#I would go to war for those cheekbones | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 3 months ago

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The North Remembers

- Summary: You return to Dragonstone, where you mourn with your family as you receive the message from Cregan.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. These events happen right after The Union of Ice and Fire. To read all parts in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 6 357

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

The dawn breaks cold over the snows of Winterfell, the grey skies above washed with the soft glow of morning light. The wind bites as it always does here, the chill sinking into your bones, but the cold is a familiar thing now—a companion as much as the warm hearths of the castle.

You stand in the courtyard, fingers brushing the fur-lined cloak clasped around your throat, its rich purple hue a striking contrast against the white and grey that surround you. Before you, Thraxata rests on the rocky grounds, her dark form like a living shadow, the light catching the violet tinge of her wings and eyes. The Midnight Fury lets out a low rumble, sensing your turmoil beneath the surface of your calm.

You’ve only been in Winterfell for little over a few months, barely enough time to know the castle’s halls as well as you know the sea air of Driftmark or the windswept cliffs of Dragonstone. The banners of House Stark flutter above you, their direwolf sigil snapping sharply in the wind. And it is there, beneath those banners, that Cregan stands, his usual stern expression softened, just for you.

It is an expression reserved solely for you now—a tenderness that you’ve learned is a rarity in the Lord of Winterfell. He has been a quiet husband, brooding, and with a presence like the mountains of the North, immovable and imposing. But the bond forged in this marriage, though brief, has grown into something more than alliance, more than duty. In those rare moments away from watchful eyes, you’ve seen the warmth that hides beneath his solemn exterior.

Cregan’s hand lingers on yours, rough from sword work and the cold, but it’s a warmth you’ve come to crave. He steps closer, his breath visible in the chill air, as he speaks, voice low and rumbling, like the deep growl of a direwolf. “Must you go so soon, Y/N? It was only a few weeks ago that you came into my hall as my wife, and now the sky calls you away.”

You look up at him, the violet of your eyes meeting the ice-grey of his. In that moment, you feel the weight of duty pressing down upon you—the call of blood, of family, and the loss that tears at your heart. “I must,” you reply, your voice steady, though beneath it, grief stirs. “Luke was my brother, and I cannot be absent when my family gathers in mourning.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a gesture so gentle it belies the fierce warrior he is. “I understand, but it doesn’t sit right, you flying into war’s shadow. The storm is coming, and it would see you harmed. There’s no peace at Dragonstone.”

You shake your head softly, lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. “Thraxata and I have faced storms before. But I promise, I will return. This is not a farewell of uncertainty, Cregan. It’s but a temporary parting.”

Cregan’s jaw tightens, but you see the conflict in his eyes—the clash between the duty that binds him as Lord of Winterfell and the worry that gnaws at him as your husband. He’s never voiced it openly, but you’ve come to know his unspoken thoughts in the lines that deepen between his brows and the way his hand hovers close when you speak of leaving. You reach up, cupping his face with your free hand, your thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. He leans into your touch, and there’s a softness in his gaze, something raw and open that he only shows in these moments alone with you.

“I would not be parted from you if the choice was mine,” he murmurs, his voice low, a rumble that echoes in your chest. “But you are who you are—a dragon, a daughter of Rhaenyra. The North will be colder without you.”

The words hang between you, heavy with the weight of unsaid things. But you do not shy away from the truth of them. You were born of fire, bound to flame and fury as much as blood and bone. Yet here in the cold, you’ve found something unexpected—a hearth that’s begun to feel like home.

You close the distance, pressing your forehead against his, drawing in the scent of pine and frost that clings to him. “And I’ll return to it,” you whisper, your voice carrying the promise that neither distance nor war will break what has begun to grow between you. “To you.”

He kisses you then, slow and deliberate, a kiss that is both a plea and a vow. His hand tightens around your waist, holding you close, as if trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms before you’re gone. You let yourself be lost in it for a moment, savoring the warmth that lingers in the cold air.

When you part, there’s something in Cregan’s eyes—a mixture of pride and sadness. He steps back, letting his hand slip from yours, but not before he speaks one last time. “When you return, you’ll find the hearth burning for you. Winterfell will wait. I’ll wait.”

With a final look, you nod, feeling the sting of tears that you refuse to let fall. “Keep it burning,” you say softly, before turning to Thraxata, who watches the exchange with the keen intelligence of dragons. She lowers her head, allowing you to mount, her scales like polished obsidian beneath your fingers.

As Thraxata’s wings unfurl, casting a dark shadow over the courtyard, you glance back one last time. Cregan stands there, his dark cloak billowing in the wind, a solitary figure against the snow. His expression is unreadable, but you carry the memory of his touch, his words, with you as the dragon’s powerful wings lift you into the sky.

The cold air rushes past you, but it’s the warmth of Winterfell—and of the man who waits there—that you hold close to your heart as you soar southward to meet the darkness ahead.

The hall of Winterfell is filled with the murmuring voices of the gathered lords and bannermen, their breath visible in the cold air. Torches line the walls, casting flickering light upon fur-clad figures as they gather around the long oak table. The banners of the Stark direwolf hang heavy above, swaying slightly in the draft. Cregan Stark stands at the head of the table, his expression carved from stone, his eyes hard and glacial as he looks upon the assembled men.

You are absent from this gathering—still on your way south to Dragonstone to mourn your brother, Prince Lucerys, whose death now looms over all like a shadow. But your presence is keenly felt, your name on every tongue, your sorrow a silent echo in the hall. The news of Aemond Targaryen’s treachery has reached the North, and it is received as bitterly as the cold winds that howl outside. A child, a prince of the realm, slain in cold blood by his own kin. Kinslaying—an act so vile that even the hardiest northern lord recoils at its mention.

Cregan grips the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. His mind is torn between the duty he owes to the North and the fury that burns within him for what has been done to you, his wife. He remembers the strength in your eyes when you left, the unspoken grief beneath your calm facade. And though he must focus on the matters of his own realm, his thoughts stray constantly to the hurt you must be carrying.

“Lord Stark,” booms Lord Manderly, his ample form casting a broad shadow as he leans forward. “This act is more than just a family quarrel among the dragons. A kinslayer has been made, and that is a curse not easily forgotten. If the Targaryens devour each other, what hope is there for the realm?”

A murmur of agreement runs through the gathered lords. Lord Glover, always stern, nods. “The kinslaying is grievous enough, but it is also an assault against the Queen herself. It is an attack on your Lady’s family, my lord. An insult to Winterfell, by extension.”

Cregan’s eyes flash at those words, his temper barely kept in check. “I am well aware, Lord Glover,” he says in a low, controlled voice, “of what this means. Blood calls for blood. But the North has always moved with caution and purpose. We are not so hasty to spill our own sons’ lives without cause.”

“Yet the cause is here,” interrupts Lord Umber, his rough voice a growl. “Your lady wife’s kin have been murdered. If we are to send men to fight, let it be known that we do so not just for Rhaenyra’s claim, but for vengeance.”

Cregan straightens, his gaze sweeping over his bannermen. “Vengeance, aye. But not just vengeance. The North remembers, and it will act, but not recklessly. The long night draws near, and the Wall needs our attention. Yet, the bonds forged in this marriage cannot be ignored.”

There is a pause, the hall falling silent as the implications of his words settle in. It is clear that while Cregan’s loyalty to you is unshakable, he is not a man who would send his forces south in blind rage. His duty is first to the North—to the defense against what lies beyond the Wall, to the people who have looked to House Stark for protection for generations.

Still, it is not just caution that guides him. His heart burns with compassion for you—a quiet, smoldering fury that those close to him can sense. He would see your pain avenged, but he must tread carefully.

Finally, it is Lord Flint who speaks, his voice steady and measured. “Winter comes, Lord Stark. And we know that our strength must be held here. But perhaps there is a middle ground. If some of us were to march south—those with the numbers to spare, with Greybeards among them—we could lend strength to the Queen’s cause while Winterfell maintains its vigil.”

Cregan considers this, his gaze far away as he weighs the options. He knows that you would not ask him to risk all of Winterfell’s forces for the sake of your vengeance alone. You would be pragmatic, as he must be. Yet the thought of standing idle while you suffer is galling to him.

He nods slowly. “Aye, Lord Flint speaks wisely. Winterfell will not abandon its duty to the Wall, but those who wish to march south may do so, under their own banners. I will send word to my wife—to your lady—and let her know that the North remembers. That even in her sorrow, she is not without allies.”

There are murmurs of approval among the lords, and a few already begin to speak among themselves, calculating how many men they might spare without weakening their own holds.

Lord Manderly speaks again, his tone firm. “House Manderly will send a contingent south. The sea may be in our blood, but this crime cannot be ignored. The Queen’s cause is righteous, and so is the fury of House Tagaryen.”

Lord Umber pounds a fist on the table, nodding in agreement. “The Last Hearth will send men as well. We’ve no love for treachery, and even less for kinslayers. This is about more than crowns—it’s about honor.”

Cregan’s eyes meet those of each lord who pledges their men. There is a grim satisfaction in seeing that, even in the cold North, the bonds of family and justice still hold strong.

“Then it’s settled,” he declares. “Let those who march south do so with the blessings of House Stark. But remember this—Winterfell stands prepared for what comes from beyond the Wall. If the shadows of war reach us here, we will be ready.”

The lords nod in agreement, though the tension lingers in the air. They know the risks—they know that winter is coming, and with it, dangers far beyond the ambitions of men and crowns. But they also know that the North cannot forget the bonds it has forged, nor the blood that has been spilled.

As the meeting concludes, Cregan allows himself a moment of solitude, stepping away from the table to stare out at the snow-covered landscape beyond the walls. The wind howls, a distant wolf’s cry echoing in the cold. His heart aches with the knowledge that, despite all his power and influence, he cannot be at your side in your time of need. But he takes comfort in one thing—he has not left you without support. The North may not march as a united host, but its fury will be felt in the South.

And when you return, he will be here, ready to embrace you in the warmth of Winterfell’s hearth once more.

The skies over Dragonstone are a brooding grey, heavy with the promise of rain. The sea crashes against the cliffs below, its restless fury echoing the turmoil within your heart. Two weeks have passed since you arrived, and the sorrow that clings to the ancient castle is a weight you can’t shake off. The empty funeral pyre stands as a cruel reminder—no body was found, only the wing of Arrax, torn and bloodied from the storm and the jaws of Vhagar. The flames of mourning have burned out, leaving only ashes, but the grief remains, raw and relentless.

You’ve spent these days in close company with your family. The halls are filled with the whispered laments of your brothers, the silent agony of your mother, and the grim determination of those still loyal to her cause. The loss of Luke, your sweet brother, is like an open wound for all of you. He was more than a prince; he was a boy who brought laughter to darkened halls, a boy who carried innocence even in these dark times.

After dinner in the great hall, where the silence is thick and every shared glance carries the weight of unspoken grief, your grandmother, Rhaenys, catches your eye. The Queen Who Never Was stands with the posture of a warrior and the gaze of someone who’s known too much loss. She gestures subtly with a nod, beckoning you to follow her down one of Dragonstone’s many winding corridors.

The stones beneath your feet are cold as you walk beside her, the torchlight flickering across the walls, casting shadows that dance like memories. Rhaenys is quiet at first, as if considering how to broach the subject. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, but there’s a steel edge to it.

“How fares the North, child? Does it suit you as your new home?”

You swallow, thinking of Winterfell’s harsh beauty, the endless snowdrifts, the quiet strength of its people. “It is…different from what I’ve known,” you admit. “The cold never truly leaves, but it’s a place of honor and loyalty. The people are as strong as the land itself.”

Rhaenys nods, her violet eyes assessing you, searching for more than just the surface of your words. “And Cregan Stark? Is he the man they say he is?”

There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of your lips as you think of your husband—the Lord of Winterfell, who stands like a mountain against all storms. “He is as the North itself, unyielding and fierce. But with me…he’s been kind. Patient, even. There is warmth beneath all that ice.”

A flicker of approval crosses Rhaenys’ face. “Good. You’ll need that warmth in the days to come. You may find that love, when forged in fire and ice, is the strongest bond of all.” Her expression grows more solemn as she continues. “But be wary, Y/N. The North remembers its own ways, its own needs. You are a daughter of House Velaryon, of House Targaryen. Never forget where your blood runs from. Loyalty can be a fickle thing in times of war.”

You meet her gaze, the weight of her words sinking in. “I haven’t forgotten,” you say softly. “But Cregan’s loyalty is something even Aegon’s throne cannot easily sway. He knows what it means to be bound by honor.”

Before Rhaenys can respond, Maester Gerardys approaches, the hem of his robe sweeping the floor. He bows his head respectfully, though his eyes dart between you and your grandmother with urgency. “Princess Y/N, Princess Rhaenys—there is a message. A raven has arrived from Winterfell.”

Your breath catches. You excuse yourself from Rhaenys’ side, following the maester back to the main hall where your mother stands by the hearth. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams in the firelight, her face gaunt with grief, yet there is a fierceness in her eyes that has not dimmed. She holds the message in one hand, the seal of House Stark already broken. When she sees you approach, she reaches out, pressing the parchment into your hands.

“Read it, daughter,” she says, her voice steady but laced with both concern and curiosity.

Your fingers tremble as you unroll the parchment, the familiar script of your husband’s hand meeting your eyes. The message is concise, yet filled with the careful words that only someone like Cregan would choose.

Y/N,

The North stirs with news of the South’s turmoil. I have gathered my bannermen and consulted with those who would act in your family’s interest. We cannot forget the crime done to Prince Lucerys—nor can we ignore what it means for the realm. My duty to the Wall remains my first concern, but know this: the North remembers, and those who march south do so with the fire of retribution in their hearts. Men loyal to House Stark, and thus to you, will fight in your name and the name of your kin. They may march under banners of their own, but their cause is now bound to yours. You are not alone in this war, Y/N.

Winter awaits your return, as do I. Until then, keep your heart strong and your resolve firm. The fire you carry is your strength.

Cregan Stark.

You feel Rhaenyra’s presence beside you as she reads over your shoulder. When you finish, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your mother’s hand rests on your arm, a rare show of tenderness from a woman whose heart has been hardened by betrayal and loss.

“He stands with us, then,” she says softly, and there’s a glimmer of relief in her tone. “This is more than we could have hoped for. The North’s support may be scattered, but it is unwavering.”

You nod, your eyes still fixed on the words. “He would be here himself if he could, but he’s bound by his duties. Still, he’s sent men. Greybeards, like he first promised. It’s more than I expected.”

Rhaenyra turns to face you fully, her expression serious yet tinged with something that almost resembles pride. “You’ve done well, Y/N. You’ve secured the loyalty of the North in a way few could have. Your marriage to Cregan was not just a political move—it has borne fruit in ways that will serve us well in the coming storm.”

But beneath her praise, you can sense her worry. She knows, as you do, that even with the North’s aid, the path ahead is treacherous. War is on your doorstep, and the bonds you’ve forged, however strong, will be tested by fire and blood.

For a moment, the two of you stand in silence, the weight of the message sinking in. You clutch the parchment tightly, drawing strength from the thought of Cregan’s words—the thought of his presence, waiting for you in the cold, far away.

“Mother,” you begin, breaking the silence, “what of the others? What news from King’s Landing, from Aemond and Vhagar?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardens at the mention of your uncle’s name, her hand tightening on the mantle draped over her shoulders. “The time for that reckoning is near. We will strike when the time is right, but not without careful planning. The North is readying itself, and so must we.”

You nod, but in your heart, you know this war is as much personal as it is political. Aemond’s cruelty took your brother from you, and though your rage is tempered by grief, it burns no less fiercely. Yet you also carry the strength of the North within you now—the resilience of Winterfell, of Cregan. It gives you a sense of purpose, a resolve that steadies you even as the world seems to be falling apart.

You fold the letter carefully, tucking it close to your heart. “Then let us be ready,” you say quietly, lifting your gaze to meet your mother’s determined eyes. “For Lucerys. For what was taken from us.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softens briefly as she places a hand on your cheek. “For him,” she echoes, her voice filled with a quiet, shared pain. “And for you, Y/N. We will not let his death be in vain.”

In that moment, you stand together not just as mother and daughter, but as two women who know that fire and blood are the legacies you must uphold. And as you stare into the flames of the hearth, you feel the cold resolve of the North settling within your soul, steel mingling with the fire that has always burned there. Winter may come, but you will meet it with the fury of both ice and flame.

The walls of Winterfell loom high and ancient as you approach, the familiar grey stones standing steadfast against the biting winds. Snowflakes dance in the air, swirling in graceful arcs as they settle upon the battlements and courtyards below. Thraxata’s wings beat powerfully as she circles above the castle, her obsidian-black scales almost indistinguishable from the sky darkening with twilight. Despite the cold, a warmth stirs within your chest—a feeling you never thought you’d associate with this harsh and unforgiving place. You’re home, in a sense.

As Thraxata lands, sending gusts of snow swirling around her massive form, you see Cregan waiting in the courtyard, flanked by several Stark men, their heavy furs braced against the chill. Even from this distance, you can see the tension ease from his posture as his eyes meet yours. He steps forward as you dismount, the snow crunching under his boots. His usual stoic expression softens into a small, almost imperceptible smile—one reserved only for you.

You approach him, your boots leaving prints in the snow, and his hand extends toward yours. When your fingers meet, it’s like the ice and fire within you blend—opposites that somehow, in some strange way, feel whole together.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs, his deep voice rumbling with genuine warmth. His grey eyes search yours, as if making sure that the burden of grief has not completely consumed you. There is a depth to his gaze that reassures you more than any words could.

You squeeze his hand in return, feeling the roughness of calluses beneath your fingers. “It’s good to be back, truly,” you reply, and you mean it. “Winterfell has become a comfort I did not expect to miss.”

Cregan’s brow lifts, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “A comfort? The North must truly have claimed you if you find solace in snow and stone.”

You laugh softly, a sound that seems almost out of place in the cold, but it’s genuine. “It’s more than the snow and stone,” you say, your gaze lingering on his face, and you see the understanding dawn in his eyes.

His smile widens ever so slightly before he steps aside, gesturing toward the main hall. “Come, we’ve prepared a small feast in your honor. The hall is warmer than it’s been in days—something special for the Lady of Winterfell’s return.”

You let him guide you inside, where the air is indeed warmer, thick with the scent of roasting meat, fresh bread, and spiced wine. The long tables are laden with hearty dishes—steaming stews, roasted game, platters of fruit, and loaves of dark bread. The torches burn brighter tonight, their light reflecting off the stone walls, giving the usually solemn hall an unexpected coziness.

The Stark banners hang proudly from the rafters, and though the gathering is modest by southern standards, there is a sincerity in it that touches you. The lords and ladies of Winterfell, those sworn to the Stark name, rise to greet you as you enter. Cregan remains at your side, his presence steady, a quiet strength that grounds you amidst the swirling emotions of being home.

As you take your place beside him at the high table, a chorus of toasts begins—voices raised in welcome, in honor of your return. It’s clear that Cregan has gone to great lengths to make this night special for you, despite the shadow of grief that lingers from your time in Dragonstone.

You find yourself smiling as you listen to the familiar voices around you, but it’s when the first course is served that you lean closer to Cregan, your voice low so only he can hear. “Thank you, Cregan,” you say earnestly, the words weighted with more than just gratitude for the feast. “For everything. For the support you gave my family in the face of such loss, and for the care you’ve shown me through all of this. I know the North has its own burdens, yet you still chose to act.”

Cregan’s expression softens, and he takes a moment before responding, as if carefully choosing his words. “You are my wife, Y/N. My loyalty is to the North, but it is also to you. The loss of your brother is something no one should bear alone, least of all you. I swore to stand with you, and that means more than just words. It means action when needed.”

You feel a swell of affection in your chest—a warmth that pushes back against the cold edges of grief that have clung to you since Lucerys’ death. “Still,” you continue, your voice softer, “it’s more than duty, isn’t it? You’ve done more than your role requires, and I don’t take that lightly.”

Cregan’s gaze holds yours, and for a moment, you see the vulnerability beneath his icy exterior—the man who, despite his formidable reputation, is not immune to the complexities of what has grown between you. “It is more than duty,” he agrees, his voice equally quiet. “It is…respect. And perhaps more, though I’m not a man skilled in speaking of such things.” There’s a hint of self-deprecation in his tone, a rare touch of humor that only surfaces in these private moments.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “I’ve come to appreciate that about you, Cregan. You may not say much, but when you do, it matters.”

