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two-white-butterflies · 4 months ago

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a lemon cake | daemon targaryen

Description: The Hendriks have always kept to their own. What happens when a betrothal happens between the only Hendrik daughter and the Rogue Prince? A story where, you go through lengths in order to ensure your lord husband's loyalty.

W.C: a lotta words super mega ultra

A/N: After re-watching Descendants. I figured that this would be a good plot. Reader basically gives Daemon a love potion. It wears off. He's still in love. No beta we die like men. OC Daemon because of the love potion, but otherwise still him.

House Hendrik. In silence we persevere.

When the first lord of your house settled from Old Valyria, they did not bring dragons or swords - but they did bring magic. Magic that allowed the members of the house to hear the whispers of nature. But lately, nature has only answered with silence.

The lands were barren, and the sheep were dying of illness.

The gold in your coffers were nearing extinction. Correction, there wasn't anything left - your father has to work in the King's council to ensure that you and your children would live a comfortable life.

A prolonged sigh escapes your mouth. You stared at yourself through the reflection on the mirror. In silence we persevere.

You remind yourself of the words your father uttered before he left.

"My lady," the maid clears her throat. She was holding a sealed letter. "Thank you," you mumble while taking the paper from her hands.

You force a smile on your face.

My dearest daughter,

I am pleased announce that the King has agreed to an engagement, and your presence in the Red Keep is of utmost importance. It seems like the Seven Gods have answered our prayers. Do not think about the gold that we'll use to bring you here, your Aunt Jayne has agreed to sponsor the trip, with the promise that you won't forget her once you are a nobleman's wife. Take care.

All my love,

your father.

You finished reading the letter, inhaling the scent of vanilla. It was sadly a short letter, not detailing anything about your father's stay. He made sure that the letter was short and concise. He did not even have money for ink.

"My lady?" the maid inquires, curious about the contents of the letter.

"Lord Hendrik has invited me to join him in the Red Keep." you inform, watching as she poured you a glass of tea. "- will you promise to take care of the household in my absence?" you asked, and she presses a kiss to your forehead.

She stood as your mother, after Lady Hendrik died.

"I promise." she swore. "- have fun in the Capital." she smiled.

You could only nod.

"You told me that he agreed on a betrothal!" your eyebrows merged together. "You wouldn't have come here if the only purpose was finding a suitable match." your father insists.

"Our house has stood proud, looked down on others with lesser breeding. If word ever comes out that I am here to save a sinking ship, our reputation will be ruined." you argued.

"If there was another choice, I wouldn't ask." he says regretfully, his eyes cloudy with tears threatening to spill out. "- my position in the King's council is under threat. My health has fallen drastically, and only a husband can save you and our house." he breathes.

He knows that it shouldn't be that way, but it is.

"What you mean to say is..." you could not stomach to say the word.

"- this is my last gamble, child. If you do not wish to do it for our family, at least do it for yourself." he pleads.

Stupid family with their idiotic gambles. You cursed while continuing to concoct the potion. There was a hundred other ladies in this court, some more beautiful - some having bigger breasts - some having more melodious voices. And what were you stuck with?

This old gown that you inherited from your mother.

You weren't dealt the winning hand, so you must play with the cards that you were dealt with.

"Kesā sagon ñuhon." you whispered into the powder, feeling chills run up your spine as the magic takes effect. You will be mine.

You press a finger to your lips. Who will be mine?

Of course, they needed to be rich. You were in poverty and eating love for breakfast wasn't something you're looking forward to.

And of course, they needed to be handsome - because it will be a curse to stare at an ugly face everyday.

"Prince Daemon," you say out loud.

You fancied him when you were younger.

He had flowing silver-gold hair, and entrancing deep purple eyes. He was every maiden's dream. All everyone saw was a dangerous man - a shifting tide. He was quick to anger and slow to forgive.

But that wasn't going to be a problem.

If your love potion was going to take its full effect, he'd be a tamed dragon, and you'd be the most beautiful maiden in his eyes. He'd be loyal to you no matter what you did.

The thought of taming an untamable man was...alluring.

"Prince Daemon it is, then." you decide. Carefully storing the powder in the empty space of your locket.

The plan needed to work.

Daemon's eyes narrowed, seeing Lord Hendrik's daughter walk across the garden. His eyes were drawn towards her figure. He's heard stories about your great beauty - and now he's finally had the luxury of meeting you. "Lady Hendrik," he calls your name.

"My prince," you bowed, surprised that he knows you. "- it is a pleasure to be be in your presence." your gaze remained on the floor.

"I believe that I am the one who should be saying that," he tilted his head with a pensive smile. His eyes alternated between your eyes and your lips, engrossing himself in your features. "- it is not everyday that a maiden from Quid Isle visits the Red Keep." he added, offering his arm for you to take.

"It is a long journey." you were quick to answer, holding his arm as you both strolled down the gardens. Your father's castle used to have a garden exactly like this - but all the flowers have wilted now. Its beauty was forced to remain in your memory.

"I can only imagine," he hummed - still staring at your face.

There was a look in his eyes, telling you that he was interested.

He kept staring at you and you found yourself staring at him in return, waiting until he opened his mouth again. "You're very beautiful." he observed, moving a strand of hair away from your face.

"T-thank you." you surprise yourself by stuttering.

Gods, you've always been eloquent but what you were about to do was making you nervous.

You turned to look at the table behind you, sprinkling the secret powder on one of the lemon cakes.

"Lemon cake?" you offered, holding the pastry up with a smile.

"Sure," he agreed, not bothering to take the pastry from your hands - instead taking a small bite while you were still holding it.

The way he licked his lips made shivers run down your spine. You were indeed making the right choice. "Is it good?" you raised an eyebrow, waiting for that grumble on your stomach that told you that the spell was working.

"They taste different today." he admits, chewing at the sweet treat - surprised at the slight specks of saltiness. It brought the sweet flavor out, but it was the first time he's tasted lemon cakes like this.

"Good or bad?" you inquired.

Your stomach grumbles. His pupils dilate.

"Good," he says.

The love potion has indeed worked. He's looking at you the same way that the moon looks at the sun. There was a smile on his face, a soft and gentle smile only given to those feeling pure love. "You should try one, my lady." he offers, and you nod - doing exactly that.

"Is the court to your satisfaction?" he asked, unable to stare at anything other than you. "It is beautiful, my lord, especially the gardens. I've never seen anything quite like it." you smiled.

He admires the innocence in your eyes.

Your smile makes him want to smile too.

"Our gardens pale in comparison to Highgarden. Mayhaps, one day I shall take you there." he made a promise. You are slightly taken aback by the potency of your love potion.

"Take me there?" you repeated his last words.

"If it is your will, my lady." his hands rubbed circles on the back of your waist. "It is unbecoming, especially from an unmarried maiden. I wish not to impose, my prince." your mind returned to marriage.

Our last gamble.

"Oh yes, unmarried." he reminded himself. He takes a step backwards, a wave of clarity crashing through his features. You worried for a second that the love potion lost its effect, if it weren't for the look in his eyes - utterly dedicated and in love.

"I must leave to attend my business with the Gold Cloaks. Do not stray too far in the gardens, I shall talk to you later." he vows.

"Yes, my prince." was the only thing that you could say.

Daemon was fascinated but now he was sure that he was in love. Ever since he spoke to you in the gardens - you're the only thing that he thinks about. When he drinks wine, he wonders about the types of wine that you like. When he reads a book, he thinks about what your favorite books are.

Even a chore a simple as breathing makes him think about you.

As the months occurred, he's spent every living second beside you. Braiding your hair, reading books about his ancestry. He's even taught you a few things about sword-fighting.

He's defenseless against your love.

There was no escape.

"I intend to marry the Lady Hendrik." Daemon boldly announces in front of his brother. He was a million times sure that you were the woman he wanted to spend his eternity with. "I beg your pardon?" Viserys gazes up from his miniature version of Old Valyria.

"You've been pestering me about marriage ever since that Bronze Bitch died. I've finally made my choice. Lady Hendrik, the Master of Coin's daughter." Daemon emphasized.

Viserys' eyebrows merged together.

"Have you spoken to her?" Viserys inquired, surprised at his brother's sudden enthusiasm towards you. "I have." Daemon responds.

"How many conversations have you had with her?" Viserys follows up, a little skeptical but otherwise relieved that his brother has found love. "It matters not, she is the best choice. She is set to inherit her father's island. It shall keep me out of your way." Daemon argues.

"Lady Royce inherited the Runestone. What makes you think that this lady of yours is going to be different than the last?" Viserys queries, poking through his brother's resolve - trying to look for holes. He does not wish to grant annulment or mend Daemon's losses when the time comes that he falls out of love.

"I will wed the Lady Hendrik. We will live in Quid Isle." Daemon ignores his brother's question. His destiny already written in stone.

"There isn't anything that could stop you anyways." Viserys agrees, finding no other reason to disagree.

"Speak to her father. Make sure that he agrees." Viserys adds, returning his attention to his little Old Valyria.

"Your father has agreed to an engagement between us." Daemon announced from behind you, and suddenly your eyes light up. "Really?" happiness was leaking from your voice.

Your happiness, gives him happiness.

"I thought that what we had was merely friendship. You've really proved yourself, my prince." you smiled, as he presses your foreheads together. Your smile sinks to the floor, that feeling of guilt threatening to make your heart explode.

He doesn't actually love you. It's the potion.

"Is everything alright?" he inquired, his eyes flooding with worry.

I'm a horrible person for making him something that he is not.

All the nobles and maesters have fawned over his loyalty to me. The way he stares at me with love and adoration. He's not spoken to any other maiden except me. He refuses to dance with anyone but me.

When he realizes that this is all an enchantment, will he hate me?

"Darling," he repeats that term of endearment.

You snap out of the trance.

"I need a moment." you break free from the embrace. Sprinting towards the direction of your room. "Sure," you hear him mumble.

Once the doors to your chambers were shut - the tears flowed. "I'm sorry," you mumbled while laying on your bed, covering your body with the layers of blanket and furs. "I'm sorry," you kept repeating.

I'm a horrible person.

You've toyed with the very will of the gods, made Prince Daemon fall in love with you and act uncharacteristically - all for what? So you wouldn't starve when all the gold in your father's coffers runs out? There were thousands of small-folks starving everyday, their lives are lost to famine - all the while you worry about not living in luxury.

It was another day for you in paradise.

Even if your father died, you'd still live a comfortable life - as long as you didn't live above your means.

You shouldn't have done that to Daemon.

And the worst part was, you loved him - loved him with your entire heart. He was a constellation to you. You've never loved anyone as deeply as you've loved him.

But you betrayed him!

Betrayed the man that offered you jewelry and pretty dresses. Betrayed the man that looks at you with warmth.

You sniffle, slowly rising above the pile of blankets on your bed.

You march to your vanity, beginning to concoct a potion that will reverse your love spell.

You needed to make things right.

Daemon stares at the small hidden lake. It was something that his ancestors consecrated to have a piece of Old Valyria. The lake had magical powers, some say that it cures disease, but to him - it was the only thing that could convince him that gods were real.

"Ever since I was a little boy, I'd stare at this pond and feel peace." he explains, placing his hands inside of the lake - allowing that mystical feeling to wash over him. "They say that it is a piece of Valyria." he continues telling you the story.

These past few days, you've been avoiding him like a plague. When he meets your eyes - he sees nothing but sadness. He wishes that taking a bath in this lake would bring peace to you, or mayhaps cure the sadness that you've been feelings - you refuse to tell him what.

"Thank you for bringing me here. Dragonstone is beautiful." you were quick to thank, but your eyes were focused on the ground.

"Why do you evade my gaze?" he inquires, holding your chin with a finger - and lifting it so you'd meet his eyes. "We are going to be husband and wife soon." he announces, and that makes you flinch.

"I know," you hum.

"If you're scared of living Quid Isle - I promise you that we'll live there after the wedding." he points out one of the possible reasons as to why you were sad. "- I am much prepared to eat fish and chickens until I die." he smiles, and that sparkle returns to your eyes.

"Get in the water." he commands with a chuckle. "No," you shake your head - feeling his hand on your shoulder - threatening to pull you down. "Daemon," you warned, holding onto his forearm.

An involuntary giggle escapes your mouth, and you both plunge into the cold lake. That grumble in your stomach returns. Magic?

You hold onto him, unable to reach the bottom of the lake floor. "You are a cruel lord," you teased wrapping your arms around him.

He takes a second longer - still staring at your face. With that same lovestruck impression as the day you first met.

"Daemon," you say his name.

"I love you." he says out of the blue, burying his face on your nape.

For a second, his voice sounds deeper - his words more meaningful than usual. It almost made you doubt yourself.

You were about to lose everything.

Today is the day that you give him the reverse potion.

"Lemon cake?" you offer, holding the pastry with a forced smile. Daemon's hands found the small of your waist. "I don't want one." he shakes his head, instead choosing to take a sip of his wine.

"Are you sure?" your eyebrows merged together.

Why was he refusing your effort?

"I don't really like eating pastries, my love." he covers his smile with another sip of wine. He's been looking at you with more adoration, lately. He's been more dutiful than before. Always opening the door for you, always carrying your books, and of course, helping with the planning of your wedding.

"But I seem to remember that our love story began with a lemon cake?" you try to persuade him. A lemon cake is also how it ends.

"I've not had the stomach for anything as of the late. I'm sorry, dearest." he tries to say no as politely as he could. "But you have to eat it, please, for me?" you resorted to begging.

"No," he responds as petulantly as he could muster.

"Daemon," you say firmly this time.

Don't make it harder than it has to be. Eat it and hate me forever.

"Give me one good reason?" he says. His voice telling you that he knew something that you didn't. "Because your future wife wills it." you insist, and he sighs - taking a bite of the lemon cake.

He eats it with a smile, watching your features carefully.

"Does it taste good?" you found yourself asking the same questions as before. "Yes," he responds - chewing softly. "How do you feel?" you inquired, worried about his wellbeing.

"Why are you asking, little flower?" his grip is firm on your waist, ignoring the looks that you were both getting. It was a behavior unbecoming of unmarried people, even if you were engaged.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "Do you still love me?" you found yourself carefully asking, masking it with sweetness just in case the potion wasn't in full effect yet. "I think that the potion takes a while to settle, my lady." he smiles, saying those string of words in a whisper.

You nod your head involuntarily until his words sink in.

The potion takes a while to settle.

"What?" your voice suddenly turns an octave higher.

"You are adorable." he muses, laughing.

"How long have you known?" the words spill out of your mouth. "It wore off when we swam in the lake of Dragonstone." he explains.

"So you've been pretending to love me these past few days?" you ask, guilt eating you whole. "I've not been pretending." he confirms.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice. Our family isn't as rich as we appear to be, I-my father... I mean I thought that marrying you was the only way my family would be secure. But I love you and my conscience will not allow you to live in lie." you apologized, the tears pooling.

