t tonight.

“I’ll be fine. See you later.”

They drive off and Ponyboy sits down on the curb and stares at his hands. He’s never hanging out with any of them ever again.

He thinks about his dreams, the horrible ones that wake him up screaming and shaking, the ones he can’t ever remember, and he wonders why he had to be the one cursed with this stupid ability. To know something horrible is going to happen before it does. To see what happened to his friends after death. Why he has to be the one to know Dallas Winston will never move on. He has this feeling in his gut and he knows he needs to walk down this road to get home but he cannot bring himself to go anywhere near that street lamp. He already has Johnny’s spirit attached to him. He can’t deal with the idea of Dally being there too. He is too angry, and even from this distance, it’s starting to affect Pony, too.

He takes the long way home, because maybe he has a jacket tonight but he figures that if he’s going to get jumped tonight for walking home alone, what’s the worst that could happen after last time? He’s already lost two friends. He lost his parents. Who even cares anymore?

When Ponyboy gets back to his house it is well after curfew and he can see the light on inside and it is like deja vu. He has a black eye and his lip is cut, he knows it’s swelling up because he never put ice on it, and his chest feels tight and he knows he’s shed a few tears and he just. He can’t even bring himself to care as he walks inside.

“You’re late again,” Darry says. Soda is nowhere to be seen.

“Yeah, whatever, Darrel,” Pony mutters.

“Where were you? I told you to be home by midnight. What happened to your face?”

“Some guy swung at me. Don’t worry about it.”

“You really think I won’t, Pony? We’ve talked about this.”

That is a lie. They didn’t talk. They just promised Soda not to fight anymore.

But Pony is tired and Dally and his heart hurts and he feels like he is going to explode, so he does.

“I was at the hospital, Darry, is that what you want? My friend got hurt trying to help me out because some guy I ain’t never seen in my life decided to swing at me at the dance even though I didn’t even do anything and I went to the hospital to check on Mark. And you know what? I had it all under control and then I hadda walk past that stupid room Johnny died in and now I know my brain is broken ‘cause I can’t stop thinking about it and about Dally and— and I don’t want to talk about it!” Ponyboy can’t even finish. He just storms past his brother and down the hall to his room.

He opens the door, grabs Sodapop out of the bed and shoves him out, and then slams the door shut behind him. The doorknob clicks locked and they hear a noise that sounds an awful lot like a heartbroken sob.

Soda looks at Darry.

“I told you waiting up for him would just piss him off.”

“Shut up.”

#ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #the outsiders #the outsiders musical #the outsiders fanfiction #johnny cade #dally winston #that was then this is now #two bit mathews #twttin #mark jennings #angela shepard #my post #julie writes stuff #if there’s one thing about me it’s I’m gonna imply dally and mark are brothers lmao #tex this one’s for you little buddy

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