Before he can respond, the doors to the hall open again, and more guests arrive, bringing with them fresh conversation and distraction. You settle into the evening, sharing in the food and drink, but always returning your attention to Cregan, who seems just as content to let the feast unfold around you while keeping you within his orbit.

Later, as the night deepens and the feasting turns more boisterous, songs rise from the tables. The lords and ladies of the North sing in rough but hearty voices, the tunes woven with tales of battles and the harsh beauty of winter. You watch as Cregan joins in, his deep voice carrying through the hall with surprising resonance. There is a joy in him tonight, a rare and unguarded happiness that spreads to those around him.

You lean back in your seat, a goblet of mulled wine in your hand, and watch the scene before you—Winterfell’s great hall alive with laughter, warmth, and the camaraderie of people who have long understood that even in the face of cold and hardship, there is room for celebration.

At one point, Cregan’s gaze finds yours across the table, and you exchange a wordless understanding—a recognition that despite the differences in where you were raised and the paths that brought you here, you are bound not just by duty, but by something deeper. Something that grows in the spaces between shared glances, quiet conversations, and the trust you’ve built, forged stronger by every test you’ve faced together.

As the feast winds down and guests begin to retire for the night, Cregan turns to you, offering his hand. “Walk with me?” he asks, his voice still carrying the rumble of warmth from the night’s merriment.

You take his hand without hesitation, and he leads you out of the hall, into the cold embrace of the night. The snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk side by side through the courtyard. The stars above are sharp and clear, untouched by southern clouds, and the wind sings softly through the trees beyond the walls.

“I’ve missed this,” you admit, breathing in the crisp air. “The quiet moments. The North may be cold, but there’s a certain peace here.”

Cregan’s grip tightens on your hand, and when he speaks, there is a hint of vulnerability in his voice, as if admitting something long held close. “I’ve missed it too—having you here. The castle hasn’t felt the same without you. Even the wild animals seemed restless. They grew accustomed to your dragon. Thraxata keeps other dangers at bay.”

You smile at that, imagining wolves and deers pacing in your absence somewhere in the forest. “Then it’s a good thing I’m back. Winterfell doesn’t seem so forbidding when you have people who care.”

He stops, turning to face you fully, the snow swirling gently around you both. “And you, Y/N? Do you feel the same?”

You reach up, cupping his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch despite the chill in the air. “I do, Cregan. I truly do.”

In that moment, with the snow falling around you and the distant sounds of Winterfell settling for the night, you realize that what you’ve found here is more than just an alliance—it’s a place where you can find strength, solace, and, perhaps most importantly, love. You lean in and kiss him, your lips brushing softly against his, and he returns it with a tenderness that speaks of everything words cannot convey.

When you pull back, his eyes hold yours with a promise—unspoken but understood—that whatever the future holds, whether it’s war, loss, or winter’s deepest cold, you will face it as one.

Hand in hand, you return to the warmth of Winterfell, the night closing in around you, but the fire you’ve both kindled together burning ever brighter.

As you and Cregan enter your chambers, the warmth from the hearth greets you, a shivering contrast to the icy air outside. The soft glow of firelight dances across the stone walls, casting shadows that sway and flicker. The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, sealing off the world beyond these intimate quarters. The quiet hum of the castle fades away, leaving only the crackling of the fire and the sound of your breaths, which seem louder now, filled with anticipation.

Cregan’s hand remains in yours, but there’s an urgency in the way his fingers tighten around yours. He steps closer, towering over you with that rugged strength that you’ve grown so accustomed to. Yet, there’s something different tonight—a hunger, a need that’s been simmering since the moment you returned. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a deep intensity, and before either of you can say a word, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is fierce, demanding, filled with the pent-up longing of weeks spent apart. You respond in kind, matching his eagerness as your fingers tangle in the fur lining his cloak. The taste of spiced wine lingers on his lips, and his scent—earthy, tinged with pine and smoke—envelops you, grounding you in the moment. Your movements grow more frantic as the kiss deepens, your bodies pressing closer together, as if trying to make up for every second lost in separation.

Cregan’s hands move to your waist, tugging at the layers of your attire with an impatience that’s both surprising and thrilling. “I missed this,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and strained with desire. “Missed you—missed your warmth.”

A soft gasp escapes you as his hands slip beneath your furs, finding the fastenings of your gown and working quickly to undo them. You feel the cool air brush against your skin as your dress loosens, sliding down your shoulders. “Then take it, Cregan,” you breathe, your own fingers deftly working to undo the ties of his tunic, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours. “I’m here now.”

Your clothes fall away in a hurried tangle, your hands roaming over each other’s bodies with a desperate need. There’s no gentleness in your touches tonight, only the shared hunger that’s been building ever since you parted. Cregan’s tunic drops to the floor, revealing the hard lines of his chest, muscles honed by the rigors of the North. You let your hands trace over him, savoring the feeling of his strength, the way he shudders slightly under your touch.

With a growl low in his throat, he lifts you effortlessly, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you toward the bed. Your lips never leave his, and the kiss grows more frantic, more heated, until he lowers you onto the furs. The bed is soft beneath you, the familiar scent of wolf pelts mingling with the crisp scent of winter air that still clings to him.

Cregan pauses for just a moment, his eyes raking over you, darkened with desire. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need. There’s an almost reverent quality to his gaze, but it’s quickly consumed by hunger as he lowers himself over you, capturing your lips again with a fervor that sends heat pooling low in your belly.

Your hands slide up his back, pulling him closer, and you feel the weight of him pressing down on you—a delicious pressure that makes you arch up against him. His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, leaving a path of burning kisses along your collarbone, each one sending sparks of pleasure through you. You tilt your head back, giving him more access as your fingers curl in his dark hair, tugging gently as he nips at your skin.

But you don’t want slow tonight. You want him—all of him, now.

“Cregan,” you whisper, your voice thick with desire as you tug him closer, your hips pressing up against his in invitation. “Please.”

He answers your plea without hesitation. His hands slide down to grip your hips, positioning you beneath him as he moves between your thighs. The anticipation sends a shiver through you, but it’s quickly drowned out by the rush of pleasure as he finally enters you. Both of you gasp at the sensation—the familiar stretch, the way your bodies seem to fit together as if they were made for this.

The pace is quick, urgent, driven by the need to feel each other, to reclaim what was lost in your time apart. His movements are powerful, his thrusts deep and unrelenting, but there’s a tenderness woven into the raw passion—a care that reminds you this is more than just desire. It’s need, yes, but it’s also comfort, affection, something deeper that you’ve both come to rely on.

Your breaths mingle in the space between you as you find your rhythm together, your bodies moving in perfect sync. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, building with every movement, every gasp and moan that escapes your lips. The heat coils tighter in your core, fueled by the rough sound of Cregan’s breath in your ear, the low growl in his throat as he murmurs your name, over and over, like a prayer.

“Y/N,” he groans, his voice ragged as his movements quicken, his grip on your hips tightening. “Gods, I missed this—missed you. No one else, nothing else, could ever feel like this.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding him closer as the pleasure crests, your own voice breaking as you whisper, “I missed you too. Needed this—needed you.”

The words hang between you, a confession that means more than just the physical connection. It’s the bond you’ve forged, stronger now for everything you’ve faced. You cling to each other as the tension builds, the pleasure reaching a fever pitch. The room is filled with nothing but the sounds of your shared need—skin on skin, the rough gasps of breath, the whispered names.

And then it shatters.

Your release crashes over you, drawing a cry from your lips as your body trembles beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming in its intensity. Cregan follows moments later, his groan deep and guttural as he buries himself in you, his body tensing before he finally surrenders to the waves of bliss that take him.

For a few moments, the world is nothing but warmth and satisfaction, the tension ebbing away like the last breath of a dying storm. Cregan remains above you, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath. His weight is a comfort, grounding you, reminding you that despite everything—despite the grief, the war looming on the horizon—you have this.

You have him.

Eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling you with him, his arms wrapping around you as you settle against his chest. The fire crackles in the hearth, its light casting a soft glow over the room, but it’s the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek that lulls you into a peaceful calm.

He presses a kiss to your temple, his voice a quiet rumble in the darkness. “You’re home now,” he says, and there’s something so tender in the way he says it that your heart swells.

You look up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. “Yes, I am,” you reply softly, and you mean it. For all the cold and the hardship, there is warmth here—warmth in his arms, in the way he looks at you, in the life you’ve begun to build together.

#house of the dragon #cregan x y/n #cregan x you #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra targaryen

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snowywinterevenings · 5 months ago

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Hi, could I please ask about Undercover Codywan?? 👀😁

This one is a tumblr request that I have been picking away at along with a few others. Codywan go undercover together post war (no Order 66), and to not blow their cover they have to kiss. They’ve been dancing around each other for ages at this point but haven’t gotten together yet.

The outfit is something he might have worn out with Quinlan years ago when they snuck out of the temple to partake in Coruscant’s nightlife, a high necked black shirt that hugs every bit of his chest, back, and arms and loose grey wide leg trousers that move enticingly as he walks. Rings decorate his fingers, and a cuff curls over his ear, little chains dancing from it as he examines himself in the mirror. His hair is a rakish mess, and silver dusts his cheekbones, and he can’t help but shake his head at the image he makes, white at his temples but dressed in attire his eighteen year old self would have loved.

Cody is probably going to laugh himself silly when he walks out into the main room.

His partner for the mission simply stares when he joins him, and Obi-Wan ducks his head, cheeks flushing. He’s supposed to look like he has money to burn, but he probably just looks ridiculous. He has done plenty of undercover work both alone and with various Jedi shadows, but this is the first time he and Cody have gone undercover together. The clones and the Jedi have only just begun to work together on missions outside of the war, the whole process of pushing for their freedom and then integrating those that wished to remain with their Jedi into the Order full of far too many unnecessary hurdles.

Cody is still staring when he glances back up, and his lips are parted like he has something to say, though he does not speak. Obi-Wan feels his cheeks grow hotter under his gaze, and he bites his lip. “Too much?”

His words pull Cody back to reality. “You’ll be very… convincing.”

#codywan #WIP game #my WIPs #undercover codywan #answered

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cosmerelists · 8 days ago

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Cosmere Fake-Dating Pairs That Could "Plausibly" Happen

As requested by @room-temperature-orange-juice :)

Sanderson doesn't seem to go for fake dating all that much. But here are some scenarios that could TOTALLY happen if he did want to incorporate some fake-dating comedy into his books...

1. MeLaan & Marasi

The Scenario: Well, they obviously need to go undercover to solve a case, perhaps to a ball or a party or a wedding where it makes the most sense to pretend to be a couple

MeLaan (currently in a woman's body): All right. Let's do this! Marasi: U-Uh, MeLaan? Are you sure that's the...best body for this operation? MeLaan: Shit, you're right. Hang on! MeLaan: [Returns as a much more voluptuous woman] MeLaan: Now everyone will know that you can pull. Marasi (deeply red): T-THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT

2. Kaladin & Szeth [Rhythm of War spoilers but NO WAT preview spoilers]

The Scenario: Well, we know that Kaladin and Szeth will be going to Shinovar on a mission. Let's say Szeth needs to explain why he's brought a stone-walker into his homeland. The obvious explanation is that they're dating!

Shinovar authority figure: D-Dating?! Why would you date a stone-walker?! Szeth (expressionless): I like tall men. Kaladin (equally expressionless): He likes it when I hit my head on things. Szeth (still expressionless): Though I love him deeply, I do enjoy a good instance of head trauma. Shinovar authority figure (muttering): Is double "Truthless" a thing?

3. Charlie & one of those princesses

The Scenario: Rather than driving off all of the eligible princesses by being as boring & gross as possible, Charlie finds one who is willing to play along.

Charlie: T-The truth is, I already have a woman I love. The Princess: Really? Charlie: Yeah, but my dad doesn't approve of her... The Princess: I know how you feel. My father also doesn't approve of the woman I love... Charlie: ... The Princess: ... Charlie: ... The Princess: ... Charlie: Five-year engagement? The Princess: At least!

4. Lyn & Renarin

The Scenario: Fed up with her parents being all judgmental because she dumped Kaladin Stormblessed, Lyn decides that she HAS to bring an awesome date to her family dinner--and who better than a Brightlord, a Radiant, AND the king's son?

Lyn: Don't forget to bring up that you joined the 4v1 duel before Kaladin. Lyn: And how you took down a Thunderclast! Lyn: Storms, if you just smile occasionally, I bet that'll make them forget about Kaladin... Lyn: ... Lyn: Honestly, I think you might just be a better catch than Kaladin. Renarin: I'm gay, though. Lyn: Heh, well I didn't say you're a better catch for me...

5. Kaladin & Elhokar

The Scenario: Imagine that, during the infiltration of Kholinar, that part of their disguises involve Elhokar (disguised as a lighteyed woman) being the wife of Kaladin (disguised as an ugly old man).

Elhokar: Mmmm...I don't feel that I would go for a man with eyebrows like that. Shallan: Brightlady, please! Surely you can pretend that beneath his rough exterior, he has a good heart. Kaladin: ...pretend? Elhokar: No, no. I definitely would have insisted that he at least groom better. Can you make his eyebrows at least a bit neater? To sell the illusion? Or, do we have time to stop for nose-hair trimmers? Shallan: What if I just make his cheekbones a bit sharper? Elhokar: Mmmm...okay, yes. I could see myself marrying him. Kaladin: CAN WE PLEASE GET GOING

6. Wayne and Ranette

The Scenario: Wayne begs Ranette to fake-marry him.

Ranette: [looking at Wayne with a mixture of horror and pity] You said you weren't gonna do this anymore, Wayne. Wayne: No, no! Don't you get the wrong idea here! I need you to marry me and then divorce me horribly so you get half of my money in court! Wayne: Please understand--I've tried everything to get rid of this money. I'm desperate here! Wayne: Please! Ranette: ... Ranette: I get to divorce you horribly? Wayne: You better eviscerate me in court! Ranette: ... Ranette: Might be right therapeutic, actually. Wayne: You're such a good friend!

Moash & Kelsier

The Scenario: Moash realizes he's going to be reunited with his former Bridge 4 friends and makes plans accordingly.

Moash: Yup. This is my old Bridge 4 uniform, but now it's dyed black, because I'm new & evil now. Moash: And this is my new boyfriend Kelsier, who's just like you, Kaladin, only he survives MORE and actually FOLLOWS THROUGH on killing the king. Kelsier: Lord Ruler. Moash: Whatever. Moash: So as you can see, I don't even miss you guys AT ALL. Moash: ... Moash: What do you think? Will this make them jealous? Kelsier: ...I think we need to practice your speech a bit more.

#cosmere #cosmerelists #MeLaan #Marasi #Kaladin #Elhokar #Szeth #Moash #Kelsier #Wayne #Ranette #Lyn #Renarin

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cookiescribble · 20 days ago

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Flufftober Day 24: Comfort food

A/N: hi, can you guess who this might be about? lol i’m so happy y’all have been enjoying flufftober so far, we’re in the hOME STRETCH!! so pls enjoy this next one here. also pls pretend this was posted before midnight pls thanks- mod ghost

Summary: Dick is feeling a little under the weather, so you make him something special

Ship: Dick Grayson x GN!Reader

You heard a quiet sniffle before you felt Dick’s too warm forehead against the side of your neck, his head on your shoulder. You turned to give him a gentle kiss on the top of his head as you stir the pot in front of you, gently resting your head on top of his while you feel his arms loop around your waist.

“Hey, mister, what’re you doing out of bed?” You asked softly, not wanting to bother his headache by talking too loudly.

“Cold…” was all he said, letting out another sniffle as he buried his face against your shoulder. “What’re you makin’?”

“I was gonna surprise you, sleepyhead, but since you asked, I called Alfred and asked what he would make for you when you were little and sick.” You took a small spoonful of the soup in the pot to hold up to his mouth for him to try. “And he gave me a recipe for this soup he used to make.”

“Alfred’s magic soup??” Dick’s eyes went wide as he sipped the soup on the spoon, a childlike wonder to his voice along with the congestion, “I’m surprised he gave you the recipe, he must have a lot of faith in this relationship.”

“What, he doesn’t share it easily?” You asked with a chuckle, dropping the spoon into the sink and taking a new one to stir with.

“You’d be the first person in the history of…well, ever. He protects those recipes with his gun from the British Civil War.” Dick tightened his hold on you after coughing pitifully into his elbow. You poured him a bowl of the soup then turned around in his arms while picking his head up to look him in the eyes. You gently ran your thumbs over his cheekbones as he glanced up at you with wet dark blue eyes.

“You should go sit down on the couch. I’ll bring the soup over to you,” you spoke in the softest voice you could muster, watching him consider this for a minute. You were surprised when he gave in so easily, though, considering that at the start of the day he was denying being sick at all. It was a telltale sign of how awful he felt. He shuffled away from you to drop onto the couch heavily, tugging the closest blanket he could find over himself. You joined him a few moments later with a bowl of the ‘magic’ soup for each of you. You handed him his bowl before you sat next to him with yours, tucking your legs next to his under the blanket.

It was quiet in the room outside of some rain hitting the windows and the low sounds coming from the tv. You turned your head to ask if he thought the soup tasted good, only to find him asleep. Dick’s head was tilted back against the couch and the mostly empty bowl lay in his lap, his mouth slightly open as he quietly started to snore. You chuckled softly at the sight and gently took the bowl from him, kissing his temple and taking both dishes to the kitchen.

#fanfiction #mod ghost #flufftober2024 #dick grayson x gn reader #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader

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maimingaffairs · 2 years ago

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Hey, could I please request something for Aleksander x femReader where the Reader is a Star Summoner? He and Reader have been friends since they where children and have walked the earth together since then. They always thought that the love they have for the other is just friendship, but boy where they wrong...Their friendship takes a hit during the whole Alina in the Little Palace time...Reader knows about the plan to expand the fold and is all for it, she just really doesnt like Alina....Anyway, during the events on the skiff when Alina runs, Reader and Aleksander get separated and believe the other to be dead...They go on to free Grisha on their own. After some time they meet and in the heat of the moment he kisses her...They finaly confess their feelings...After that they go on to win the war...After they win they get crowned King and Queen and bring peace to Ravka, but expecialy to the Grisha...

this was another 3am write, i yet again apologize for that. also, i apologize for how long it took for me to finish this. i have been in Tennessee all weekend seeing taylor swift... anyways... anon thank u so much for this beautiful req. i hope that it is to your liking

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of blood

word count: 8.2k

Are There Still Beautiful Things? (aleksander morozova x fem!reader)

“One more time, please?”

“You’ve said that four times, Aleksander.”

“And I’ll say it four more if I must. It’s beautiful.”

You looked over at your best friend and gave him a little smile and rolled your eyes.

“Your mother is not going to be happy when you don’t get inside.” You remarked and then nodded at his hands once.

The two of you laid underneath a large tree just outside of his home, just as you did almost every other night. You’d been best friends with the boy ever since the two of you were little children, and now here the the two of you were, barely fourteen, and you were still yet to be rid of that childlike wonder.

“I don’t really care. She won’t get mad, she likes you enough.” He insisted and reached out to gently grab your hand, “One more time, I swear this is the last one. Please?”

You looked into his dark, round eyes and you nodded once, conceding under his pleading stare.

“Okay. One more time.” You giggled and squeezed his hand once.

The two of you intertwined your fingers and Aleksander raised his free hand to conjure a thin sheet of shadows just above your heads as you looked up at the space around you.

The stars and the moon above your heads disappeared behind the shadows he conjured and you reached up to drag your fingertips through the inky darkness above your heads. Finally, you flexed your hands and clasped them together for just a moment before you opened your palms up towards the shadows, sending little glittering shards of soft white light up into the shadows. Aleksander marveled at the sight for a while, and you turned your head to marvel at him.

Sometimes when you did this, the two of you would spend hours making up your own constellations and galaxies within the self-made stars and sky that you’d both created. This wasn’t one of those times, though. The dark haired boy next to you leaned over and placed a little kiss on your cheek before he reached up and shooed away the shadows he’d created.

“Okay, I said it was the last time and I meant it. See?” He teased

You giggled and nodded, watching as he pushed himself up off of the ground and held his hands out for you to take.