"Hate me if you want to. Have me executed for treason if you must..." you rambled but he silences you with a finger to your lips.

"You didn't need that spell." he says tenderly. His eyes still held that warmth, the promise to love you for more than a lifetime.

"I was enamored with you even without it." he chuckles, wiping the tears away from your eyes. "What?" you were confused. "- you need not to go through with the wedding." you add.

"But I wish to marry you, my lady." he takes the upper hand.

Oh, he's been long aware of your house's financial problems - it was one of the few reasons that Viserys chose your father as Master of Coin. He couldn't bare to see a friend of his suffering. And Daemon, well he's been drawn to you since you first stepped inside the castle.

You were magnetic and you made good company.

"Adorable," he hummed - pulling your face closer to his and silencing you with a deep and long kiss.

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mischiefmanagers · 9 months ago

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Azriel Fic Rec Library pt. 2 🦇💙

I'm back with another list of one hundred Azriel x Reader and Azriel x OC fics for the Azriel lovers out there! these are in no particular order. enjoy!! ✨

🌼 personal favorite 🥀 angst 💞 fluff 🔥 smut

by @ellievickstar

River Side Confessions 💞

by @itsphoenix0724

Peony 💞

Gardenia 🥀💞🌼

Hold Me Gently 🥀🔥

by @azrielslostshadow

I see you 💞

lemon tart 💞🌼

by @imaginesmai

i love you 🥀

right around the corner 🌼

Something new 🔥

by @daycourtofficial

Cassian is a Nosy Busybody Who Can’t Keep to Himself 💞

We’re Bumping Booties, Having Us a Ball 💞

Prophesize Me 💞

Love Potion No. 9 💞

Everything is Not As it Seems 🥀

Your Love is My Drug 🔥💞

by @lidiasloca

even in sickness 💞

by @bubbles-for-all-of-us

only you my girl 💞

Pretty like the wind 💞🥀🌼

by @gothicbabydollz

more than a distraction 🥀🔥

by @azrielslightintheshadows

Princess 🥀

Best mistake 💞

Scary mate 💞

Failed proposal 💞🥀

Oops 💞

by @thesunloveschips

Eye of the Storm🌼

by @azriels-shadowsinger

Confessions 🥀

by @writingcroissant

As a Trophy 🥀🔥

by @tadpolesonalgae

Milestones 💞

The Secret World of Borrowing

Unchained 🔥

The Dregs of Tragedy

by @spellbookd

Little Mouse 🔥

by @serpentandlily

Untouchable 🥀

Mystique 💞🌼

Arcane 💞🌼

Scared to be Happier 🥀🔥

by @angelshadowsinger

Assistance 🔥

by @batboylover

mating bond snaps with a stranger 💞

Rhysand's Sister 🥀

protective w/ pregnant mate 💞

degradation gone wrong 🔥🥀

by @sxnktaalxna

Threads

by @mika-no-sekai-blog

Mirror, Mirror 🥀

Not my cup of tea 🥀💞

by @florencemtrash

The Artificer 💞

by @readychilledwine

Losing Forever 🥀

Love and 100 Other Lies 🥀💞🌼

Cat and Mouse

Whispers in the Dark 🔥

Lollipop

The Last Cabin on the Left 💞

Past and Future - Threefold 💞

Breathe 🔥

by @sarahs-library

Forgotten 🥀

by @parkerslatte

Drawn to You 🥀💞

Strings That Bind Us 🥀💞

Not Fated 🔥🥀

by @fieldofdaisiies

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart 🥀💞

by @fairydustblossom

losing control 🥀💞

encroaching promises 🥀🌼

by @mxigo

soul sick 🥀

by @leafsandstarlight

Bad Idea, Right? 🔥🌼

Never the One 🥀

Inadvertently Yours

by @jeannineee

Resolve 🥀

by @lure-of-writing

forgotten anniversary 🥀

by @danikamariewrites

Binx 💞

I Just Feel You 💞

Back Off 🥀💞

Alone? 💞

I'm Married 💞

Combined Aesthetics 💞🌼

by @theostrophywife

in my head. 🔥

by @cosmic-whispers

Control 🥀

by @artists-ally

Only Me and the Devil Know🔥

Train Wreck 🥀🌼

Smoke on the Water

by @soulessjourney

Autumn's Whispered Secrets 💞

by @aroseinvelaris

Guardian Angel 💞

by @pricklepearbloom

Late for Dinner 🥀

Baked With Love 🥀💞

by @moonlightazriel

Fake it until you make it… 🥀💞

by @lalacliffthorne

sleepy in the library 💞

sunday mornings 💞

when Azriel has a nightmare 🥀💞

by @whisperingmidnights

To Long-Forgotten Gods 💞🔥

by @sapchat

We Are Not Our Fathers 💞

by @thelov3lybookworm

Don't grieve 🥀

Babysitting 💞

by @throneofsapphics

bad idea 💞

by @throneofsmut

Size Difference 🔥

Hunter/Prey 🔥

by @shadowdaddies

The Greatest Casualty 🥀

by @fever-fluff

Home

Cats Out of the Bag, Claws and All 🥀

Take my Hand 🥀💞

by @thevanserrras

Tricks For Treats 💞🔥

by @moonlightazriel

Mask Off

by @azsazz

Midnight Muse 🥀💞🌼

by @acourtofmenandthirst

Love You In The Dark 🥀

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etanow · 4 months ago

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MASTER POST

The Experimental Monster Laboratory, or Monster Labs, is a TADC AU where the cast is in the physical world! Sorta..

C&A Research Facilities is one of the cornerstones of the science and medical worlds! They do everything; funding research, manufacturing equipment, and research into the known and unknown in an effort to understand everything. To the public, that is.

They experiment heavily in everything, from hiring literal Gods on earth to manage the more ..sensitive divisions; mixing machine and magic, technology and the supernatural, genetic experimentation, you name it, they’ve probably done it! The world outside may not know anything of the advancements they’re researching but there is little C&A Labs won’t allow in the name of progress in understanding and cataloging everything in their universe. Our story takes place in one of the more private residencies deep in C&A, belonging to Caine; a minor God with mysterious origins, unknown limitations, and boundless enthusiasm for learning everything he can about his little science friends.

╰┈➤ Content

╚═ Unnamed fic (Coming soon...) ╚═ Bubble can cook?? .

╰┈➤ Asks

╚═ Does Pomni act like a zombie? ╚═ Is Zooble's Demon Snake Leg happy? ╚═ Gangle is in a Situation.png ╚═ Gangle's temperament ╚═ Has Ragatha ever shocked anyone? ╚═ Gangle love RAAAH ╚═ Do Caine and Ragatha fight over Pomni? ╚═ Why did Gangle summon a demon? ╚═ Why does Pomni wear a bell collar? ╚═ Kinger's eye ╚═ What if there was a baby crying? ╚═ Death trauma [Gangle and Pomni] ╚═ Kinger has ONE hobby outside of Bugs ╚═ Is Zooble protective of Gangle? ╚═ What happens when you touch Pomni's brain? ╚═ JAX DATED SOMEONE?? ╚═ What does Jax do? .

╰┈➤ References

╚═ Intro Cards ╚═ Height Chart Lineup ╚═ Zooble Demon Snake Leg Intro Card /j ╚═ Queenie ╚═ Gummigoo ╚═ The Sun Room ╚═ Logo .

╰┈➤ Arts

╚═ First ML AU Post ╚═ Second, exploring outfits ╚═ Design sketches part 2 ╚═ Pomni + flower language ╚═ Showtime + Ragapom doodles ╚═ Jax not practicing lab safety ╚═ Abstragedy cuddles ╚═ Raga doodle ╚═ Ragapom doodle ╚═ Jax and Meadowsweet ╚═ Pomni staring out a fake window.png ╚═ [Gives pomni flowers] ╚═ more doodles ig

╰┈➤ Misc.

╚═ Caine Lemon Rant [Animatic] ╚═ Zodiac signs?? ╚═ Caine gets called a Tumblr Sexyman and cries ╚═ Bubble Looksmaxxing ╚═ Jax wants to take ketamine with you (Romantically) ╚═ Caine eats a lemon [Animatic] ╚═ BUNNYSUITSSS ╚═ Magma doodles ╚═ Magma doodles part 2

╰┈➤ Pomniverse

╚═ Wonderland and Zombni are friends :D

╰┈➤ Boundaries / Q&A

╚═ Any story plans? I'm not sure yet, currently writing a fic and several comics on the way.

╚═ Any boundaries? None, so go crazy! I am OK with gore, NSFW, angst, violence, etc, just be sure it is tagged/TW'd appropriately as not everyone is OK with that content. I'd also like to see please LOL

╚═ Can we create fanart/fics/content? Can we dub or fancam? Yes of course!! Please tag me, I'd love to see all of it! I'm tracking the tag #TADC Monster Labs AU for other's content

╚═ Is NSFW allowed? Yes, both art and fic, so long as it's marked appropriately I'd very much love to see!

╚═ Can I ship the characters, self-ships, or OC x Canon? Yes, ship away! Just be aware the only au-canon ships are Caine/Pomni, Ragatha/Pomni, Gangle/Zooble, and PAST Ragatha/Jax.

╚═ Can we make OCs? Go on ahead! Here is a PSD file for the blank template and the PNG can be found here.

╚═ Who are you?

✦✧ Hi I'm Audi! 26, she/they. Full-time office worker, I do art in my free time. ✦ My current interests are TADC, RWBY, Looney Tunes, and Trolls. ✧ I draw using a custom PC, a Huion Kamvas 16 (2.5K), and Adobe Photoshop. Currently learning to use Procreate. ✦ I do not RP and this isn't an ask blog, asks interacting directly with characters will probably not be answered. ✧ Asks are not guaranteed to be answered, sorry if yours isn't but please don't spam/send multiple times! ✦ Commissions and requests are not open at this time, thank you. ✧ My main tumblr is Audi-art. My Twitter is Hammerspaced.

#tadc monster labs au #monster labs au #tadc au #masterlist #masterpost

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damneddamsy · 11 days ago

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second sight | cregan stark x oc (part vii)

a/n: today on the fluffiest of Stark fluff, Claere goes on a vacation, Cregan rides a sky-cat of a dragon and nearly dies

The brisk winds howled through the open window like a mournful cry, and outside, from the distant courtyard, the sound of Luna's thunderous roar cut through it all—less of a roar to strike fear and more of a longing cry for her rider. It was a sound that used to evoke awe and power toward the open skies; now, it only underscored the emptiness extending between the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, and everything else.

Claere sat by the ledge, uncaring of the chill that bit through her thin gown, her chin resting on her arms. She watched Luna far away, the great white dragon shifting, discontented, wings twitching with the desire to take flight. Her violet eyes shimmered, tears welling at the corners, though none fell. Being a Targaryen meant that a dragon was more than a mere beast. To her, Luna was everything—a best friend, a daughter, a sister, a mother, a reflection of her soul in flesh and flame. Blood from her blood, fire from her fire, they were bound in a way that no human could ever understand.

The ache inside her mirrored that of her dragon. They were both grounded now, for nigh on a week, bound by the silence and influence of Cregan’s absolute command.

Cregan noticed her before he spoke, lingering in the doorway, watching as her delicate frame seemed even smaller against the vastness of the window. She was morning mist, exquisite and evasive, even in her sorrow—more so, perhaps, for the sadness that clung to her like a delicate veil. The faint sunrise caught the tear-stained glint in her eyes, the pale sheen of her skin, her braided silver hair framing her face like a crown of misery.

His heart wrested into itself. He had seen her like this once before—when she had been a stranger to him, when he first tried to coax her to eat, to bring her into the warmth of his home. It felt like a lifetime ago, though the same sadness hung over her now, albeit for different reasons.

Silently, he approached, his footsteps careful on the stone floor. He didn’t announce himself; he knew she’d sensed him long before he arrived.

"Good morrow, love," he greeted her softly, voice low, though he received no answer at first. He undid his cloak to lay it behind a chair. "Slept well?"

She didn’t turn, didn’t flinch, as per usual, her focus fixed on restless Luna below. The chill seemed not to touch her.

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the tray laid out nearby, a modest feast meant for two. He had hoped to tempt her with familiar comforts, a simple offering to break the silence between them.

“I thought we could break our fast together,” he ventured, a hint of hope in his tone.

"I’m not feeling up to it." Her voice was quiet, a mere breath against the wind, but there was no malice in it—only exhaustion.

"Don't punish your appetite for your temper with me," he advised, reaching across the table to caress the back of her head. "Dreamy girl."

She leaned her head away. "I do not have a temper."

He chuckled. "Very well, your grace."

He moved beside her, unbothered by the refusal, his eyes drifting to the spread of food laid out. A variety of her favourites: ruby apples from the capital, freshly churned butter spread over oat bread, honey and blackberry jam, all carefully selected for her. He gave a slight smile and plucked a little lemon posset from the tray, a rare luxury, one of the few delicacies he knew she held fondly from her days in King’s Landing.

“Do you remember this?” he asked, placing the pastry near her. “I had it recreated by the cooks—increasingly annoyed them until they got it right.”

For the first time, Claere turned her head, her eyes falling on the delicacy before flicking to him. The vaguest spark of something—amusement, maybe—crossed her features, but her words were far from sweet.

“Sweetsleep this time, my lord?” she asked, her tone laced with the sharp edge of memory.

The barb of her accusation cut deep, reminding him of the last time—of how he’d slipped the essence of nightshade into her drink to help her sleep, of the guilt that had haunted him since.

But he indulged her grudge, forcing a wry smile to his lips. “I'm afraid it's only lemon and cream, some sugar,” he said lightly, leaning into her. “I have learned better than to drug a dragon to sleep.”

"You're a funny man," she said, surly.

"I try my best."

She said nothing more, but to his relief, she reached for the candied slice of lemon over the posset, without hesitation, and scooped a small serving into her mouth. She chewed slowly, turning back to the window, still impassive, though her silence felt less hostile than it had in days.

Delighted, he plucked a few cranberries and placed them on her plate, slathered a thick layer of jam over the bread and urged it to her mouth.

She squinched, turning away. "I'm no whingeing babe."

“There are worse fates than having me as your meal steward,” he teased, bringing the bread closer.

“Eat it yourself, if you’re so proud of it,” she muttered, pushing the bread back to him.

Cregan dropped the bread onto her plate with a quiet huff and brushed the crumbs off his hands with exaggerated impatience. She gave him a sidelong glance as he walked to the chair beside her, pushing his own plate away.

"I won't eat either then," he declared, settling into his seat with a resolute frown.

Claere sighed, casting him a brief stare, her sweetly obvious annoyance softening, though just barely.

“Stubborn northerner,” she mumbled under her breath, her fingers resuming their idle tracing of the stone ledge.

