#Snowfall And Dread

[blametheeditor]

Boo! The snow is thawing, but it’s still here. How despicable would it be if a lil tiny Fritz had to walk home through thick snow after his shift?

Take as long as you need, it’s cold outside! Everyone’s bones are sluggish. Headcanons on each character’s reaction or a short check-in is chill. Honestly just wanna make sure you’re surviving <3

Also, watch out for snowballs! I heard there’s a new FazSnowball flying around…

AH!

That would be despicable! It'd be a shame, even...if such a scenario wasn't written

Thank you for the check in!! I am currently surviving, fighting with characters, the usual. I hope you've been doing good and surviving as well <3

It's always a pleasure seeing you mcfries! Especially when you give me something I can sink my teeth it was too good not to make an almost 10,000 fic out of it

Snowfall And Dread

Content Warnings: Cursing. Dehumanization. Treating others as lesser than. Addressing someone as 'thing' and 'pest'. Mentions of death. Mentions of getting lost in a snow storms. Mentions of hypothermia. Mentions of caring for someone who's unconscious.

Follow up fic, nothing but wholesome snowman building and innocent burying of tinies in snow

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“Fritz,” has said teenager pausing from clocking out for the day. Part of him knew he would be caught at the door, and part of him dreaded the possibility of being asked to stay longer. Even though his shift technically ended two hours ago. 

But he would get in trouble if he tried to claim he was already off the clock. So instead of pressing the button, he turns away from the register to properly address his manager, tilting his head back to properly see the giant standing just outside the hallway for employees only. “Yes, Mr. Harrison?” 

The towering business man doesn’t look away from whatever he’s typing on his phone. “Did you double check that the tills were correct?”

“Yes, sir!” 

David Harrison raises an eyebrow, still not so much as glancing away from the screen. “And did you make a list of things I need to order?” 

“I did!” Fritz points above him at the giant register a few feet away. “It’s on the counter!” 

The business man finally looks away from his phone to spot the list in question. The giant then takes a few catastrophic footsteps to grab it, making the teenager take a few steps back out of respect. And maybe from a slight worry about the shoes capable of crushing him like a bug getting too close. 

It’s almost funny how David doesn’t question how the restaurant’s only human employee manages to count money from a register where he could be mistaken as a coin, or how someone so small could write using a pen twice his size. And yet the giant constantly grumbles about Fritz almost always managing to end up underfoot, as well as the fact he’s essentially useless since he can’t complete tasks like cleaning tables or serving food. 

At least the worst thing David can say is just how useless having a human working at a giant only restaurant is. Fritz has yet to be anything but useful, even if it is annoying for everyone to watch where they step. 

Not that David always watches. Fritz honestly can’t tell if the giant actually knows where he’s currently standing as the list being held is asked a question. “We’re already out of party hats?” 

“We’ve got half a box left,” Fritz explains, nervously twisting the strap of his backpack in his hands. “That’s why I put a note saying to order it Friday, so we have enough for next week after the all the parties scheduled for this weekend.” 

At least, he’s pretty sure Lefty wrote that part down for him. Not that he wasn’t part of the process! He doesn’t just ask the animatronics to do his job for him. Ask for help walking to the storage room that would have taken him a whole hour just to get to, yes, but Fritz wouldn’t order someone to check the supplies and make a list. There’s just a possibility Fritz was distracted, either because the pen was used to chase him across the paper, or because one of the other animatronics demanded for his attention. And if he’s distracted, then Lefty takes advantage and ‘accidentally’ forgets about what he’s doing. 

Honestly, Fritz should stop trusting the animatronic bear so much. Not when the last time Lefty forgot they were supposed to go to David’s office and ended up at the prize counter where Fritz was labeled as only being worth 400 tickets. The worst part is even Orville agreed! 

Thankfully Lefty did write the part about ordering the party hats Friday. If he hadn’t, David wouldn’t be typing on his phone instead of lecturing Fritz about wasting precious time, that if he said to do something then it better be done correctly, or else- 

The phone in David’s hand suddenly ringing admittedly makes Fritz jump. He then tenses as his shoulders hitch up in a poor attempt to cover his ears, prepared for the yelling guaranteed to come during the call. One of the many habits the giant refuses to change despite having a human employee who’s eardrums could burst and where a misplaced step could be fatal. 

There’s no stopping a sigh of relief when David immediately turns to walk back toward his office as the phone is answered. Which means his hearing survives another day! And he can clock out without getting in trouble! 

“Mr. Smith?” stops Fritz a second time, his finger hovering over the button to end his shift. 

The teenager pulls his hand away, turning to see Mr. Hippo standing by one of the tables, the animatronic hippopotamus holding a box of crayons. Which means Fritz completely forgot about his promise to help pick out what pictures to have for the coloring station. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did you need help setting up your station?” 

“Oh no, I have it covered,” Mr. Hippo smiles. “I just wanted to ask if you were aware that it’s currently snowing.” 

“Snowing?” comes the immediate chorus of the other three animatronics repeating it together, with Happy’s excited cheer much louder than Orville’s bewildered murmur. 

“Snowing?” Fritz finds himself repeating as well, needing a moment to process what was being said. It doesn’t truly click until he turns to the door to the outside, staring out at the streetlight working hard to keep the darkness away. 

A wide smile spreads across his face at the sight of snowflakes falling past the light. Realizes what snowing means. That his walk home is going to be cold but anything except boring. Maybe he’ll even be lucky and it’ll snow enough to make a snowman! Or he can convince Mike to-! 

Oh, wait, Mike won’t be walking him home. Because there’s no Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica at this location. The giant night guard doesn’t come here for his shift, meaning he won’t be coming in early to help Fritz navigate through the snow. 

Which is fine, Fritz’ll be fine! He’s walked through the snow without a giant to help flatten the path before. It just means less worrying about slipping and more work to trudge through knee high snow. Even though it looks like it won’t stop snowing anytime soon, it shouldn’t get too deep by the time he gets home. 

He just wishes he had a proper snow jacket, but he’ll be fine! “Think Mr. Harrison will let me have the day off tomorrow?” 

Lefty snorts. “And here I thought you finally learned never to give him such credit.” 

“Wish me luck getting here on time!” Fritz waves as he finally clocks out for the day. “See you guys tomorrow!” 

“Mr. Smith!” Happy calls, giving Fritz a good excuse to shut the door after the wind sent a freezing shiver down his spine. “Didn’t Mr. Harrison promise to walk you home if it snowed?” 

Oh, had the business man made a promise like that? No offense, but it doesn’t sound like something David would say. If he had, then it would’ve been something Scott had to forcibly gotten an agreement for. 

Wait, he remembers now! Specifically David’s annoyance and Scott’s anger when the man came to restaurant last month to demand that Fritz wouldn’t walk through the snow alone. Because this is a giant only restaurant, meaning this location is a lot closer to the giant side of town then all the other ones, which means the weather is a bit different. 

Fritz shivers at the memory of having to face the rain shortly after he transferred to this location. Distinctly remembers how much it hurt when a droplet the size of his arm slammed into his back. It only got worse when it made him fall face first onto the sidewalk, ending with him having a decent sized scrape on his cheek. That was one of the few times he agreed to the animatronic’s insistence he didn’t go home, even though he was right about David lecturing him about this being a restaurant not a hotel the next day. 

As for Scott, he was much more upset about the scab that covered half of Fritz’s face. Truthfully, the teenager’s pretty sure James was hired part to make sure Mike doesn’t bleed out, and part to ease Scott’s mind concerning certain teenagers. 

Suddenly, the snow seems a lot more daunting than before. And as Fritz watches it falling, he realizes each flake is at least the size of his hand if not bigger. He can also hear the howling wind as it races past the windows. 

To be honest, he would genuinely be grateful if a giant walked with him, just to make sure he didn’t get buried by snow. Even if they only went as far as needed to get to where the snowflakes are small enough to sit on his finger instead of as big as his head. 

David had promised to walk Fritz home if it was snowing. The business man wouldn’t be too upset if he was asked to follow through on it, would he? 

Except...he would. Fritz can perfectly picture the glare of someone dare interrupting him during an important call. Interrupting him period even if it’s not necessarily ‘important’. Would wave his hand if he listened to Fritz’s request and tell the teenager to figure it out himself. There’s better things for the giant to do then escorting some lowly human home. 

It’s times like these when he regrets agreeing to transfer locations. 

Fritz glances back at the hallway where he can hear David’s yelling despite the office door being closed. Looks outside at the ground slowly being covered by snow. “I-I don’t want to bother him. Besides, it doesn’t look that bad!” 

Happy and Mr. Hippo share a look of concern as Lefty shrugs. “It was certainly a pleasure knowing you.” 

"Lefty!” 

“Orville, even you can agree he won’t last five minutes by himself.” Fritz wilts as the bear turns away, walking back to the stage. “But it is his decision to make. Unless you would like to forcibly keep him here.” 

“As unwise as it would be you walk home alone,” Orville begins. “We wouldn’t keep you here against your will, Mr. Smith.” 

“But we are going to highly suggest you ask Mr. Harrison to walk you home,” Happy adds. 

Fritz does appreciate how considerate the animatronics are to not grab him without permission or to force him to do something he doesn’t want. They’ll take advantage of the fact he’s no bigger than a speck to them to tease him, like taking a very long detour to get to David’s office. But they don’t just pin him down or snatch him off the counter like all of his coworkers do. Or completely avoid picking him up because it feels too weird having someone sitting in your hands. 

He wouldn’t be upset if they did force him to stay, though. Might even prefer it since it’d give him a good excuse why he didn’t go home. Maybe...maybe he can go ask David to walk him at least until the snow is human sized. 

And get berated the entire time. Or get completely ignored and either get left behind or nearly stepped on several times. Get told this is yet another reason why he despises humans, how hard can it be to walk home in the snow? 