“Let’s go inside, yeah? My mother will likely beat me with a stick for not coming in an hour ago.” He said and gave you that charming smile that you had come to love so much over the years.

“Okay.” You answered softly and reached up to take his hands.

Aleksander’s hands clasped around yours tightly as he swung himself down off of his tall horse and he gave you a small, soft smile. He leaned down to press a hello kiss to your cheekbone and then let go of your hands, and you lowered them back to your sides.

“Well, I see that the Little Palace is still intact and hasn’t been burned to the ground yet, so I assume my time away wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.”

His voice soothed you more than just the sight of him and you let out a relieved sigh, straightening out your kefta.

“It was bad. For me, at least. I had no one to bother. Stop running off.” You replied, earning a lazy smile from him.

Aleksander shook his head with a quiet whisper of a laugh and he turned around. In his last letter to you, he raved about how he’d found the Sun Summoner at long last.

The girl perched upon his horse must have been her.

She was pretty, despite her state. Days of riding had put her hair into tangles and there was dirt caked underneath her fingernails and smudged across her cheeks. Aleksander helped the slender girl off of his horse and he motioned towards you once she was securely on her feet.

“Miss Starkov, this is y/n. Star Summoner and my right hand.”

Her eyes traveled over you, up and down a few times. The ghost of a disdainful look crossed her face and then she gave you a curt nod.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance.” She replied briskly and gave you one more look up and down before she clasped her hands behind her back.

You eyed her cautiously in return and then gave her a small hum.

“Likewise, Miss Starkov.” You replied in the same clipped tone.

The girl watched you as if you were a current threat to her and you slowly shifted your gaze to Aleksander who was looking over his shoulder at Ivan. You cleared your throat, effectively capturing his attention and he turned back to the two of you and then nodded towards the palace.

“Meet me in my chambers, would you, y/n?” He asked and you gave him a nod.

Alina didn’t even give you a second glance, turning her head up to face somewhere between Aleksander and the doors to the palace. You blinked a few times, taken aback by her coldness and you slowly moved away from the two of them. You bunched the skirt of your dress up in one hand and made your way back inside the palace, greeting a few of the Grisha that had gathered around the entrance, wanting to catch a glimpse of the Sun Summoner. You shouldered your way inside and made a beeline for Aleksander’s chambers, letting out a little huff.

“You’re in an awful hurry.” A voice called out behind you and you turned around with a relieved smile when you saw Baghra.

You stopped walking and waited for the older woman to make her way to you and she gently hooked her arm with yours and let out a sigh.

“So, this is it.” She said simply and walked with you as you continued down the hall, now going at a pace she could easily maintain.

“I suppose so,” you mused and then you let out a tiny scoff, “I would’ve thought she’d at least be a bit more… pleasant.” You stated and glanced over at her.

She shrugged a bony shoulder and she drummed her thin fingers against your arm.

“Well, from what I understand, this is all new to her. Imagine finding out one day into your adult life that you are the Sun Summoner, prophesied for centuries. I’m sure she’s a bit apprehensive, my dear girl.” Baghra reasoned and then gave you a tired smile.

“Perhaps. Where are you headed this afternoon?” You asked softly and led her through the winding halls to Aleksander’s chambers.

You had known Baghra since you were only four years old, and she had always been nothing but kind to you, taking you in eventually once you grew older. Your parents never were fond of you being Grisha. She was often viewed as bitter and harsh by others, but you had nothing but admiration and love for Aleksander’s mother.

“I came to seek you out. I figured you’d either be outside with my son or you’d be headed to his quarters. Seems I was correct.”

She usually was.

“Oh? Is there anything I can do for you?” You asked her softly and she simply patted your arm before speaking.

“Just make sure he doesn’t make poor choices. Please. You’ve always been his voice of reason. He cares for you like you would never imagine.” She hummed and then looked up at you.

You gazed down at the woman and then gave her a small smile in return, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze with your own.

“Well, I care for him like he could never imagine so I suppose it works out, doesn’t it?” You asked and then leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek.

“I care for you, too, you know. You are the child I never birthed. I am thankful for you. He needs you. You remind him to be polite and kind, and he reminds you to utilize your power and your cleverness.” She said with a little sigh.

When you two approached the doors to Aleksander’s chambers, you pushed them open for her and she let go of your arm and wandered inside and you followed behind her, closing the doors behind you.

“I must know, and you need to tell me the truth, darling. Does my son have ulterior motives with the Sun Summoner?” She asked and turned around slowly to face you.

You met her eyes and then shook your head before you gave her a shrug as well.

“Not that he’s told me of. I mean, we don’t discuss the Sun Summoner often. And when we have it’s always been hypothetical. This is the first time we’ve been faced with a reality with her in it.” You explained.

Lie. You lied.

You knew very well what Aleksander planned to do with The Fold. You felt a bit of shame as you lied to Baghra, but you swallowed it down like dry bread and kept your eyes on hers.

“Time will tell I suppose. It was lovely to see you, y/n. Come and see me for tea tomorrow afternoon if you can sneak away from Aleksander. I know he doesn’t much like to share you.”

You watched as she walked to the far side of the room and pressed her fingers against a wall panel and it slid open.

“I’ll cross my fingers that I see you tomorrow. Until then, behave.” She said with an affectionate smile and you gave her a little wave as she disappeared into the wall.

You stood in the middle of Aleksander’s war room for a while before you took your kefta off and laid it against the large table in the middle of the room and you wandered into his bedroom. You let out a long sigh as you walked towards his bed, and as soon as you were close enough, you tossed yourself backwards onto it.

You wondered where Aleksander was and realized he must be busy with the Sun Summoner.

The Sun Summoner. Your stomach turned a bit and you sneered to nothing in particular. You could already see where this was heading. He had to devote time to her, you knew that. But you weren’t excited to share his attention. After all, you’d been the main recipient of it for the last five hundred years. You stared up at the ceiling and a little pit began to form in your stomach at the thought of Aleksander giving his attention to her and you shook your head, trying to clear the thought from your mind, pushing it down as far as it could go.

He devoted time and attention to his army, to other Grisha, to his mother, the royal family… the list could go on. So why was this different?

You feared you knew the answer and you shoved it out of your mind as fast as the thought could take form, but the feeling lingered nonetheless.

It was different because you had feelings for Aleksander.

“Oh, Saint’s sake, Zoya! I asked you to be gentle today!” You called to the Squaller.

She looked over at you after she had yet again, knocked down one of the trainees cruelly in combat and she gave you a shrug.

“They aren’t going to get the option of gentleness in a real combat situation, Miss y/l/n!” She called back at you with a grin.

It had been nearly a month since Alina had arrived at the Little Palace, and Aleksander was adamant that you oversaw her training. You stood off to the side with your hands clasped behind your back, watching all the trainees carefully. You oversaw almost all of the combat training these days, as you were quite skilled in combat. You glanced out over the small group of new Grisha and you pointed at Alina, beckoning her forward.

“Alina, darling. Why don’t you go next? I’ve seen you beat Zoya before.” You suggested and the girl eyed you discontentedly.

She slowly stepped forward and then folded her arms over her chest. She looked Zoya up and down before she turned her head and looked at you, her eyes narrowing just slightly.

“I don’t appreciate how you’re singling me out. It’s a bit eerie how obsessed with me you seem to be.” She called out to you.

Your eyebrows shot up challengingly and you stared her down, daring her to say another word. When she didn’t, you spoke.

“Obsessed with you? Please, don’t flatter yourself, Miss Starkov. Nearly everyone has taken their turn today, and now it is yours.” You replied coolly.

Zoya shifted awkwardly where she stood and then she glanced up at you. You gave her a little nod and then waved your hand once.

“If there are no more interruptions, let’s start.” You instructed and lowered your hands down to your sides, flexing them frustratedly.

“I’m not going to.” Alina said sharply.

You folded your arms across your chest and watched her amusedly.

“And you think your belligerence is going to get you anywhere? You need a reality check, Starkov.” You remarked and watched as she rolled her eyes at you.

“The Darkling wouldn’t-“

“The Darkling wouldn’t appreciate the way you’re speaking to his second in command. So spar or don’t, but either way you will walk yourself down to his chambers and tell him yourself just how you spoke to me and how you refused to be compliant with your trainers.” You stated and watched as she shook her head.

She muttered something out from under her breath and then she spun on her heel and turned in the opposite direction and walked haughtily away from you and the rest of the Grisha.

You watched as she marched off and then turned towards the trainees that were gathered around you.

“You are all dismissed for today. I have some business I should attend to.” You said in a flat tone and didn’t wait a second longer before you made the brief walk from the training yard to Aleksander’s chambers inside of the Little Palace.

You didn’t bother knocking on his doors and you flung them open, marching inside of his war room with a frown across your lips. Your eyes fell upon him as he leaned over his war table and you walked up to his side, allowing the door to shut behind you.

“You are displeased.” He remarked without even looking up at you.

“What gave it away?” You huffed, leaning your waist up against the edge of the table.

“You didn’t announce yourself. And you’re stomping.” He slowly turned his head up towards you.

You stared into his dark eyes and then sighed. You leaned over to rest your head against his shoulder and you frowned.

“Your Sun Summoner is not a very kind person. I’m tired of her disrespect towards me.” You mumbled and you felt Aleksander chuckle.

You stood up straight just as he did and you shook your head.

“What’s funny about that? I’m very serious.” You stated and folded your arms over your chest.

“I’m sure she doesn’t mean to disrespect you. She’s probably just a bit homesick. She’s tired of being here. Don’t take it personally.” He advised and then reached over to rub your arm reassuringly.

You gaped at him and knitted your brows together.

“Don’t take it personally? If I had complained about anyone else disrespecting me, you would’ve seen to their swift punishment. Why is it different when it’s her?” You asked incredulously, a little pang of sadness resonating through your stomach, up through your chest.

“It’s not different. I just… don’t know what you want me to do.” He said exhaustedly and then he rubbed his face and stared down at you.

“I want you to put an end to it! I am your second in command. Your best friend. I have known you since you were a child, Aleksander! I expect you to stand up for me!” You exclaimed and threw your hands up in the air.

Aleksander bitterly let out a laugh and he shook his head once.

“Please. You sound ridiculous. I think that you’re jealous.” He remarked and folded his arms across his lean chest.

“Jealous? Excuse me?” You sputtered and then gave him a nasty look, “Of Alina? What planet do you live on, Aleksander? I could end her with the flick of my wrist.” You countered angrily.

“You could not. We both know she’s more powerful than you. You seem to detest that. Trust me, I’ve wished for you to be as powerful as her many times before.” He snapped coldly and you blinked at him a few times.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they couldn’t be taken back. The look of shock on your face slowly turned to sadness and then shame and your eyes filled with hot tears. You looked down at the floor and your chin wobbled a few times before you looked back up at him. You squared your shoulders and sniffled back your tears, looking at him sadly.

He felt as if you’d taken his heart out and crushed it in your fingers just from the look in your eyes alone and he opened his mouth to apologize.

He hadn’t meant a word he’d just spoken to you. Your powers had always been the most beautiful things in the world to him.

You cut him off before he could even speak.

“She will never stay by your side like me. Her power may be greater than mine, but her devotion and love for you is not. That is the one thing you’ll never find again, Aleksander.” You said in a harsh tone, barely above a whisper.

He reached out for your arm but you recoiled backwards as if he was lightning and you shook your head, “Don’t touch me. Don’t speak to me. Don’t think of me. Just leave me alone.” You hissed and then turned around and stormed out of his room.

And for the first time in a long time, as soon as you reached the security of your own room, you allowed yourself to cry.

It had been nearly a month since your fight with Aleksander, and you had avoided him successfully. At first, he tried to approach you. But you easily evaded his presence each time. You stopped overseeing training and did what you could to avoid Alina, too. You spent most of your time with Baghra now, and tonight was no different.

It was the winter fete, and you had decided not to go. Aleksander had sent you an elegant invitation and a beautiful, grandiose black dress with pearly white embroidery of constellations and swirls of stars. You’d taken the box to his door and left it there without another word.

You sat in a chair next to Baghra and she let out a soft sigh, passing you a little lap blanket as you sipped on the tea she had kindly made for you.

You stared into her little fireplace and you turned to look at her to find that her eyes were already fixed on you.

“I wish desperately that you were the Sun Summoner.” Baghra spoke softly and you frowned, setting your tea down on the little table next to you.

“You and Aleksander both.” You said coldly and moved to rise from the chair you were in.

She reached out and grabbed your wrist gently, shaking her head once.

“No. Not like that. I wish that it would’ve been you. You are the only one who sees him for who he is. The only person that can see past The Darkling and instead see Aleksander.” She said with a small frown.

You sunk back into the chair and held your hand over your face, a frown etching itself onto your lips.

“It wouldn’t make a difference. I’m not enough for him regardless.” You said slowly and spread the little blanket that she had handed you out over your lap.

The old woman simply shrugged and let out a dejected sigh, leaning her chin against her hand.

“May I ask you a question? I need your honesty.”

You glanced up at her and you hesitantly nodded once. You leaned forward a bit in your chair, curious to hear what she had to ask.

“You know him best. He tells you everything. So tell me- truthfully- what are my son’s intentions with the Sun Summoner? Does he really mean to vanquish The Fold?”

You eyed Baghra with a slight frown and then you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest.

“I think if you are asking me again, you already know the answer.”

The room around the two of you was silent, save for the crackling of her fireplace. You met her eyes and she stared back at you with something between disappointment and fear.

“You lied the first time I asked.”

“Yes.”

Her mouth twisted a bit but she didn’t say anything else for a moment and she instead looked in your eyes with intent.

“I’m sorry.” You said quietly and shifted your eyes down to your lap.

“I don’t fault you, child. I know that you’d do anything for Aleksander. I realize the power he holds over you.”

You didn’t even argue. Normally you’d protest him having any kind of hold over you, but you knew he did. You knew it very well. It affected almost everything you ever did.

“It’s the same power he holds over the Sun Summoner. It’s easy to seduce someone and bend them to your will when you’ve had five hundred years to practice manipulation.” Baghra noted, likely mostly to herself.

You furrowed your brow and looked up at her questioningly.

“Seducing? Who? Alina?” You asked, not liking the tone that you took on when her name fell from your lips. It was bitter, envious.

"Who else? She sneaks around at night, in and out of his chambers. It's easy for him. She's naive and he's charming, easily the prettiest boy that's ever shown her attention."

You listened to Baghra sadly and you turned your head away from facing her, your nose burning and your eyes growing hot with little pinpricks of tears. Finally, you turned your head back towards her and she frowned deeply.

"You love him."

"Of course I do, he's-"

"No. I know you love him. What I mean, is that you have fallen in love with my son." She remarked.

You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth. She wasn't wrong. You weren't even sure when it had happened, it could have been any time within the last four hundred years.

Baghra reached over and laid her bony hand on your wrist and you closed your eyes, sniffling quietly, keeping your tears at bay.

"I always preferred you over Luda, anyway." She said sweetly, her attempt at lightening the mood.

You let out a sad laugh and then shook your head once.

"Aleksander will always prefer a powerful woman." You said quietly and then you opened your eyes to look at the woman's face.

"You are powerful. You are very powerful. you’re capable of things no one presently on this earth has seen. Things only perhaps Morozova knew of." She said slowly and then gave you a little frown, "You just accept what you’re presently capable of as all you can do because you don't mind being second to Aleksander."

You knew she was right again. There was no use in justifying yourself to her. She would always be right.

"I'm going to tell Alina to leave this place tonight, and I think you should do the same thing. Nothing good will ever come of the path my son is choosing to walk."

You didn't feel like speaking, didn't feel like arguing. Though you would have stayed through all of his wicked plans, it was clear to you that all you had become to him was a burden. Aleksander and you had been in fights before, it was only natural to do so when you had known someone for that long. But this time had been completely different. He had never once taken a dig at you. An unrelenting sadness ensnared you entirely and you wrapped your arms around yourself tightly.

You couldn't help but wish they were his arms instead of your own.

A pair of arms did wind themselves around your shoulders and you looked up to see Baghra had risen from her chair and come to stand in front of you. You leaned into her embrace and you rested your face against her arm, reveling in the small bit of comfort she offered in the sea of your distress,

"I love you, y/n. As if you were my very own child. You deserve more than this and truthfully, you always have. Go. Please. For me. Get out of Os Alta, get away from Aleksander, give yourself the chance to be happy. To be everything you need to be for you."

Her words had fresh tears springing to your eyes and you allowed a few of them to fall onto the fabric of her robes. You brought your arms up to her torso and you clung to her like a small child.

"I love you, too." You whimpered and allowed her to soothe you by running her hand over your head and shushing you.

"Please do this one thing for yourself. You have spent four centuries giving everything you have to Aleksander. Run. Promise me you will run."

You squeezed your eyes shut and didn't move or speak for a long time. Running away from Aleksander meant that you could never come back to him. He'd condemn you forever. But staying meant that every single time you saw him would be a reminder of how you weren't enough for him.

Baghra was right. You needed to do something for yourself and yourself alone.

So you nodded one and held her tighter.

"I promise."

The cold fingers of an icy rain fell through your hair and down underneath your clothes, leaving trails of chills over your skin. The wet sloshing of water that gathered in the grass was loud under your feet and you tried to be as quiet as possible while you approached the little prison camp made especially for Grisha. You slowly crept around trees and stayed hidden for moments at a time behind the especially big ones until you were close to the tree line. You could see a few lanterns up ahead, and around it stood a few First Army soldiers.

This camp was smaller than the last one that you'd come across, with only three cages. Easy.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself out of the cover of trees and you walked across the muddy clearing in silence. Rain soaked through your clothes and left your hair in strings around your face and made the mud under your feet squelch. You looked up at the sky to find it empty. It must have been a new moon. Either that or the clouds hid the stars and the moon from your vision. The darkness around you seemed to take shape and you found yourself checking your periphery for anyone. You had to remind yourself that you wouldn't see him in these shadows. He was dead. He died in The Fold. It was all you heard for weeks as you passed from town to town all over Ravka. The Darkling was dead and the Sun Summoner was presumed to be the same, though most people had their doubts about that.

Ever since you had ran away from Os Alta, you always felt like you had to check over your shoulders and into your periphery, in fear of him finding you. It wasn't that you feared him. You just didn't want to know how he reacted to you leaving, didn't want to know what he would say to you. Truthfully, guilt ate you alive everyday since you had left, but you had to keep telling yourself it was for the best. Aleksander found you to be a burden, and he had Alina now, anyway. What did he need you for?

You continued to trudge through the muddy field, and one of the soldiers must have caught sight of you because he called for the others and pointed at you frantically. You continued to approach nonetheless and they raised their guns at you, all three standing in various places around the lanterns, which sat in what looked to be an old fire pit.

"Don't come any closer! Hands behind your head, get on your knees!" One of them commanded loudly.

You didn't obey, in fact, you picked up the pace of your steps a bit more and approached them.

The first shot that went off missed you by many feet, but the next came much closer. The third shot one of them fired off was aimed much better. You swept your arm out in front of you and deflected the shot with your kefta. You could hear them all begin to load their guns again and you finally reached them.

You reached out with a white hot light burning beneath your skin and you grabbed one of their throats and yanked him forward. He let out a loud, agonized scream, and the skin under your hand began to burn and sizzle beneath your touch. You tossed him aside and walked towards the next man. The barrel of his long gun stopped you as he pressed it against your stomach, and in the dim firelight, you could see him sneer at you.

"Ah, it's you. The Darkling's right hand." He spat and you eyed him.

You gave him a little smile and then you grabbed the barrel of his gun and you clicked your tongue.

"I am no one's right hand." You hummed and leaned closer to him as you reached up for his throat, your hand beginning to glow with the hot light of the stars.

Something blunt and hard made rough contact with the back of your head and you stumbled backwards, colliding into someone's chest with your back. You groaned and glanced behind you at the third soldier and you cursed yourself for not subduing all three faster as he dropped the gun that he had just hit you with. His hands quickly encircled your wrists and he held them apart with a steel-like grip. You struggled against him and let out an angry yell.

"You will die for your actions against the Grisha. At my hand!" You hissed and sent a backwards kick into his knee.

The soldier crumpled a bit, but he didn't release you, and you were soon faced with the point of a sharp dagger, digging into your throat, held by the other soldier that stood in front of you.

"Lock her with the others." he commanded, but neither of them made a move to lock you away.