Cregan leaned back, arms crossed, watching her with wary purpose, a flicker of a smile barely contained at the edges of his lips. “If we both waste away, who’ll keep the lords at bay? Or shall we leave Winterfell to your dragon's mercy?”

Her eyes flicked to his, a fleeting vulnerability cracking through her cold demeanour. She said nothing, but after a lengthy pause, she reached for the jam bread, biting into it without looking at him. Bite after bite until it disappeared.

Stifling his laughter, Cregan joined her side by the window, his arms resting on the ledge beside hers, though his gaze remained fixed on her rather than the courtyard below. He couldn’t help but observe her closely—the delicate lines of her face, the way the sun caught in the silver strands of her hair, the way her lips pressed together, lost in thought. She looked better, eyes alive with violet lustre, healthier now that she was sleeping again, but the distance between them had only grown.

Cregan’s gaze drifted down, his hand instinctively reaching for her side, a gentle brush of fingers over the fabric where he knew the wound lay beneath. He lifted her tunic just enough to check the bandage, his fingers ghosting over the bare skin, where pale scars were knitting around the bruised edges. She barely flinched, but he felt her inhale, the subtle tension rippling through her at the touch. He could see the bruises fading, the wound healing, yet something in her still seemed fragile to him—like glass forged too thin.

For a long moment, he simply rested his hand there, his warmth seeping through to her skin. Soon, he replaced his touch with his lips, pressing it there, as if chasing away the pain.

“It’s mending well,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, though his gaze never left her face.

He reached out, almost hesitant, brushing a loose curl from her temple. That distracting, unfamiliar, sweet perfume wafted from it; he always wondered what it was. No flowers or fruits of Westeros had borne that scent.

“You know,” he began, his voice gentle, “I only forbade you from flying north of the Wall. The skies beyond Winterfell are still yours.”

She remained quiet, her fingers tracing the rim of the weathered stone beneath her arm, but her eyes stayed on the horizon. The thought of Luna still lingered in her mind, but so did the fear—the fear of what would happen if she gave in if she let herself ride again, let herself be consumed by the thoughts of what lay beyond the Wall.

She let out a sigh. “What good is flying if it only starves her more?”

“We have an abundance of harvest. Luna’s hunger won’t tear this place apart,” he countered softly. “But your silence might.”

Claere’s lips parted, a breath of disbelief escaping her. She glanced at him momentarily, the softness in her gaze returning—wounded but filled with love she couldn’t voice.

Her slender hand lifted, fingers spreading open as if cupping something fragile, something long gone.

“When Luna hatched,” she began, her voice distant, “she was small enough to rest in my palm. I used to carry her with me, perched on my shoulder like my little protector, curled into my hair while I slept, watching over me.”

Claere’s eyes shifted to the woods beyond, where Luna prowled like a moving mountain, her growls echoing to the castle. She extended her arm toward the dragon, her fingers curling slightly as if trying to hold that immense creature from afar, to fit her once more into her hand. A wistful smile ghosted across her lips, barely there.

“But she grew… and too fast. By the time I was six, she was larger than Syrax, with white wings wide enough to block out the sun. I never spent a day apart from her. Not once.” Her voice lowered, and she dropped her hand. “And now…”

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. It hung between them, the significance of their distance bearing down on Cregan.

He watched her, his brow furrowed, discomfort knotting in his chest, wishing for an answer he could not seem to give. There was a pain in her words, a longing he couldn’t soothe with talk of duty or love. She had always been more than a wife or a lady to him; she was fire itself, unbound and untamed. But that fire was darkening, flickering behind her impassive mask.

He could not tell her what he had seen in her sleepless nights—the agonies that had hollowed her, leaving her a shell of the woman he once knew. The hysterical way she used to tear at her hair, crying out in the darkness for things she would not speak of in the light. No, he couldn’t bear to tell her those things. Not now, when she was finally starting to pull herself back from that abyss. It was better she stayed in the dark about his fears.

Cregan straightened, unwilling to let this silence continue. He needed to act; to pull her from the depths she seemed to be sinking into once again. He had been a Lord long enough to know that sometimes it was better to take action when words failed.

“I think…” His voice was measured as if considering his words carefully. “I think perhaps Winterfell has kept you in its guard for too long. A change of scenery might be what you need.”

Claere glanced at him. “A change of scenery?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “Castle Cerwyn. It’s only a few hours on horseback. The old Lord Cerwyn was a second father to me, and his son—well, he’s closer to a brother. It’s a smaller hold, warmer, quieter. We could ride there. Bring Luna with us. Let her stretch her wings over something other than these walls.”

There was a pause, and then, in a softer tone, he added, “And it might help you find some peace… beyond what the Wall takes from you.”

Her lips thinned, not quite a smile, but there was no outright refusal in her eyes. She turned back to the horizon, watching Luna flap her mighty wings below. They could nearly feel the snow and winds she buffeted out from so far off.

“Castle Cerwyn,” she repeated, the name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I wonder what awaits me. More Northern lords suspicious of my sanity and dragon?”

“A kind hearth,” he said simply, his tone warm but insistent. “A quieter place to breathe, to think. And Wolfswood meadows wide enough for you to fly as high as you wish, without fear of where you’ll land.”

At the mention of flying, Claere’s eyes sparkled. He saw it—the briefest spark of yearning. She still longed for the wind, for the liberation that came with it, but it was evident something plagued her, something more than just Luna’s hunger.

Cregan’s hand lingered on her arm, his thumb grazing the edge of her sleeve, and though she didn’t turn toward him, she didn’t pull away either. Her gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon.

“Luna’s not the only one who’s gone too long without a proper meal,” Cregan rasped, his voice low and wanting, fingers gently sliding down to capture hers. His grip was firm but familiar, and his thumb stroked over her palm.

Claere let out a soft sigh, her brow furrowing as if she wanted to resist him, but her grip instinctually softened.

“You’ve gone past bearing, husband,” she muttered, trying to conceal the betrayal in her own hand that curled around his fingers.

Cregan leaned in closer, pressing his shoulder to hers, nudging softly. “A few leagues southwest of Castle Cerwyn,” he murmured, “is the Bay of Ice.”

Claere’s brow quirked ever so slightly, but she said nothing.

He continued, undeterred, his thumb still tracing circles on the back of her hand. “The waters are full of sealife… the kind Luna would love.” His voice was tempting, playful even. “I’d wager she’s never tasted anything quite like it.”

“She likes her meals well-cooked,” Claere replied, still distant, though her lips twitched upward. “She’s no sea dragon of Driftmark.”

“A dragon’s appetite has more range than we think, my princess. Fish, seals; they’ll do for a feast. You need only give her the chance.”

Claere turned to him, raising her brow. “You mean to tempt me with seafood, Lord Stark?”

Cregan grinned wide, his hand leaving hers to brush against her cheek, gently tucking it around her waist. “I mean to tempt you with the skies. And perhaps a bit of seal for Luna. The fresh air might do more than you know, then perhaps you’ll remember why you belong in the sky, not grounded here.”

Claere’s lips tensed, torn between her anger and the pull he had over her. “You’re more unreasonable than I imagined.”

“Possibly,” Cregan murmured, brushing a kiss to her temple, “but you’re still here.”

Claere exhaled, her resistance weakening as her fingers brushed the edge of his leather armour, her head leaning into his touch. She didn’t want to give in, but his warmth had a way of unravelling her walls. The thought of Luna and the open skies tugged at her, the hunger of her dragon like a quiet whisper in the back of her mind.

She finally turned her head, her gaze locking with his. “You’d risk the wrath of my dragon for a taste of the sea?”

Cregan smiled. “I’d risk far worse for you.”

Or perhaps he had spoken too soon.

The King in the North had faced many fears in his life, but nothing quite like the trepidation that settled in his gut now. He had vanquished his foes and withstood the bitterest winters, but the thought of mounting Luna—akin to her ancestor, Balerion the Black Dread—wore at his composure. He had never been afraid of beasts, direwolves or bears, yet here he was, feeling less a man and more prey in her amber gaze.

Luna was massive, far larger than he had truly reckoned. From a distance, Luna seemed a marvel; up close, she was a force of nature, a leviathan of Valyrian legend, a living mountain. Her scales glimmered pearlescent, like snow itself, but the beauty of her glistening hide belied the danger in every shift of her sinewy muscles, every glint of her amber eyes. Her wings were half-furled, like banners of war, and her teeth—gods, her longsword-like teeth—could rend the gates of Winterfell if she chose.

Cregan had seen Claere mount the beast with the same effortless grace as a songbird landing on a familiar branch, but now, standing before her, the very idea seemed mad. When he had agreed to ride on Luna to Castle Cerwyn, he had imagined it to be a piece of piss. But such was the conceit of Northmen; if he backed away or failed, he would never let himself live it down.

"Lykiri," he rasped under his breath with a palm stretched out, the one word of Valyrian he had committed to memory, praying it held the same calming power as when Claere said it. Perhaps Luna would smell her rider on him and go easy.

The dragon rose to her lasting glories, a low, thundering growl vibrating through her chest, and Cregan felt it in the marrow of his bones. She lowered her mighty head towards him, her crown of spikes and horns juddering, her jaws unhinging just enough to reveal rows of gleaming, deadly teeth. An inferno awakened from within her throat, ready to engulf him.

He could nearly hear his instincts begging him to turn and flee, sprint for the cover of the trees, and curse himself for ever stepping near this thing.

But he stood rooted in place, blood rushing wildly in his veins. Whether it was his pride or his love for Claere that anchored him, he wasn’t certain.

And then, from behind him, that voice—gentle but commanding, laced with a soft, knowing giggle.

“Lykiri, Luna. Laehossa ynot,” Claere said, the sound flowing from her lips in flawless Valyrian, like an old cradlesong soothing an anxious child. Be calm, Luna. Eyes on me.

The influence was instantaneous. Luna’s growl ceased, her jaws closing with a quiet snap, and her massive form seemed to settle into the ground, though her beady eyes still lingered on Cregan with wary regard.

“Bisa daor sagon ēza,” she murmured. This is not your enemy.

Claere approached her dragon with graceful ease, stepping in front of Cregan as if to shield him from any lingering suspicion Luna might harbour. Her dragon-riding leathers, much like the ones he had seen on her queen mother, were regal and sleek—grey furs and blue, tailored to fit her form, with high collars and silver fastenings that gleamed in the cold light. The cloak billowed behind like her own wings, a living emblem of her Targaryen bloodline.

"Gōntan ao bōsa syt nyke tolī, gevie Luna? Ēza ñuha valzȳrys ivestragī ao merbugon?" Her voice was soft, the words lilting and musical, almost tender. It was as though she spoke not to a beast but to a dear friend, a sister. Did you miss me too, beautiful Luna? Has my husband let you starve?

Luna’s growls turned into gentle rumblings, deep in her chest, as she drooped her massive head toward Claere. The dragon’s enraged eyes quieted, and her nostrils flared in recognition as she nudged her rider, a deep, affectionate sound escaping her throat.

"Issi ao sȳrkta sir," she whispered. You are healing well.

Claere raised her hand to Luna’s snout, fingers tracing the sharp ridges of her scales, and in response, Luna’s wings fluttered, that sent a ripping tide through the air.

Cregan stood there, awestruck. His wife, no taller than one of Luna’s fangs, looked like a mere speck of snow in front of the dragon’s mountainous form. Yet, in Claere’s presence, Luna preened like a giant kitten under her mistress’s touch. As Claere’s fingers journeyed down the spikes along the dragon’s throat, inspecting the long scarring wounds, Luna roared in what Cregan could only describe as bliss. He had never seen such a creature so utterly tamed, so devoted.

"Ssh," she shushed, giggling. She rested her forehead against the dragon's hide, breathing slowly. "Ivestragī īlva sōvegon arlī, ñuha riña." Let us fly again, my girl.

That smile Claere wore—for all his jokes and sarcasm, she had never smiled at him like that. Not before the Wall's shadow had held her prisoner or the morning after they'd made love. It was especially for her pet. He found himself growing jealous of that beast.

“She won’t bite,” Claere called out to him over her shoulder, amusement bright in her eyes. “Unless you give her reason to.”

“You don’t inspire much confidence, love,” Cregan grumbled, eyeing the dragon’s teeth again.

Claere tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in that happier smile. “She knows you. She just doesn’t understand why you’re still standing there like a frightened little doe.”

“I'm no doe or little,” Cregan countered, though the firmness in his voice faltered under the pressure of Luna’s stare.

“You seem like a man who wants to run away,” Claere teased and held out a hand to beckon him. “Come close, wolf. She won’t let you mount her from there.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed as he stepped cautiously toward Luna’s side. The dragon shifted, her enormous wings stretching slightly, causing a gust of wind to blow through the woods. Her amber eyes locked onto him, and Cregan could swear they were measuring his worth.

“You are certain she won’t eat me?” he asked dryly, not quite hiding the edge in his voice. “She’s been starving for a week, and I’m just the right size for supper.”

Claere laughed, palming her mouth, a sweet dulcet that was full of life, he swore a winter rose stood to bloom by her feet.

Cregan eventually stood beside her, too late to question his choices, and the towering beast dwarfed him entirely. Claere had already started to climb up the ropes and nets affixed to the saddle on Luna’s back with the practised grace of someone who had done this a thousand times.

He, on the other hand, felt immobilised, staring at the sheer size of the creature he was about to mount. If the gods were real, now would be the time to give him hope.

“Do you need a hand, Lord Stark?” Claere called down, her voice still holding that sweet laugh.

“I can manage,” Cregan replied sternly, though as his hand grasped the first rope, he doubted his words. The first Stark to ride a dragon, he thought. He would not make a fool of himself.

It took every bit of his strength to pull himself up the ropes, feeling Luna’s immense heat and powerful muscles shift beneath him. The dragon made a thrumming sound—half-growl, half-sigh—and Claere stroked her, speaking softly.

“Luna, jaelagon,” she nearly sang out. Luna, wait.

Finally settling behind her on the saddle, Cregan exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I didn’t think I’d survive long enough to make it up here,” he muttered, his voice thick with relief.

Claere turned about to face him, her silver hair catching the sunlight. “She likes you, though I’m not sure why.”

“Perhaps because I’m keeping her friend well-fed,” he quipped, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as Luna began to rise, wings readying for flight.

She laughed softly, a sound he didn’t often hear from her. “Maybe. Or perhaps because she knows I’d never let her eat you.”

Cregan’s grip tightened as Luna crouched, her wings stretching wide in preparation, leathern scales creaking like taut sails. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them, but Claere was unfazed, completely at ease atop the creature that could so easily rain ruin and destruction over cities. Cregan, meanwhile, could only marvel at her fearlessness, this strange and beautiful woman who, for all her quiet rage and somber smiles, steered a force of nature with nothing more than a whisper.

“You look as though you’re debating jumping off,” Claere teased again, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his tensed face. “Still uncertain?”

“Aye,” he muttered, not entirely making a jest. “But I trust you.”