…he’ll be fine going home alone. How bad can it really be! Sure the snowflakes are giant, but they’re also really light. Rain is just pure water falling to the ground as fast as it can, but snow gently drifts down unless the wind blows it away. It also doesn’t look like it’s been snowing for long, plus it takes more than thirty minutes for the streets to collect a full inch of snow. He’ll be safely away from giant snowflakes by the time it gets that bad. 

He’ll be fine! 

“I’ll be okay, I promise!” Fritz calls up to the three remaining animatronics, giving as confident of a smile he can manage. “I’ll see you all tomorrow!” 

He’s quick to walk through the door before anyone can say anything else, maybe even get David themselves. Unfortunately, a snowflake lands on his arm not even a second later, immediately soaking through his jacket. It makes his teeth chatter as he’s chilled to the bone, making him want to do nothing more than to walk right back into the restaurant. 

But he can’t. Not unless he wants to get yelled at for wasting David’s time. He’ll take the cold walk home alone in the dark over that any day. 

Fritz wraps his arms around himself tightly as he begins to make his way home. Yelps when snowflake touches the back of his neck, the teenager scrambling to pull the hood of his jacket he completely forgot about over his head. Unfortunately, he only manages to make things worse as the action puts the snow on top of his head, a shiver wracking his body as it melts and leaves him trembling like a leak as the wind only makes him colder. 

He’s only five steps away from the restaurant, not even one step from a giant’s perspective, and he’s already miserable. 

Shaking his head, Fritz continues walking, hunkering down into his jacket to keep himself as warm as possible. Even though he’s freezing, his ears and nose are protected. And hey, the wind might be cold, but it’s blowing from behind to give him a boost forward! 

There absolutely won’t be any stops during this walk, though. Not when there’s no giant around to help him warm up after building a snowman. Normally he doesn’t have to worry about when the snow inevitably soak through his gloves, not when Mike always swept him up once his fingers went numb. It’s completely unfair how the night guard never needs gloves himself, even while holding a deemed ‘Irish Jig popsicle’. 

It’s also unfair how a single step for a giant is twenty steps for a human. If Fritz was a giant, he most likely would already be away from the snowflakes slowly but surely weighing him down. They won’t hurt when he manage to land on his head or back, but they’re a lot heavier than expected. And despite the fact he has barely any body heat compared to giants, each one melts too quickly for him to brush them off in time. 

He’s actually a little concerned with just how soaked his jacket is. The ice cold water had long since melted through the long sleeve underneath, but he doesn’t see an end to the storm anytime soon. No, if anything, it seems to be getting worse. 

Fritz pauses for a moment to look behind him. Stares past the streetlight towering over his head at the faint glow of the restaurant, the glowing letters of Fazbear Entertainment Center too far away to properly read. To be honest, he hasn’t gotten that far down the sidewalk, but he’s gotten far enough away it wouldn’t be worth going back. 

The teenager ducks to keep a snowflake from smacking him the face. The wind is definitely getting a bit stronger, but it’s still blowing against his back if he keeps walking home. Which means he should continue going. Especially now that the sidewalk is slowly but surely getting covered in a thin layer of snow. 

He turns away from the restaurant. Forces himself to put one foot in front of the other, even though he can’t feel his toes. Or his fingers. Or his face. 

It’s fine, he’ll be fine! It takes about, thirty minutes for snow to be an inch deep? He’ll be out of giant weather long before that. And he can even stop by Mike’s location for a bit! Fazbear’s Pizzeria is on the way home, and the night guard is guaranteed to come in early. He would also never say no to Fritz coming inside to warm up before continuing on his journey. 

Actually, maybe he can ask Mike to walk with him. Or just carry him the whole way home. The giant wouldn’t mind, right? He’s never minded before, and maybe he misses the tradition just as much as Fritz does, and- 

His thoughts are cut off as the wind nearly sends him face first into the snow. Fritz quickly pinwheels his arms to stay upright, gasping in pain as the biting cold attacks his fingers. Even though he sees he’s wearing gloves from the streetlight's orange glow, he can’t help but think there’s nothing on his hands to keep them warm. He protectively pulls his arms in close, quickly moving to take another step forward, only to find his foot is stuck. 

Looking down, Fritz trembles at the sight of snow piling up around him. Feels like yet another snowflake landed on his shoulders as a shiver races down his back at the realization he made a severe miscalculation. 

Oh no.

No, it’s fine, he’ll be fine! He’s been walking for a while, so he has to at least be close to where the snowflakes are smaller than the tip of his finger. He’ll get somewhere warm before the snow gets too deep. There’s no need to panic, he’ll be fine, it’ll be fine. 

Even as every single inch of him trembles from the cold, unable to see his breath in the air anymore, a single step forward almost impossible to take. 

He doesn’t notice when he trips before falling into the snow. 

“-and I thought I explicitly told you to-!” 

David cuts himself off mid-sentence as his phone rings once again for the fifth time in a row. Briefly moving the phone away from his ear, he sighs at Scott calling him yet again despite the fact he’s sent every previous call straight to voicemail. Apparently the man can’t take a hint. 

“Please excuse me for one moment,” is all David offers before pausing the rather trivial conversation in order to answer the incessant ringing. “And what is so important you had to call me five times?” 

“Did Fritz get home safely?” comes the most idiotic response he will ever hear. 

It’s times like these where he genuinely regrets making such a fuss over having Fritz transferred to the location he owns. Even he can admit the kid had lived up to the unanimously positive accounts of just how much of an asset he is to have on the team. No one cared to tell him just how annoyingly protective Scott is over the runt. Nor did someone think it would be important to make the words ‘human’ a little bigger to not make David look like an absolute dumbass requesting such a tiny thing to work at a giant only restaurant 

What’s done is done, though, and what’s done is his apparent ‘superior’ abusing the fact David can’t hang up on the man less he gets written up. 

The business man pinches the bridge of his nose. “And this is my problem why?” 

“He’s not answering my calls-“ 

“I wonder why,” David huffs with an eyeroll. 

“-and since it’s snowing I wanted to be absolutely certain he made it home safe,” Scott continues, not even pausing to acknowledge the very not so subtle dig. “So can you please confirm he did?” 

It’s the word ‘snowing’ that pulls David up short, a memory trying to pull at him for attention. He almost ignores it, waves away this entire conversation to say he isn’t Fritz’s mother, where the kid is and what happens to him isn’t his responsibility. 

Except it is. As annoying as it needing to be careful watching where he steps in his own restaurant is, he made that decision. Fought long and hard with Scott to have Fritz work here instead of some rundown building with idiotic managers who have no idea how to use such an employee. 

Snowing, why does that sound so familiar? And why does Scott almost sound like he’s panicked? 

“Give me a moment.” 

Surprisingly, Scott doesn’t make a fuss about not getting an immediate answer, the man eerily quiet as David stands up from his desk to walk to the main room, glancing down to make sure no miniscule figures end up underfoot. 

He sees no sign of Fritz, and a look out the window sends an unexplainable twist to his stomach at the sight of steady snowfall. 

He turns the phone away from his face as he catches Orville’s attention. “Where’s Fritz?” 

Instead of the elephant immediately tattling on Lefty for keeping the kid past clock out time, the animatronic manages to force its permanent smile into a look of worry. “He left thirty minutes ago.” 

“Fuck!” comes a genuinely panicked curse from Scott before David can full process what that means. “I can’t believe you, David!” 

The business man sputters. “What did I do?” 

“You let a human teenager go out into the snow alone!” Scott yells, and David is never admitting he had to hold the phone away from his head or else risk his eardrum bursting. “After you promised you would walk him home!” 

He remembers now. Of Scott standing on the ground next to David’s desk, lecturing the uninterested business man who was contemplating how much trouble he could get into if he put Scott in a jar to shut him up about the difference between weather made for giants vs humans. Distinctly remembers the moment Scott realized he wasn’t being listened to. 

”David, I swear to God. If Fritz ever dies on your watch-”

”Aren’t you being a bit dramatic, Scott?”

”I don’t think you understand just how dangerous it is for him. It’s almost like you want him dead.”

”Okay now you’re being dramatic. I don’t want him dead, I just don’t think something like snow is as dangerous as you’re making it out to be.”

Now that David’s actually looking at the snow, he realizes the snowflakes are easily half of Fritz’s size. Starts to understand why Scott assumes he wants the kid dead. 

“God damn it, David! I trusted you! Now the poor kid’s either frozen or about to be all because you couldn’t be bothered!” 

“In my defense,” David murmurs as he quickly grabs his coat, tucking his phone against his shoulder to pull his gloves on. “He didn’t come to the office to tell me it was snowing.” 

“I texted you,” Scott growls lowly, his voice quivering. “Twice about there being a storm tonight.” 

David remembers the text. Remembers making sure he brought a scarf and gloves with him. He also remembers rolling his eyes when he spotted Fritz’s jacket that was made for anything but the snow. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” David lies as he quickly walks to the front of the restaurant, pointedly ignoring Lefty’s stare promising his death as he unlocks the door. “I’ll text you once I find him.” 

“And call James,” is all Scott says before hanging up the phone. 

David doesn’t bother to give an explanation to the person still waiting on the other line, ending the call as he steps outside. Looks down at the pitiful amount of snow currently covering the sidewalk. Takes a moment to briefly lift his shoe to see the imprint left behind. 

It’s not enough snow to even warrant snow shoes. But considering the fact Fritz doesn’t even stand as tall as his ankle makes it enough to be quite a chore for a human to walk through. He chalks the reason his heart is beating rapidly against his chest to the cold air making it hard to breathe. 

“Fritz!” 

David hesitates to choose a direction to walk. He’s never bothered to ask the kid about his commute to and from work, not when there’s never really been a reason to care. It might’ve come up in a rant the business man didn’t pay attention to, again not having a reason to care unless something infuriating was said, such as Mike’s or Eggs’ name. 

Though there was that one time Fritz mentioned stopping by the location Mike work at, something about it being on the way home. 

It’s not perfect, but it’s the best he’s got, meaning David makes a right as he quickly walks down the sidewalk, watching every step he takes. 