The one holding your wrists from behind cleared his throat and squeezed your wrists tightly, his nails pressing into your skin.

"If she was really General Kirigan's right hand woman, then she is obviously powerful. We need to execute her immediately." He stated and you thrashed savagely against his grip.

"Stop moving or I will put this dagger through your windpipe!" The one holding the blade threatened and you slowly stopped moving and eyed him dangerously.

"You won't. You would have by now if you were going to." You said gruffly and he burrowed just the tip of the dagger into your skin.

"Try me, witch." He breathed.

You prepared yourself to slam your head into his and you watched his face when tendrils of shadow began to reach around his head from behind. You watched him in shock and curiosity as the tendrils covered his face and nose, and by the time he realized he was being smothered with tangible darkness, it was too late, he was already being yanked backwards. He struggled against the shadows and the other soldier yanked you backwards and pushed you down to your knees hard.

"What are you doing to him, witch?" He asked angrily and sent a kick into your side.

You gasped when his boot made contact with your rib and you crumpled onto the wet grass, rain still falling steadily. You were completely soaked with rain by now and you looked up at him as he raised his foot once more to kick you again and you covered your face with your arms protectively. Suddenly, there was a sharp, distant sounding clap, and the blow never came.

Instead there was silence in the clearing other than the whispers and groans of the three locked away Grisha and you moved your arms away from your face. The soldier above you wobbled on his feet and then his head rolled off of his neck and smacked against your ankle. You let out a bloodcurdling scream and kicked it away from you before you put your hand in something warm. You looked down at the ground behind your back and you gasped to see the other soldier, headless as well, and your hand was in a rapidly growing puddle of his blood against the already wet grass. You heard heavy footsteps and looked up fearfully. The creature that stood in front of you was two times the size of a regular man and shaped like a disfigured and fluid-like human. It was so dark that it made the moonless night around you seem sunny and you began to back away from it, still on the ground. It lunged forward at you and you screamed loudly and protectively raised your arms again.

You felt nothing but a cool burst of air against your skin and you let out a little whimper and looked up, moving your arms away from your face. You were met with two legs clad in black and your eyes traveled up the darkly clad form in front of you, a lump forming in your throat, realization washing over you, the feeling even colder than the icy rain that pierced through your clothes.

You closed your eyes, not wanting your eyes to finish their journey upwards. Your lips tugged down into a deep frown and you let out a shaky breath.

"You- you’re dead. You died."

There was silence and you opened your eyes again, and let out a startled shriek.

You were met with the scarred face of your closest friend as he knelt in front of you. Rain had plastered his normally immaculate hair onto his forehead and the sides of his face and the back of his neck. He had thin, black scars that traveled across the length of his face and there was a new hardness about him. His eyes seemed even darker than they had previously and he reached out and grabbed your chin.

You gasped when you felt his cold, wet fingers against your chin and your lip quivered as you looked into his eyes, confused and scared.

"I live. I live and breathe before you. I should have let those soldiers kill you, traitor." He hissed and you stared up at him fearfully.

You shook violently and you weren't sure if it was because of the rain, fear, or a combination of both. You shakily reached up and wrapped your hand around his wrist as he kept his hand on your chin.

"T-traitor? N-no! I didn't betray you!" You shouted and opened your mouth to speak again, but he cut you off recklessly.

"You left me! You abandoned me without a single word!" He bellowed and tightened his grip on your chin.

"You didn't need me anymore!" You cried, "you had Alina! She's more powerful than me, anyway! Why would you need me?" You asked, your face wet with cold rain and hot tears.

"Come on, we are not having this discus-"

"You even told me she was more powerful than I!" You exclaimed.

"Y/n, you abandoned me. Abandoned your duties at the Little Palace." He growled and tightened his grip on your chin even more.

Pain shot through your chin and your jaw and you let out a little cry, your eyes squeezing shut as you winced.

"Aleksander, you’re hurting me." You whispered in a trembling voice.

You knew he wouldn't really hurt you, but he had never been rough with you like this before and he was scaring you. Everything from the tone of his voice to the newfound deep blackness in his eyes was scaring you. Haunting you.

His grip on your chin very slowly loosened more and more until he let go entirely, and you let out a little sigh of relief before a loud sob tore itself free from your chest. You wrapped your arms around your cold, shaking shoulders and you pulled your knees up to your chin. Rain pelted the back of your head as you leaned your face down against your knees and you shivered, your teeth chattering violently.

"Get up. Come on." He said firmly through the rain.

You shook your head and held your eyes closed.

"Y/n, sweetheart, please get up. You are going to freeze out here. Look at you; you’re shivering." His tone was not warm, but it wasn't cold either. It was vacant mostly, save for the tiny bit of concern that crept into his words towards the end of his sentence.

You shook your head again and you sniffled loudly. There was a soft shuffling sound above you for a second before you felt two arms wrap themselves around your body and before you could protest, Aleksander was lifting you up into his arms. He wasn't a single drop drier than you were, yet he felt warmer; more comfortable. You didn't make a move to grab onto him as he held you, but you allowed him to gently coax your head down against his chest. His cold, wet kefta pressed against your freezing cheeks and it made you shiver just once, your head shaking before you finally relaxed against him. Everything about him was almost the same, but there was a new, ragged edge to him. To his breath, his movements, his voice, even the way he smelled. You shivered again at the thought of him being rougher around the edges after whatever it was he'd gone through and you pressed your lips together to prevent another sob. "You are cruel. You are a cruel woman. How dare you leave my side? For five hundred years you have been faithful to me. How could you?" He asked. His voice was no longer empty; it was full of sorrow.

You shook your head as it laid upon the side of his chest and you let out a shaking sigh.

"Why would I have stayed? I was reminded every single day that I wasn't enough for you. You let Alina disrespect me, you called me crazy and jealous when I asked you to put an end to it. You told me she was more powerful than me, Aleksansder! You told me you wished I was more powerful! Why would I have stayed?" You repeated and lifted your head away from his chest to look up at him.

Raindrops streaked down his face and fell from his lashes, down over his lips and off of the tip of his nose. He looked glorious in the minimal light of the nighttime with his hair unkempt and wet as it hung in his ink-like eyes and he shook his head as he looked down at you.

"I didn't mean it. Not a single word of it." He said ashamedly, almost shouting over the rain.

"I am your best friend! I love you! I would do anything for you," you began and then you reached up and covered your face with your hands, "and yet, you casted me aside as soon as you got a shiny new toy. I know. She's the Sun Summoner. She will save the world. I can make pretty stars with my fingers and can only swear loyalty to you. I can't expand your Shadow Fold, I can’t do the things she can do!" You cried and moved your hands away from your face to look into his eyes once more.

Emotions swirled within his deep brown eyes and he tightened his arms around your body as he held you against his chest as if you were no larger than a small child.

"You just need to let me go." You said tearfully and bit your bottom lip sharply, "Let me go and we can go our separate ways, and then you can get back to your plans, you can find your precious little Saint." You exclaimed miserably.

The way he stared down at you was unlike any other way he'd ever looked at you before. He stared at you much like a devout follower would stare at their deity and his jaw flexed a few times, the skin over it pulled taut against the bone.

"Don't you see? I needn't search for my precious little Saint any longer." He remarked quietly, his tone reverent.

"And why is that?" You asked sadly.

No warning could have ever truly prepared you for the way his lips fell upon yours. He kissed you with a sadness that you could feel all the way in the center of your chest, and after the initial shock wore off, you kissed him back, your eyes falling shut. His lips moved against yours resolutely and you reached up with a cold, rain slick hand to hold the side of his scarred face. His sadness melted into something a bit softer and more inviting, and the moment you thought you could put a name to the feeling, he was pulling his lips away from yours. He laid his forehead down against your own and he closed his eyes.

“I do not need to search for my precious little Saint any longer because she is here, in my arms as we speak.” He whispered.

You felt all the color drain from your already pallid face and you looked up into his eyes.

“What do you even mean?” You asked exasperatedly and you let your hand fall away from his cheek.

“I mean… You. You are my precious little Saint. You are my closest and dearest friend, and you are the love of my life. Did you know that?” He asked softly and then nudged the tip of his nose against yours.

Your stomach dropped dramatically and you pulled your forehead away from his. You stared up at him with a shocked expression.

There was absolutely no way.

You blinked a few times confusedly and then you laid your head back down against his chest and rested your hand over his heart, tapping your fingers against his kefta.

“I am not.” You whispered and closed your eyes.

“I’ll spend forever trying to convince you that you are, sweetheart. You’re mine. Don’t you see? You always have been. For five hundred years, you have been mine.” He murmured and pressed his lips against your ear as he spoke, “You are mine. No one else can have you. I’d kill whoever tried.” He breathed against the shell of your ear and it gave you goosebumps. You gathered the thick fabric of his lapels up in your fist and you shook your head a few times.

“Deny it all you want, but I know you feel the same. I could feel it in your kiss, my sweet little star.” He mumbled and pressed a lingering kiss against your ear.

Your mouth opened and closed stupidly and you let out a shaking breath.

“If I don’t deny it, you will one day shatter my heart.” You whispered and leaned closer to him.

The rain around you had slowed to a drizzle now and little beads of water were dripping from his hair down onto your cheeks as you laid on his chest. The very faint light of the stars behind the rain clouds in the night sky was enough for you to see the frown on his lips and he shook his head.

“Never. I’ll never break your heart. Oh, it’s far too precious.”

His words bounced back and forth in your head and you tugged his kefta gently, a particularly violent shiver ripping through your body.

“Please, just take me somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. Somewhere with you.” You begged softly and hid your face against his wet clothes, “I’ll go wherever you go.”

He nodded once and gave you a little reassuring squeeze before he whispered something about home near your ear. The patter of the rain made it nearly impossible to make out entirely but what you did catch melted your heart.

“… and it doesn’t matter where we go, because when I’m with you, it is home.”

Little specks of rainbow light glimmered all over your bedroom, bouncing off of mirrors and glass to create even more little flecks of color throughout the room. The crystals on your dress sparked brilliantly as you stood in the window, watching the sun set. A deep purple horizon was settling over the land just beyond your windowpane and you let out a soft sigh.

Your head was heavy with the weight of a brilliant crown, made of black metal and sharp, glimmering diamonds. Your silvery dress was tugged down with the weight of a thousand little crystals and you watched as their light refractions danced across your walls. You were a sight to see.

Formidable, graceful, beautiful.

You were a queen.

Not just a queen. The Queen.

Against all the odds, against every enemy, and against each and every opposer, Aleksander managed to take The Firebird as his own amplifier and he put an end to the incessant thorn in his side that was the Sun Summoner.

His plan, no, both your plan and his had been entirely successful. For hundreds of years, Aleksander chased the crown. He waited patiently for it. Sat in the shadows, stalked, paced, and plotted for it. And it was finally his. The night he saved you from almost dying, he’d taken you to his sanctuary and promised you on both of his knees that he’d give you a crown and a love like you’d never known before and you’d never know again.

He made good on both promises.

The day had been eventful. After a long banquet in the morning, you’d been crowned queen in front of only Grisha while Aleksander was given the title of king.

Aleksander Morozova. The Darkling King.

His title made you shiver practically and you let out a soft sigh as you continued to watch the night sky swallow up the blue of the day with deep purples and pinks.

It was over. It was all over. The war, the fighting, the conflict, all of it. Aleksander would now waste no time in stopping Grisha persecution all over Ravka and everything would be right in the world.

“Is the Queen pleased with her view?”

Two strong hands found their way around your waist and pulled you backwards. Your back was pressed up against Aleksander’s chest and you closed your eyes softly, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

“Ah, very much so. Though, I think you’re the better view, my King.” You whispered.

He swept all of your hair out of his way and lowered his lips down to the nape of your neck, trailing butterfly-wing-light kisses to your skin.

“You flatter me.”

“Do you not deserve it?”

“Perhaps I do. But perhaps I don’t. If you find me worthy of flattery then I must be doing something right, angel.” He mumbled and dragged his lips around the side of your neck.

“I find you worthy of all beautiful things.” You whispered and tipped your head to the side as he pressed his soft lips to your skin.

“Ah, so I must be worthy of you.”

“Of course.”

He hummed contently as he playfully nipped at your skin on your neck and he smiled into the side of your neck.

“This country is ours now. Ours to have and ours to keep and ours to have, hold, and protect. How does that make you feel?” He asked softly and lifted his head away from your neck. He leaned his cheek against the side of your head and traced his fingers over your waist as he awaited your reply.

It made you feel powerful. Strong. He made you feel that way. You loved him. You loved him more than words could possibly have ever said, and you were lucky that he loved you back. The Sun Summoner drew breath no longer, the former prince Nikolai sat in a cell underneath the Palace accused of treason, and Aleksander and you assumed the roles of the two most powerful Grisha to ever exist. You felt ecstatic.

You looked up at him and his eyes shifted down to yours and you gave him a little smile.

“I’ll show you.”

And you stood up on your toes to reach him and you pressed a kiss to his lips. One of gratitude, one of happiness.

One of five hundred years worth of love.

#aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling imagine #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling x you #the darkling x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan imagine #general kirigan x reader #grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes imagine

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ninjigma · 1 year ago

Text

Taking place between chapters 6 and 7 of 'One Last Moment' Track: 'Fallin' (Adrenaline)' - Why Don't We (Spotify / YouTube)

It was sudden. One moment he was naming the loads of food he would get for Fox in apology for the hectic evening being chased by thugs, and in the next the helmet was gone and lips were pressed against his. It was fast, and hurt a bit with the slight clumsiness of it catching between teeth, but Quinlan couldn’t care less. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything besides the elation and joy, and how every ounce of self control rose in him to stay still a moment. To let Fox move first.

Then the millisecond was over and Quinlan was tilting his head, letting their noses become less smushed and lips to press a bit softer. One of his hands delicately came to rest on one of Fox’s cheeks, encouraging and calming in one go. It was Fox’s pace, but Quinlan had never been one to hide his thoughts; and he wanted it clear that he wanted whatever Fox gave, no matter if it was clumsy kisses in precarious locations or the bickering over food on late nights.

Quinlan loved. He knew this about himself well, and had already left the order once based on such feelings. He felt for so much sometimes it was overwhelming, and his own abilities in the Force felt like a lightening rod for emotion, even from those long past. Even now he could feel the hum as his thumb swiped slowly over Fox’s cheekbone, and he used every trick in his book not to read anything beyond that surface level. What Quinlan truly wanted was it to be Fox’s own choice to share. His own feelings given freely at his own pace. Of course he couldn’t help sensing the nerves Fox was projecting with how strongly they wavered past the clones walls, but he kept everything else as locked as any shadow can. Locked with the key that would be forever freely offered. That if Fox wanted, he was there, and if he didn’t, he would stay at his side regardless.

If this was the only kiss, Quinlan wanted it clear how much he treasured it. Protected it. Already kept it within his heart where no one but Fox could ever take it away from him.

If it was just this moment, Quinlan could accept it and return to being the nuisance nat-born Jedi that Fox had dubbed him. And he would then use every ounce of that title to ensure they made it through this war anyhow. Because Fox would always be a friend, and for Quinlan, that title was nothing short of the highest importance.

If it was only right now, Quinlan would be happy.

Literally has been sitting in my drafts for way too long as I wanted to write something more for it, but have been too caught up with work to finish it; and I just get too sad seeing it in my drafts every time I scroll to leave it any longer.

Who knows, maybe I will finish writing later and reblog with it/edit the AO3 story. Stay tuned just in case XD

Enjoy! (And enjoy the new Dumpy the frog text divider!)

#loved the pose too much to not draw it as them #because it is so very them #been sitting in my drafts a while #too long honestly #wanted to write something more for it...#might still #we will wait and see #surprise dumpy the frog!#quinfox #foxquin #quinlan x fox #quinlan vos #clone commander fox #star wars #clone wars #my art #my writing #fanart

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littlemissmiller · 5 months ago

Note

Billy the kid but with kind of a Bonnie and Clyde action going on yk? Like partner in crime sorta thing

Yes ma’am…

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐻𝒾𝓂

Pairing: billy the kid x fem! reader

Summary: You and Billy have been tasked by Mr. Tunstall to break into the Lincoln jail to get some of his men out. In the thrill of the night and in anticipation of the war ahead, Billy finally tells you how he really feels.

Warning: 21+ (drinking), established relationship, smut, fluff, semi-public sex, p in v, no pullout

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: hey there! i was so excited to get to writing this (and apologize for getting it to the asker so late) but i wrote this before i saw the newest episode and wow it couldn’t have come at a better time…what a sweet little story y’all and I was absolutely clutch my pearls and wine watching that man take his shirt off like y’all 🥵 so i hope you all enjoy I can’t wait for next weeks episode ahhh ♥︎

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫ ≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫ ≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

You knew breaking these men out if prison wouldn’t be easy. But you had Billy with you and he had dedicated his life to Mr. Tunstall. As you sit with him and plan you can’t help but feel anxious.

“I reckon we head out after dawn, ride into town and wait until shift change, then we’ll make our move…”

You nod and give your boyfriend a halfhearted smile.

“What’s wrong darling?”

“Just nervous…I mean I know it would be a great deal to free these men, but it’s so risky Billy”

He looks at you more intensely now and scoots closer to you. He trails his finger across your chin and turns you to face him.

“Hey…we got this. Besides you know I’ve done it before…” he chuckles

You nod and smile.

“I know, it’s just I haven’t…”

Billy leans in and gives you a quick kiss, his soft lips slowly melting your anxiety away.

“I promise no matter what you’re my priority. If you get hurt, I will have to leave them men behind to get you help. I won’t let you get hurt though okay?”

You nod and he kisses you again. You knew how much Billy cares for you. And you knew that he could practically have any girl in town. Even a nice proper lady, who wore the big day dresses and rode their carriage into town. You saw how those women looked at him. How they would die to be rebellious and show Billy off on their arm. But they didn’t get him like that. You did. Even though you were more of a cowgirl yourself and that’s really why Billy found you the most beautiful and worthy of his affections. Because you weren’t like most ladies your age.

You’re not dainty and frail. Billy saw that from the moment he met you. The way you confidently held yourself and spoke up when you thought things should be done differently. And your beautiful gaze that left him frozen and intimidated. He was in total awe of you from that day on. Yet, as you sit here with him you allow yourself to be vulnerable and scared. As he rubs his thumb over your cheekbone you try to understand why you feel so nervous.

Maybe because up until now you and the rest of Tunstall’s crew had been operating within the law and were not about causing trouble in town, but with Jesse Evans and his gang working on behalf of Murphy, things had been getting worse. So now you and the crew were being forced to turn to more violent means to protect the farmers and the county. Especially now that Billy was on Tunstall’s side.

“I’m glad you ended up joining our crew, Billy…”

“I’m glad I did too.” He smiles

As the sunsets, Billy is inside the ranch, cleaning off his gun and checking the barrel. You find him and bring him a bowl of ham and beans.

“I reckon we should eat before we go.” You recommend handing him a bowl and some cornbread.

He takes it and smiles. You pull up a stool next to him and sit. The row of you eat in relative silence, watching as the sun disappears behind the horizon. Soon enough, Billy stands up and heads into the kitchen putting his bowl in the sink. He washes his hands and you follow suit.

Your stomach is full with both a good meal and butterflies and you saddle up your horse. The air is colder now and Billy slips on his maroon cardigan and dawns his hat. You pull your jacket on as well and pull your hair back. As you get onto your horse, he helps you hold your hand. His fingers linger on your own for a moment.

“I always thought you looked so beautiful when you rode…”

“You just like how my body bounces…” you smirk

“That’s true, but I’m starting from where I am now, you look like an angel…here” he states handing you a bandana “eventually we’ll need to cover our faces.”

You blush and wrap the bandana around your neck. He hops up on his horse and ties his own bandana around his neck. You and him waste no more time and ride off into Lincoln. The ride itself is only about thirty minutes which allows you to get your nerves out and gain some confidence. As you and Billy approach Lincoln county, stop and look out onto the town. You slowly begin to approach, making sure to sneak in closer to the jail to make the getaway smoother. You look for a close enough spot to hide the horses. The jail is on full view now, close enough to walk to from the hill you and Billy are perched on.

“Ok when the guards leave, we’ll move in. Then we only gotta deal with the warden inside which shouldn’t be too difficult. But you’re gonna help me then ok? I’ll wait around out back and I need you to draw him from his desk. There won’t be any guards outside for at least three minutes, but that’s all we have got?” Billy explains

“I got it.”