Her violet eyes softened, and the distance between them bridged for a brief moment. He pressed his lips over her ear, kissing her deeply.

And with a sharp Valyrian command—"Sōvēs, Luna!"—Luna leapt into the sky, her wings beating against the cold air. Fly, Luna!

They scaled up higher and higher, the icy winds biting at Cregan's face as the ground became a distant blur below. The sheer speed, the strength in every beat of Luna’s wings, made his heart thunder. He understood in that moment what it truly meant to ride a dragon. It was more than flight—it was dominion, unchallenged and absolute. The Targaryens didn’t just ride beasts—they commanded the very essence of freedom itself.

Beyond him, Luna let out an explosive roar that echoed into the heavens, a cry not of fury but of pure exhilaration. It reverberated through his chest, drowning out everything but the sound of the wind tearing past them.

And in front of him, Claere—his ever-composed, lady wife—was not the woman bound to Winterfell or its solemn halls. She became unrecognizable. Wild, untamed, she moved with Luna as if they were one. He could see the sheer ecstasy in her, an exuberance that was unburdened by duty, unchained from her past.

Claere twisted her head back to him with a grin, her silver hair whipping across her face. “Still believe you can handle it?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, she twisted a rein around her wrist and leaned forward, and Luna suddenly plummeted. The world spun in a violent spiral, clouds swivelling as they dived. His grip tautened, and a growl escaped his throat—half terror, half awe.

“Claere!” he roared, though the rush of air stole his voice.

But there was no fear in her. She simply laughed along, steering Luna suavely.

His stomach lurched as they hurtled toward the earth, but just as quickly, Luna swooped, her massive wings spreading to catch the wind and slow them to a smooth glide. Cregan couldn’t stop himself. The shout of fear turned into something else—an uncontrollable whoop of excitement that burst from his lips. This was living, this was it. He threw back his head, letting out a deep, throaty laugh, adrenalin flooding his veins.

Still breathless, Luna glided the clouds at a leisurely pace, and Cregan curved his arms around Claere's midsection, holding her closer.

"I think I’d rather be on a horse next time,” he breathed into her hair, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his words.

Claere twisted in the saddle, her smirk full of mischief. “You sound much braver with both feet planted, my lord.”

He barked a laugh, despite himself. “You scared the sense out of me.”

Her smile only widened, and for a moment, as they drifted across the sky, she seemed like the girl she might’ve been if things had been different—before duty, loss, and impressions. It struck him, how young she truly was, how young they both were. Six and ten, nine and ten. Merely children who had grown too fast for expectations. But that was the way of their world—of power, of society, of tradition, of ambition, of titles—that weighed heavy long before they could even begin to understand them.

Luna tilted her wings gently, and they coasted toward the golden horizon, irrevocable souls entwined with the wind.

The snow had melted by the time they neared Castle Cerwyn, the old stone fortress standing strong against the sprawling landscape. The castle, though smaller than Winterfell, carried the same powerful significance—an imposing sight against the bare, snow-swept hills. The black-and-silver banner of House Cerwyn—a crowned sword on a dark field—flapped fiercely in the wind.

Cregan’s eyes darted to the men waiting in the courtyard, their breath misting in the frigid air, and at the forefront stood Lonnel Cerwyn, tall, dark and broad, his thick furs making him look even more massive. His pale eyes, like chips of ice, were locked on them, his bearded face twisted into what looked like a permanent scowl.

As they dismounted, Luna’s massive form cast a shadow across the courtyard, her silver-and-pearl scales glinting against the sky. The dragon huffed, her breath steaming as she lowered her head, watching the newcomers with predatory eyes. Lord Cerwyn, his gaze moving from the dragon to Claere and then back to Cregan, strode forward with conscious steps, not wanting to agitate the beast.

“You’re late, Stark,” Cerwyn barked, his voice booming across the courtyard, rough as the northern cold itself. "Thought you’d flown off south, or maybe you’ve forgotten how to ride anything with four legs."

Cregan smirked as he helped Claere down from Luna’s saddle, although she didn't need it, his hand briefly resting on her lower back. She lingered near the dragon, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings as she edged closer to Luna’s side for comfort.

"No dragon's taken my wits yet, Cerwyn," Cregan said, unable to suppress a laugh. "I had half a mind to see if your lot’s finally learned what manners look like."

Cerwyn’s scowl deepened for a heartbeat, then cracked as he let out a deep laugh that could have shaken the very walls. He seized Cregan in a bear hug, slapping his back with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.

"Manners, eh? If you’ve brought them with you, they’ll freeze before they reach the hall!"

Cregan chuckled, pulling back. "Some things never change. You’re still uglier than pig shit."

"Aye, but at least I’m not riding dragons, you mad cunt." Cerwyn’s grin widened as he looked past Cregan to Claere, his gaze gentling a fraction.

Turning his attention to her, Cerwyn’s mirth faded into something more respectful, though his northern bluntness remained. He bowed before her and shot her an exaggerated wink.

"You’ve made quite the entrance, Your Grace. No Targaryen has set foot in these halls—until today. Castle Cerwyn is all yours."

Claere, standing beside a rumbling Luna, felt the weight of his gaze. She inclined her head, her fingers briefly grazing the dragon's hide for comfort.

"Lord Cerwyn," she greeted quietly, her voice even, but there was a reluctance in her stance. "It’s an honour."

Cerwyn’s eyes flicked to Luna, the massive beast dwarfing the entire castle, and then back to Claere. “An honour? No, my lady, the honour is mine.” He took a step closer, his tone shifting to high earnest. “And I thank you for the Glass Gardens. Your gift will feed not only Winterfell but all of us in the hard seasons to come.”

Claere dipped her head in a bare curtsey, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, though she spoke evenly. "The North will need all its strength, Lord Cerwyn. Winter is coming."

Lonnel regarded her for a moment longer before turning back to Cregan with a knowing grin. “You never cease to surprise me, you gruff bastard. So how did you manage to charm the princess with all your brooding?”

Cregan crossed his arms, raising a brow. "Hardly a charm—more like persistence."

Lonnel snorted, amused. “Wore her down, did you? Poor lass.” He glanced at Claere, who gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Cregan chuckled, but his gaze drifted briefly to Claere, sensing her unease in the bustling courtyard. She stood poised but quiet, her hands occasionally brushing Luna’s scales as though seeking solace from the dragon’s proximity.

“Come on, then,” Lonnel waved them toward the castle gates, his grin widening as he added in a low tone, “before the snow buries us all.”

As they moved forward, the men of Cerwyn’s hall bowed deeply to Cregan, murmuring their respects with “Lord Stark,” while their gazes flickered in curiosity toward Claere. She received more nods and soft murmurs of “my princess” and “my lady” than she ever had at Winterfell, though the gestures only seemed to accentuate how out of place she still felt. She bowed her head in return, her hands folding neatly at her waist, but her silence remained. Cregan kept her by his side, not pressing her to speak, knowing well enough that she would adjust on her own time. For now, she was still the strange Valyrian witch of the North, standing tall and composed despite the swirl of hesitation beneath.

“We’ve plenty of meat and wine,” Lonnel added, clapping Cregan on the shoulder once more. “Though if you’re lucky, Stark, I’ll keep the jests about you riding the White Dread to a minimum.”

As the sky darkened above the Wolfswood, Cregan and Lonnel sat beneath the shelter of towering pines, just at the edge of a wide valley. Their breath misted in the cold air, and the sounds of the night around them blended into a quiet symphony of rustling branches and distant wolf howls. The hunting had long been set aside, and now they sat by the fire, its flickering light casting shifting shadows against the trees as they lifted their horns of ale, hands near-freezing in the brisk night.

Lonnel took another swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze shifting to the horizon beyond. He shook his head, casting a sly glance at Cregan, his mouth tugging into a smirk.

"By the gods, Stark, you’ve gone and done it. Brought dragon's blood into your hearth. Tell me—what’s the princess like when that fire isn’t blazing for the rest of us to see?” He leaned in, his grin turning wicked. “Or does it blaze on, even in the dark?”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. "You’ve always had a filthy mouth, Lonnel. But she’s more than what you’d imagine."

"Oh, I’m imagining plenty." Lonnel laughed, his voice rich with mischief. "I see her there in Winterfell, all young and radiant. You’re telling me that’s what you bed at night? No wonder you’ve got that weary look in your eyes. Must take all the strength you’ve got, mounting a dragon till the dawn.”

Cregan shot him a playful glare. "Weary? I could still break you in half before you took a step. And I’d gladly do it too if you keep going."

Lonnel grinned, shrugging as he raised his horn of ale. "It’s her that keeps you on your toes, eh? Taming a woman with Old Valyrian fire in her veins… Gods, I can’t even get my own wife to listen to me, and Arelle's nought but Northborn. What chance do you have against dragon’s blood?”

Cregan shook his head, his expression softening. "There’s no taming her, and I’d be a fool to try. She’s wilder than the wind… and I wouldn’t want it any other way."

"Wild like the wind,” Lonnel mused, scratching his chin with a grin. “Or a storm? What’s it like, then? When it’s just the two of you?”

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the flames, reflective, an unknowing smile growing on his lips. Any mention of her only expanded his chest three times its size. "It’s quieter than you’d think. In those moments, it’s as if everything falls away. The world itself. She’s entirely… Claere. And she’s mine."

Lonnel raised an eyebrow, his grin easing to something softer, more genuine. "So the wolf’s got a heart, then, under all that steel and duty."

"Mind your tongue before I remember we’re only friends."

Lonnel snorted, draining his horn with a nostalgic shake of his head. “Friends, aye. But I remember when we were hardly more than lads. Drunk on bad ale and worse decisions. Gods, do you remember that girl?” He leaned in, smirking. “The one in Torrhen’s Square? Tall as a sapling, golden hair?”

Cregan laughed, rubbing his face, caught off guard. “Alannys.” He shook his head with a groan. “She took one look at us, decided I was the taller one, and sent you packing.”

“How tragic for Alannys,” Lonnel quipped, a wry grin forming. “She wouldn’t have handled both a Stark and Cerwyn in one night, I tell you that. Good thing I saved that coin for... Malia? Mylla? Fuck if I know.”

Cregan chuckled, raising his horn in a mock toast. “To bad ale and worse decisions.”

"And those poor girls who survived us." Lonnel laughed, clinking his horn against Cregan's. They let out a deep sigh in unison, leaning back. “Look at us now—wives, babes, duties. Gods, we’ve come far, Stark.”

"Too far, some would say.” Cregan’s smile faded, a sense of gravity settling in. “You took us in without question, Lonnel. For that, I owe you.”

Lonnel waved a dismissive hand. “You’re a brother to me. The gates of Castle Cerwyn open for you, whether you come with a pack of direwolves or a damned dragon. You know that.” He paused, his gaze falling on Cregan, more intense. “But you must also know why the whispers reached me before you did. The North listens, Cregan. And it’s hearing a lot more than just the flapping of dragon wings.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting Lonnel continue.

“They say she’s been to the Wall more times than any crow has seen. They say she’s witnessed what no man should and kept it all to herself. Dark things, ancient things. And if it all comes back for her…” He let the words hang, heavy between them. “What will you do?”

Cregan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll do what I’ve always done.”

Lonnel chuckled, shaking his head. “Stand and fight, aye. It’s what we were raised to do. But this storm you’ve brought to your door, Stark… it doesn’t just take the one who called it. It takes everything in its path.”

Cregan stared into the flames, thinking about all that had passed in the recent weeks. “She hasn’t told me all of what she’s seen,” he admitted, his voice lower. “But it haunts her. It pains me to see her like that, Lonnel. That’s why I brought her here—to find some measure of peace.”

Lonnel eyed him, more serious now, then took a long drink, the mood sinking as the fire crackled between them. “She’s not just Lady Stark, Cregan—not just your wife. And you’ve more than love at stake. If whatever comes for her… you’ll fight back, I know it. But she’s a crown. And crowns bring war.”

Cregan’s eyes flickered, his face hardening as he looked into the fire. “The North has always known war. It's nothing new.”

Lonnel exhaled a bitter laugh, though his gaze didn’t soften. “Not this kind of war, my friend. Not one that comes from the dark beyond the Wall… or from the throats of ten grown dragons beyond the Reach.”

Cregan’s gaze hardened, resolute. He would not yield his wife for anyone or anything, kin or foe.

“Then let them all come.”

The sunlight felt like a rare gift upon Cregan's skin, the warmth cajoling him into a state of near-sleep as he lay across the tough leather rug, between the tall grass, his head pillowed on Claere’s lap, a contented smile playing on his lips as her fingers worked through his hair, weaving small braids with deft movements. Beneath his closed eyelids, the sun burned faint patterns, flickering with each shift of the sparse clouds above. Her voice wafted over him, soft but clear, painting tales of the Bay of Ice, of the frigid, salt-bitten wind, and of Luna hunting seals over those frozen waters.

"They think she swallowed a star," she told him, laughing, a fingertip tracing the length of his nose.

This was paradise. Perhaps it had found him before his deathbed. He hummed along, not truly listening.

He caught faint fragments of her words, the sweet dulcet of her voice rising and falling like a ballad, as she described House Wull’s hardy folk, their eagerness for Luna’s fire to melt the icebergs so they could fish the rich waters beneath. He felt half-lost in the weave of her tale, lulled by the warmth of the sun, the distant clicks of insects, and her fingers threading through his hair like strands of silk.

In a flash, his head slipped from her lap, his neck cricking at an awkward angle. He straightened, rubbing at the spot with a hiss, only to catch sight of her, already cradling a small brown hare, her touch gentle as she brushed its ears and stroked its belly. The sight of her, intent on the little creature, was enough to coax a grin from him.

“Another one for the cookpot then, my lady?” he teased, his voice low and affectionate.

Claere barely spared him a glance, scowling. “Don't be daft.”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back on his elbows as she continued fussing over the hare, her fingers tracing its paws as if in reverence.

“Strange, though,” he said after a moment, his tone more curious than jesting. “What exactly turns you from meat?”

She looked down, her expression thoughtful. “I realized very young that all the world is a balance. Give and take,” she replied with quiet conviction. “My dear dragon's appetite is ample enough; I’d rather give back than take more myself. With her takings are my denials.” Her eyes softened, a shadow of memory flickering there. “I’ve stayed away from it ever since.”

He tilted his head, struck by the dignity and care in her words, considering her. “And what of your tourneys, then? The royal hunts on your namedays? A fine feast without a kill—well, some would call it unseemly for a princess.”

She gave a light shrug, almost nonchalant. “I never had any such thing.”

The words hung there, simple but sharp. She didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the playful hare. And he knew better than to pry—the silences of her brothers in her presence, absence of her queen mother's well-wishings, the vacant gestures from her kin, all spoke of a girl with Targaryen blood, Valyrian heritage, truest claim left with the least, yet no more than a shadow in her family’s regard. She’d been raised like an instrument, a spare, the uncelebrated princess, a piece on a board she was never meant to play.