“Fritz!” 

That absolute dumbass. David knows that Fritz got the exact same lecture about the weather from Scott. He remembers the kid getting two lectures, one concerning the rain and how he could literally get swept into a drain if he’s not careful. Fritz will stay the night at the restaurant if it rains, but he won’t stay when it snows, or at least ask the giant tasked with keeping him safe to walk him home? 

Contrary to belief, David doesn’t want the kid dead. Scott’s a different story, but despite it being annoying needing to check under his feet before so much as standing up, the giant still checks. Comments about how he wishes someone steps on Scott or a kid turns the man into an action figure to take home and keep forever, but it won’t be his shoe or his hand putting the tiny thing in the lost and found bin. 

“Fritz!” 

Once he finds Fritz, he’s not letting the kid out of his sight for a week. Seriously, what kind of idiot walks into a snowstorm where the snow is bigger than them? Not to give Eggs any credit but even that thing would be smart enough not to walk through it alone. Honestly how has Fritz even survived this long? 

A shiver runs down David’s spine as his search continues to come up empty. He’s seen firsthand just how fast humans walk despite only being two inches tall, but Fritz couldn’t have gotten too far even with a thirty minute head start. There should at least be some sign he’s going the right way, like microscopic footsteps in the snow or a lopsided snowman sitting under a streetlamp. Unless doesn’t take the sidewalk and uses some offroad trail through the trees. But even Fritz would know that’s a stupid idea. 

“Fritz!” 

He’s beginning to grow a little worried. Despite there being snow on the ground, it’s not enough to make a loud crunch whenever he steps, meaning he should at least be able to hear a soft yell to acknowledge the kid’s name being called. That’s if Fritz can yell, though, and if David picked the right direction to walk. 

There’s also the possibility David did go the right way but he passed the kid. He hasn’t looked up from the ground once, but with the snow blowing all around him and it being pitch dark between the streetlamps, it’s possible he might’ve accidentally missed a misshapen lump in the snow. The wind might’ve covered a quiet yell as David walked right past the buried form. 

Fuck. “Fri-!” 

His yell is silenced at the sight of something red sitting in the snow under the next streetlamp. Keeping himself from running toward it, David carefully checks where he’s stepping, making sure he’s not ignoring anything else that might be buried. Finally, he reaches the circle of light, kneeling down to get a better look. 

“Fritz,” David breathes, staring at the sight of the kid curled up in a tight ball, half buried in snow and not even twitching at the sound of his name. 

That’s far from a good sign. But first things first, Fritz needs to be taken away from the snow. Which would have been infinitely easier if the human was standing and walking on his own, but he’s not, meaning David has to pick him up. 

Pick up an unconscious figure smaller than his finger when he can’t remember the last time he held a human. 

It’s not that David’s afraid of holding them. It’s more so the principle he has absolutely no idea where they’ve been, and he certainly doesn’t want someone walking over his hand when they just trampled through the mud, or through soda that was split on the floor. 

To be honest, Fritz is most likely covered in twenty different species of germs considering the kid works in a children’s restaurant and walks across counters that have God knows what covering them, but that’s not what has him hesitating. It’s the fact Fritz looks so small, like he’ll break at any moment if he’s so much as breathed on. 

David takes a deep breath. Leans down as he reaches a hand out to carefully try and brush the snow off the kid’s back. Sighs in relief when there’s no scream of pain from a rib being broken. 

Honestly, how hard can it be to pick up a human? Mike does it all the time, and if that can handle not snapping Fritz in two, then so can David. 

Steeling himself, the business man slowly scoops his fingers into the snow. It’s almost pathetic just how small the pile is, yet it was enough to completely cover the kid if the wind was blowing just a little harder, meaning it’s also enough for David to slide his hand underneath Fritz before lifting his hand. 

Great, he picked the kid up without crushing him. Now what does he do? 

Well, it’d be a good idea to see if Fritz is even alive. 

David freezes at the realization he can’t say for certain the kid is breathing. Even as he holds the absolutely miniscule thing, he can’t see or feel a single shiver, and his gloves make it impossible to tell if there’s a heartbeat. 

Ignoring his own pounding heart, he’s quick to take a glove off before delicately placing a finger over Fritz’s chest. David nearly jumps as the kid almost immediately latches onto him, curling around the thumb longer than he is tall like his life depends on it. Though in Fritz’s defense, it does. 

David’s relief is covered by anger at getting jump scared. “You dumbass, why didn’t you tell me you were awake!” 

There’s no response, not even a twitch saying his words were heard. His thumb is simply hugged tighter, a pitiful heartbeat beating against his fingerprint to prove the kid is alive. He’s also freezing, a shiver running up David’s arm as it becomes clear a living ice cube has claimed his finger. 

But at least the kid’s alive. 

With both hands occupied, it takes David a moment to try and brush as much snow off of Fritz as possible. And despite the fact the kid is so cold it hurts to touch, the business man doesn’t have the heart to pull his finger away, which means he carefully moves the literal icicle into his ungloved hand, hissing in pain once the transaction is complete. 

Hoping to keep his fingers from going numb, David unbuttons his coat so he can tuck his occupied hand against his chest, surrounding the kid and his hand in warmth. 

David isn’t confident this is what he should be doing after finding someone nearly frozen in the snow. But what matters is he found Fritz, the kid is alive, and he’s no longer in the cold, slowly warming up. It might not be perfect, but it’s enough for now. 

Carefully standing up, David shoves his extra glove into his coat pocket before grabbing his phone as he starts walking. It takes him a solid five minutes just to send a single text to Scott saying Fritz is fine with only one hand free, and the other making him paranoid Fritz’s heart skipped a beat and focusing on the kid instead. At least it only takes a few seconds to pull up James’ number to call. 

“You found him?” 

“I take it Scott already told you,” David growls. 

“He did,” and at least the doctor respects him enough not to give an ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ act. “Is Fritz okay?” 

“The runt’s fine, his heart’s still beating.” The business man glances down at the figure still hugging his finger as they pass under a streetlamp. “I’ve got him in my hand inside my coat so he’s out of the wind.” 

“Good. You will need to keep holding him until his temperature’s back to normal.” 

David gives a flat look to the darkness. “And how long is that going to take?” 

“As long as it needs to,” James replies evenly. “He’ll get warmer faster if he’s wearing dry clothes and drinking something warm and sweet.” 

David bristles. “And how am I supposed to make him hot chocolate with one hand?” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

"Don’t patronize me.” 

“Not patronizing you,” James smiles he can hear the smug smile. “I’ve seen you make coffee and text at the same time. But as long as Fritz is awake, you can set him down for a moment, just not for too long.” 

“Fine.” 

“You did a good job finding him, David,” brings the business man up short from the sincerity. “If you need any help just give me a call, but I know he’s in good hands.” 

David hangs up before James can decide now would be the best time to chew him out for letting this happen and calling about what do if the kid stops breathing necessary. Scott’s content to just text that they’ll be talking about it later, but for now he’s being left alone with the assumption he’ll be busy making sure Fritz doesn’t die or end up with a cold. 

He doesn’t know how long it took him to get to his house. The only thing he does know is his ears and nose have gone completely numb, Fritz is still alive, and he wants nothing more than a cup of coffee. 

Unfortunately it’s a chore to simply get through the front door. Reaching around to his opposite coat pocket to find his keys, fumbling to circle through the ring with one hand until he can jam the right key into the lock. And then there’s taking his coat off, something that’s meant to be a simple task turned into a multistep process of taking his arm out of one sleeve, removing his other glove, moving Fritz blissfully unaware of the problems he’s causing to the other hand only after bribing the sleeping figure with another thumb to latch onto, until finally the coat can be put on the rack. 

David can’t help but pause a moment to glare down at something so small and yet it causes him so much trouble. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Scott put in an emergency request to transfer Fritz to another location, one where he won’t freeze death while walking home. The man will also hold this over David’s head for as long as they work together, constantly bringing up the fact the so called ‘superiority’ giants have over humans means letting someone almost die under their watch. 

Again, in David’s defense, Fritz should’ve come to him before walking home alone. The business man will take some responsibility, but it wouldn’t have happened if some dumbass of a teenager didn’t think they could survive snow where an inch deep is over a foot to them. 

He’ll berate Fritz once the kid’s awake. For now he needs coffee and to check if he has ingredients for hot chocolate. 

David finds himself flexing his hand as he walks to his kitchen, trying to warm it up after holding a sentient ice cube for so long, glad his finger could get a break before it got too numb. Of course that means his other hand is currently in agony, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. 

After setting his coffee machine up and pressing the button to give him the largest cup possible, David stands by the counter, watching the steam rise up from the hot drink. Finds himself looking down at his occupied hand as Fritz seems to twitch in his sleep. 

Under his bright kitchen lights without having to worry about the wind and the snow, David’s hit once again with just how small Fritz looks. Curled up in a ball, hugging a finger that could easily smother him, lying in a palm like it’s the most comfortable bed imaginable. The best part is the thumb being curled around is almost twice Fritz’s size. 

All of his fingers are taller than the kid. His hand just seems to swallow Fritz whole. He won’t say it’s adorable, but he’ll definitely say it’s entertaining. 

It’s also entertaining just watching something that small exist. It’s weird being able to feel the soft heartbeat against his thumb and watch as the tiny chest lifts up and down for every breath. He can’t feel Fritz shaking in his hand, but he can definitely see a distinct shiver. 

...hold on. 

David brings his hand closer to his face, staring at what is definitely a shiver. Which can’t be a good thing, not when they’re inside a house where the heater is currently running while being held by a giant. 

D- Is shivering bad?

J- Was he shivering before?

David blinks at James’ text. Looks back at Fritz who he swears have shivers that are getting stronger. 

D- I don’t think so.