“Then once you draw him away, I’ll Come in and we’ll lure him into a cell. I did the same thing down in Mexico. Worked like a charm.”

“That was one person, not two” you remember”

“We can handle it.”

You and him, sit on your horses, and look upon the jail, waiting and waiting and waiting until finally the guards outside begin to move toward the fence to leave.

“Ok let’s go.” Billy instructs.

You and him trot down the hill, keeping a slow enough pace as to not trip or draw attention to yourself. Once you reach the fence you dig out for a pair of wire cutters you had brought along. You cut the fence enough so you and Billy have enough space to slip in. He runs to the back of the jailhouse and you run up to the front. Billy hadn’t given you exact instructions on how to distract the warden, so you decide to get creative. You walk up and frantically pound on the door. You hear footsteps and make it look like you’ve been crying and out of breath.

“Help, please help me!” You plea

The warden steps out confused, looking around for the outside guardsmen.

“I’m so sorry to take you away from you you post sir, it’s just I got into Lincoln and have been running, my horse is wounded, this man is chasing me…” you cry

“A man chasing ya? What ya mean” he says, face scrunched up as he steps outside.

Meanwhile, Billy has broken in and you watch as he approaches the warden from behind, eyes peeking under the brim of his hat, bandana pulled up to hide his face. He clicks his gun at the back of the man’s head and you pull up your own bandana and pull your gun on the man. He frantically looks around for the outside guards, but no one has come to claim the post.

“Get back inside” Billy sneers and the warden listens, turning as you both follow him, gun still raised. Billy glances at you for a moment then back at the man, poking the gun to his head and pushing him inside the cell.

“I’ll go find our men… stay with him.” Billy instructs and leaves you alone with the warden.

You try not to focus on him, but make sure your gun has his full attention. A few moments pass and Billy is still not back. Then the warden sees the new night shift stroll in and begins to yell. You quickly knock him out with the butt if your gun and Billy rushes downstairs.

“We gotta go.” He urges, the other men following him out the back. The shooting starts and the guardsmen seem to notice things aren’t right. They start to yell and chase after you as Billy and the men run up the hill. You follow behind, but fall and trip over a rock. You scurry back to your feet, but one of the guards catches you, knocking you back on your feet. You cry out.

“Ahh help!”

“Go get the horses from over the hill!” Billy instructs the men, running towards you.

The man holds you down and you struggle to get away, kicking and cursing at the man.

“They send a little thing like you to do a man’s job hmm? Guess Tunstall was never a smart man.”

“Get off me you pig.”

“Shut up bitch, you’re going to go in this jailhouse now.” He stands you up and starts to drag you off

“Hey!” Billy shouts “You better hand her over!”

The man stops and whips you around. He holds you against his chest. His slimy lips press up against your ear as he holds you tight against his chest.

“I’m taking this pretty thing to the jailhouse and next I’ll take you.”

Billy marches forward, drawing and raising his gun.

“Let. Her. Go” he grits and the man merely laughs. Billy waist no time and shoots him in the shoulder, then another one to his thigh causing him to release you and fall down. The guard wasn’t dead, just injured enough to keep him away. Then the other guards catch up as well and start to shoot at Billy and the rest of the crew as the other men come back with the horses. They get off and start shooting.

You start to shoot too, taking cover behind the horses, while Billy tries to shelter you. He takes aim at the guards firing and trying to avoid the returning bullets.

“C’mon we gotta go!” One of the men yells out. Billy takes a few more shots and in the distance sees the sheriff riding towards the jailhouse.

“Shit!” Billy curses and you take one last shot. It hits another guard on the thigh and before you realize you’re being hoisted up onto the saddle by Billy. You and him ride together on his horse, while the two men take the other horse.

Out of breath, Billy continues to check on you the entire ride back asking if you’re okay or hurt. Once back at Tunstall’s ranch, Billy helps you off the horse and inside. The rest of the gang are delighted to see Billy and you got the boys out.

“Good work Billy.” Charlie slaps his back.

The rest of the group heads inside while you put away the horses. Billy waits for you. You walk back to him once the horses are tied up. He pulls down your bandana, and you smile.

“You’re a real cowgirl ya know that.”

“I ain’t half the shot you are though.”

“Is that a requirement?” He asks as you wrap your arms around his waist

“Not necessarily, but don’t change the fact you are one.”

“Well then…Mr. Bonney…” you tease “I guess you are too then?” You kiss him deeply, placing your hands flat on his chest and leaning on your toes slightly. He holds your face in his hands, returning the kiss with equal fervor. You could have stayed out there all night with your lips on his. The warm night draped around you like a blanket and the warmth of Billy’s mouth turning up the heat. He moves his hands to your own waist, pulling you closer.

“Hey Billy!” Charlie call out

Billy pulls back, whipping his head around

“Sorry…Tunstall wants to see you”

Billy nods and Charlie heads back inside. Billy turns to look back at you and you both head inside. You join the rest of the men, grab a drink, and make conversation with Charlie. Billy heads into Mr. Tunstall’s office and closes the door. Soon enough he comes back and you excuse yourself from the conversation as he walks back outside.

“Hey!” You call to him “What did Tunstall say”

“Just taking next steps.” He states to you briefly. You could tell something is off and you touch his shoulder

“Billy…”

“Tunstall says a war is coming…that Jesse and the rest of Murphy’s gang will come for us sooner rather than later. He wants me to be prepared. To help lead us.”

“Oh Billy…” you rub his back.

He moves to stand in front of you and smiles, pushing your hair back. He looks past you, takes your hand and leads you to the side of the ranch. He looks around before pinning you up against the side of the house and kissing you deeply. You return his passions, moving your mouth with his. He grabs your waist and you fling your arms around his neck. He kisses you harder and your head bounces against the wood, causing you to grunt.

“Billy, sweetheart, what’s up.”

“I just…I just don’t want to lose you in this war. I feel like I got too close today. “

“You ain’t gonna lose me Billy. If anything I should be saying that about you…”

“I-I love you…”

It was the first time he’d said it openly to you. Sure you two knew it. The unspoken affections and unconditional care for each other. You hadn’t been together long, but you knew it was true.

“I love you too William Bonney..” you whisper, pressing your mouth back onto his with a searing kiss.

You love how soft and encompassing his mouth feels and as his passions overtake him, he’s practically consuming you. He holds your face gently through, not wanting to be too aggressive. You love it. The way in which he holds your face. The way he can’t seem to get enough of you. You love feeling overwhelmed by him. He pulls back, asking a silent permission if he can continue. You give him a devilish smile and take his wrist, leading him away from the side of the house. He trots after you and you playfully run towards the barn.

You open the door and look around. It’s empty because the horses are tied up outside and for once doesn’t smell. Billy catches up to you, swings you around, and pushes you up against the wooden beam. Cupping your face, he picks back up where he left off. You moan against him and his hands begin to explore your body, sending waves of pleasure through your veins. He smiles and gasps against your mouth, pulling back to admire you.

“You know you’re the only girl I’ve ever said that to…” he breathes

“Really…”

“Really… and I mean it” he smiles

He can’t help but kiss you again. He loves the way your mouth feels against his, loves the way you can’t help but moan for him, and loves how you love him back. You hold the back of his neck, fingers tracing the back of his neck hairs. After a few moments of you and him like this you pull back and Billy dives in for your neck, holding your jaw and the base of it as he starts to suck and nibble. You hold his head against you, hips starting to move against his pelvis, building up more and more of the heat that was coursing through your body. You look around and spot Mr. Tunstall’s empty stagecoach. You push back from the banister, holding his face and he continues to kiss you. He stumbles forward and you look behind, eyeing the stagecoach once again. You pull away and pull him by his shirt to make him follow you.

You bite your lip, glancing at the stagecoach . That’s all you have to do for Billy to know exactly what you’re saying to him. He gives you a boyish smirk that turns into a soft chuckle. He starts to unbutton his shirt as you pull him back more and more until you both hit the doors. You open it and slide in. There isn’t much room, but you and Billy manage.

“You really want to do this here” he breathes

“Ain’t like we are one for following rules…now are we Mr. Bonney.” You tease, loving to throw around his last name like that.

“Fuck darling…come here.” He leans back down and starts to undo your pants. As you work your mouth against his, you fiddle with the rest of buttons on his shirt and then his suspenders. Billy starts to undress you as well, undoing the buttons and pulling your pants down. He slides your bloomers off as well, and then works to take your blouse off. Meanwhile, you’ve successfully rid him of his shirt, leaving the top half of his body bare for you. You admire his toned body, glad that his years of hard labor are gifting you with the sight before you. He tends to go for the top part of your undergarments until you're completely exposed to him.

Billy and you have been intimate before, but with things starting to heat up in Lincoln, you and Billy have found much time in the last week or so. And especially now that he’s declared his love for you, you’re both all too eager. As he kisses you, his hands cup your breast, the moonlight shading your cleavage perfectly. He starts to massage it, slowly, but not too gentle. You work to undone his pants as he works you, sliding them off, and he eventually wiggles out of them and kicks them off. He’s half hard, and you reach for his length, pumping him slowly. He reciprocates your actions drawing his hand down to your core, the feather light feeling of his fingertips tracing your figure.

He starts rubbing you once he gets his hand in-between your legs. Billy can’t decide on if he wants to kiss you or watch you as you come undone for him. He goes back and forth in between the two, your melodic moans filling the cramped stagecoach. He slowly gets more and more hard and he wiggles his hips closer to your own. You giggle ever so girlishly.

“This feels so different…”

“A good different?” He asks

“Mhmm…” you nod. “It's a little dangerous. I like it.”

“Because we can get caught” he smirks

You bite your lip “I wouldn’t mind getting caught with the man I love.”

With that he smiles, starts to kiss you again and slowly pushes himself inside. He feels so incredible and full. He bottoms up and looks down at you. He pushes some loose baby hairs away from your face and gasps. You flatten your hands against his chest at first, feeling his clean, smooth skin, before wrapping them around his neck. He starts to move and you draw your legs further apart and towards you. He rocks in you, picking up his pace, trying not to move the stagecoach.

Intimate moments were always good with him. It’s safe to say that Billy knows what he is doing when it comes to pleasing women. But sometimes about having him now felt like it was for the first time all over. Maybe it was the thrill of getting caught or maybe it was the fact that now you know for sure this man, this unbelievably handsome man, loves you.

He ruts into you deep, causing you to grunt and cling to him tighter. He moves his hips more, faster adding to the sensations of your pleasure. You raise your leg up and wrap it around his waist. He grunts, the pressure on his back pushing him deeper in you. He moans against you, his mouth falling to your jawline and neck again. He props himself up more in his hand and moves his other hand down to rub your clit. You buck your hips against his hand, only adding to your pleasure. He grins against your neck, picking up both the speed of his hips and fingers.

“Fuck fuck fuck…Billy… ya gonna make me cum…”

“Please cum baby. Cum on my cock fuck…”

The stagecoach begins to rock more. The heat pooling in your stomach builds and burns your core. You love the thrill of being intimate with Billy like this. The idea of someone finding you and him like this, walking in, while Billy is filling you up with pleasure. A few more thrusts and you’re finished. You clench down on his length, moan into his neck and cling onto him tight.

Soon enough, he’s spent himself, thrusting into you until he stops. His thick white cum coats the inside of your walls, filling you up in a new way. He stays in you for a moment, gazing into your eyes and catching his breath. He rests his sweaty forehead against your own, painting He kisses you softly, lips melting to your own.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He whispers

You smile at his words, holding him tight. You never wanted this to end. From here on out you knew, it would be just you and Billy. No matter what.

꧁✵❈✵ ꧂

130 notes · View notes

johnwickb1tsch · 6 months ago

Text

break me, softly

When your ex Jack Traven pays you a late night visit after a tough case, you can’t turn him away. Jack Traven x Fem!Reader ficlet

warnings: smut. angst. brief mention of hostage situation/death. slight inebriation. fluff. ❤❤❤

For @treedaddymcpuffpuff who whispered in my ear "hey you should watch Speed" and sent me down this rabbit hole (i luv u girl, you're our Keanuverse Guide & Tastemaker!) 😘😘😘 and @scarlettspectra who requested some fluff fic 😘😘😘.

It’s late at night, when you hear the soft knock on your apartment door. Usually, you wouldn’t dream of answering such a thing–a woman living alone, in this city? You’re not looking to get murdered. But something, some feeling from deep in your gut, pulls you out of bed. You walk on bare feet in just your nightie and look through the peephole. Nothing.

You know it’s probably a bad idea, but that uneasiness nags at you still. Not that you’re in danger. That someone needs you. You have a sense about that, after so many years as a nurse. Or maybe, you just always have.

You undo the deadbolts and stick your head out, to see the tall figure of a man retreating down the hall.

You would know that backside anywhere. Those broad shoulders, that trim waist, those long legs…and by the way he’s walking, you can tell he’s a little drunk.

“Jack?”

He freezes in his tracks, clearly debating with himself. Probably wondering what the fuck he’s doing here, and if you’ll tell him to go to hell, after the way he pushed you away three months ago after dating for two whole years.

He turns to face you slowly. You can say a lot of things about Officer Jack Traven–but never that he’s a coward.

“Hey, y/n.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen him, since the day he shattered your world when he broke things off with you. It feels about precisely like being punched in the gut. He’s still so handsome it hurts; those soulful dark eyes, cheekbones to make a fashion model weep, a manly-man’s jawline softened by such a full, sweet mouth. Immediately, upon looking at that face you still love so well, you know something is wrong.

“Are you ok?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it. Takes a deep breath, tries again. Nothing. It’s as good as a five page report, to you. To you, who knows his every gesture, his every tell. For all it’s worth, now.

You already knew, in the back of your mind, that you were still in love with this man. It was like a fine buzzing in your heart you’d managed to push into the background of your day to day. But seeing him again makes it all surge up with a vengeance. You know that being near him again will be like feeding your heart through a paper shredder–slowly. You also know that something terrible must have happened at his work, for him to show up here like this, and so you open the door wider, laying your heart on the sacrificial altar, the way you always do.

“Come on,” you say gently, waving him in. “I’ll take care of you.”

He gives so much of himself, always trying to help everyone else in this big, mean, city. You know he forgets to leave a little fuel in the tank for himself. It’s maybe something the two of you have in common.

You watch as he fights a war within himself, teetering on the balls of his feet, undecided between staying or leaving. In the end, he takes a step towards you, then another. You try not to read too much into that. He’s just here because he’s drunk and feeling vulnerable. It doesn’t really have anything to do with you.

You’re not really sure how this will go. Probably he’ll just come sit on your couch with a beer–you still have his favorite in the fridge–and talk a little. Not about what’s actually bothering him. No, heaven forbid. But circular small talk, to get his mind off the bad thing. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times before.

And yet, when you are standing toe to toe, and he has to crane his neck to look down at you–there’s a dark fire in his eyes, and with a little thrill you feel the urge to flee before his big hands engulf the sides of your face, and his mouth is on yours.

Oh. That’s what you’re doing.

You can’t say you forgot what it’s like to kiss Jack Traven–but maybe the intensity of the memory had faded a little, if for anything out of pure self defense. How could a woman keep her sanity, if she remembered how good he was, if she knew she’d never taste him again? You stand on tiptoe to throw your arms around his neck as he devours you, and he easily picks you up with an arm around your waist, walking the two of you back into your apartment and slamming the door shut with his booted heel.

This. This had never been a problem for the two of you. Passion. It was everything else that got in the way. Most of all, his dangerous job, which though it wore on you, you had never complained about. But he’d seen the way you worried about him, the way it absolutely chewed on your nerves when there was a situation on the news and you didn’t know if he would be coming home that night. You’d been willing to weather that storm for him, but the guilt of demanding that of you ate at his conscience.

He’d broken things off with you, in your own hospital, after he’d taken a bullet in the chest and you didn’t leave his side or really even sleep until he came to. I can’t ask you to keep doing this for me. You deserve better.

You’d protested, of course, but he’d made up his mind.

Until now, apparently, where he is walking you backwards towards your bedroom, half carrying you in the ardor of his embrace. You recognize this need for life-affirming intimacy. You’d gotten to know it well, over the years, and you surrender to the storm, letting him take what he needs. Letting him fist the fabric of your cotton nightie in his big hands, drawing it up over your head before falling on you again, pushing your panties down the curves of your bottom and your thighs.

You always marveled that despite his strength and the things he knows how to do with those hands, he never ever hurt you, not even when he was like this, desperate for your softness, frantic to lose himself inside the momentary bliss your body could bring. He barely has the patience to let you pull off his white t-shirt, or to enjoy the swathes of toned flesh beneath. His belt is flung forgotten to the floor from the moment you pull it from its loops and he picks you up by your thighs, walking you the rest of the way to the bed. Boots are kicked away as his mouth is attached to yours, pants and boxers shed with a sharp push.

You might have been embarrassed, by how ready you are for him, how sopping fucking wet you were for him from the moment you saw him, if you could have formed a coherent thought as his thick tip kisses your entrance, before he absolutely plunges himself inside you. The delicious shock of it steals the breath from you, your soul escaping with a moan, only to be reclaimed with his mouth on yours. He takes you like the ocean, relentless and rolling, filling you with every thrust. It’s gratifying, the animalistic sounds of abandon he makes as he fucks you. If you didn’t know any better–you might have swore you were making love, despite his hedonistic frenzy.

The same way you knew something was wrong in the first second of seeing him in the hallway, you know he’s close to finishing already, his breathing frantic in the bend of your neck, his grip just this side of bruising. He seems to remember that he’s done very little to see to your pleasure, amidst the haze of chasing his own gratification. He sits up on trembling elbows, making to reach between you. “Fuck. I’m sorry, baby. You feel so good.” Maybe it’s ridiculous, that it brings tears to your eyes to hear the endearment. You find you don’t even want to cum, as much as you just want to make this haunted man feel better.

“It’s ok,” you pant in answer, catching his hand to place it on your breast. “Cum for me, Jack. I know you need it.”

He buries his face in the bend of your neck; you’re not sure if the sound he makes is a moan or a sob, as he thrusts as deep as he can inside you, bathing your cervix with the hot flood of his seed. He continues to hold on to you as though you are the last sane thing on this earth, and you let him, your legs still wrapped around his narrow hips, your hands smoothing across the muscles of his broad shoulders.

Only much, much later, does it seem to dawn on him what he’s done–and maybe just who he did it with. He draws back to look at you with concern written in those big brown puppy eyes, smoothing your hair away from your face. You can’t help but close your own lids; jesus, how you missed his touch. You feel utterly breakable in that moment, but he’s the one who needs healing right now, so you get your shit together, gather it all back up tight and shove it down in your lockbox of a heart.

Before he can apologize or say something stupid, you pull him down to rest on your breast, the way you’ve done a hundred times before. Surely the muscle memory of it is as comforting for him as the act in the moment itself. “It’s ok, Jack. Just rest. I’ve got you.”

He sags against you, curling that powerful body around yours–and falls asleep.

You were right, of course. Your heart feels exactly like it’s been fed through a grinder, as you hold this beautiful manchild in your arms, your thighs deliciously sticky with his cum. A part of you hopes that he’ll just sneak out in the morning without waking you. It would almost hurt less, than any excuse he’ll have to offer you, when the sun comes streaming through your window.

***

But when next you wake, it’s not to the sun, or the shift of weight on the mattress while a large man tries to slip out without a sound. It’s to wet kisses upon your neck, and an agonizingly gentle touch sliding down your torso, tracing the ladder of your ribcage and the swell of your belly, before making his way up again.

“You know,” he says softly against your cheek, “you really shouldn’t open the door to anyone in the middle of the night.”

You wonder if he can see you rolling your eyes in the dark. But then his lips touch yours, and the urge to argue with him for argument’s sake dissipates into thin air. Instead you opt for honesty, the spell of intimacy not yet broken in the shadows of what must be early early morning.

“I think…I knew it was you.”

He lets out a shuddering sigh, kissing your jaw, then lower.

“Baby…” It feels so good, to hear him say it like that against your skin. You can almost forget it isn’t true anymore. You’re not his baby. You’re not his anything, even though he’s here in your bed, and his big hand is sliding down your belly again, his fingers combing through your curls. “Let me touch you?”

You really should say no.

“You don’t have to.”