Breaking the silence, Claere spoke, her voice barely above a murmur. “Your namedays must’ve been different.”

Cregan felt a bittersweet smile tug at his lips. Anything to divert his pity. He let the memories flood back, the good ones.

“Different, aye," he sighed.

Claere let the hare hop off her lap, which then refused to run off, waiting on its hind paws by the edge of the mat.

“I was gifted a direwolf pup once, all fur and bluster. Only two weeks in, it was off like the wind. Ran as far as its legs would carry it the first time I made it wear a collar.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It never came back.”

She laughed under her breath, a soft sound like water slipping over stone. “I should have guessed. But I could find you one if you wish it,” she offered, almost teasing. “The kennel master’s raising a whole pack of them now. They’re all tremendous, close to soldiers.”

He tilted his head back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Another collar and another beast bound to run?” he teased, the light in his eyes warm. “Or perhaps I’ll forego wolves and settle for that dragon I was promised.”

“If you dare to face it,” she said, eyes narrowing with playful challenge. “The next clutch is yours for the choosing.”

His laughter rolled through the quiet woods, deep and warm. “So, you’d spoil me not just with Winterfell’s fiercest fire, but with her hatchlings too? You know, I think this northern air has made you a touch reckless.”

Her eyes glinted, playful, leaning closer as she matched his tone. “It’s only fair that I spoil you in turn,” she whispered, her voice silken, carrying through the hushed trees like a spell.

"Oh, my love, you've spoiled me very much."

He hummed, pleased, and then, without warning, pulled her close and rolled her beneath him on the soft leather rug. The breath left her in a misty gasp, her gaze meeting his—startled, but not resisting. His weight was grounding, solid and warm, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them, the drift of his breath, the quiet crackle of the leaves around them.

Her gaze flitted as his hand moved to the hilt of the Valyrian dagger he carried, her gift to him from the time before, offered with silent promises of protection. He unsheathed it slowly, the blade glinting, and her eyes traced its movement, following as he held it between them.

“With this. A rare gift,” he murmured, “from a rare woman.”

His words were low, each syllable drawn out as he slid the dagger to the bow at her bodice, poised at the silk ribbon’s edge. With a slow, deliberate twist, he dragged the blade down, the tip of it sharp but light against her skin as the fabric came undone. Her breath hitched as she felt the cool brush of metal taunting her, each tug loosening her defences. The fabric loosened and gave way under his touch, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his own.

“And now, sweetling,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, voice rough, yet unhurried, “how would you rescue yourself from me?”

He moved the knife lower, its edge trailing over the delicate fabric, a promise and a threat wrapped in tenderness. "Hmm?"

She gave a shiver, yet her eyes held his, and there was no fear there, only a steady defiance. His breath was warm against her ear, his voice a low rumble as he traced the knife along her bodice, a feather’s weight skimming her skin. But her gaze never wavered, the faintest glint of mischief sparking in her eyes.

In one swift motion, Claere twisted beneath him, and with a deft manoeuvre, caught him off balance. She rose, bashing the knife from his grip and flipping him onto his back with a victorious grin, sitting astride him.

Cregan gave a low laugh, a touch winded, staring up at her in bemusement. “You think to best me?”

Her mouth curled, fierce and gleeful. “Seems I already have.”

His hands slid up to cradle her face, and then he drew her into a gruff, enticing kiss, all hasty lips, quiet moans, his warmth a balm against the long palls she bore. She softened in his arms that scuffed into her back eagerly, her fingers trailing down his jaw, meeting his fervour with her own, as though she could draw every bit of the strength and surety he offered.

He paused, breathless, the dominating weight of her against him stirring him upright. With a steadying exhale, he pulled back, eyes still locked on hers, and reached to loosen his cuffs, the sound of each metal clasp a whirr of intent as he shrugged off the coat of plates, carelessly letting it slide off.

But when he looked up, it was her watching him, her loosened bodice held against her chest. Her gaze was calm, unguarded, a touch of wonder damping her expression as if she were seeing him in a new light, yet holding some invisible line between them. Cregan let his hands fall to his sides, sensing her hesitation, yet unmoving in his resolve.

“You think to leave me bested, then, after all this?” he murmured, his voice a teasing rumble that chased away the last shadows between them.

She raised a brow, lips curving. Her arms dropped, letting her bodice fall loose from her chest.

“Consider it a reminder of who you are dealing with.”

He laughed and leaned back on his palms, his candid gaze holding hers. “Then come closer, and let me be reminded once more.”

Even with the amicable airs of Castle Cerwyn, sleep evaded Claere like a wary shadow. She would lay awake, eyes tracing patterns from the night sky in the darkened ceiling, her mind tangled in dark memories and half-formed fears. More than once, Cregan stirred beside her, sensing her wakefulness. He’d gather her close, his hand soothing circles along her back, murmuring in that low voice of his.

“Sleep, love,” he’d say and kiss her hair. “It's all gone. You're far beyond it. I have you now.”

She’d push her face into the crook of his neck, his heartbeat steady under her cheek, grounding her, though the shadows still lingered.

Another night, he left and returned with a fur-lined blanket warmed by the fire, wrapping it snugly around her. He traced a thumb along her temple and cheek, eyes full of a patience that was, to her, an astonishment. Be it anyone else, they would have left her to find her own peace.

“I’ll stay awake for you, keep the shadows at bay,” he promised, half in jest, half earnest.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing the curve of his lips, a gesture that was as much for him as it was for herself. "Thank you."

A small smile lifted her lips, shy but true, feeling for once as if the weight on her shoulders had lessened, just a touch. In this moment, she knew she loved him—loved him with a depth that ran deeper than duty or bond. His patience was a balm, his nearness an anchor; it healed wounds she’d long since stopped tending to. And though she rarely gave voice to the feeling, it surged within her now, filling the cracks she had long since accepted.

In his presence, she realized, she was safe.

By the fourth morning, a softened tranquillity had woven through her—delicate, a return to herself. Breathing in the cool air of Castle Cerwyn, letting the scents of moss and pine fill her lungs, she felt her apprehension slip further away here, watching Cregan exult with his old friend Lonnel. She saw a side of him she’d never truly seen—unburdened, joyful—as if the duties that weighed him down in Winterfell had been cast aside, lightened in this place.

The aviary, her newfound haven, beckoned to her like a sanctuary of life and song. She spent hours among the birds, marvelling at the late Lord Cerwyn’s collection: songbirds that trilled melodies, fierce hawks, regal eagles, white doves, and her favourite—a grey parrot that greeted her with a soft hum whenever she hummed first. It was the gentlest of welcomes, and for a while, she felt just a nobody wandering among the trees.

"A lovely voice, Your Grace. I've only ever heard tell of it,” came a voice from behind her.

She turned, startled, to find Lonnel Cerwyn leaning against the aviary gate, a faint smile playing on his lips. She dipped her head in acknowledgement, still unused to strangers’ easy familiarity, and now hesitantly drifted along the cages, learning the birds.

As Claere continued to walk beside the cages, she sensed Lonnel’s presence still at her side, solid and patient. His eyes followed her gaze across the rows of birds, some chirping softly, others watching her back with colourful, attentive eyes.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “you’ve taken to our feathered friends, then? I wouldn’t have taken a Targaryen to like things caged. Would’ve thought you preferred creatures of… larger wingspans.”

Claere smiled, her gaze lingering on the hawk perched within, its fierce stare mirroring her own restraint.

“You’re not wrong, my lord. I believe they belong to the skies.” She paused, turning to look at him. “They’re creatures of flight; seeing them locked away feels strange. Wouldn’t they serve better if trained?”

Lonnel hummed, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, but trust’s a hard thing in the North, my lady. We cage what we cannot lose. They might turn loyal, but even a hawk can strike when cornered.”

Claere’s gaze drifted to a small thrush flitting nervously in its cage, and her voice softened. “Even so. Let a creature soar; you might find it follows because it chooses to. Lock it away, and all you see is its shadow.” Her fingers grazed the bars thoughtfully. "It's why Luna never lived in the dingy lairs of Dragonmont. I left her to fly free wherever she wanted."

Lonnel studied her, a flash of understanding passing between them. “Perhaps we Northerners hold onto things too tightly,” he said.

Lonnel hummed thoughtfully, reaching into a cage to coax a hawk onto his glove. "And one of those beautiful things is Violet. Violet's been a hunting guide of mine for years."

She watched as he gently lifted Violet, her wings extending wide.

But as they unfurled, a sudden vision struck her: flashes of white feathers shifting into silver scales, the hawk’s call blurring into Luna’s roar. She could see it: a thousand wildlings pouring over the Wall, spears in hand, flames burning, their faces darkened under the thick coats. Another flash—the great walls of Winterfell loomed over her, blood staining the stones, and in the fray stood Cerwyn, his hands red and his pace relentless, sword in hand, facing a shadowed foe.

She blinked hard, the vision dissipating as quickly as it had come. Lonnel was watching her, the hawk calm in his grip.

"My lady?" he called, a tension lacing his tone.

Claere steadied her breath and lifted her gaze to him, her hand immediately reaching up to press against his cheek, her fingers cool against his warm skin, as if she were grounding herself. She didn’t know what part of the future she’d seen, if it was his, his children’s, or some fate destined for the next generation. But her heart trembled with the significance of it.

“Keep your heart steady, Lord Cerwyn,” she said as if speaking to him across time itself.

Lonnel’s face flickered with surprise, but he didn’t pull away. He only held her gaze, a silent promise passing between them, however one-sided it was, a confused understanding.

And then, with that quiet exchange lingering like the last note of a song, she withdrew, leaving him with the young hawk in hand, her footsteps retreating along the path of the aviary.

The grand hall of Castle Cerwyn was smaller than Winterfell’s, yet it brimmed with warmth, a soft familiarity that softened the edges of the North’s rugged chill. The hearth crackled with thick logs, filling the space with a heat that seeped into the bones, banishing the crisp cold outside. Long trestle tables bore the evening’s fare—a hearty venison roast glazed with honey and herbs, cheese pies, oatcakes with dried fruits, dark bread still steaming, and pitchers of spiced ale that filled the air with a fragrant bite. The scents were rich and earthy, consorting with the soft murmur of voices and laughter that filled the space.

Arelle, Lonnel’s wife, was glowing despite her swelling belly. Her hand rested protectively over her babe, the big smile on her lips a mere instinct. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders loosely, framing a face alight with contentment as she looked to Lonnel, who seemed unable to take his eyes off her. Their gazes would meet across the table, exchanging silent fondness, and Cregan found himself observing them with a stifled smile, reminded of his and Claere’s own shared moments. He had been fortunate enough to find something like that in his own time. Patience truly was a virtue.

Cregan reached for Claere’s hand beneath the table, a gentle squeeze. She bent her fingers between his, holding him tighter, squeezing back.

For the first time in weeks, they were somewhere uncomplicated, unburdened by towering walls and solemn silences.

Conversation flowed as if from a babbling brook, Lonnel regaling them with tales of old hunts and mishaps, each story coaxing a rare smile from Claere. Then, Arelle leaned forward, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“My lady,” she said, almost shyly. “Lonnel mentioned you were… quite exceptional with the harp. I’ve longed to hear you play ever since.”

Cregan felt his chest tighten, a flicker of worry crossing his face. He knew Claere’s songs were steeped in her visions and dreams, dark prophecies veiled in melody. But before he could speak, Claere interfered.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, her voice gentle yet trusting.

Cregan’s worry ebbed as quickly as it came, replaced by admiration. She always surprised him. He’d seen her hands coax Luna's fires to life, and wield the delicate tools of her garden, and, now, he was about to see them breathe life into a song.

A harp was brought forward on the dais, its golden strings gleaming in the firelight, and Claere’s long, delicate fingers traced over them with an intimacy born of instinct. She began to play a soft tune, one that filled the hall like a lullaby, each note like a petal floating through the air, softening the stillness. Her melody was warm and peaceful—a rare sound from her, as though she was offering a glimpse of a world unburdened.

Her sweet voice, smooth as silk, joined the harp, and the words she sang wove into the room like a spell:

"In fields of frost and towering trees, a heart’s true kin awaits in peace..."

As her voice wove through the hall, soft and lilting, Cregan felt the world fade around them. Each note hung in the air, heavy with a sweetness he recognized as his own. Her words fell like secrets meant only for him, and as her gaze met his, a smile played at his lips, slow and sure. She was singing for him, he realized, in this open hall, like an unspoken vow carved into the heart of the North.

His chest swelled, a fierce, undeniable warmth sweeping through him. Every hardship, every moment they had faced together—the bitter nights, the bone-chilling dawns, the weariness—all of it had led to this calm, boundless love. Here she was, with a song that spoke of him, binding his heart to hers before the world as if none but they two could hear it.

Cregan held onto this moment with almost reverent care, a part of him feeling almost foolishly lucky. She was his, this woman of fire and prophecy, and though she bore shadows in her past, here and now, her voice was for him. And he knew, with all the steel and sinew of his being, that he loved her more deeply than he could ever say.

And he should've known, what he had been conditioned to consider beyond all this newfound devotion, that not all good things last very long.

As Claere's song drifted in the air, the hall doors opened, and the castle's maester entered, his face grave beneath the dim candlelights. He crossed the floor to Cregan, extending a parchment sealed with the unmistakable black wax of the Night’s Watch.

“Dire straits, Lord Stark,” he intoned, his voice respectful but heavy with urgency.

Cregan’s hand tightened around the parchment, breaking the seal as he read its contents. As he did, the lightness in the hall seemed to drain.

When he looked up, a murmur passed through the hall as all eyes fixed on him. He hesitated, then addressed his audience, his voice collected but cold. “A word from the Wall.”

Lonnel, his face creased with confusion, asked, “Wildling attack?”

“Worse.” Cregan’s voice was sombre, his face darkening. “They’ve overrun the garrison at Queensgate. A chieftain who calls himself Sylas the Grim led a force of three thousand through the breach.”

There was a ripple of reaction in the room. Claere’s hands stilled on her harp, her gaze intent. She’d heard stories of wildlings crossing the Wall, of skirmishes and raids, but this was different. This was an army. And this Sylas—a man none of them had known even existed—had crushed a garrison with ease and marched past the castles.

The maester’s voice interrupted Cregan’s grim revelation. “Sylas is bound southward, with his war band tearing through the lands of the Gift.” He paused, glancing at Claere. “They say he’s sworn himself to find the one who rides the snow dragon.”

Silence filled the hall, as heavy as iron.

“He rides,” Cregan declared, almost as if the words could summon the reality, “for the Dragon Queen of the North.”