J- Then it’s a good thing. It’s better for him to shiver then to not be if he’s still cold

Well the kid is definitely still cold. David’s been holding him for at least half an hour, and yet it doesn’t seem like he’s any warmer than before. But if James says it’s a good thing then they won’t go to the hospital just yet. And if James is wrong, then David can tell Scott he trusted the doctor to know what he’s talking about. 

Tucking his phone away, the coffee machine beeps to remind him there’s a cup waiting. Snagging the mug, David moves to walk to his office, intent on finishing what he was working on at the restaurant. Fritz might think that eight o’clock is a little late for leaving when the building closes at six and everyone else is home by seven, but the business man has rarely left for home before ten. 

The business man hesitates at the hallway. Looks down at the human he’s holding at the reminder he can’t exactly put Fritz down, at least not until the kid’s awake, meaning he would have to place orders and update spreadsheets with one hand. 

Just another thing to add to the list of grievances. The things he does for the ungrateful pest. 

Sighing, David turns to the living room, carefully sitting down on his couch as to not jostle Fritz too much. Can’t help a glare as he turns on the TV, finding a random movie that’s already halfway over. It didn’t matter what he watched, the only thing he wanted to do was work, not listen to amateur actors reading a script that never should’ve made it past a rough draft. 

He could call James and demand the doctor take care of Fritz himself. It’s David’s mess, but it’s a bit careless to leave someone who most likely has hypothermia in the care of anyone who isn’t a certified health professional. Isn’t it more important that Fritz wakes up then teaching David a lesson? 

Despite the clear right answer, he doesn’t pick up his phone, only glares at the TV and occasionally rolls his eyes at the tenth cheesy one liner in a row. Keeps an eye on Fritz as the kid starts to shiver enough for David to notice. Enough that his hand starts to ache from holding an ice cube that never melts and never dethaws. 

Placing his mug down, David begins to tedious process of somehow getting Fritz to latch onto his other hand. Instead of needing to all but pry the kid away, he’s surprised when the offered thumb is immediately grabbed, almost as if drawn to it and going so far as trying to climb into the hand himself. 

David raises an eyebrow as he nudges the shivering figure. “Are you just pretending to sleep?” 

There’s no response, not even a guilty wince for getting caught. Nothing but the kid desperately trying to absorb all the precious heat David only just managed to get for himself. 

Wait. 

Glancing at his coffee mug, David carefully transfers Fritz to the hand that’s been subconsciously claimed for himself. Once it’s done, he wraps his numb fingers around the warm mug, able to actually feel the cold melting away. After a moment, he then sets it next to Fritz, the kid flopping over without hesitation to snag the thumb he only just got feeling back in. 

It’s not adorable, but this is certainly much more entertaining then whatever is on the TV. 

David doesn’t try to hide the smirk on his face as he continues to play the game of chasing warmth with Fritz. It is thoroughly amusing to watch the tiny limbs that could easily be pinned down or pulled away move on their own volition simply because one hand is warmer than the other. It’s almost like having a living magnet. 

D- Is it bad if he moves around too much?

J- Define ‘too much’

D- Aren’t you the doctor?

J- If he’s moving around on his own volition, it’s a good sign 

J- If you are the cause of him moving ‘too much’, I suggest limiting such movement

David looks down at the human in his care. Decides James knows absolutely nothing about what he’s talking about. He does length the time between each switch, however, only because he doesn’t know how much longer his hands can take holding an icicle doing a terrible job of getting warmer despite all his efforts. 

Actually, should he be worried? It has been ten full minutes since they’ve been at his house, and Fritz seems to be just as cold as before. He can’t exactly give the kid something warm to drink if he’s not awake, but being inside a heated house while being held by a giant should at least be helping. 

David takes a moment to hold Fritz closer to his face, eyes narrowing as he looks the kid over. Hesitates when he realized the kid’s jacket is completely drenched, and apparently he’s been wearing a backpack this entire time. 

No one’s allowed to blame him for missing that. The kid’s tiny, and again he’s not an expert of taking care of someone with hypothermia. It’s also not his fault for completely forgetting what exactly James told him on the phone. 

David stares for a moment at the microscopic backpack straps around Fritz’s shoulders. Scowls at the jacket zipper he can’t even see. 

Wrapping his hand around his mug, the business man coaxes the tiny thing to let go of his thumb before delicately pinning down the arms smaller than toothpicks. 

...never mind, he’s cutting the straps and jacket off. 

When Fritz wakes up, it's to the smell of coffee and warmth. 

At first he’s confused, not able to remember falling asleep. The last thing he does remember is trying to clock out on time, only for David to ask him to check inventory. And then Lefty helping him, and someone saying it was snowing, and- 

Oh! That’s right! He was walking home in the snow, and then he got really, really cold. 

Opening his eyes, Fritz finds himself lying in a dark cave. A very familiar one where the ground moves up and down, and a fingerprint bigger than his head sits close by. 

He sighs in relief at the realization he must’ve made it to Fazbear’s Pizzeria. Or he was at least close enough for Mike to find him on the way to work. Hopefully he was at least awake when the night guard first found him and didn’t make the giant panic too badly. Well, it’s impossible to make Mike panic, worry might be a better word. 

Despite being surrounded by warmth, there’s no stopping a very sudden and almost violent shiver from wracking his body, making Fritz curl up tightly to try and keep what little body heat he has. He no longer feels like he’s frozen, but he feels sore, and tired. Wants to do nothing more then go back to sleep. Wishes he wasn’t wearing wet clothes that are cold to the touch. 

Suddenly, the hand above him lifts away, making Fritz yelp as he tries to shield his eyes from the bright light. 

“Are you finally awake?” 

Fritz goes so still he stops breathing. Because the voice booming around him isn’t Mike’s. 

Trembling, the teenager slowly lifts his head, blinking rapidly against the light to try and see his surroundings. Feels his heart begin to pound when he doesn’t see the uniform for Fazbear night guard's, and instead spots a handkerchief big enough to act as a blanket sitting in an all too familiar suit pocket only a few feet away. 

Mike wasn’t the one who found him in the snow, David did. 

All Fritz can do is stare up at the giant in terror as the rumbling voice shakes the air. “It’s about time, I was starting to think you weren’t ever going to wake up. But now that you are, we need to make you something warm to drink. Do you have extra clothes in your backpack?” 

“Y-Yes, sir,” Fritz quickly responds, turning to grab the mentioned backpack only to realize it’s nowhere to be seen. 

“I had to cut the straps to get it off your back,” sends a shiver down the teenager’s spine. Before he can ask how or why, a hand cups around him right before David sits up. 

Fritz can’t tell what’s shivers from being cold or shivers from fear as he tumbles into the waiting palm. He doesn’t try to say or do anything except curl into a protective ball as the giant then stands up, leaving his stomach far behind. And then he’s being jostled by heavy footsteps as he’s carried somewhere. 

Please don’t drop me, please don’t crush me.

Suddenly the giant stops, and Fritz barely holds back a shriek of fear as something nudges him. “Will you freeze to death if I leave you alone for five minutes while you change?” 

The shiver wracking his body is one from the cold at the thought of being anywhere except near a giant’s body heat. But Fritz doesn’t dare do anything except shake his head, trembling as he meets David’s unimpressed stare. “No, s-s-s-sir.” 

The moment the hand is set down, Fritz scrambles off the warm palm, almost immediately regretting it as his entire body starts to shake from the cold. He doesn’t say anything, though, just wordlessly watches as his backpack is dropped in front of him. 

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” the giant says, walking away before receiving a response. 

Fritz doesn’t hesitate to start digging through his backpack, though it takes a moment for his numb fingers to cooperate in grabbing the zipper. By the time he unzips it, his teeth are chattering and he’s already exhausted. There’s no stopping a relieved sigh when he grabs the clothes he wore to school though, ones that managed to stay dry despite his entire bag being soaked through. 

Once his Fazbear uniform is stuffed into his backpack, Fritz immediately curls into a ball as he hugs his knees, already feeling so much better than before. His hands and feet are still numb, and there’s no keeping his shivers at bay, but it’ll be better once David comes back. 

The thought of the business man has the teenager tensing at the reminder just who found him in the snow. Not that he isn’t ungrateful! There won’t be a single day where Fritz won’t thank David for saving him. 

But he knows what’s coming. He’s surprised David’s held back this long before lecturing Fritz about how stupid it was to walk home alone. About the trouble he’s caused, that it’s his fault the business man has to listen to Scott’s yelling, that the teenager’s fired and good luck getting hired at any of the other locations because who’s going to want to be responsible for some useless human who can’t even walk through the snow- 

“You didn’t freeze on me again, did you?” 

Fritz jolts at David’s words, scrambling to his feet as he shakes his head. “No, sir.” 

A hand isn’t offered, the business man simply watching him with an unimpressed look. “That’s what you wear to school?” 

The genuine terror Fritz felt at the thought he won’t be held anymore is replaced by uncertainty as he looks down at his clothes. They’re definitely not a full piece suit or a button up with slacks, but he didn’t think wearing baggy pants with a colorful t-shirt over a black long sleeve wasn’t the worse thing possible. “Um, sometimes?” 

“And I thought Scott’s wardrobe was bad,” David murmurs. 

A hand is finally offered, and Fritz runs to the warmth radiating off the giant. Can’t help himself from curling in the center of the palm his numb limbs slowly start to dethaw. Even though David must be furious, he appreciates the giant willing to push aside his anger enough to help Fritz stay warm. At least until he’s no longer at risk of hypothermia. 

As the giant begins walking, Fritz takes a peak at his surroundings. Feels the blood drain from his face at the sight of an elegant house surrounding him. Can’t seem to swallow the lump in his throat at the realization he’s inside David’s home. 

Getting buried in the snow would be better than whatever the giant has planned for him. 

“You’re supposed to drink something warm and sweet,” David rumbles, making Fritz flinch from the borderline annoyance in the business man’s tone. “However, I don’t have any human sized dishes or utensils.” 

The teenager’s heartbeat skyrockets as he’s then stared at with of impatience, one that is all too familiar and means that this is Fritz’s problem. And if his problem, then he needs to fix it. 