He ducks to suck the soft skin of your breast lightly, then kisses it to soothe the burn. That luscious mouth…god it curls your toes. “I want to. I promise you.”

There’s so much you want to ask him. Things like why? And I thought you didn’t love me anymore? You’ve since reasoned that it’s the only way he could truly bear to break things off, the way he did. You certainly hadn’t had the strength to give him up, no matter what the stress of his occupation wreaked on you.

You don’t have the strength to say no. You do manage not to beg, like the needy little thing you are, with his big body curled over yours. You’ve always felt like nothing could touch you, with him by your side. As it turned out the only thing that could hurt you all along, was him.

You nod your assent before catching his mouth, sliding your tongue against his as his thick fingers explore your puffy slit, still wet from both of your juices. He makes a sound in the back of his throat that lifts every hair on your body, a delicious shudder running through your spine. His strong fingers circle your aching clit, just the way he knows drives you wild. Not too hard, not too soft. Fuck, this man has your number still.

You haven’t been with anyone, since the last time you were with him, despite your well-meaning girlfriends dragging you out to bars and trying to get you to forget this man who left your heart shredded like bomb shrapnel. Because deep down, you knew, you just knew this man ruined you, utterly fucking ruined you for anyone else. Who the fuck could compare? Not some asshole hoping for a one night stand down at TJ’s, that was for sure.

You realize you have tears running down your cheeks, you don’t know how it’s possible for it to be so good and hurt so much all at the same time.

Unfortunately when he moves to kiss your cheek, he notices. “Hey, hey,” he says, his hand stilling between your legs, making your hips writhe with frustration. “You ok?”

“No,” you answer honestly, reaching for him. He has you cradled in those big arms, and you can feel his manhood so firm and silky smooth against your hip. You are not ok, without him inside you right now. “Will you make love to me again?”

He pays you a ghost of that usual blinding smile, a thing a woman would sell her soul for, and it just breaks your heart all over again.

He never really answers you with words. The two of you move with pure magnetism, your leg hooking over his hip, pulling him close, inviting him inside. Without a condom, again, you think as he settles between your thighs, sinking inside you so smoothly. Maybe not smart, even though you're on birth control, but it’s the way you’re meant to be together, raw and no barriers between you. As usual, he fucks you and makes love to you all at the same time, looking into your soul while he does it, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever known. This time you cum together, and maybe it’s a little pathetic, the way you cling to each other in the darkness of your bedroom, like you really can stave off the misery of the outside world with this bit of human intimacy, your bodies inextricably entwined.

You fall asleep together, this time with your head on his chest, and as you drift you decide you’ll wake up and make him breakfast, and you won’t ask him any painful questions about what this means or if he wants you back, or if this is just a comfort fuck and you won’t see him again until the weight of the world gets too much–or maybe never, because this man is bound to find someone to settle down with. Someone he can’t bring himself to let go, the way he did you.

So you are so surprised, when you wake up, and you smell eggs and bacon and something sweet cooking. You stumble into the kitchen to find him in his blue plaid boxers, flipping a pancake, singing under his breath to R.E.M. on the radio playing low. He’s so beautiful it hurts, and it’s like your heart is gripped in an unforgiving fist.

He turns to see you in the doorway and offers you a smile. It’s still not quite the usual 100 watt Jack Traven special–he’s not feeling well enough for that. This man hides nothing, he’s so true, he wears it all on his sleeve for you. You love that so much about him, and it hurts like a knife between the ribs.

“Hey.”

“Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

You shouldn’t feel so shy about walking into your own kitchen.

But you aren’t sure where you stand. Do you kiss him, hug him, the way you want to, the way you used to? Or are you operating under one-night-stand-protocol? Play it cool, act like you barely even like the guy? It’s so fucked up, and you never wanted to be in this position again.

Sensing your hesitance, he crosses the floor to you, engulfing the side of your face in his big hand as he kisses you good morning, like nothing ever changed. “Hey,” he says again, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Jack.”

“Yeah, baby.”

You told yourself you weren’t going to ask painful questions. Remember? Remember that? So you just sigh, and close your eyes, and absorb this moment for what it is. “Do you feel better?” you ask. Another important question.

“Yes and no.”

You sigh again through your nose. The corners of his mouth twitch, because he knows you so well, and that one little gesture conveys a novel to him too.

“Thank you,” he says, for last night, and whatever else, you don’t really know.

“Any time.” You mean it, when you say it.

“Yeah?” There is a hint of his usual sparkle in his eyes as he asks this. And a part of you wants to pick a fight, to say I’m not the one who left. But maybe you have grown up a little, because you bite your tongue for now.

“Yeah.” You reach up to touch his hair, the soft spikes of his buzzcut like velvet beneath your fingers. You know he would have beautiful hair if he grew it out. You’d seen his high-school pictures. He had the potential for hair to make a grown woman weep.

Later, with your mouth full of pancake, you ask gently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He flexes his jaw, looking out the window. He always bottled things up, before. He didn’t want to burden you with the hard things he saw at work. You didn’t want him to carry it alone. Usually you had to pry it out of him, because of course he refused to see the shrink at work.

You realize you are gobsmack surprised when he actually volunteers, “We had a hostage situation. A woman…died. The bank robber shot her. It was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. It was the criminal’s fault. He brought a gun to a bank with the intention to steal money by any means necessary. You did your best.”

Once upon a time, he would have argued with you on that too. His jaw clenches as he thinks about it, argues with you in his mind, at least.

But this time in the end, he closes his eyes, nods. Reaches for your hand across the table. You take it, holding on to him. Those warm, strong fingers wrapped around yours feel like home, and you try not to start crying because you’ve missed him so much.

“Y/n…?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. For pushing you away.”

Once upon a time, you would have said something inane, like that’s ok. You’ve grown as a person too, and this time, you nod, because he does owe you an apology. “Thanks for that.”

“I know…I don’t deserve it. But maybe…if you’d let me…I could make it up to you?”

You close your eyes at hearing that, light headed. You might have fallen out of your chair, if not for his hand anchoring you.

“I would like that,” you admit, giving yourself points for not sounding too pathetic, and crawling across the table through the breakfast dishes to sit in his lap.

Then, he does flash you the 1000 watt Jack Traven smile, and the circuits in your brain melt.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you big idiot.” You’re really not sure if he pulls you, or if you get up and walk, but you find yourself in his lap with your lips on his, his strong arms wrapped around you and his lips on yours. He rocks you like a child, smiling against your mouth between stealing kisses.

“I love you.”

You feel as though the desert of your heart has suddenly undergone a superbloom, the ferocity of your love making you lightheaded.

“Jack…”

“Yeah?” He really is smiling now, in between kissing you, cute little snatches of sweetness all over your face. With hands on his cheeks you catch his lips, smiling against his mouth after a long smooch.

“I love you too. But if you ever break up with me for any reason other than you don’t love me anymore, I might maim you.”

This wins you that radiant smile that curls your toes again. “So much for the Florence Nightingale oath.”

“Leave her out of it, this is between you and me.” He chuckles, and squeezes you again in his big arms.

“Alright. Consider me warned.”

“Good.”

His big hand runs up your thigh, that dark sparkle in his eyes that never fails to take your breath away. “I feel like I should start that making up I have to do here.” Suddenly you find yourself seated on your kitchen table, Jack smiling up at you from between your legs. He reaches for the syrup, and you can’t help but throw your head back with laughter, certain he’s teasing you. “You are going to make such a mess!”

“Honey, you’re the one going to be making the mess.” He has the nerve to smirk up at you before stealing your panties, and smearing syrup up your thighs.

#jack traven #jack traven x you #jack traven x y/n #jack traven x reader #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #speed #keanuverse #speed 1994

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starsyearn · 5 months ago

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never knew (i’ve been looking at you my whole life)

Potter is staring. Again.

Draco can’t help it. He notices. He notices everything about Harry Potter – how he takes his cup of coffee every morning (“Black, please, two sugars”); how he drums his fingers on his knees when he’s getting impatient; how he (unconsciously) rubs the skin on the back of his right hand when he’s trying to evade giving answers.

And now he notices Potter not paying attention to Professor Bones’ discourse on Concealment and Disguise, instead choosing to exchange notes with a slyly smirking Weasley while looking at him, for some odd reason. Draco tries to muster up a scowl, but only feels his cheeks go pink and looks away quickly, hoping Potter didn’t catch his flustered (smitten) state.

No such luck. He groans internally when out of the corner of his eye, he sees Potter looking at him with a surprised grin and an almost soft look in his eyes – which embarrassingly makes Draco want to see more of that expression when Potter’s gaze is directed towards him. He hears the professor wind up the lecture (“And we wrap up here for today, everyone. Good day to all of you.”) and glances over at Potter again. He has no right to be that gorgeous, not with his unkempt hair all over the place and those glasses that don’t even fit. Merlin, what wouldn’t he give to just –

That’s quite enough of Potter-watching, he tells himself sternly, packing away his things. He doesn’t deserve this little bit of happiness anyway. The war will forever be a stain on his soul. His tenure as a Death Eater, his subsequent cowardice, his inability to choose either side in the end. All adding up to the fact that he simply hasn’t earned the right to Potter’s affection.

The truth is, Harry fucking Potter was the one who testified at his trial. And that only compounds the reality that Potter’s a bloody saint. He’s too sodding compassionate and forgiving and good and everything Draco isn’t.

And yet, Draco can’t help it.

He wants. But he can’t have this.

He quickly hurries out, but someone catches his arm. Potter.

“Draco. Wait up. I need to ask you something.”

Draco stops.

Draco. Draco. Potter called him Draco. As if – as if they were friends, as if Potter knew him. Ask me anything you’d like, his heart sings. I’ll give you the world.

“Do you want to grab a cuppa together sometime?”

Draco isn’t expecting – that. He stares wide-eyed at Potter for a few seconds, wondering if he heard that right. Potter wets his (maddeningly pretty) lips and runs a hand through his frankly infuriatingly (glossy) messy hair, endearingly nervous.

“Forget it. I don’t know what I was thinkin–”

“Do you mean like... a date? Because in that case. Erm. I would love to. It would be my pleasure” is what falls out of his mouth, unbidden.

He is mortified. Salazar knows his mother taught him better than to spit out things like that. Well, it isn’t like he can do anything about it now. Can’t take back words already spoken. Draco clears his throat. Waits a few seconds, then quickly looks up and –

Is Potter – is Potter blushing? It’s hard to tell, but Draco thinks he can spot tinges of red appear at the tips of his cheekbones. Potter doesn’t seem to know what to say next, just nods and keeps on bloody looking and smiling. Draco deems it only fair to let him squirm. Serves him right for all that time he spent sniggering with Weasley when he ought to have been listening to Professor Bones.

“I’ll see you around, then?” Potter phrases it as a question.

“Of course, you prat. Not that I understand why you’d even want to look at me after what I’ve done.” The last part is muttered under his breath, not meant for Potter’s ears. But of course he’d hear it.

“Draco,” he sighs. “You were just a kid. You didn’t deserve any of it. Even if you were a bit of a moron for the most part. Even now.”

“Draco,” he murmurs. “Merlin, I love saying your name. I love seeing your eyes dance with wonder and your cheeks pinken whenever I look at you.”

“Draco,” he breathes. “I’ve only ever been looking at you, love. Before I even met you, I think I was looking for you.”

written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, “stain”. i just love these two idiots. i also loved writing draco pining here, because goddamn. he can be so lyrical sometimes with how he yearns for harry. this is kind of a mess and i’m not too satisfied with how it turned out, but i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so there y’all go.

#drarry #hpdm #draco x harry #microfiction #drarry microfic #drarry recs #hpdm fanfic #harry x draco #drarry fics #drarry drabble #drabbles #draco malfoy #harry james potter #cass writes

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outlawedmando · 2 years ago

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SOMEWHERE SAFE

pairing: sihtric kjartansson × poc!reader

warnings: violence ; sihtric not married here

summary: scared of losing someone dear to you.

a/n: this is so inaccurate but i desperately wanted to write for my one love <3 kicking myself for not watching the last kingdom sooner (that's on me). this has not been edited/beta read.

also! would really appreciate reblogs + comments!!

word count: 1,3k+

SOMEWHERE IN DANELAND

The aftermath of any battle came with its own consolation prizes. Both sides of the war lost many on their sides. There were dead bodies scattered everywhere, decorating the barren field to completion. You do not remember being dragged violently on the ground, only that you could not see properly as blood had gotten everywhere—into your eyes and all.

Now as you sit on the bloodied earth surrounded by Danes jeering about how they caught one of Uthred's most trusted men. But, you knew how the men looked at you. You rather the Saxon's and their god smite you then be laid out on a platter for these savages. You did not know when your back up would come, if they would notice that you were gone. You could be dead for all you knew.

Your hands shuffled across your body, patting down all over. Your fingers had found the small dagger strapped alongside your pants on the right-side. You would die with honour if worst comes to worse.

A Dane you haven't seen before strutted in his glory towards you. You glared as he laughed drinking his ale. Most of it spilled all over the ground. He swiped his long dagger from his hip and brought it directly in front of you.

“What a prize you are,” He dragged the tip of the steel from your cheek down to your chest. “I wonder what Uthred would say now that we have one of his own.”

You spat at him, “I will cut out your tongue and feed it to you and I will watch you as you choke on it.”

His smile turned into a frown. He chucked his empty cup away as he dug his dagger into your throat drawing a sliver of blood. You winced but you sneered even more as you struggled in your binding—the rope cutting into your wrists.

“You shut your mouth bitch or I will make you.”

You swore under your breath. You eyed this man before you spat at his shoes. “Fuck you.”

“You little…” He grabbed the back of your neck. You knew there was going to be a large bruise left after. That was the least of your worries. You had endured worse. Women always bore the brunt of men’s actions. That was written in history.

The Dane brought the hilt of his dagger and smashed it against your cheekbone and switched the weapon so the blade got dragged down your neck. He was making incisions amongst your skin, the flesh open and gaping; letting blood run its course.

You steeled your face. You must show no fear. He kept on beating you, wearing your body down. Until, there was a commotion at their camp. One of the men came and addressed his leader that they found dead bodies scattered at a river.

“The sickness, it has travelled from afar. From those Christian bastards. We must prepare.” The leader addressed his men, he stared directly at you, “If you see anyone that is not a Dane, kill them.” He smirked.

You cowered in hurt as you coughed up blood. It splattered against the earth. Your body collapsed against the ground, eyes dizzy. You didn’t remember anything, only blackness.

—

Screams were heard, the ringing in your ears faded with time. The screams continued. Metal clanged against another, the sharp thrum of violence. You could hear a name being shouted, multiple times of different voices.

Everything rushed to your head, a sharp tinge rung through. White light blinded your eyes as they fluttered open, trying to refocus your gaze.

The chant of your name repeated until you saw someone crouch by your side, pushing your shoulders back and letting your body lay on the dirt. You settled your gaze upon the shadow overcast your body, you gasped.

Sihtric cupped your cheek gently, “I’m here,” his fingers caressed the cuts. “I am here,” he whispered. You groaned in pain. Whimpered at the soft touch.

He coaxed you from the ground, hand cradling the small of your back as he helped you up from the ground. Sounds of throats being slit reverberated in the decrepit environment; Uthred, Finan, Osferth and Aethelstan took care of the rest of the men.

Sihtric called Osferth over to tend to your wounds. His look of worry worsened as Osferth approached in concern. He swore openly in undiluted anger. He stabbed one of his weapons; his dagger into the ground. Uthred grimaced. Osferth tended to your injuries, mixing a salve to apply to the deep cuts. He tore fabric and wrapped it tightly around your arms.

Osferth gazed directly into your eyes, “You know he’s not angry at you. He’s angry at himself, right…?”

Silence filled the space. You replied, “I know.” Your hands scrunched into the dirt, burying your anger and sadness into the specks of soil. “I know.”

Osferth got up and smiled gently towards you. “Thanks baby monk.”

His ears tinted a pinkish red.

Finan called him over after he saw that he was done tending to you. Uthred came over. It seemed like a domino effect; each man lined up waiting to speak with you on Sihtric’s behalf. When all you wanted was that oaf of a man.

You glared at Uthred, “Do not speak of it.”

“I do not know what you mean.” He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He lifted you up and brought you over to one of the horses and helped you up.

“Let’s get back home to Rumcoffa. We will ride as much as we can before we settle for camp.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re riding with Sihtric.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell by the way you placed me upon his horse.”

He laughed. Sihtric approached the horses side and pushed himself up and behind you. He snaked his hands around your waist to grab the reins. His left hand settled against your stomach and gently pushed you back into him. You felt the warmth of his palm. You relished in it.

A throat cleared and you snapped out of your thoughts. Finan smiled like a lunatic. You glared. The horses neighed and set off riding. Only the sounds of hooves hitting the wet ground as the group rode into the horizon safe from danger.

—

Night came upon the land quickly and Uthred decided to set up camp in favour of you being deeply unwell to continue riding in your state. Their were no complaints from the rest of the men. You needed rest.

The fire crackled, the rabbits spit roasted and charred from the fire, chewing of the cooked meat traversed the environment. No one spoke until Finan couldn’t handle the silence and started talking about one of the women in the taverns. An old tale, a tale heard many times before.

You smiled deliriously and yawned.

“Here use this,” sweet Aethelstan gave you a fur to cover yourself. It was a cold night.

“Thank you,” you said.

Sihtric stayed quiet. He stayed quiet until everyone finally dozed off into sleep.

He stayed right by your side; close by.

You awoke soon after. You could feel someone staring into your back or it could of been a nightmare. You’re not sure which. Sihtric gaze settled on you, his fingers clenched.

“Why do you hate me so?”

“I don't hate you. I hate them for turning you into this.”

“Into what?”

“Someone I deeply care for get hurt.”

“You know bloodshed will never end. Especially because of who our loyalties lie with.” You turned over to face him. You stretched your hand across and placed it onto his thigh.

“I still do not like it.”

“Well, you have to deal with it.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t pain me to see you hurt this way.”

“Neither do I when I see you hurt.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Your hand grabbed his. “Then lay with me and rest.”

His fingers tightened around yours in agreement.

#the last kingdom #sihtric x reader #tlk sihtric #sihtric one shot #sihtric kjartansson x reader #tlk x reader #tlk imagine #the last kingdom x reader #sihtric #uthred x reader #finan x reader #osferth x reader #tlk #tlk fandom #tlk reader #poc!reader #sihtric x poc!reader

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reputationmunson · 2 years ago

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Little Moments | Dad!Steve x Mom!Reader

[1.0K Words]

summary: A lazy Sunday morning with Steve and your two daughters

content: fluff, slight suggestive language, mention of mom guilt, steve and reader being the best parents

It’s a rare occurrence for you and Steve to wake up alone in your bed and when you did, it was a bittersweet feeling. Of course you both loved the alone time, but you also missed cuddles with your babies.

Today was one of those mornings.

You were up before Steve and by some miracle, your two daughters were still sound asleep.

Steve was lying on his side, facing you and he looked so dreamy.

His lips were slightly parted and sure, he might’ve drooled a little, but he was still as breathtaking as ever.

You move closer to him and lay on your side to admire him.

You start to grow restless and begin to slowly trace over his features with your index finger.

Your finger gently glides over his brow bone and he twitches, making you stop in case he wakes.

After a few seconds, you trace his cheekbone, then the bridge of his nose, his cupid's bow, and then his lips. You do it over and over again, while admiring his freckles that you’ve seen a thousand times. You’ll never get tired of staring at him.

“Mm that feels nice” Steve says, keeping his eyes closed.

“How long have you been awake, Mr. Harrington?” You trace your finger over his lips one last time and he gives your fingertip a kiss.

“Long enough, Mrs. Harrington. Are the goobers up yet?” He finally opens his eyes and your heart warms at the sight of his golden irises.

“Do you really think it would be this peaceful if they were up?” You answer and he chuckles.

He moves to lay on his back and motions for you to snuggle up to him.

You lay your head on his chest and let your arm rest around his waist. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in as close as possible.

“Do you not love me anymore?” He asks in a faux serious tone.

“What?” You move your head to look up at him.

“I have yet to receive my morning kiss. Should I be expecting divorce papers?”

You roll your eyes. “So dramatic”

You give a peck. Then two pecks. Then three pecks that turn into a slow, intense kiss.

You don’t move for what feels like hours.

“Wanna get lucky?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you’re about to say yes when you hear two little feet pitter-patter down the hallway. You give him one last kiss as a way to rain check your morning plans.