A silence fell over the room, tense and laden with foreboding. Cregan stared at Claere, her face unreadable, yet he knew her mind was already spinning, parsing every implication, every thread of what this could mean. Lonnel’s earlier warning hung between them, and it felt as though every word had foreshadowed this moment. That grim prophecy that now took shape before them all. You’ve brought the storm to your door, Stark. It'll take everything in its path.

The carefree laughter, the warmth of the hearth, the taste of ale—all felt painfully distant now. War had reached their doorstep, a shadow from beyond the Wall. She had brought her dragon, and the storm had followed. And with it, the delicate peace they’d found here, so fragile, slipped through their fingers like the last light of day.

*gasp* storm's a-comin'... and it's coming for our girl. only a few chapters left! thank you for reading and keeping up!

a question for my loveliest people: what do you think is Claere's sun sign or moon sign? What about Cregan's?

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

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thepromptfoundry · 6 months ago

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For June 2024, the Prompt Foundry is celebrating with Pride and Promptudice!

Different colors mean different things to different people, but for many the association between rainbows and queer community and pride is undeniable. Let's take some time to explore these colors, what they've meant historically, and what they mean to each of us now!

If you use this list, please tag me here @thepromptfoundry, I’d love to see your writing and art!

Feel free to combine different days' prompts with each other, or combine them with other seasonal events! Use your OCs, your favorite characters from media, your own experiences, whatever tickles your fancy.

Respond to as many prompts as you want or as interest you, don’t worry about missing or skipping any. Remember, this is supposed to be fun!

If you have any questions or musings, check our FAQ, and if you don't find your answer, shoot me an ask.

Plain text list below the cut:

1 Roses 2 Lipstick 3 Ruby Slippers 4 Oranges 5 Sunsets 6 Lemons 7 Wisdom 8 Green Carnations 9 The Forest 10 Turquoise Jewelry 11 Artemis 12 Bluejeans 13 Midnight 14 Lavender Marriage 15 Labrys 16 Sex 17 Life 18 Red Ribbons 19 Healing 20 Campfire 21 Sunlight 22 Gold Rings 23 Nature 24 Bow and Arrow 25 Magic 26 The Ocean 27 Serenity 28 The Lady of the Lake 29 Spirit 30 Royalty

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coffee-and-tea-time · 6 months ago

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🂠 ♣ ♦ ♥ ♠ 🂠 Tea party menu🂠 ♠ ♥ ♦ ♣ 🂠

Coffee speaking! Tea speaking! Twins speaking!

We have a various kinds of tea, chai latte is my personal favorite tho

Come on Dear, take a sit with us in this tea party! If you rather coffee, of course we have!

We have a lot of little treats to share with you as well!

Maybe is someone's happy not-birthday? oh, its our not-birthday too!

So, tell us, what do you wish to have?

🍅 Fruit salad:

INTRO POST

🍋 Lemon:

edit! Not really bullys

human! Lemon + silly edit

wish I was your safe space

🍓 Strawberry:

edit! Not really bullys

🍈 Melon:

Sweet sweet rain

🍏 Green Apple:

edit! Not really bullys

🍍 Pineapple:

edit! Interruption

better that sleeping pills

➤ keep pretending

➤ Say something

do you notice?

human! Pin

🫀Lovesick!:

You need a proper care, Dear (Lovesick! Doctor)

Can't you stay longer? (Lovesick! Patient x Reader.)

💐 Hanahaki killer:

Imagine if hanahaki isn't a sickness but a serial killer

❄️ Backrooms:

liminal space single daddy introduction post

🏪 The yandere shop:

welcome to the shop! What are you looking for?

Sneak peek of the first encounters

Out of the menu, still the choice (the seller post)

You choose... me? (Grier post)

🎪 Circus:

Why being a side character when you can have the spotlight?

✨ Specials

Halloween special 🎃 (2024)

Oh, and if you don't find that little something you're searching for...

You can always sit and ask/sugest us, dont be shy, Dear. Although we express differently, we share our only braincell.

So come sit with us and enjoy this little tea party we prepared for you, with all the sweets and the sours too!

Ah, last but not least, english isn't our first language, probably you all will find weird things in my posts lol, y si prefieren leer algo en español, también pueden pedirnos usarlo si hacen un ask, acá está el intro post en español.

Our beloved neighbors that come to celebrate their not birthday with us! (anon list):

🧸 anon

🍰 anon

🥞anon

Do you also want to celebrate your not birthday? Of course, come with us, my brother makes the best brownie ever, you should try it!

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m1lkyw4yw1sh3z · 3 months ago

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"They tell me things I already knew. The greatest of the secrets they share.... the sky is not blue." - Sky is Not Blue, Lemon Demon

(I dunno man it looks pretty blue to me)

Almost to the end!! This was one of the last attacks we made for Artfight this year, featuring ocs belonging to @that-other-dead-person and @puppypop5 !!!

One of our favorite ARPGs, Kingdoms of Griffia, was running an Artfight-centric mini-event this month so we took the opportunity to participate in that a little while drawing for friends too ^^

#kingdoms of griffia #arpg art #lemon demon #lemon demon sky is not blue #artfight 2024 #art fight #friend tag #griffia bavom #fluffyscribblez #unreality tw #//for the song lyric lol//#snowflake mocha #our characterz #other people's ocs #//you should go listen to sky is not blue it's such a good song//

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queers-gambit · 11 months ago

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Menace

prompt: ( request that i accidentally deleted ) in essence, "drabble about Tangerine going to the bathroom and texting Reader 'come here'."

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 4.4k+

warnings: cursing, OC!Tangerine, we talk mental health (social anxiety), established relationship, busy public work settings, the request and then some, alcohol consumption, smut, bathroom sex at a work event (Cherry, what the fuck?), handguns and mild depiction of violence 'cause it's Tangerine, i give him a 'real' name (Aaron), not edited.

"This is such bullshit, sugar, c'mon, fuck are we doin' here?" Tangerine snipped in your ear, his arm curled protectively around your waist as he glared at those in rich suits and expensive colognes around him. "We don't belong 'round this lot, they're just here t'wave their money. There's no real reason for us bein' here, sweet girl, c'mon, let's just shove off. Better than chokin' on whatever this lot's wearin' - I mean, Christ Alive, smells like a bloody Bloomingdales, don't it?"

You smiled prettily in case of watchful eyes, telling him sternly in a sweet tone, "Lovie, I told you, my boss said we were needed for at least cocktail hour. We can leave before dinner, okay?"

"This is gonna last fuckin' hours, princess, c'mon, we should just go," he grumbled. "Fuck these people and these bullshit fundraisers."

"We'll be okay, I promise," you soothed sweetly, the honest opposite of Tangerine - leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You were constantly touching one another and early in your relationship, you realized how much you loved kissing him and completely forewent lipsticks or glosses because of it. Another peck and you told him in a soft tone, "C'mon, just remember we said we'd pick up Changs on our way home and there's that bottle of nice Merlot A - I mean, Lemon gave us," you almost used your boyfriend's brother's real name, but caught yourself with plenty of time.

"Hmm," he smirked, his favorite takeout place being a happy distraction. "Cheat day sounds nice, yeah, but still don't make this go any faster, now does it?"

"No, but we're not gonna be here forever," you soothed, turning into his chest to pet the expensive material of this navy three-piece suit. "You look so handsome, my love. Really love seein' you in navy suits, and the white button up looks really clean with it." Tangerine smiled down at you, the bustle around you melting away as he could only hear, see, smell, feel, and focus on you. Then, you spoke coyly as you fixed his tie, "If you behave the rest of the night, I promise I'll make it up t'you. Yeah? Maybe wear that li'l white thing you love?" He perked up, but before he could respond, you ended, "Or maybe I already have it on - anyways, so, listen t'me, I have to go talk t'some people and do the job that pays me, so I suggest you just take a deep breath; get another drink, find Lemon, and then we'll go soon, okay?"

He looked around the usual investors his private employer had to shmooze for donated funding and frowned when he was acutely aware of not just the sheer number, but how many "important" people attended the evening's gala. The Black Market was funded by multiple someones; most of whom were in this very room and while under the radar, it still made Tangerine feel as if a huge target was painted on the building's wall. There was always a need for services outside the law and these richie-riches couldn't take the money with them to the grave, so, they donated money if it meant they were "well taken care of".

The Twins' handler insisted they attend the gala tonight; being well aware that they were more like show ponies for being on display for investors to see. Putting a face to names made myth into reality, and your boyfriend was a hot commodity due to his skill as a contract killer. He and his brother were legends around the various active agencies, investors happy to see their money going to good use; all wanting to know what they had bought for a price-tag of several billion.

The common conversation of the evening was how readily available The Organization was able to offer their services with no questions asked, no matter what. Tan hated these events, feeling nauseated, overstimulated, overwhelmed; overall, exploited by his employer as attendees gossiped about the Bolivia Job, the Kyoto Crash, the Libyan Disaster, and a few other memorable jobs Tan and Lemon were involved in. Their beady little eyes followed him around, mouths hidden behind crystal flutes of champagne, and bodies always shied away from him as if he were a wild beast.

Sure, they pay to sit and gather in the arena, but flee when the raging bull they've helped antagonize gets loose.

Then you came along and took on the brunt end of these social events. Tan was never quite sure how you got involved in this life, you always giving a new answer, but knew you had gone to university for multiple degrees - one being in something called "communications". Now, if you had asked Tan a few years ago, he'd've said that was a bullshit job, bullshit degree, a total waste of time. Now that his popularity had grown and he was exposed to more social obligations, he was was beyond grateful to have someone navigate this with him. Tangerine's bad attitude most of the time was just a deflection, being why you and Lemon could handle him; knowing the lad's anxiety often choked him past logic and made him a sarcastic, violent cunt.

When Tangerine forced himself back to reality after glaring at the other warm bodies mingling around, Tangerine's arm contracted tight enough that he could bring you in for a quick kiss. Quietly, he muttered in your ear, "I'll give you half an hour, darling, no more."

"No less," your eyes rolled but your lips were spread in a grin. He chuckled and softened his expression; whoever might've been watching feeling something akin to shock and awe (like one felt when they saw a lion in person for the first time), knowing Tangerine was a horribly stoic, violent, and short-tempered man. To see him now, amused and soft with such a beauty of a woman - well, it was jarring. He was still known to be an asshole, but it seemed you had a stronger leash on Tangerine than his handler ever did. But perhaps, no stronger than Lemon.

"Right," Tan sighed. "What was first on your list fa' me t'do?"

"You're gonna take a deep breath, get another drink, and then find Lemon," you repeated softly, "but I'm gonna say you owe me a kiss before that drink."

Tan huffed.

"That wasn't a deep breath, Tan, c'mon, we've been over this," you mock glared, feeling both his hands secure to your hips. He pet the expensive silk you wore with his thumbs, the pocket square resting over his heart a tailored square of the same material.

"Sweetheart - "

"In through your nose, out through your mouth, Tan," you cut him off. "Together, I'll do it with you, c'mon. In..."

Tangerine adjusted his stance in those shining Italian leather shoes you gifted him for Christmas that year. He took a steady breath in through his nose when you did, watching for your subtle nod, then exhaling slowly through his mouth - when you did. Again, together, in through the nose, your nod after about seven seconds, then exhaled through the mouth. After one more, you smiled at him in encouragement, both hands splayed on his lapels; his own moving so they coiled around you.

"All right," he grumbled, "yeah, it helps, pretty girl."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Feel better?"

"Don't push it, plum," he mumbled, bringing you in closer so he could kiss the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear while stroking your spine with his fingertips. "Thank you," he whispered, mustache tickling your skin, "always know how t'get me out me head, don't'cha?"

"I try, but you don't always make it easy, you know?" You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth to smother your grin, leaning into his chest. "Kiss me, please, then go get a drink and find Lemon. Don't talk to the investors," you warned, adding, "please."

This made a mischievous smirk spread across his lips, "Awe, hey, c'mon, aren't they here t'see me? I can say hello. You won't even 'ave'ta introduce me, they'll know me."

"Okay, yes, they're here t'see the lot of yah, but they're not here to get yelled at, yeah? Or called cunts? Insulted in any manner?" You sang in a light tone; caressing his cheek to guide him to your lips for a long desired kiss. The hand on his cheek curled around to grip the back of his neck, gently tugging the neat strands of hair as you tried to convey your pride.

Social anxiety was a bitch and though he'd deny it vehemently, Tan was riddled with it. Seeing him endure this evening (despite the constant complaining) was a mighty feat, wanting your kiss to spark something in his gut that would cause his confidence to soar so it'd put a bit of "pep in his step" to get through the rest of the evening.

And boy, did it.

After parting ways, Tangerine was left to get his drink with a full-chub that made him shake both legs out in an attempt to hide his arousal. Yet as he watched you melt seamlessly into the crowd, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind that maybe you were wearing that white thing he liked. Tan leaned on the bar top, cock stirring to life with each passing second; watching you mingle and mix and shmooze investors and wanting nothing more than to interrupt and get you alone. With his drink, he located Lemon, trying to forget the way his cock was begging for attention while you worked your magic on these walking-talking-money-bags.

"All right, bruv?" Lemon asked, the two standing with a few other agents that were wrangled in for the event.

"Hmm?"

Lemon glared, then snickered to himself. "Oh, fuck me, mate, you're fucked, aren't you?"

"Come off it," Tan took another slug from the expensive whiskey glass. "'S only me second."

Lemon blinked in shock, "That's not possible. You hate these fancy things, you don't like bein' sober at'em."

"I've been distracted."

"No shit, 'cause your lady's here, gotta be on your best behavior, don't yah?" Lemon snickered, sighing as he shook his head and accepted the champagne being passed around by a waiter with a full tray. "But enough that you ain't been drinkin'? Yeah, right - oh, shit, wait," he beamed, "didn't Y/N get that administrative promotion? It's that, ain't it? Ho-ho!" He laughed, "Yeah? Don't tell me you've been her arm candy all night, mate?"

"We've been tucked away, actually," Tan admitted, missing the way Lemon blinked in shock 'cause he was searching for you in the deepening crowd. "She knows I don't like these things, right, so, we stood away from 'em all, ova there," he pointed off to where Lemon knew was roped off for VIPs. "We were just talkin', laughin'. She makes these shitty li'l jokes, you know? Kept us more entertained than the rest of these fucks," Tangerine chuckled, hand hiding his grin of amusement as he wiped around his mouth to play it off.

This made Lemon nod with impression, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, but," Tan sniffled, "duty calls, she's gotta work a bit, get some donations goin'. Apparently, I'm not allowed t'talk t'the fancy donors."

Lemon checked his watch, "Fair enough, you did punch that Sultan - "

"Oh, come the fuck off it, that was three years ago! He was fine."

"You broke his nose, mate. You want another?"

Tangerine skulled the last of his drink, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good, mate. Might be time t'go soon."

"I'll leave when you two do, wouldn't wanna be stuck here alone," Lemon agreed, the two turning away to stand at a cocktail table together and away from the others. "This is why we don't work inna office, this lot - Jesus, fuck. Oh, shit, oi, mate, you seen who all's here tonight? Fuck's sake..."