“Do you, uh, m-m-may I borrow a piece of aluminum foil?” Fritz asks as quietly as possible while still being loud enough for the giant to hear. Despite having made the request after being told something was made specifically for him, he’s still surprised when David immediately opens a drawer before passing over a piece as big as his arm. 

“You better not waste it.” 

The teenager quickly nods his head in agreement, his hands trembling as he begins to bend the foil into the vague shape of a cup. At least he tries to. He’s never actually done something like this before and he hadn’t realized just how hard it is to bend when made for a giant. 

In the end, Fritz beams as he somehow manages to make a seemingly functional mug. There’s even a small handle! A misshapen one, but it works! 

Even David seems impressed as the foil mug is presented. “I take it you've done this before.” 

“I actually just read about it in a book,” Fritz admits. “It’s about humans living in a world made just for giants, but apparently they use aluminum foil for almost everything, and I’ve always wanted to try it-!” 

He cuts himself off when David simply stares at him with a silent question of ‘are you done yet’. He shuts his mouth with an audible click, offering his mug for the giant to take. Silently stares down at his hands until an impatient throat clearing has him look up to see the mug being offered back, this time filled with something that smells distinctly like chocolate. 

Fritz quickly accepts it, protectively pulling the warm drink closer. “Th-Thank you.” 

“You were an absolute dumbass tonight,” David growls overhead. “What the hell were you thinking? I know for a fact Scott had discussed that under no circumstances were you to go home alone if it’s actively raining or snowing.” 

Scott had. Even reassured Fritz that if David was to refuse to walk him, he was to call the older man who would in turn make sure the giant keeps his promise. Except that would only make things worse. A reluctant David is better than a furious David that Fritz dared to tattle on him to Scott. 

Fritz only nods his head in agreement to show he’s listening, that he also agrees. He would’ve taken getting berated the entire walk over landing himself in David’s literal hands to be punished however the giant sees fit. 

“From now on until the end of winter, I will be walking you home every night.” 

...wait, what? 

David rolls his eyes at Fritz’s shock. “I can’t have my only competent employee getting buried in the snow. And Scott has another thing coming if he thinks he’ll be transferring you back to that shithole of a so called restaurant.” 

He’s, he’s not being fired? Scott isn’t banning him from working at any Fazbear location? 

“Scott and I will find a punishment we fell is fit for pulling such a reckless stunt,” has him flinching as the giant walks out of the kitchen and into the most lavish living room Fritz will ever see in his entire life. “But that’s something we will discuss at a later date. Until then, we’re going to make sure you don’t freeze to death.” 

A shiver shakes his entire body as if to prove that despite how warm he feels, there’s still barely any feeling in his limbs, and he’s pretty sure that if he checked the mirror his lips would look blue. But even as David sits down on the couch, turning until he’s lying with his chest at an angle, the hand he’s sitting on doesn’t try to deposit him somewhere he can’t bother the giant. Isn’t left downstairs in a pile of blankets while the business man goes upstairs to sleep in a bed that’s just as ornate as the rest of the furniture. 

Fritz is gently set down next to David’s pocket, the hand that carried him settling down close by. 

“You aren’t going to put me in a jar?” 

He nearly slaps a hand over his mouth. But even as David’s mouth twists into a cruel smirk, the business man makes no motion to stand back up. “I’ll suggest it to Scott.” 

That does nothing to calm Fritz’s terror over what’s going to happen to him regarding a punishment. If anything it makes him absolutely terrified thinking about what David might do in the future if the business man randomly decides that even if Scott didn’t agree to put him in a jar this time, then what’s stopping him from doing it at some point. 

But Fritz doesn’t hesitate to move closer to the hand that automatically cups over his head, careful not to spill any of his drink as he lies down, taking a deep, long breath before sighing in relief as he’s completely surrounded by warmth. 

Because even though David constantly calls him a pest, the business man went looking for him in the snow. Took him home and kept him warm. Cared about him enough to go through all that trouble just to make sure he was safe. He trusts the giant won’t do anything to hurt him, not tonight or any other night. 

Fritz is almost asleep when he sneezes. 

“You better not have a cold.” 

[prismatica-the-strange]

Pictures in order under the cut

[ceilidho]

prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

-

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started. 

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you. 

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable. 

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town. 

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles. 

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay. 

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you. 

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in. 

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it. 

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong? 

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.” 

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way. 

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history. 

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there. 

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck. 

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed. 

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side. 

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow. 

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you. 

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as the youngest daughter of alicent hightower, you are wed to the young wolf, cregan stark. what many believe to be a union of strife, such a notion is proven wrong very quickly.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), arranged marriage, reader is a targtower with pale hair & lilac eyes, skin color unspecified, first time sex (for reader), loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), massive breeding kink, all stark men have a breeding gene, oral sex / cunnilingus (fem!rec), face-sitting, biting/marking, making out, lots of touching, missionary position, talk of having a child, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: There’s been a ton of Cregan requests, so I hope that this satisfies a lot of people until I post another! ❤️ Thank you all so much for the incredible requests and support of my work, it means the world to me and I am extremely grateful for all of it. See you guys soon!

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 — 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐜𝐞.

The North was often regarded as a harsh and unyielding environment, with bitter, stinging winds and snowfalls that could bury men alive beneath their might. Such tales were often told to scare children or dissuade them from leaving the roost.

It was untamed and savage, according to your mother — she who vehemently fought against your betrothal to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. A marriage steeped in wariness and discord, you had been pleasantly surprised by your husband’s kindness and warm stoicism.

Piety was a rarity in the bleak, bloodsoaked world you lived within — innocence was a quality as uncommon as a diamond in the rough. When Cregan had been offered such a sacred proposal during the last days of King Viserys I, he nearly scoffed at it.

A Targaryen, a Hightower — he almost imagined that the both of you would not do well together, and that it would become a sour union, made only to please families and uphold duty. His advisors, old men with embittered grudges against the South, cautioned him away from it, imploring him to wed a girl from the Vale or the Reach.

When Cregan Stark met you, clad in pale shades of sage and ivory, with lilac hues and a smile that could melt even the toughest of ice, perhaps it would not be a dreadful marriage after all.

Even with a dragon at your heel, there was something positively resplendent about you — Cregan could feel it within his marrow, a feeling seldom felt by any man locked in an arranged betrothal.

It was your innocuous, tenderhearted nature that beguiled him, as if you unconsciously drew him in with your honey. Your very first meeting happened to be to seal the marriage pact itself before you would be shipped away to the North, to be his wife and the new Lady Stark.

Cregan rarely found himself charmed by anyone, yet you possessed an inner beauty that flourished in his presence. You were your own flame, burning through his hardened exterior. He did not mistake your docile nature for weakness — you possessed a dragon, where he did not.

You were rather taken with him, perplexed by his outward ruggedness and gruff accent, the way in which he carried himself, massive physique clad in the thick trappings of a wolf. He was a mountain of a man, yet he handled you as if you were some precious jewel, sacred and worthy of admiration.

Alicent begrudgingly watched as you, her youngest daughter, untainted by her own fractured morality, was sent away to the North in the hands of some brute. For the good of the Realm, Viserys had told her, but it cut deeper knowing that it was you, her beloved flesh and blood.

Yet, as you found yourself beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree in the Godswood, hands bound with Cregan’s own, you forgot about your mother’s bitterness entirely — and you were happy.

The first kiss was one that would make a permanent residence within your memory for lifetimes to come. He had cradled your face, towering over you as if he were a solemn statue, but even you could see the softening within his visage.

King’s Landing was suffocating, more often than not. The animosity that festered between your family smothered you, crushing you beneath its sharp heel. You were no longer surrounded by bitterness and resentment, and instead, cloaked by the protection and warmth of your new husband.

The feast held in honor of your blossoming union was one of merriment, the mood lighthearted and blissful. You sat beside your husband, stomach tumbling with a coil of nerves. Everyone seemed foreign to you, unfamiliar faces with their northern attitudes and odd indifference.

You could not fault anyone for having their suspicions, given your heritage. Being a Targaryen, pale-headed and violet-eyed, bringing your dragon from the South — it must’ve been jarring. Growing into your station as the Lady of Winterfell would be a long and arduous process, but you hoped that Cregan would show you the way.

Oblivious to your Lord-Husband’s smoldering stare, you politely consumed bites of the sugar-dusted fruit cobbler, admiring the vibrant aura within the room. Your wedding gowns were as pure as the driven snow, accented with silver embroidery and lined with pale fleece to keep you warm, given the cold gnaw of winter.

If it weren’t for Cregan’s steadfastness in providing you with a new wardrobe fit for winter, the icy chill would’ve consumed your extremities from the inside-out.

Leaning over within his seat, Cregan reached for your hand, stormy-gray hues churning with a kindness reserved for you. “How are you faring, wife?” He inquired, voice a low rumble; a soothing timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

“Very well,” Warmth crawled along your flesh when he referred to you as wife so openly and affectionately. You weren’t accustomed to having someone be so attentive to you, hang upon your every word, treat you with such courteousness. “This is so wonderful. I must thank you and your Keep, for your kindness.”

If you were anyone else, Cregan might’ve treated you with a stalwart cordiality found in most formalities, but you were not anyone else. You were good, sweet, and kindhearted — above all, you were quite innocent. He would’ve been telling himself a bold lie if he hadn’t thought about taking you to bed several times already.

The colors of the North suited you — his home suited you. Not many men of his position were so lucky when it came to betrothals, but he felt as if he was beyond fortunate to have married you. Cregan only hoped to be a good husband to you and to your future children, heirs to Winterfell, with the blood of the dragon and the wolf in their veins.

He had forbidden a bedding ceremony, content to guide you to your chambers once the festivities ceased, instead. Cregan enjoyed observing you and your demure mannerisms, from the way you made small talk with those around you, complimenting the choice of food and drink. It warmed his heart to know that his wife was an amiable soul.