Your bedroom door opens and your oldest, Olivia, stands in the doorway. “Mommy?”

“Hi, baby. Good morning.” Her hair is an absolute mess, much like yours and Steve’s, and her pajamas are uncomfortably twisted and out of whack. She’s so cute you just wanna squeeze her.

“Want me to fix your pjs, Liv?” You offer and she walks over to the bed. You go to help her up, but as she told you last time she got in your bed, she’s a big girl now. She balls the sheets in her fists to pull herself up.

She plops herself in your lap and you straighten her pajamas out. You kiss her forehead and her little arms wrap around your neck, snuggling into you. Your heart swells so much it might burst.

“What is up with my girls not giving me love this morning?” Steve reaches out and tickles her, causing her to giggle uncontrollably.

“Momma, help me!” She exclaims, still laughing and you start playfully fighting off Steve.

He moves to sit on his knees. “I think mommy needs tickles too”

All of the sudden, there’s a tickle war and the room is filled with laughter. “Okay, okay! I’m calling a truce!” You cry out and Steve retreats, falling back on the bed. You lie back on the pillows and Olivia lays on your stomach. Steve admits he's a little jealous, but he’ll never get over the sight of his girls snuggling.

Eventually, she finds her way into Steve’s lap and he sticks his tongue out at you. “You’re daddy’s girl, huh?”

“Yeah! Mommy’s too!” She’s perfect.

Moments of silence pass until you hear Claire crying and you suddenly feel terribly guilty.

“I got her,” Steve assures you. Livvy crawls over to snuggle you again.

“Why is sissy sad?” Olivia asks, concerned. She looks up at you and is an exact replica of her dad. You can’t help but give her cheeks a squeeze.

“Oh, baby, she’s not sad. She just can’t walk or talk yet, so that’s how we know she needs something” You rub her back to comfort her. She truly is the best big sister. Her and Claire are two years apart, so you were worried about jealousy issues, but Liv adores her baby sister.

Steve always says it’s because she has your heart of gold.

You always say it’s because she has his heart of gold.

You and Liv start to drift back to sleep until Steve walks back in the room.

“Diapers changed and she just had her bottle” He informs you. You give him a loving smile as a thank you.

“How’s my Claire-bear? I’m sorry we had a tickle fight without you, hun” You move to give her a kiss and Olivia does the same.

She coos and smiles at you. She’s always been a smiley baby. “Because she’s gonna be a goofball just like her mom” you recall Steve saying and it makes you smile.

Steve shifts closer to you. He has Claire laying on his chest while Liv lays on yours. Once everyone’s comfortable, he throws an arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

“Liv, are you hungry, baby?” You ask in a worried tone.

“Wanna go back to sleep, mommy”

“She’s fine, babe. You’re the best mom in the history of moms, promise” Steve reassures you, knowing you’ve been struggling with mom guilt. “Isn’t that right, Livvy?”

“You’re my favorite mommy ever” She says and a yawn follows shortly after. You kiss the top of her head in appreciation.

You all fall back asleep in a snuggle pile. It’s a little claustrophobic and you’re definitely starting to sweat, but it’s the best feeling in the world.

You can’t wait for tomorrow morning and every morning after that.

#steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #dad!steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x you #stranger things fic #steve harrington

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yanandreckless · 5 months ago

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Rub A Dub Dub, Astartes in the tub 2/2

It's a face alright. His hair is black, relatively short and fully slicked back, whether with product or grease, remains to be seen. His whole face is in sharp lines and angles, starting from a prominent widow's peak and thick, low-set brows, to the high cheekbones and a glass-cutting square jaw. Tall, narrow nose, slightly crooked from having been broken in the past. Deep gash scars running down the side of his face and across his lips, distorting their shape into a permanent one-sided snarling grimace.

As expected, he looks like his skin never sees the sun and his eyes are deep set, boasting some dark circles a crunching game developer would envy him for. He looks up at me with inky eyes, holding his helmet under his arm and I know better than to focus on his scars so I just smile at him: "See? I was right! Adorable!" Of course that's not the word anyone would normally use for this face. He's handsome in a terrifying, almost uncanny valley way. And he's also clearly battered, and clearly not too young, if the deep lines between his brows are anything to go by. But he looks up at me with something akin to hope in those dark eyes and I can't help but feel endeared. Even the way he snarls at my compliment and kicks idly at the air is adorable. "Alright, keep going, I'll soak your armor in this while we bathe you, and then we'll scrub it, deal?" I show him a yellow plastic tub I normally use for Prince when he wants to cool down in the summer. I have now filled it with hot soapy water and two capfuls of skunk deodorizer and he nods in agreement. It turns out Strix' body is no less scarred than his face. Gashes, burn scars, punctures, and scars I can't even identify are littered all over him, along with those metal jacks and notches Astartes all have. Once he removes his gauntlets and boots, I see he's missing two toes and one finger. He's avoiding looking at me while he undresses, and helps me soak his armor in the soapy water, but once he's finally naked, he stands there, looking rather uncomfortable. I apply a generous amount of shampoo on a sponge and take the showerhead: "Alright, ready?" He merely huffs and before I know it, he's jumping and stealing the sponge from me, shaking his head stubbornly when I reach for it. Alright, he refuses to let me scrub him. Fine by me. I merely start the water and offer him the spray to step under: "Is it too hot?" He shakes his head. "Too cold?" Another shake of the head. He gets himself wet and then starts going to town with the soapy sponge. It soon gets brown. There's dust and sweat and grime all over this Astartes. "You're going to have to become better at hygiene if you wanna live with us, you know." He huffs grumpily but keeps scrubbing. I have to nearly pry the sponge out of his hands so that it gets rinsed and freshly soaped. That reminds me to check on the plastic tub and switch out the fully black water for a fresh soapy soak. Turns out I do it two more times before the water is acceptably clean. By that time, Strix has scrubbed himself truly clean and now looks much better. I spy his dirty nails and pass him a brush. There's a brief war of fake naive gaze versus my unrelenting one but he finally concedes and starts scrubbing under his grown claws on both hands and feet:

"Those need a trim." He snickers before tossing the brush aside once he's done. I give him a nice warm spray of water to rinse himself under and then a clean small towel I normally use for hands. He looks at it a bit perplexed.

"It's to dry yourself. You can even wrap yourself in it if you'd like." He hastily dries his hair and most of his body but then points at the tub with his armor, handing me the brush back. "Oh you want me to scrub your armor, sir?" I tease and he huffs again, grabbing the undergarments from the tub and starting to rub them against the soap bar vigorously. Surprisingly, we get through the scrubbing of his armor easily enough. It requires multiple rounds but it's not complicated work, and he would often tap me on my wrist and point out stuff I do wrong. Once we are finally finished, there are all his armor pieces drying on the towel and there is a clean, odorless Astartes swaying on the balls of his feet and fidgeting, staring at me. I almost ask him what he wants before I realize:

"You'll get your cuddles once you wrap yourself in a towel, mister!"

#space marines #warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #fanfic #wh40k #night lords

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tennessoui · 1 year ago

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I'm begging on my hands and knees for more Twilight au, and those are words I never thought I'd say! Anakin being able to resist compulsion, and Obi-Wan seeming instantly obsessed, and poor Shmi! Pretty please 🥺🙏

hey!! sure! here's some more!

(2.5k)

Having a sheriff for a mom sucked a lot when he was a kid growing up in a small town. There was probably nothing Anakin was rebelling against more at eleven, at thirteen, at seventeen than the rule of law his mother represented.

All things considered, she was pretty good at separating her home life from her worklife. It was Anakin who was bad at respecting the separation, Anakin who couldn’t keep son out of delinquent. There’s only so many times he could be pulled out of wreckage and bars and buildings with Keep Out No Trespassing signs on them before he got The Sheriff at home and out in public.

He’d hated it growing up and had come to grudgingly respect it later and in fits and starts. His dad dying had, terribly and ironically, helped a lot. His mother had had a stroke just before and then Anakin had been faced with the possibility of being an orphan, and the terror of that had mellowed him out.

Sorta.

He still hates a lot of things about his mother’s job. Especially the fact that she’s the sheriff of a very small town.

And when people talk, she listens.

The thing about small towns is that everyone’s always fucking talking. And other people are always fucking lsitening so they can talk later. One big fucking community, which means when Anakin comes home from his weird doctor’s appointment with Dr. Kenobi, a few hours later because he took a detour biking along the edge of the seaside cliffs just to spit in the good doctor’s metaphorical face, Shmi Skywalker already knows more than Anakin ever planned to tell her.

Like, for instance, “Sheila says that Dr. Kenobi thought it would behoove you to spend some time at the local library volunteering.”

Anakin pauses, backpack half-slung off his shoulders. He hangs his stuff up slowly, careful to keep his tone very light. “Did Sheila say what I told him after he said that?”

His mom’s silence is very loud.

“I don’t want to do i—”

“I asked the new librarian about it on my way home from the station. She thinks it’s a wonderful idea. Apparently we used to have a program like that in the forties but it died out during the war.”

“Mom, come on—”

“It’ll look good on resumes, saying you created and supported a local reading program.”

“Yeah, but I’m a bit too old to be applying for babysitting positio—”

“It’ll look good for me as well,” Shmi says in her sheriff voice. “Elections are coming up soon. It’ll be good, if my kid was involved in the community.”

Anakin’s glad that his back is still turned to the living room, where his mom is sitting. “Are you gonna run again?” he asks, paying special attention to his tone this time.

“Why wouldn’t I?” his mom replies. “I’ve been sheriff for a decade and a half.”

Anakin lets his eyes fall closed for a second, knowing that his face can’t be seen. This is how they end up half the time: Shmi’s ardent belief that she is invincible, going up against Anakin’s desperate desire for her to be so.

And they just don’t talk about it. As if they’re actually in agreement.

He knows how this is going to shake out.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” His mother asks.

Anakin’s eyes remain closed. “I guess so,” he says.

—--------

Mrs. Kenobi—call me Satine—is sort of scary up close. She’s tall. She glides between bookshelves. Anakin’s never met someone who glides before. And she’s so intensely, incredibly, blindingly perfect that Anakin would rather be anywhere but in her vicinity. There’s something incredibly unnerving about the symmetry of her face, the sharpness of her cheekbones. She’s obviously an absolute knock-out, just drop-dead gorgeous, but it makes Anakin’s skin crawl and his heart beat fast, but not in a good way or a normal teenage boy way.

Anakin tries to keep the unease off his face as Satine leads him through a tour of the library, a gentle hand on his forearm. That’s another thing Anakin doesn’t really like. She’s wearing satin gloves. He doesn’t know anyone who wears gloves anymore.

It’s just all a bit…unsettling.

“I put in a few words around the school yesterday afternoon,” Satine tells him. They pass by the mystery section, the fantasy section, and take a hard right into the young adult section. The shelves are smaller here, and Anakin feels rather stupidly gigantic as he and Satine walk through them. “To some parents picking their children up after school. They agreed it would be good exposure to bring them to the library for an hour or so of reading before supper.”

Anakin highly doubts it will be, but Satine hasn’t really asked him.

She sweeps past his figure and pushes open a pair of double doors with a flourish better suited for a Russian tsarina hosting an elaborate ball than a small town librarian showing off a small, cramped, and dusty room filled with padded seats and threadbare rugs.

And then, as if she has been waiting to put the last nail in the proverbial coffin, Satine adds, “A few students from the local high school will be here as well.”

“Sorry,” Anakin says, “are you saying I’m going to be reading to high school students? Can’t they do that themselves?”

After all, Anakin went to high school here. Academics hadn’t been too rigorously challenging, but they’d taught the fucking basics.

Satine raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow in his direction. “They’ll be volunteering as well.”

Oh. Right.

“It looks good on their college applications,” Satine waves a hand through the air and the words linger there. Anakin looks out the rather dirty window, jaw clenching. “I’ve already chosen a handful of books I think the young ones will enjoy.”

Anakin, committed to his fate, pads over to the titles placed carefully ontop of a short, stout side table.

“Peter the Rabbit,” he reads off the top. “Peter Pan. Alice in Wonderland. Treasure Island. The Prince and the Pauper—look, you’re the librarian here, but don’t you have anything written this century maybe? Harry Potter, even.”

“These are classics,” Satine tells him, her nose raised into the air as if she has encountered something particularly foul-smelling. She turns away, presumably to return to the front desk so she can welcome half the fucking town inside the library so Anakin can read them fucking Anne of Green Gables and become a better person.

“These are fucking boring,” he mutters to himself, flicking the cover of the first book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz open. Publication date: 1900. “I’d rather be in Kenobi’s office getting lectured at.”

There’s a sharp noise of disapproval from the doorway, and Anakin’s head snaps up to see the tail end of a very heated look from the librarian before the door closes behind her.

He shivers, alone in the emply room, and it takes several long minutes for his heart to settle back into its normal pace.

—----------

After the fourth kid sneezes, Anakin closes his book with a snap and stands from the very small chair they’ve got him sitting on. “Come on,” he tells the cluster of children he’s been assigned to. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Are you kidnapping us?” One of them, a snot-nosed kid who’d started the sneezing says, rubbing at her cheek beneath her glasses. “Cause mommy says that’s not allowed.”

“I’m not kidnapping you,” Anakin snaps back, barely holding in his natural follow-up to the sentence which is of course, I don’t want to be around any of you in the first place. “Also, just for future reference, you shouldn’t ask if someone’s kidnapping you after you already start following them.”

The girl scowls and reaches up her hand to hold onto Anakin’s.

For the love of Christ.

“We’re just going to go into the main part of the library,” Anakin tells his children, all six of them. “They have windows out there.”

They have windows out there and they also have parents. Parents who absolutely should be doing other things with their lives and precious hour of extra freetime.

Parents who are clustered instead around the library’s front desk as the town’s newest librarian holds court.

“Is reading time over?” one of the kids asks him, turning his head to look up at Anakin.

Anakin thinks about it. “Do you want reading time to be over?”

The kid thinks about it back. “Yeah,” he decides. “You don’t do the voices good.”

“It’s a boring book,” Anakin tells the kid. “Voices aren’t going to make it better.”

“Voices always make it better,” another kid says. “They make everything better.”

“Oh look,” Anakin says. “Is that your father?”

He gestures vaguely towards the cluster of drooling middle-aged somethings focused on Satine.

The kid peeks around his thigh and then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s Dr. Obi.”

“Dr. Obi!” The kid holding Anakin’s hand says, and she lets go.

Anakin gets a bad feeling about this, a feeling that only doubles when he turns around to see Dr. Kenobi sauntering towards him, hands tucked into the pockets of a long dark jacket that makes him look even more pale than he already is.

He scowls automatically as the man gets closer. “Dr. Obi.”

Dr. Kenobi spares him a look that’s far too amused for Anakin’s pleasure before he crouches down to the level of the kids. “Hello there, young ones,” he says, opening his arms to accept a hug from the traitor of a girl Anakin’s just spent thirty minutes reading to. “Are you eating all your vegetables? Even the brussel sprouts?”

“I like brussel sprouts,” one of the kids reports sounding proud, and that starts a cacophony of opinions about brussel sprouts from all around Anakin.

“Wow! One of mine just absolutely hates them,” Dr. Kenobi says. “She refuses to eat them, so you’re very brave, Michele.” He lets go of the girl and turns his golden-brown gaze up to Anakin. “And what does Mr. Skywalker think?” he asks, raising a hand for Anakin to take. It’s very obvious he’s asking for a hand up and Anakin is obeying before he thinks about it. He snatches his hand free almost too soon, but Dr. Kenobi doesn’t even have the grace to lose his balance and fall over.

His hand is like ice in Anakin’s, and Anakin stuffs his fingers into the pocket of his jacket automatically a second later.

“Do brussel sprouts help with circulation?” he’s biting out before he can stop himself. “Cause you may need some then.”

Kenobi’s head tilts very slightly to the side as his eyes catch and hold onto Anakin’s. “Oh?” he asks lightly.

“You’re cold,” is all Anakin mutters in return. He swipes his other hand against the back of his neck. “”S poor circlutation, isn’t it? Something in your diet maybe?” Dr. Kenobi blinks at him and then breaks into a wide smile. “I can assure my diet is very…circulation-mindful,” he says. “Blood health positive.”

Anakin’s mouth thins into a line. He guesses that’s what he gets for trying to give health advice to a doctor, especially a doctor like Kenobi who just so happens to be devastatingly attractive and also smart.

And also an asshole. And also married.

Speaking of which. “Are you here to fend off your wife’s admirers with a scalpel?” Kenobi’s eyebrows raise. “Young ones,” he turns his head away from Anakin, down to the children.

The strangest feeling breaks of Anakin the second Kenobi looks away, almost as if a strange pressure he hadn’t even realized had been building was suddenly dissolved.

The very small beginnings of a headache begin to thrum in his temples.

“Young ones, it’s time to find your parents, isn’t it?” Kenobi says, and like fucking magic, the crowd of six children around Anakin disperse, children swarming away from him towards the group of adults surrounding the front desk.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Anakin blurts out, even though he’d meant to ignore Kenobi now that he doesn’t have to make nice in front of small kids. Not that he was really making nice in the first place. But now he definitely doesn’t have to.

Kenobi gives him a half-smile, eyes heavy-lidded. “It’s a special sort of skill that takes, above all else, much practice.”

Anakin scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Does Kenobi think he can’t commit himself to something even as mundane as a fucking commanding persona? Does he think he doesn’t have it in him to be–-

Kenobi’s eyebrows go up again. “Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly defensive?”

“You’re extremely nosey,” Anakin snaps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have better things to focus on right now anyway?”

He gestures loosely towards Satine, who has started playing with one of the mother’s bracelets as the other woman stands and looks at her rather dumbfounded.

Kenobi follows his gaze and then lets out a huff of laughter. “Satine can take care of herself,” he says, even though it hadn’t really been Satine that Anakin was worried about.

He’s about to open his mouth to say so when Kenobi turns back to him. His eyes are piercing, a dark, captivating sort of gold.

“Do you find my wife beautiful, Anakin?” he asks.

Anakin blinks. His headache is getting worse, which is probably down to what can only be a trick-question fashioned to look like a grenade lobbed at his feet. “I don’t think there’s a good answer to that,” he mutters, rubbing absently at his forehead. “What the fuck.”

“An honest answer is a good one,” Kenobi says lightly. “Tell me honestly.”

The words feel pulled from Anakin’s stomach, and he’s opening his mouth before he realizes it. “No,” he says.

Kenobi’s eyebrows crinkle together. “No?”

Anakin curses his stupid impulse control. “She’s beautiful,” he adds quickly. “Really. But…it makes me uncomfortable.”

Kenobi’s lips purse, and then there’s something like disappointment in his eyes as he examines Anakin. “Ah yes,” he murmurs. “I’ve been told my wife can make countless young men feel rather uncomfortable. It’s normal in men your age, Anakin. Sexual ar—”

“Uncanny,” Anakin blurts out. He doesn’t mean to, but he also doesn’t want to listen to Kenobi trying to lecture him on fucking arousal in the public library. When it’s not even relevant. “She’s so beautiful, it’s uncanny.”

“Uncanny.”

“Yeah, like. Monstrous.”

Kenobi’s mouth falls open, pink lips parted in what looks like honest surprise.

Anakin’s own eyes widen as it hits him that he’s just called Kenobi’s wife a monster to Kenobi’s face.

“Shit,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m going to go.”

He throws a look at Kenobi, whose eyes are lit with something a lot like interest and then across the library to where Satine’s head is turned, cocked, and eyebrows up high on her forehead, as if she’s just heard everything he’s said.

He decides rather immediately that he’s going to take the backdoor exit.

#asks #twilight au #obikin #a couple of things:#all the books mentioned are published before 1920 because satine was probably a young mother around that time #imo she became a vampire during ww1 #brussel sprouts tasted very bitter in the 60s through the 90s before we tweaked how they were grown genetics wise #so kids used to hate them and one of the vampires in obi-wan's coven was a kid during the 60s so has strong memories of brussel sprouts #being awful #satine's special vampire power is her beauty which is like double that of the normal enthralling/alluring/perfect predator beauty #so anakin's own sort of immunity to vampire powers a la bella means he just finds it unnerving and uncanny #but he did fall prey to obi-wans mind trick at the end there because the immunity thing i think would be something he has to practice #to get strong at #so his immunity kicked in at satine's beauty and it didn't affect him #but he couldn't also effectively protect himself from obi-wan's mind compulsion #to tell the truth #because systems overloaded

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mother-above · 1 year ago

Text

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 3

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 3/?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: suggestive, 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

a/n: thank you for reading! please lmk what you guys think! xx

Chapter 3

The moment Night Court winnowed out, you and Thesan made a beeline to his office. You settled onto a seat and propped your feet onto his desk as he plopped onto the leather chair with a huff. Thesan took a moment to check on the wards before he spoke out loud.