"Yeah, mate, I've seen 'em all, but there's too many t'know who the fuck you mean specifically." He pulled his phone out as Lemon rumbled on in excited impression about the evening's guests to send you a quick text,

wrap it up, pretty girl. i got things i wanna do to you that ain't for others to see unless they pay.

He could see you from where he and Lemon stood; and when your phone chimed, you checked it almost instantly, smiling at the message. He waited for your rapid reply,

if my panties had a crotch, they'd be soaked. love you in blue 💙

That was enough for Tangerine, who nodded at his brother, "Gimme a minute, yeah? Gonna pop off t'the loo before we go. Have another," he pointed to the drink in Lemon's hand as he backed away, "but not that frilly shit, mate, have a real fuckin' drink. Oi!" He snapped his fingers at a passing waitress, "Sorry, sweetheart, yeah, my bruva, there," he pointed at Lemon, who waved awkwardly, "will take a double whiskey, on the rocks, yeah, and he likes them lemon twists. That somethin' you can grab for him, love?"

"Absolutely," she nodded, high-strung ponytail swishing.

Tangerine snickered lightly, shelling out a hefty tip that she accepted, "And bring him a Lemon Drop shot, too, please."

"Anything else, sir?"

"Ah, if you'd like, maybe your number for him, too?" Tan instigated, hearing Lemon groan and grumble in embarrassment. "My bruva, there, he's bloody golden, yeah? Can't do no better, man just has no flaws - less we count tha' he's a wee bit shy, innit? Pretty ladies intimidate him a bit, but he's the bravest man I fuckin' know. Just gotta warm 'im up a bit, don't'cha know?"

"He sounds like a real gentleman. But maybe I can give mine if you give your number to my friend?" The waitress countered, pointing towards the central bar that the servers operated out of. There was a decently pretty girl with dark hair, twiddling her fingers at them with a pearly grin. "She's sweet, kind, absolutely wild in bed - "

"Sounds like an even deal, sweets, but you see - I've got a woman, yeah? And my lady? Well, she's kinda one of your bosses tonight, so, uh, might not be a good idea now, would it? She gets all territorial, protective, likes what's hers t'be just hers - ain't real big on sharin'." The waitress flushed in embarrassment. "But my bruva, here," Tan pointed back at Lemon while unlocking his phone, "he's a fuckin' don, yeah? Ain't nobody gonna treat cha' t'a better night. Oi, hey, I'll be back, bruv," he called to Lem with a smirk, then reminded the waitress, "double whiskey, lemon twist, on the rocks. And that Lemon Drop, please."

"Of course, sir, right on it," she agreed, Tangerine finally backing away fully. He typed you a new message,

meet me in the bathroom right now

Inside, it was decently spacious; unisex, six stalls, made of pristine marble, veiled fluorescent lighting, and there was a lock on the door - which Tan cared most about.

He planted himself behind the two other men at the walled-off urinals, hands clasping together in front of him. "Right, then, you two," he gestured between them, "got 'bout 30 seconds to finish yourselves and get the fuck outta here." He pulled the usual gun from his waistband, threatening, "Or I'll give you fuckin' fucks a show 'bout all them stories you love whisperin' 'bout. Yeah? How's that? Hey? Thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!"

They were barely zipped up and gone by the time Tangerine got to second 21; you entering right as the two were scurrying for the swinging-open door. You yelped a little, jumping out of their way, offering Tangerine a strange look and musing, "Uh, what was that? You fightin' in the privy, again?"

He put his handgun away as he stalked towards you, "Just makin' sure we wouldn't be interrupted."

"Tan, hell no, there's so many people!"

He yanked you from the doorway, making sure it was shut before locking it loudly. "Then we gotta be quick, don't we? C'mon, doll, real fast, bosses won't even question you bein' gone."

"I still have work - "

"Nah, nah," he pawed your gown's skirts upward, "you been teasin' me all fuckin' night, lookin' too fuckin' good - I can't wait, baby. Just look so Goddamn pretty, feels like I'm losin' my mind. Lemme see yah," he got the silk bunched around your waist, gasping loudly when he saw your panties. "You really did wear 'em... Like the good girl you are," he purred, one hand dropping the silk to run his hand over the strappy and lacy material you wore. "Swear I'll take my time with yah at home, the way I want - but can't do that here, just needa be inside yah, sugar, c'mere."

"Baby," you gasped when his fingertips ghosted around your cunt that was bare due to the crotchless cutout. "I only need a-a-a," you trailed off, panting when one finger suddenly plunged into your cunt, "ohhh, shiiiit. Yes, baby, oh, God!"

"Keep talkin'," He smirked, backing you up towards the marble counter. "C'mon, tell me off. Tell me what's more important right now, huh? More important than this? Is it work? Huh? Work got you distracted? Wanna get back t'it instead of bein' here with me?" The heels of your palms slammed into the pristine counter, whimpering when he pumped erratically. "Aht, here you go," he smirked, pausing to pull his hand free of your warmth; seizing your waist and helping hoist you back onto the sink's ledge. Your lips meshed sloppily with his, Tan letting you dominate the kiss because you were mewling - so desperate for him, you were nearly suckling on him; hands trembling as they held his cheeks with your manicured fingertips. When your legs instantly spread to accommodate Tangerine's hulking form, grinding your hips into him, he seethed, "Good girl," before sinking his digit back into your wet heat that halted your ministrations out of pure relieving pleasure.

"You're a menace," you panted against his mouth when you remembered reality, Tangerine's belt rattling open and his zipper teeth shrieking when you shucked them open. "Gimme," you whispered, reaching for him; dropping his pants the rest of the way to take his pulsing cock in hand. "This what you wanted? Right? Why you texted me? Interrupted me?"

"Exactly," he licked his lips before smashing them to yours in a suffocating kiss, always the one to help you push boundaries and do things you never thought you'd ever do if not for him. "Why're you so wet? Huh? Why's that? Had this on your mind, too, didn't'cha, dirty girl? Why else would you wear my favorite?"

"'T reward you for tonight," you panted, giving his cock a few pumps. "'S my scene, not yours, just so fucking proud of yah - for how you did, gettin' through it," you guided him to your weeping entrance after pushing his hand from you, both gasping when his cockhead notched on the lip of your cunt. "Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted, praising him as he sunk his hips into your own; effectively blurring your mind.

He grunted, needing a single moment to press his balls between you two as he waited for you to accommodate to his size. Forehead to forehead, your eyes remained shut; breathing the same air, feeling your insides fluttering at the size of him. His mouth was at your ear, demanding, "Tell me again, pretty girl."

You knew what he wanted, letting your legs spread a little wider and held onto his shoulders since this position didn't allow for much else. You whimpered, "You did so good tonight, baby. Oh, fuck, I'm so proud of you - you did so fuckin' good." He groaned and retracted his hips, beginning a brutal pace and messy rhythm to pump himself in deep strokes. You had to hold onto his upper arms now to allow him space to move. "Always so good for me, but tonight? Fuck - you're so good, Aaron. So fucking good - and tonight you were fucking amazing. I'm so proud, so fucking proud of you," you whimpered, his hands holding your hips so the counter could pose as leverage to allow him the angle to pound up into you while shifting you down on him.

"Almost there, baby," he begged, eyes all over. He loved the sight of your 'panties' still on; the criss-crossing of the straps and pattern of the lace still in place while his cock made a mess of you. Your gown glittered in this light, your skin tacky with a thin layer of sweat from your arousal that made him dip low and lick a bold stripe between your breasts. "Lemme see - lemme get a taste, doll, want you in my mouth," he muttered against your cleavage, still holding you on his cock as you pulled a tit free. You gave a shrill yelp when Tangerine surged forward suddenly and bit harshly on your budding, sensitive nipple; but it was in-sync with him changing the pace of his thrusting to something borderline painful.

It wasn't a secret he was well-endowed, there wasn't much to the imagination with the way his suits are tailored.

But having ten(plus) inches; fully swollen, engorged, jackhammering into you at this angle? It wasn't the most pleasurable at first, but with Tan licking, nipping, and sucking at both nipples now, you endured until moaning authentically. You were all but hanging off the counter by now, Tan the only reason you weren't on the floor; using upper body strength to hold onto him while slithering a hand toy your stomach to toy with your enlarged clit.

It took very little time of harsh pressure from your fingers to come undone, pleasure mounting to a crescendo before shattering your grip to reality. With a gasp, your hips humped into Tan's by your own blinding vocation; arms tight around his shoulders to remain upright as you milked yourself.

The contraction of your cunt was all Tangerine needed, and four slaps of his balls later had him doubling over and pinning you in a small slam, chest-to-chest, to the marble.

"Oh, my fuckin' God," you panted in appreciation.

"Shit," he realized, "shit, fuck, did I hurt you? Fuck - baby - "

"I'm not hurt," you panted, keeping a tight hold to refuse him from standing up, "just happy."

He deflated with a small chuckle. In your neck, he mumbled, "I can't feel my legs."

"Wanna sit?"

"Nah, not here," he mused, licking the sweaty skin of your pulse point. "Just had t'wear the li'l white ones, didn't'cha?"

"You get all worked up when I do."

"With good reason, should see yourself the way that I do - Goddamn, doll. My girl's divine, too good for these fuckers out here."

You were about to retort, but there was a loud, rapid banging at the locked door. "Hey! Hey! Whoever's in there! There's people that need in, you fucking arseholes! Get your dick wet at your own place, you broke bitches!"

You gasped and slapped a hand over your mouth as Tangerine finally stood off you, keeping you balanced on the counter as you sat up. "Oh, my fucking God, Tan! I-I-I-I'm gonna get fired! Oh, holy shit! This isn't happening!"

"No - "

"Aaron, we were literally just caught - "

"Hey, hey, just breathe," he paused, sighing as he caressed your cheek. "Let me handle this for us, okay? The way you protect me, let me protect you. Yeah?"

You nodded mutely, looking ready to burst into tears. After Tan pulled out and helped you clean up (ignoring the warm cum that dripped down your inner thighs), he simply wrapped you in his navy suit jacket, rolled up his crisp white sleeves, and pulled out his handgun. "Oh, baby, don't - "

"Trust me," he purred, arm secure around your waist. "Oh... Shit, hang on," he set the gun down to use his hands and fix your hair, your heart soaring by the sweet, domestic gesture. "I got'cha, pretty girl, one sec - there we go, yeah," he smirked, looking proud of himself. "Yeah, all right, there we go," he cupped your cheeks, "all perfect."

"Thank you," you whispered.

"Now, we're gonna walk out with confidence. Just don't stop, don't look at anyone. Actually, look a li'l smug," he instructed. "And we're just gonna grab Lemon and get outta here, yeah?"

You pouted lightly, "After I get the O-K from my boss."

"Nah, we don't ask permission, just forgiveness."

"Terrible philosophy."

"I prefer effective. Ready?" He asked, picking his gun up again. You nodded, latching onto him as his arm secured around you again, then approached the door. He unlocked it loudly and yanked it open, glare instantly taking over his expression as you were met with a gaggle of angry, grumbling patrons. "We got a fuckin' problem?" Tangerine sneered, his gun winking in the dim lighting; those who were waiting instantly backing off.

You did as he advised: didn't look at anyone, didn't stop, looked a little smug. He lead you through the throng of people, hearing a woman sneer under her breath - gasping when Tan turned his gun on her. "Tangerine!" You snapped, the people around you all freezing.

"Got somethin' t'say?" He taunted the woman, who shook her head. "No? You sure? Now?" He asked, shifting the weapon over to her date's forehead. She shook her head again. This made Tan smirk, "Jealousy ain't pretty on anyone, love. Keep your fuckin' mouth shut."

"Let's go, now," you insisted, tugging on his unbuttoned waistcoat to walk away together. "Can't shoot everyone who offers insult."

"No, but word will spread," he smirked. "Ain't nobody gonna say a fuckin' word to yah now. And if they do," he shrugged, "you'll tell me. All right, now, uh," he paused you both, nodding ahead, "that's a bit of my doin'. Question is, do we interrupt?"

You peered around a person or two until Lemon and a pretty waitress was in sight. She was giggling and grinning, the two deep in conversation; just enraptured and toying with each other's hands.

"We should probably let him know we're leaving. Maybe text him?"

"So, we are leaving, huh?" Tan smirked. "No more precious work to go run off to?"

Your lips moved beside his ear, licking the shell before speaking so your cool breath fanned over the wet skin, "I can't work with your cum leakin'."

His hand groped your arse cheek tightly, "If you do, I promise t'make yah my li'l Twinkie, huh? Fuck you all night, like you deserve."

"Oh, now you wanna stay? You fuckin' serious?"

"Yeah, but, now it's a game."

"You're a fucking menace!"

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

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vettelsvee · 6 months ago

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MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT REPUTATION'S VERSION

a formula 1 short stories compilation about my favourite drivers based on each taylor swift song from reputation

taglist: [@celemilii @theseerbetweenus @anniee-mr @stelena-klayley @lozzamez3 @0710khj @afterg1ows @vincentvanshoe @coco-loco-nut @minkyungseokie @lemon-lav @stinkyjax @seokjinkismet @c-losur3 @annewithaneofthegreengable @khaylin27] thanks to all of you who wanted to be tagged! don't forget you can join my taglist by commenting or telling me through dm <3

TACK 1 ...READY FOR IT | charles leclerc x reader ⋆ smau Y/N finally decides she's ready to start a relationship with Charles even people just hate her so much for her past dating other F1 drivers.

TRACK 2 END GAME | george russell x reader Y/N, after dating too many guys for fun, is finally ready to settle down her mind by starting dating George, her brother’s best friend.

TRACK 3 I DID SOMETHING BAD | fernando alonso x reader ⋆ smut Fernando has a night one stand with Y/N De la Rosa, his friend Pedro’s daughter. He knows that’s bad, but why the forbidden feels so good?

TRACK 4 DON'T BLAME ME | oscar piastri x reader Y/N is scared to start a relationship with Oscar not only because she’s broken more hearts than she can remember, but also because everyone told her she’s not good enough for the McLaren driver.

TRACK 5 DELICATE | max verstappen x reader Y/N started dating Max and, since the first minute, their relationship has been public. She’s so in love, she’s so happy to be with someone as nice as Verstappen, but she’s also so insecure and vulnerable about what others think about them.

TRACK 6 LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO | lando norris x actress!reader After breaking up with his boyfriend of three years, Y/N decides to move forward and show people that she wasn’t the villain of her and Lando’s story.

TRACK 7 SO IT GOES... | charles leclerc x reader ⋆ smut After having one of the worst fights of their relationship due to some photos that were leaked and the thoughts of the media and fans of Y/N cheating on Charles, the couple decides to solve problems in a not so talkative way.