“You needn’t worry, Princess. It is my duty as your husband to show you a bit of Northern hospitality.” Cregan mused, a ghost of a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He rarely showed any emotion, let alone treating his subjects with a smile given his hardiness, but he did show a sliver of it for you. He didn’t want to scare you away.

With a delighted smile, your hand shyly curled around his, your skin unblemished and soft. Cregan hadn’t touched a woman as silky as you, and it made his blood run hot — an inopportune time, given that it was in the midst of his wedding feast. “Thank you, my Lord.” You weren’t sure if you were permitted to abandon formalities just yet.

Cregan huffed, gaze twinkling with amusement as he let your smaller hand hold his own, digits tenderly caressing over your knuckles. “I would hope that you only call me ‘my Lord’ if you’re angry with me,” His chest rumbled with an affectionate sound. “You aren’t in King’s Landing anymore.”

Embarrassment rippled through you, but before you could correct yourself out of anxiousness, Cregan gingerly squeezed your hand. Instead, it evoked a smile from you, the very same tender expression you’d given him when you were proclaimed as his wife. “I will call you husband when I am pleased with you.” You mused, bright as could be, and so blissfully naive.

Often regarded as a brooding, serious man with little traces of humor, Cregan found himself letting his guard down just enough with you. Of course, to any observer, he still seemed rather stoic, but the brief, fleeting looks he gave you, the threadbare smiles — it suggested otherwise.

As the excitable buzz of the feast began to simmer, Cregan stood from the table, wood scraping across the stone floors of the Great Hall. He stepped away from you, sparing the servants and guardsmen a word before he returned to your side.

“Is there not to be a bedding ceremony?” You whispered, stomach still tight and festering with nervousness. It was something you feared since you last saw Aegon and Helaena be hauled away for such a thing. The concept of it frightened you, twisted and unusual.

With furrowed brows, Cregan shook his head, offering his thick arm out for you to take. “No,” He grunted, noticing the swell of anxiousness etched into your features. “I would never subject you to such a thing, or myself.” He murmured, feeling you take his arm as he led you from the Great Hall.

Relief flooded through you, and you finally relaxed, seemingly appreciative of Cregan’s thoughtfulness in the matter. “Thank you, husband.” You sighed, gripping onto his arm as he led you into a warm corridor and towards a massive spiral of thick, stone steps.

Though, you still had a duty to perform — consummating the marriage, creating an heir. Part of you feared what it all entailed, given that Helaena never seemed pleased with any of it. Would he hurt you? You were uncertain, but you wanted to believe that your new husband would keep you safe.

Cregan welcomed you into your marital chambers, tidied and polished for your stay. Whatever belongings you brought with you, they were situated near a set of fine, wooden chairs circled around a stone table. Everything seemed warm and comely in his quarters, the direwolf aesthetic heavy-handed, the hearth crackling and bursting with ripples of fire.

“If there is something not to your liking, inform me — I will have it rearranged,” Cregan rumbled, following in your footsteps as you neared the open hearth, warming your hands and basking in its glow. He stood close to you, towering over you with his bulk and might. “How are you?” He asked, ensuring your comfort above all else.

There was little need for the hearth when Cregan was near, radiating a natural heat that drew you in. His countenance seemed softer, not nearly as impassive as he’d been before. “I am more than fine, I promise.” You assured him, hands wringing together. “I thought that I would miss home, but I do not. Isn’t that terrible?”

Perplexed, Cregan seemed inclined to listen to your elaboration, chestnut tresses framing his face. “It isn’t a terrible thing, princess. I would imagine that it must be freeing, to be somewhere else. You’ve never left the capital.” He replied, knowing that you were quite sheltered for most of your life.

A soft sigh escaped you, and you tried not to think about it anymore. You didn’t want to sour the mood with talk of home and the past — this was now. “It is liberating,” You confessed, craning to look at him with a semblance of wonder and affection. “I am happy that I’m here with you.” You spoke with genuineness and finality.

It was pleasing to hear you say such a thing, and even better to know that you truly meant it. One thick, burly arm slowly encircled your hips, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest. “Good,” He murmured, expression steely. “That pleases me greatly.”

To know that Cregan valued your happiness was a wonderful feeling — you felt cared for and seen, shrouded within his protectiveness. You imagined that it would be a blissful marriage. “Thank you, Cregan.” His name slipped from your perfect tongue, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sound it made.

A low rumble vibrated through Cregan’s chest as he drew you as close as he could, tracing his calloused digits along the soft curve of your jaw. “You are very beautiful,” He murmured, timbre edged with a delicious husk that made your knees buckle. You shivered, something that he took note of. “Are you cold, wife?”

You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when his lips neared yours. “I am.” A squeak escaped you, followed by a steady exhale. You had been kissed before, but the extent of your experience abruptly stopped there. You imagined that you wouldn’t be cold for much longer.

His lips met yours, the kiss tender yet passionate, deepened by your husband. Cregan found your mouth to be most pleasant, pliant and perfectly soft, yet malleable. You reciprocated his kiss, hands moving to press against his chest.

“Will it be painful?” You whispered, likely in an attempt to soothe your gnawing nervousness. Agony was something that didn’t coexist with pleasure, in your mind. You wanted this moment to be special and sacred, binding yourself to your husband.

Cregan hesitated, gently cupping your face with his rough palm, tenderly stroking along your cheek. “I wouldn’t dare harm you, princess. You have my word.” He assured, and it confirmed his suspicions — you hadn’t been with another before. “It might be painful, but I will be gentle. We don’t have to start tonight.”

Admittedly, it was quite the opposite for you — you wanted to start tonight, but you longed for clarification first, and he gave it to you. You shook your head, hands slipping toward the front of his tunic, as if silently pleading with him to stay. “I want to.” You insisted, looking like the picture of innocence.

As much as he liked you sweet and pious, Cregan had a feeling that it would be somewhat different after this. His gray hues swirled with a heavy desire, dropping towards the delicate curve of your mouth. “May I?” It was all that he needed to ask, and as soon as you nodded, he brought you in for a heated kiss.

Despite his appearance, a stone-faced wall of muscle and Northern strength, he was incredibly gentle with you. He held you against him, never tight enough to cause you discomfort, hands softly kneading into your hips. You kissed him back as best as you could, feverishly hot, butterflies erupting within your stomach.

His beautiful wife — Cregan could not imagine another, now that he had you in his arms. The way you kissed him was innocuous and tender, as if you were also terrified of making a mistake. Your purity, a precious thing indeed, would be tarnished and dissolved after this evening.

The thought of you, round and swollen with his child, was both tantalizing and tempting — well within his grasp. Cregan wondered if they would take after you, pale-headed with lilac hues, or perhaps himself. If the Gods were good, they would be a blend of the both of you, a dragon and a wolf.

You shivered again when your burly husband curled his hand into the back of your wedding gown, fingers slipping between the gaps, feeling inklings of your bare skin beneath. “I’ll keep you warm, wife.” He rumbled, pressing a kiss against your jaw. It wasn’t from the cold, he knew this, but his honeyed words made you flustered.

He dropped his cloak, allowing the thick curtain of fur to land against the floor. He was impossibly broad, as thick as stone, tunic loose yet snug enough to accentuate his brawn. You felt your breath hitch within your throat, swallowing another barrage of nerves.

Cregan’s mouth assailed your neck, hand peeling away the collar of pale fur in order to reach you. Every kiss was passionate, wrought with need, yet maintained that air of gentleness. Roughness was in his nature, but he wouldn’t dare fall into that pit on your wedding night.

You tasted ambrosial, sweet velvet beneath his lips, which peppered themselves wherever they could. He listened to your soft gasps and needy whines, your hands having curled into the coarse material of his tunic. He wanted to show you just how perfect you really were.

Suddenly, your gown felt much too tight and constricting, as if you would drown within it. You alleviated such sensations by loosening the bodice, tugging on the ivory strings. The fur became unraveled as Cregan gently draped the garment over the back of a chair.

Left in the thin, humble trappings of your smallclothes, nothing more than a corset hugging a linen slip, he silently appraised you with the hunger of a wolf. You appeared to be shy, somewhat coy in his presence as he looked you over, large palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“Why do you shy away?” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together, tone one of genuine concern. You were the prettiest creature he’d ever seen — most Targaryens were known for their beauty, but you possessed it both ways, inner and outer, and that only made you more incomparable in his eyes.

Swallowing your nerves, you chewed at the inside of your cheek, hands fidgeting together. “I suppose I worry about what you’ll think,” A sore insecurity, to be sure, but something most young maidens possessed. Cregan’s gray hues softened, one hand stroking along the length of your spine. “That I won’t be suitable.”

A huff escaped him, a threadbare chuckle as he shook his head, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “You worry too much, princess.” That deep, thunderous timbre of his, husky with his Northern accent, shook you right to your core. “You are my wife — and you are perfect.” He assured, kissing along your jaw.

You exhaled, hands reaching for his tunic, wanting to see him without his clothing. There was a rush of warmth that crawled across your flesh, surging through your blood as Cregan pressed endless kisses against your skin. He trailed from jaw to collarbone, hands loosening your corset.

With a brusque tug, your gruff husband tore it from you altogether, tossing the bodice aside. “I will show you how perfect you are.” He rumbled, voice a low, heavy caress near the shell of your ear. You shivered, gaze half-lidded as you tugged insistently at his tunic.

The message was unspoken, but conveyed nonetheless as your mountain of a husband let his hands drop from you, only to tug the coarse, dark linen over his head. He was burly, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his face.

Amusingly enough, Cregan possessed more of a cherubic, youthful face than you expected, yet his nose was slightly crooked from having it broken, faint scars upon his face. His eyes seemed wisened, old beyond his years. He reached for your slip, gathering the material within his hands as he looked to you for consent.