“Did you find out what they want? Rhysand was being such a hard-ass and gave nothing away. All we talked about were treaties and half the time-,” said Thesan as he poured himself a drink. “I was trying to get his interest away from the Golden Warrior.”

You thought about telling Thesan about the library incident, but you quickly dismissed it. Despite the Night Court being sneaky bastards, you realized that they were a powerful ally you couldn’t afford to lose. If Thesan had heard about the other events, he would undoubtedly wage war. He and the other High Lords had spilled blood for less, so it was in your best opinion to keep your mouth shut.

“A few days after Amarantha was killed, they felt a powerful surge of magic coming from Dawn Court. We must have been so distracted when you came home, that the wards you put up vanished or relaxed. It doesn’t help that I’d been forgetting to wear my jewels and must’ve weakened my hold on my magic in that period of relaxation,” you told him. “When we re-did the wards on the Palace in preparation for the Night Court, we probably fixed the wards that have kept my power hidden.”

Thesan paled as his eyes grew distant in thought. “Shit,” he said. “Ever since you were young, I’ve always helped you dampen your power. I can’t believe I forgot about it—fuck, I’m so sorry Y/n.” Guilt and concern flowed through his body and before he could freak out about his mistake, you reached over and grasped his arm. His glow dimmed as he looked at your hand, “I’m so sorry, no one was ever supposed to feel your power.”

“Don’t forget that I’m a grown female and have successfully protected the Palace and our territory for almost fifty years. I think I’ve proved that I can hold my own,” you said. “Besides, I’m partially at fault because being half-High Fae makes it hard to control my powers.”

“I wished you never had to go through that,” whispered Thesan. You just shrugged at him and smiled. What’s done is done. There were things you never told Thesan, but he found out through the other Peregryns and his sparrows when he returned from Under the Mountain. Some Fae had used the absence of Thesan as an excuse to run rampant and do whatever evil they wanted. It was you who punished and executed whenever it was necessary.

Every single day he was underneath that mountain his first thought would be of you, wondering how you were faring without him, Callon, and the others. He glanced at the scars that ran parallel to your cheekbone, a reminder of those horrid claws that hurt you. When Thesan first heard the story of how the Bogge had slashed through your golden helmet, he shuddered. High Lords were usually the only faerie powerful enough to kill a Bogge but when you told him you managed to slay it, pride and concern filled him. He made sure you were a fierce warrior, but to kill a Bogge… the extent of your magic scared him. In a way, it was better that Amarantha had no idea of your existence. If she caught a whiff of your power and what you could do, there was a good chance everyone in Prythian and the Continent would be under her rule.

You removed the glamour from the necklace to reveal brightly glowing sapphires, the power thrumming and threatening to break free. “While we’re on the topic of controlling my magic—I think I need more jewels.”

Thesan swore as he took a piece of paper and wrote down instructions to Nuan, his best tinkerer, to make you a new necklace with more siphons. With a wave of his hand, the note vanished and appeared on top of Nuan’s worktable.

“It seems Nuan got the idea of storing my power in jewels from the Illyrians,” you continued. “Azriel told me they call them Siphons too; they use it a little differently, but they have similar functions.”

The High Lord of Dawn nodded, his thoughts filled with concern over you and your magic. You were the second-best healer in all of Prythian, ranked behind your cousin. The two of you possessed the power to heal, to stop healing, and to reverse it. While Thesan was a divine and all-powerful High Lord, what made you special was your ability to poison and plague. Thesan and your parents first discovered your dark abilities when you were about 10 years old. You liked to sneak around the palace and one day you overheard an adult insult your High Fae mother for marrying a Peregryn warrior and supposedly ‘staining the High Lord’s bloodline’. The fae started calling your father slurs and before you realized it, you lifted your tiny glowing hands towards the fae and wished a horrible death. You can still remember the screams as the fae’s insides started liquifying, blood coming out of every orifice. That was when Thesan and your parents realized how powerful and dangerous you were. There were evil beings out there who would love to mold a young and impressionable fae. Thesan refused to let his little cousin be taken advantage of, so he made sure you learned to control your powers and knew how to defend yourself.

***

Days passed and so far, there was no major news from Night Court or any of the others. Things were quiet and no shadows were spotted in the halls of the Palace. Nuan had made you a brand-new necklace with 5 large blue sapphires, the biggest stone was in the middle with the other slightly smaller sapphires flanking each side. Putting it on immediately helped the restless energy that thrummed through your body, you couldn’t wait for the day you no longer had to suppress your magic.

You’ve been having dreams that interrupt your sleep, some good and some bad. The nightmares varied, sometimes they were about the creatures or faeries you killed during Amarantha’s reign, your parent’s death, or Thesan dying Under the Mountain. They always felt realistic, so whenever you woke up, it would take a few minutes for you to gather yourself and realize that it was all a dream. The worst hyper-realistic dream you had was when you dreamt of the Bogge and how its claws kept slashing into your golden helmet until it finally reached your skin. You dreamt about fighting half-blind as blood had spilled into your eye. The pain was so real and visceral, that you woke up screaming and clutching the side of your face. Thesan and Callon heard the commotion and because all bed chambers were warded against winnowing, they sprinted to your room. Callon barged in brandishing a sword until he realized you weren’t in danger. He stayed to help calm you while Thesan went to the kitchen to make you molten chocolate.

You were doing some paperwork in your office when a large yawn split your jaw. Another yawn followed and you sagged into your leather chair. You almost wished it was one of your usual nightmares, but last night’s dream was different. You dreamt of a child that you’d never seen before. The room was so dark, it had to be a cellar of some sort, somewhere underground. The soft moonlight that seeped through a caged window was the only source of light. It was a little boy who couldn’t have been more than 8 years old, it was hard to tell because you couldn’t see his face. He was hunched in the corner holding his little hands to his chest. You could have sworn you saw wings behind him, but it was so dark you couldn’t be sure. That was all you remembered from the dream, but it was enough to horrify you. Who could do that to a child? From the looks of it, it seemed like he spent most of his time in that dark place.

You woke up with a start and immediately turned on the faelights, you prayed to the Mother that this was some awful fiction your traumatized brain made up. If this little boy was real, your heart shattered for him. You didn’t get a wink of sleep after that, you kept the faelights on and waited for dawn to arrive.

***

The mysteriousness of Dawn Court was something that consumed Azriel’s thoughts, he reasoned that he couldn’t shake off that feeling of that dark dominating magic. If he was being honest with himself, it was you who his mind kept coming back to. He wasn’t sure why he kept thinking of you, was it your beauty or that incredibly confusing personality of yours? All his interactions with you made his heart flutter either from the smile you’d send him or from the anxiety that shot up when you were confrontational.

Rhys kept him busy with missions and he was more than thankful to do something that kept his mind off you. Whenever he was home in Velaris, that was when things were getting confusing for Azriel. To Azriel, Morrigan was the epitome of female beauty, someone who was strong yet elegant. He has spent 500 years fighting by her side, being her friend, and loving her. He was sure Mor knew that he loved her and unfortunately for him, she never acknowledged it. Azriel wasn’t surprised, how could someone like Mor who was Night Court royalty ever love someone like him? A bastard Illyrian?

Last night, Mor wore a revealing backless dress, Azriel would normally look away to avoid looking at her smooth skin but this time, Azriel stared. He was looking at Mor’s exposed back but not in a sexual way, he was looking because he noticed the lack of muscle and how different you were from Mor. The shadowsinger observed that you favored backless dresses and tops, there were the only things you wore during the Night Court’s stay at Dawn. It was hard not to glance at your body, you were athletic, strong, and incredibly feminine. You were so beautiful even Rhysand had taken his time to appreciate your powerful figure. When he first saw the sun-kissed skin and the dips near your shoulder blades and spine, Azriel felt his heart skip a beat. For a split second, he imagined what it would look like to see you arch and writhe beneath him. He remembered how his eyes widened and his heartbeat skyrocketed, he usually never thought of females he just met in such a lustful manner—or at least not immediately.

Azriel was shocked, he had never ever compared anyone to Mor. Feeling strange and annoyed that you were consuming most of his thoughts, Azriel drank multiple cups of wine and even let Mor convince him to join the rest of the Inner Circle for a night out at Rita’s. While his friends were dancing, Azriel sat by himself in their private booth, the music and drinks did little to distract him. His shadows swarmed around as he thought of how perplexing you were, how your sweet twinkling eyes could instantly turn cold and unnerving. He thought about sending his shadows to spy on you, but he stopped himself, you had the incredible talent of catching him when he was trying to be discreet. If you caught him one more time, he had no doubt you’d come for him in a violent rage.

He watched Mor and Cassian dance together; the Illyrian took Mor’s hands and spun her around as she threw her head back and laughed. It was a sound that Azriel loved to hear. The memory of Azriel holding you as he flew up in the sky flashed in his mind. You were happy and relaxed, your laughs sounding like the chime of bells. Shaking his head, the shadowsinger lifted the glass cup to his lips and took a long drink. Amber liquid burned down his throat and he sighed as he let the shadows entirely consume him.

***

You were eating breakfast with Thesan in one of the courtyards when one of your spies briskly walked toward you. Kerina was half Fae and half water wraith; she was one of your best and had a stern demeanor to her. Kerina bowed to Thesan before handing you her report papers, before you could thank her, she turned to address both you and Thesan.

“I have confirmation that Summer Court had sent 3 blood rubies to the Night Court. My sources are saying that they were addressed to High Lord Rhysand, Feyre Cursebreaker, and Amren.”

Thesan’s eyebrows raised but your jaw fully dropped.

“High Lord Tarquin sent out blood rubies? As in the death sentence rubies?” you exclaimed, wanting Kerina to confirm.

She nodded, “Correct. The water wraiths are telling me that two females had stolen something in one of their ocean vaults. If you need anything else, you know where to find me, my lady.”

Kerina departed and you were finally able to show your true shock to Thesan. You threw your hands in the air and the High Lord laughed.

“I can’t believe the sweet and handsome Tarquin sent Night Court those rubies. Whatever they stole… it must be so precious and important for Tarquin to declare them mortal enemies.”

Thesan looked at you with a sly smile.

“What?”

“I think you’re forgetting that Tarquin is still a High Lord, he may be young and a little naive but he’s the newest and youngest, he has to establish his dominance,” explained Thesan. “Besides, not everyone has had the pleasure to bed and be in Tarquin’s good graces.”

Last month, you had to personally deliver some documents and reestablish court alliances with Summer for Thesan. Since you had to hide your wings and suppress your magic, you became extremely restless. You wore the necklace, but it only helped for a few hours. Tarquin was a charming flirt, and it took him two days to convince you to sleep with him. The High Lord of Summer was attractive, and his personality was just as lovely, the only reason why you were hesitant was that you thought it wouldn’t be appropriate since you were Thesan’s 2nd. You quickly discovered that Tarquin did not mind at all.

You remember the energy in your body made everything feel like static, and the day your resolve faded, you returned Tarquin’s flirtatious advances. You kissed him and then you were suddenly sprawled on his expansive war table with the High Lord of Summer between your thighs. Tarquin took you on the table, his desk, and on the wall, right next to a large map of Prythian. Activities were moved to his bed chambers and that was where you rode him till—

“Ahem,” said Thesan as he cleared his throat. “Can you stop? I can scent you right now, it’s disgusting.”

Your eyes snap up at him, surprised that you had zoned out. Thesan was smirking and you threw a piece of a croissant at him. You wished you never indulged in what happened between you and Tarquin. Scowling, you shifted in your seat and gulped down some juice.

“He’s a good male, I wouldn’t be opposed if this was something you want to pursue in the future,” said Thesan. “I want you to be happy.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes for the second time that day. “You know how I feel about relationships. No, thank you. Besides, we agreed that it was a one-time thing that didn’t mean anything. We’re friends and will stay friends.”

Thesan shrugged. “One day you’ll take back everything you say about relationships. You’ll meet someone who is going to knock you off your feet, maybe one day you’ll be cauldron blessed and find your mate.”

You didn’t even answer with words, you just grunted in annoyance. You were never going to change your stance against relationships and romance. Your biggest secret, something Thesan doesn’t even know is you hoped you would never meet your mate. It would save you all the pain and effort of rejecting them.

Later that day you were sitting in your office with Kerina’s report spread out in front of you. Azriel hinted that there was something big happening in Prythian, so you had the spies do some digging and report anything strange happening in Prythian and surrounding countries. So far, there have been only menial land disputes and some horrible management of the dark creatures in the borderlands between Spring Court and the Wall. Looking through the papers again, you confirm nothing suspicious besides Summer Court sending the blood rubies.

Your thoughts drifted to Azriel the shadowsinger, it had been weeks since you last saw him, and you had yet to form an opinion on Azriel. Was he the most handsome male you’ve ever met? Yes. Was he a sneaky bastard who spied on your Court? Yes. To give him some credit, he told you some form of the truth when you caught him trying to sneak into the library but that was only because you threatened to end the alliance with Rhysand. Despite his spying, the male you talked with during sunrise was different. Maybe you saw a glimpse of the real Azriel, the personality he has when he’s at home and not working. As you sent in new orders to Kerina and the others, you couldn’t help but think of those cold and calculating hazel eyes.

***

A couple of months passed, and the sense of impending doom grew stronger every day. Reports of dark creatures roaming the border between Dawn and the Middle came in at a steady rate, there were enough threats that you had to go under your guise as the Golden Warrior to slay these creatures. You were a great warrior without your wings, but you were lethal when your feathers were out. You had to be careful not to use your powers because if Night Court was keeping tabs on your power signature, the others were too. The heavy presence of these creatures only confirmed your suspicions that something big was coming. Even though Callon was the Captain of the Peregeryns, you were still ranked above him, so you had them do extra training along with military exercises with the foot soldiers. Callon may be your cousin’s lover and he saw you as his little sister, but he was also extremely loyal to the Court and its hierarchy. If you told him to do something, he always obeyed without a question.

One afternoon, you were going over some paperwork when you heard a bird chirping on the balcony. Looking up, Thesan’s sparrow was hopping on the banister and whistling as if it was speaking to you. Lifting your hand, the sparrow flew and perched on your finger as it watched you with intelligent eyes. The High Lord of Dawn was the only one who could communicate with the birds, but you knew this was Thesan’s way of summoning you.

You stroked its feathered head, “Tell him I’m on my way.”

It chirped back happily and took flight. You straightened out the papers on your desk before waving a hand to turn off the faelights. Darkness engulfs the room, and you gasp, the memories of your dream last night flooding back to you. It was the second time you dreamt about that dark cellar and the little boy who sat in it. This time you heard the crying and sniffles before you could even spot his dark form sitting in the corner. The dream was strange, just like the previous one, you couldn’t move and only saw what the dream wanted you to see. It seemed like you were sitting in that cellar for hours, it was only when the boy lay down when you saw the bandages. The boy was still faceless but under the dim moonlight, you saw his little hands wrapped in cotton, blood blooming under the white cloth. All you could do was stare in horror as the pain and exhaustion lulled him to sleep.

It took you all day to forget about the horrid dream and the sounds of his weeping. Ever since the first dream you convinced yourself it wasn’t real. This heavy weight fell on your shoulders the moment you woke up, even though it happened in your sleep, it all felt real. Deep down you knew that room and that child existed, you almost sent one of the spies to do some research, but you stopped yourself. You couldn’t waste any court resources, especially now that Rhysand had called for a High Lord meeting.

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head and swiftly made your way to Thesan’s office where he sat holding out a thick piece of paper to read. Callon was already sitting on one of the chairs and gave you a wave.

“Most of the High Lords agreed to meeting, so now the only problem is agreeing to where the courts will meet,” you said summarizing the letter.

He nodded before resting his hand under his jaw and sighed. He was still so tired of all the hell he experienced with Amarantha, all the news of unrest spreading across Prythian and Hybern gave him a constant underlying headache.

“What if we offered to host the meeting? Here, in the Palace.”

He scrunched his face in annoyance because he already knew it was the best option. “Why does it have to be me?” grunted Thesan.

Callon made a face, but he didn’t interrupt, he wanted to give you a chance to assert your authority even though he disagreed with your idea.

“Because we’re closest to the middle and there is no way High Lord Kallias is going to offer to host,” you said handing the letter back to him. “Rhysand would have already offered but most of the courts don’t like him and all the other High Lords except for Tarquin seem like jackasses that won’t agree to host.”

Thesan frowned, “When did I become the friendliest High Lord?”

You snorted. “I wouldn’t say most friendly…maybe most tolerable? You’re the only High Lord in existence who has stayed mostly neutral in past battles and disputes. It makes sense for us to be the hosts, there's less of a chance these suspicious High Lords are going to think we’re going to double-cross anyone.”

Feeling the need to raise his concerns, Callon politely cleared his throat. “I don’t know—the security concerns… there could be fights that could level this Palace.”

“We have special wards to avoid magic and ensure fairness whenever all the High Lords come to gather but Callon’s right. I’m sure someone is going to find a way to break through the shields and cause all kinds of trouble,” said Thesan.

You glanced at the gleaming siphons around your neck and then at the two males. “This meeting needs to happen, and Rhysand knows it too, his letters feel so desperate. If a fight whether physical or magical breaks out, I’ll neutralize it,” you said gingerly touching the sapphires. “I’ll unleash my power if I have to.”

Thesan’s frown deepened. “No—I don’t know, it’s too dangerous.” His rich brown eyes clouded with that overbearing concern.

Your jaw clenched as you stared at your cousin. “You promised me that I would get to decide when I would reveal my powers and the Golden Warrior. Now it seems like the perfect time with a potential conflict coming and someone’s bound to find out. If Night Court noticed, I’m sure the others did too.”

Thesan looked at you coolly not wanting to lose his temper. You were right, it was only a matter of time before someone found out what you were. He was afraid of the repercussions you would get when people find out that you and the Golden Warrior were the same person. Thesan’s enemies were your enemies and with the added revelation of the Warrior, he was sure that list would double. He wasn’t ready to share how powerful you were, in fear of making that target on your back even bigger but Thesan knew it was no longer his call. He has kept you hidden long enough, it was time for you to spread your wings.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “You get to call the shots with your powers from now on, you deserve it.”

With a grin, you lunged at Thesan to hug him before you settled down to help him draft a letter to the High Lords.

***

The preparations for the High Lords' arrival took all your time and energy and you slept through the night with no memory of the dreams you had. Despite dreamless nights, that dark cellar haunted your thoughts to the point you wanted to find that wretched place and rescue the child and burn it to the ground. Thesan had Callon and other Peregryns do over the security while you and other courtiers who were gifted with magic began enforcing more wards and shields on the Palace. This type of magic was so specific it took all your concentration as you learned from one of the older Fae how to properly enforce specific protective shields you’ve never used before. When Thesan was available to help with the wards, he sent you off to visit the cities and ensure that Nuan’s compounds that defended against faebane were being produced efficiently.

The Night Court was also doing their due diligence and making backup plans for their backup plans just in case it turned to shit in Dawn Court. Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand peered down at a map of the Palace and came up with many escape plans. Cassian and Rhysand were anxious about the visit, but Azriel was a little more concerned about the strange female that had been plaguing his thoughts. Shadows pooled over his shoulders and blocked his brother’s view.

“Uh, Azriel… what’s going on?” asked Cassian. “I haven’t seen you this anxious about a meeting before.”

Azriel’s beautiful features stayed neutral, but his crossed arms and taut muscles betrayed him. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been anxious to see you again, it’s been a long time since anyone has taken his mind off the torture of loving Morrigan. He found the last few months to be different. He still blushed every time Mor gave him attention. Like the time she brushed past him and squeezed his arm or when she propped her feet onto his thighs when everyone was lounging around the living room drinking wine. Then there were the times Mor would pull away or avoid his gaze, these moments would usually sour his mood for the entire day, but nowadays everything stung less.

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