TRACK 8 GORGEOUS | sebastian vettel x musician fem oc Sebastian decides to spend a weekend by himself next to Alessia Cavalli, the girl he might be falling in love with after his wife, Hanna, cheated on him. Sebastian is captivated by Alessia, but he can’t just express his feelings: not only the media will become obsessed with them, but also Hanna and the rest of Seb’s family. So, for now, not only Vettel, but also Cavalli, will have to be friends even tough they think about each other they’re gorgeous.

TRACK 9 GETAWAY CAR | george russell x reader After having a relationship with his teammate, Lewis Hamilton, and having broken up with him after many years dating, Y/N just need George as a getaway car.

TRACK 10 KING OF MY HEART | lewis hamilton x reader Y/N was happy to be single until she met Lewis in one of the Louis Vuitton events.

TRACK 11 DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED | oscar piastri x reader Oscar really wanted to spend the rest of his life with his best friend. Y/N wanted to be honest with Oscar and tell him she was truly, madly, deeply, in love with him. However, things turn out to be different and they decide to hide their feelings because they know things will get worse if they're honest to each other.

TRACK 12 DRESS | sebastian vettel x singer fem!oc ⋆ smut Sebastian asks Diana, the girl who used to be her best friend and girlfriend, to go with him to FIA Prize Giving 2018. Diana, who’s a famous singer, decides to wear a dress only for Seb, the guy she still has feelings for and also the father of her daughter, to take it off. Will Seb still have the same feelings for Diana?

TRACK 13 THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS | oscar piastri x reader After a meal with Mick's family and friends, Y/N finds out that the toxicity she was dealing with in her relationship with Schumacher wasn't just a thought she had but a reality she was living.

TRACK 14 CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT | sebastian vettel x reader After the loss of her mother due to Alzheimer, Y/N meets Sebastian in a therapy group, who seems to be his savior when her life was falling down to pieces.

TRACK 15 NEW YEAR'S DAY | carlos sainz x reader A proposal on New Year's Day is what Carlos' girlfriend wouldn't have expected after dating for almost nine years with the Spanish guy

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sierrale8ne · 11 days ago

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40 DAY AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER FIVE

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @ohbueckers @makethemhoesmad @patscorner @tndaqlifwy @wbbgetsmewetter @xxloveralways14 @authentic-girl03

kalena speakss 🪽! ju and kennedy was threatening my life for this so HERE. take it! 🙄

June 2025 — Atlanta, Georgia

It’s a couple hours after my show. I sat with my back against the counter of whatever bar Julian and a few of his friends dragged me out to.

The concert tonight was something I still haven’t fully processed. Even after having shows all over the country, performing in my hometown just hours ago was unreal.

The energy was indescribable. Loud would be the closest thing to label it. But after the event, a meet and greet, and an outfit change, I find myself under flashing lights and bass booming music.

I’m all by my lonesome at the bar, a lemon drop in my hands as my head slowly bops along with the trap music that fills my ears. Julian is somewhere across the floor with some friends from college, giving me a much needed break from him for the rest of the night.

He’s a different beast when he’s drunk. Not in a bad way, but just very loud or clingy, or touchy and after the long day I had, having his tall sweaty body over mine was only going to make me overstimulated.

I finish my drink and place the glass down on the counter, switching it out for ice cold water. It’s smooth and refreshing down my throat, a contrast to the warm atmosphere I’m seated in.

The sound of another drink hitting the bar grabs my attention, I turn around and the nice bartender in front of me pushes a drink closer to me. She doesn’t speak, only tossing her head to the side. When I look over, there’s a certain blonde delivering a wide smile.

I nod in response before taking a sip of the drink. A Dirty Shirley, of course.

“Good to see you’re alive.” Paige jokes when I approach her. She wears black light wash jeans and a black graphic tee. Her stomach is tight, abs on display, arms tanned and wildly muscular, and it takes everything in me to not gawk over her body.

She pats the stool to her left, signaling me to take a seat beside her. I fix my mini skirt before sitting on the stool, scooting it closer towards her.

“Hey, P.” My voice fits together. It’s a weird feeling. I spent all week thinking about what I would do when I saw her again. Maybe give her a hug, or tell her that I did indeed miss her. But instead, I’m silent. My voice is scratchy and I feel so little under her gaze.

“It’s good to see you, angel.” Paige smiles at me, her fingers tapping along the spine of the beer bottle she drinks from. “See you got my drink.”

“I did.” I responded. “I’m not sure why you like this shit tho’. Too much vodka.” I grimace.

“What?”

“It’s strong as hell!”

“Oh please, I’ve seen you take casa straight.” She points out with a roll of her eyes. I don’t fight the grin that spreads onto my face mid conversation. It was things like this that I think I missed more than her look. The childish bickering that led to belly aching laughter.

I’m about to speak up again, send a playful shot her way that shuts her up, when Julian saunters over. I don’t miss the slight tumble in his walk. He drapes an arm over my shoulder, standing right between Paige and myself as he tells the bartender to close out our tab.

His eyes travel to me first, but when he sees that I’m still attempting to look at Paige, he turns to face her too.

Julian gives her a nod. “You’re uh,” he takes a breath to search his brain cockily, I shoot him an unamused glance. “Paige right? Play for the Sparks?”

“That’s me.” She nods.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. This one doesn’t seem to shut up about you.”

Paige fights a smirk, and the only reason I can tell is because her eyes bounce from Julian, to the floor, then to myself, and then back to Julian. “Oh for real? Could say the same about you, man.”

Just like that their exchange is over. Paige looks away and Julian looks down at me.

“The guys and I are heading to a different club. You comin’?”

I shake my head. “I was jus’ gonna get some food. I’m not really feelin’ it.” I tell him.

He shrugs passively, reaching over me to take his receipt from the bartender. “Sounds good to me.” Julian leans over, kissing my forehead quickly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I can’t even fight the roll of my eyes this time. In the morning is crazy , I think to myself.

“Uh oh. Trouble in Paradise?” Paige asks. Her face is genuine, but her tone of voice makes it obvious to me that she’s prodding. I want to smack that stupidly sexy smirk off her face.

“Shut up.”

“And you cringin’ when he kiss y—”

“Paige. Shut up.”

She does, throwing her hands up in defense. I watch intently as her lips wrap around the spout of the bottle, the way her head tosses back when she takes a swig and how her throat bobs as she swallows. I’m so fucked.

“What are you doing in Atlanta anyways?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Game tomorrow. You comin?”

“You want me to?”

“I mean, I need you there. I went off last time you came.” Paige says. The manner with which she looks at me when we have a conversation is distracting. Her eyes glued on mine, a slight tilt of her head, and the occasional lick or bit of her lips. I’m trying really hard to keep my composure but it’s hard.

What am I even thinking? I have a boyfriend, whom I care for very much.

“You went off the other night in Chicago. Didn’t you have 30 or sum?” My hand fiddles with the straw in my nearly empty Shirley. For someone who thought it wasn’t all that good, I was definitely drowning it.

Paige laughs. “Aneesah and Angel blocked my shot like 5 times that game. And 7 kept picking my pocket.”

“You still played good, no?” I ask with a smile.

“Do you wanna come or not, angel?”

“Okay! I’ll go, I’ll go! I’m just sayin’ you don’t need me there. You’re on a tear this season anyway.” I turn away to fight the blush on my face. She’s such a flirt it’s unbelievable.

“Yeah? You been watching lil old me?”

“Oh fuck off.”

—

The coldness of the seat sent shivers through my spine, my short sleeve top not providing any type of warmth in the establishment. I can only imagine that Maraye’s skirt and tube top combo wasn’t helpful for her either. I toss her my gray zip up from my seat across from her.

After leaving the club, I made my way out to Waffle House, with Maraye obviously. It’s early in the morning, the clock on the wall reads 1:38am.

“Thanks.” She mumbles with a mouth full of hash browns as she takes my jacket.

“Mouth full is crazy.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Y’sure you won’t be cold?” I find it funny, because even as she asks, she’s throwing on the hoodie and zipping it up gratefully. I brush her off, ignoring the very obvious goosebumps on my skin and stabbing into my peanut butter waffle.

We were talking about her shows over the last few weeks. I always found the lifestyle she lived so interesting. Honestly, I thought of it as being much similar to my career, but playing in a court and performing her most vulnerable moments for people is not the same.

“I mean seeing people in the audience cry over the songs I sing is so surreal. Like tonight, I closed with Different Pages, and as soon as the instrumental cut on, I could see girls in the front just start crying and I’m like, they really fuck with me. Y’know?” Her eyes glaze over and I don’t miss it. I wouldn’t even dare tear my eyes away from her right now.

She looks gorgeous. Which is simply unbelievable because her hair is a bit tousled and her eyes dark with exhaustion. Yet, she’s the prettiest girl in the world to me right now.

This entire situation is messy. For a multitude of reasons but the most obvious one being the six-foot-something curly headed boundary that is between us. I know better. I know that all me and Maraye have going for us is a friendship, that when she looks at me it’s just because she looks at all of her friends with that sort of eye contact. Or that when she begs me to come out to Waffle House with her at nearly two in the morning, it’s because we were already hanging out, and not because she wanted to have alone time with me.

I know better.

Even then, all my better judgment is thrown out the window with her. She’s everything. The personality I’ve gotten to know belongs to someone that I so desperately need.

I don’t even care about hurting Julian, oddly enough.

I drink from my glass of water before drawing myself back into conversation, I’d been quiet for a bit too long.

“You’re an amazing performer from what I saw. And the music connects to people. You shouldn’t be surprised.” I complement.

Her face contorts.

“You were at the show tonight? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice raises as she drops her fork on her plate.

“You been ignoring me all week, Raye!” I laugh. I probably should’ve told her that I was coming, but after my calls and texts went unanswered I just stopped trying. “I called you tonight too. Shit when straight to voicemail.”

Maraye frowns at me, looking down at her plate before back up at me. “I’m sorry.” She apologizes, but what follows I don’t even expect. “I’ve been thinking so much about you and ju’ and— regardless, I shouldn’t have cut you out.”

“I missed you.” It falls from my lips before I can even register it.

Maraye smiles that beautiful angelic smile of hers. She presses her elbows to the table, looking over at me with that goddess-like head tilt that turns my brain to mush.

“I missed you too, blondie.”

It’s different. I’ve heard it from her over the phone, or from past girlfriends, old teammates, friends. But the way those three words— I missed you— hit my ears has me falling apart into a puddle of skin and bones in my seat.

Her accent drives me crazy. It wraps her words in a certain comfort and familiarity that I could only ever feel from Maraye. It carries a gentle, melodic lilt that draws me into her, I’m damn near all up in her personal space from how deep she’s drawn me into her without even touching me.

Every simple phrase she says to me sounds like sweet poetry, and suddenly I’m understanding even more why her music makes people so emotional. Because the way she’s talking to me right now is making me feel things I don’t think I’ve ever felt for any girl in my whole life.

It’s fucking terrifying.

—

The end of the night approached much faster than I’d like to admit. Mostly because I had a great time with Paige and it was coming to an end. We made a quick detour to the 7/11 for slushee’s before getting in the uber again. We exited the car pretty quickly, arriving at The Westin Peachtree where we both, coincidentally, were staying at.

Paige walks me all the way to my suite. It’s a little past 3am when I stand outside my door.

I turn around to look up at her. Her hair is pulled out of her face now, a messy bun at the nape of her neck that gives me a perfect view of her clear and tanned skin.

“Thanks for keeping me company tonight.” I told her. My hands travel to the zipper of her hoodie, peeling it from my body. I don’t mean for it to look as sultry as it does, but that’s the message that it gives off because Paige’s eyes follow the whole way down.

“Y-yeah of course. I had a good time wit’ you, Raye.” She speaks. The stutter I pick up on is so slight, barely even there, but it’s enough to make me feel like I’m about to pass out.

I hand her the thick hoodie, thankful for the warmth it brought me for the last few hours.

I find it so crazy that I could have so much fun doing nothing with a person I’ve known for barely even a month. We walked around for what felt like forever, just talking and picking each other’s brains apart. It was a feeling truly like no other.

“So tomorrow right? I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask. My bottom lip finds its way between my teeth as I nibble on it nervously. My stomach practically sits in my ass and I can’t pinpoint why, but suddenly I’m anxious. As hell. And it’s her, she makes me nervous in a way I’ve never experienced before— and I’ve been on stage in stadiums full of thousands of people.

There’s a sort of tension between the two of us. I’m grateful that the hallway is empty, because if people were walking around and saw us they would’ve for sure gotten the wrong idea.

Shockingly, I don’t even know if it would be the wrong idea. Because I want her.

Paige, the blonde woman that has maybe 4 inches over me, the blonde that I find myself looking for in every place I travel to, the blonde who looks at me right now with a different type of look in her eye that I can’t yet figure out. I want her.

“Yeah, angel. Of course.” She nods slowly at my question while taking a step closer to me. Her arms find a home around my waist and it is then when I’m hugging her that I realize it’s my first time feeling her touch all night.

Her body is so warm against me, her neck practically setting my forearms on fire.

She smells like strawberries, which I wouldn’t have expected from just looking at her tonight. I can feel every ridge of her muscles, I spread my palm over the ones on her back and her biceps press into my side from how she hugs me. I don’t pay too much attention to how her hand travels just a bit lower, inches away from the swell of my ass and I know I should push her further. Say that we’re toeing the line, that this is too much to just be a friendly hug, that it feels so damn intimate.

I don’t want to though.

That’s when I know I’m in too deep.

I pull back from her gently, but her hands still remain in their position. I place my hands on her shoulders, looking back into her eyes. The blue reminds me of fresh blueberries, they make me feel like I’m at home. The rims are a bit reddened, expected from how long we’ve been awake. Yet, I could stand like this for hours, just looking at her and those eyes. I swear I see the pupils get just a bit bigger, and I tear my eyes away from Paige before mine do the same.

I can feel that gaze still on me, but when I look back she’s dead set on my lips.

In return I look at hers. They’re a perfect soft pink. Plump and nicely moisturized from the chapstick I caught her using earlier. I wonder what they taste like. If they mimic her strawberry scent or if they taste like the blue raspberry slurpee she downed. They could taste like nothing too, and I wouldn’t mind it.

She’s suddenly pulling away from me with a step back, her arms falling from my hips. Paige clears her throat before digging her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“Tomorrow.” She confirms. “Get some sleep, aight?” The drawl of her voice is addicting, I could spend hours listening to her talk to me just so I could know how different words sound when they fall from her lips.

“Yeah you too, P.” I responded, turning my back to her to unlock the door to my hotel. I hear her footsteps retreating from me so I turn my head back. It was supposed to be brief, I swear it was.

But then she’s looking back at me and I want to last forever.

Just me and Paige looking at each other for as long as the universe allows us to.

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #la sparks #lesbian #my fic #40 days and 40 nights

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