With your confidence rejuvenated, you nodded, breathless and wanton as you assisted him in maneuvering out of your thin smallclothes. The brief lick of chilled air dragged across your bare flesh, causing your nipples to harden, pebbling with the chill.

Fire danced across your physique, tantalizing and gorgeous, beautiful beyond compare. Even Cregan seemed speechless for a beat, throat reverberating with a low grunt as he motioned toward your shared bed.

You half-expected him to pounce on you, grab your hips and stake his claim, but he simply resorted to watching you slide onto the bed, covered in furs of all varieties. The frame rustled slightly, and you laid down, a picture of true perfection. Your crown of pale tresses seemed to stick out amidst the darker pallor of the furs.

Anticipation churned violently within your gut, arousal slick and mounting between your thighs as Cregan stalked closer, removing clothing in the process. You watched with bated breath as he loosened the ties of his breeches, removing them altogether.

It was to be expected — a man of his indomitable stature likely had the assets to accompany it. You nearly choked at the sight of him, terrified that it really would hurt, even if he was gentle. You sucked in a sharp breath, bewildered when he had reclined beside you instead.

“I won’t bite, my Lady.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly patting his lap as you crawled closer. He effortlessly picked you up, letting you straddle his hips as he admired you from below. “Hm.” With a hum of approval, he caressed along your form, stroking from your thigh to your breasts.

It was agonizingly deliberate, made to explore and study instead of acting upon salacious impulses. Cregan observed you closely, palm gently cupping your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple. You gasped, careening into his sensual embrace.

A flurry of desire bubbled within him when you planted your smaller hand atop his, as if encouraging him to knead and grope at his leisure. He seemed pleased, and so did you, a low hum escaping you as he caressed your silky flesh.

He made sure to show that same amount of attention to your unattended breast, slowly kneading into you. Those tempestuous gray hues never tore themselves away from you, boring into you with a searing intensity.

Warm slick coalesced between your thighs, only mounting and growing when he continued to touch you, hand lifting to cup your chin. You absentmindedly leaned into his touch, eyes becoming half-lidded as you rocked forward within his lap.

The sensations you felt were new and exhilarating, goosebumps dancing across your spine, heat pooling between your legs. “May I touch you?” You asked, tone delicate and sweet, a display of your piety and innocence. He quite enjoyed your desire to explore alongside him, and he gave a nod of his head.

“You don’t need to ask, princess.” He soothed, jaw tensing as your soft palms settled against his chest. Cregan’s stormy eyes didn’t leave you, carefully tracing each plane of your curves, the downy texture of your skin, the lilac glint of your eyes.

Your fingertips dragged across his musculature, committing each scar to memory, features becoming hot beneath his incendiary stare. He was your husband now — you imagined that scenarios like these would become commonplace. “You are so handsome,” You whispered incredulously, lips curling into a gentle smile. “Perfect.”

Cregan appeared perplexed, a soft huff escaping him as he trailed his calloused palm across the small of your back. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had called him perfect and meant it — and he knew that you did. He neglected to act, allowing you to explore as much as you pleased.

Awestruck, he watched with silent hunger as you leaned down, lips pressing against his own. A soft grunt escaped Cregan as he caged you in, mouth passionate as it tangled with yours. He enjoyed the feeling of your body snug atop his, your skin resplendent, like velvet against the grating bite of stone.

Dragging a hand from the swell of your hips to the nape of your neck, he gripped the base of your skull, gingerly kneading into your pale tresses. He kissed you again, oozing with desire as he stole every wisp of air from your lungs.

He pulled one leg up into a v-shape, supporting your back to keep you upright atop his lap. You could feel the thick girth of his cock nudge against your backside, causing you to shiver at the foreign sensation. “Do you trust me?” Cregan murmured, roughened fingertips dragging over the pliant flesh of your thigh.

There was an indiscernible look within his eyes, chestnut brows drawing together slightly. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and Cregan settled against the furs, strewn on his back. Those strong hands of his continued to nudge you forward, bringing you from his warm lap to his chest, and then a touch closer.

“What are you …” Uncertain yet filled with exhilaration, you had no idea what Cregan was planning. Your slick cunt neared his mouth, and your Northern paramour did little to slow the process, bumping you forward until you hovered above him. “C—Cregan, C —” Your voice tapered off into a whine.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that immediately made your knees buckle. You used the headboard to brace yourself, mouth tearing open as a strangled gasp escaped you. Part of you feared sitting down entirely, but Cregan coaxed you down, hands digging into your haunches.

Your reaction was beyond worthwhile, body trembling and coiled, hand scrambling to brace yourself as the other fervently dug into his chestnut tresses. You never imagined that such pleasure was even possible, filling you with an excitable ecstasy that sank into your bones.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Even when he rested beneath you, he still seemed indomitable, perhaps a touch intimidating. You didn’t look down, body involuntarily trembling and rocking forward, back beginning to arch. “Gods, a—ah!” You stammered, thighs twitching and quivering as his tongue gently flicked over your clit.

Visibly flustered, you felt so strange and smitten, riding your husband’s face as you would your dragon. It filled your belly with a rousing fire, one bright enough to consume the rest of your body, licking along the length of your spine.

A low rumble emerged from Cregan’s chest, a vibration that rattled you to your core. He wanted you to have your fill, take as much as you could and drown within pleasure. Your maidenhead was still intact, a virtue that he did not treat lightly. He didn’t feel the need to breathe, lapping at your cunt with a wolfish gluttony.

You were undeniably soaked, like a fine stout upon his tongue as he devoured you. Cregan was passionate, each stroke of his tongue ensuring that you felt it all, bliss erupting throughout your stomach.

Chasing after what you imagined to be your release, you happened to peer down for a moment, finding the contented face of your husband, whose face was lodged between your legs. His brows were creased in concentration, tongue prodding against your entrance before languidly flicking back to your clit.

It was only when he pursed his lips around that sensitive clutch of nerves, that you nearly collapsed around him. Even your draconic blood could melt, tempered by the hardened ice of your Northern paramour. You gasped, hips stuttering as your thighs squeezed at either side of his head — fortunately, he didn’t seem to care.

The only thing you wanted was this, forever — your husband’s tongue between your legs, a sanctuary in the North with a potential family, a life in which you could finally find your solace. You continued to squirm and writhe, moaning his praises into the warmth of your chambers.

As you approached your peak, you grappled with Cregan’s tresses, tugging at the root as you rocked forward, again and again. “Cregan,” You moaned, countenance contorting into a look of sheer pleasure, bones crawling with an insatiable heat. “Cregan, Cregan, please!” It was a siren’s song of desire.

He did not stop, but he didn’t change course, either. Instead, he simply continued on, suckling at your clit as he intermingled it with timed laps of his tongue. Your release slammed into you, white-hot and blistering, gnawing away at your stomach as that coil of heat effectively snapped.

A whine emerged from you, one that was nearly breathless as you rocked forward again, legs shaking from ecstasy as you rode out your peak. Cregan, ever the dutiful husband, lapped at your nectar, savoring the taste, the scent of a pleasurable aftermath.

“What —” You had to catch your breath again, attempting to recuperate as you sat back on his chest instead, thick, burly muscle plentiful enough to cushion you. “Where did you learn how to do that?” It was an innocuous question, one so sweetly-spoken that it nearly caused Cregan to chuckle.

He did, however, smile — a rare, sentimental gesture reserved only for you. It was threadbare, and if it weren’t for the nature of your relationship, one might’ve thought him to be rugged and indifferent. “You need only ask, princess, and I will oblige.” His voice was a deep rumble that warmed your insides.

You thoroughly enjoyed the nickname of princess — a term of endearment given your status, but you were a princess no longer. “I am a lady of the North now, aren’t I? A princess no longer,” You proclaimed, skin shimmering with perspiration. “What will you call me, now?” You asked.

“Hm,” Cregan contemplated, pressing a kiss against your leg before he sat up enough to have a good look at you, chin still glistening with your slick. The sight was lewd, enough to make you unbelievably flustered as he grew closer, nearly chest-to-chest with you. “Lady Stark would suffice.” He murmured.

Something amorous burned within you, a smolder that soon turned to ignited sparks. “It would please me greatly.” You hummed, running your hands over his biceps before Cregan gently changed places with you, moving you beneath his bulk, comfortable upon your back.

Soft was a mere understatement — he could feel himself melt. It was not your dragon’s blood or heat that made him crumble, but your heart. He could imagine you as the mother of his children, belly round with his heirs, the Lady of Winterfell, a Hightower no longer.

He settled between your legs, and you gasped when his cock gently glided against your slick core. Cregan knew to temper himself, to be as gentle as he could with it being your wedding night, but his resolve was steadily diminished in your presence. He steeled himself, pressing a string of kisses along your body.

Without thinking, you unconsciously goaded Cregan into a point of near-frenzy. Your hands found the taut, trunk-like muscle of his biceps, visage filled with a sense of awe and adoration. “A child would please me greatly.” You confessed, having no clue what it would do to your husband.

Cregan stopped, digits curling into the thick furs on either side of your head. It took every fiber of his being not to fuck you then and there — and he wouldn’t, it wasn’t right for him to take your maidenhead with such roughness. His fantasy became reality, a visceral, beautiful vision that made him grunt, jaw unnaturally tense.

His rough palm soothingly stroked along your thigh, lust swelling within him like a blizzard, a violent storm of need that transcended all bonds of propriety. “Does Lady Stark want me to put a pup in her belly?” Cregan rumbled, tempestuous hues ignited with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, sending shockwaves right to your core.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, shuddering at the sound of his voice — an edged husk, like the rumbling of thunder before a deluge or the shaking of a mountain. “Yes,” You exhaled, searching his countenance, only to find desire. “I would.”

The Gods were testing him, aiming to see if he would break beneath the pressure, but he refused. Cregan lowered himself over you, lips molding themselves against yours in a hot kiss. Your hands remained poised atop his biceps, barely able to wrap themselves around the thick, corded muscle.

He wasn’t much of a talker, and it quickly dwindled into deep grunts and heavier sighs as he aligned his cock with your entrance. He made sure to part your legs, keeping them spread as he began to push inside of you. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, startled at the twinge of pain, the discomfort of it all.

Cregan despised the mere thought of causing you harm, and even he was willing to end it all then and there. “We don’t have to continue, beloved.” He rumbled, pressing a soothing string of kisses along your face. The endearing nickname made you preen, nails digging into his arms.

“No, I — I’m well enough,” You breathed, insistent on continuing. Cregan deliberated, but when you let out a low whine, he obeyed your command. “Gods, I need you, Cregan.” Pitched with a wanton resonance, you urged him to keep going.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by agonizing inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

You were never fully warned of the pain, the discomfort that accompanied pleasure. It was always sold as some fantasy, particularly for men — nights of heavenly passion resulting in bliss. For you, it was simply a marital duty to provide your husband with an heir, but this transcended that. Passion and affection sparked between the both of you, and it felt right.

As Cregan finally bottomed out inside of you, he allowed you time to fully adjust, rocking into you at a lackadaisical pace. He continued to shower you in kisses, wherever his lips could reach, giving particular affection to the crook of your neck.

Whatever discontent you felt, you hastily pushed it aside, tossing it into the recesses of your mind. Instead, you focused on him — on how incredible he made you feel, the warmth you experienced in his presence. One of your hands slipped to thread within his chestnut tresses, mouth agape.

You took him so well — better than expected, and it filled him with a sense of pride and ardor. Cregan pressed hungry kisses along your throat, nose buried into the hollow of it, right beneath your jugular. He continued to go slow, afraid of causing you further pain.

Cregan repositioned his hand, leaving one lodged beside your head, the other sinking into your haunch, digits tenderly kneading into your thigh. It was an offer of reassurance, and he watched your countenance shift from discontented to relaxed.

“Move,” The sharpness of your command brought him to heel, and he very nearly smiled — it was there, the ghost of it toying at his lips. Bringing his hips back and then forward, you moaned, knowing that the sting of pain would soon blossom into pleasure. “Please.”

Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, arousal thick between your legs as Cregan began to find his pace, a rhythm that shook you to your core. He was so very gentle, even for a man of his herculean mass and muscle. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he thrusted into you.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each snap of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

Admittedly, his mind was hazy, fueled by desire and the mere thought of you wanting a child — you had asked it of him, demanded, and he was at your mercy. Cregan couldn’t have gotten any luckier with you, the most resplendent woman he’d ever seen.

Imagining you full and round, still as lovely as the day he set his eyes upon you, a mother and a dragon — it was nothing short of true perfection. He chased after it, evident by the growing vigor and passion in each thrust of his hips, cock nearly tearing you into two.

No matter how gentle and careful Cregan was with you, it was to no avail, but you no longer cared. “Cregan,” You moaned, lifting one leg to hitch it around his waist, and that only seemed to further spur him on, allowing him to hit new depths. His throbbing length nearly kissed your womb, filling you to the brim. “Cregan!” You cried.

For a moment, you feared being split in-half by your mountain of a husband, but he slowed enough to let you recuperate, throat reverberating with carnal grunts. The rumbling of his chest, the heat that radiated from him in waves — it was all perfect.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

His thrusts deepened, became passionate and invigorated with love, and each snap of his hips made your head spin with delirium. You were drunk on desire, clinging to him as if you were a drowning maiden, hand splayed against his shoulder.

Whenever he happened to become a touch too vigorous, he felt your nails dig deep into his flesh, leaving behind the reddened marks of your consummation. Cregan was getting close, chest erupting with labored pants as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You moaned, body bending beneath his passion, malleable within his hands. His cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of sloppy, warm kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat in your chambers.

With another brusque thrust of his hips, he settled inside of you, reaching his peak with a subtle groan. His seed filled your cunt in hot ropes, more than enough to take, if the Gods were good. Cregan exhaled, feverishly hot as he began to recuperate, neglecting to remove himself from you for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” Cregan murmured, ensuring your wellbeing first, above all else. A stinging soreness settled into your thighs and your core, but you would survive. He didn’t completely obliterate you, thankfully — you wondered what he would be like, unrestrained.

“Yes,” You smiled, visibly flustered beneath the intensity of his stare. “That was incredible.” Your confession made him huff, likely one of amusement as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. Even you glittered with sweat, but that was to be expected.

You already wanted more — and you nearly asked it of him.

Lascivious fantasies took root within your mind, and the mere idea of him being rough and completely domineering made your cunt throb. You could not do it now, given how exhausted you were, but he had certainly unlocked a new side to you, a side that you were unfamiliar with.

Cregan pulled himself from you, propping your hips up beneath a feathered pillow to ensure that his seed would take. He rested beside you, drawing you into the bulk of his muscled arms, allowing you to rest your head against the expanse of his chest. “You were perfect.” He rumbled, roughened digits stroking along your spine.

It pleased you to know that your husband was satisfied with you, much to your delight. “I am glad,” Relief rippled through you as you inched closer, perfectly slotted against his frame. “So were you.” Your pleasant accolades made him smile, fracturing his stony exterior.

“There will be plenty of time for this, that I can promise you,” Cregan was more concerned with getting to know you, his beautiful lady-wife, Lady Stark. “I would like to start with you.” He murmured, savoring the sensation of your fingers tracing across his abdomen.

You blinked, seemingly surprised by Cregan’s genuine interest in you. It made you happy — perhaps you could have both. Moments of learning and moments like these, where you could indulge in pleasure.

“Would it offend you if I asked you to do both?” You questioned, warmth crawling along your body as Cregan squeezed the swell of your hip, gray hues sparkling with a semblance of mirth.

“It wouldn’t,” Cregan mused, timbre dropping to a lull, a husky octave that seemed to envelop you in its stoicism and warmth. “It pleases me to know that Lady Stark possesses the appetite of a dragon.” His teasing made you squirm, but he simply caressed you and held you closer.

With a coy smile, you lifted your head, pressing your lips against his, asserting your still-lingering desire for your husband. “Not a dragon,” Your tone softened with a sweeter resonance. “A wolf.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal my work and claim it as your own or translate it onto other platforms.

[rafey-baby]

trinket

rafe thinks his maid is just the sweetest little thing...  

prince!rafe x maid!reader 

c/w: rafe being a menace, him flirting (?) w her, some royal cameron family angst ig, brief descriptions of him having sex w another woman, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2.3k

also this is by no means historically accurate which is why i’m not gonna name any specific era for this xx

moodboard & introduction

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Every mid-December, the palace comes alive in an entirely novel way with the bustling preparations for the annual winter ball that the king and queen host to celebrate ‘another wonderful year’.

The once quiet and calm castle transforms into something colorful and vivid with the mouthwatering smell of cakes and pastries cooking in the ovens of the royal kitchen, along with maids and other servants whirling around the long hallways as they place intricate decorations and shiny ribbons all over the broad staircases and windows. 

She’s grateful she doesn’t have to partake in the hustle and bustle all that much since her primary duties include taking care of the prince and ensuring he has everything and anything he could possibly need.  

Although right now, she sort of wishes she could be stringing up polished ornaments or garnishing elegant baked goods because apparently, being the prince’s personal maid sometimes means sitting quietly in his bedchambers (as per his request to keep him company while he’s reading) with her own thoughts and the sounds outside the door her only source of entertainment.  

Therefore, she’s elated when he suddenly turns to face her in his armchair— flitting his eyes over to her from the hefty book that seems to have made him exasperated rather than enthralled.  

“Will you join me for a walk? All this noise is makin’ m’head hurt.”

There’s enthusiasm in the nod of her head; a yearning to see the fresh layer of snow covering the trees and painting the entire kingdom with its powdery whiteness— the aftermath of last night’s blizzard. She doesn’t think there’s anything more beautiful than the crystalline snowfall glittering under the touch of the afternoon sun— or maybe a certain pair of aquamarine eyes, but that’s beside the point.  

“That would be my pleasure, Your Highness,” she easily agrees. 

“How many times do I have to tell you how much I despise that name? There’s no need to use it when s’just me,” he scolds her before he’s straightening up and stretching out his arms over his head. 

“My apologies, it’s a habit,” she rises to her feet as well; trying her hardest not to let her eyes linger on the sliver of his stomach peeking out from underneath the silky fabric of his shirt. 

“I don’t want your apologies, want you to use my name,” he says before stepping closer— standing tall before her and forcing her to blink up at him in order to meet his eyes. “Go on, sweetheart, say it,” he practically orders; eager eyes fixed on her face.  

She hesitates under the sudden attention. He’s always seemed so fascinated by her and she doesn’t know why.  

“Um…Rafe.”  

He lets out a hum of approval. “That’s good. You ready to leave?” 

“Y— yes, uh, Rafe.”  

“Good job. Not so difficult, is it?” he coos at her almost mockingly— fingertips grazing the skin of her cheek when he tucks a loose tendril of hair back behind her ear. 

She merely shakes her head— a warmth dusting over the apples of her cheeks when his touch lingers on the side of her face afterwards. And for a moment, she thinks she’s going to drown in the lagoons of his eyes, but then he clears his throat and offers the palm of his hand for her to take.  

And it’s rather unusual for someone of his status to do; a prince who’s bound to wear the crown one day holding his maid’s hand isn’t exactly something that’s written in any book regarding the royal etiquette. However, he’s never been one to allow for dreadful rules and traditions to dictate his behavior, especially not towards her.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  

“Are you looking forward to the winter ball?” she asks when they stop by the stables to check up on his horse, Jupiter.  

“You know I hate dancin’,” he mutters out as he watches its teeth grind on the carrot he brought with him.  

She smiles because she does know, before letting out a wistful sigh. “I wish I could attend.”

“You do? Why?” he’s perplexed by her enthusiasm towards something he considers as more tedious than anything— having to plaster on a smile for an entire night and socialize with people he doesn’t necessarily care for in order to humor his father never being something he’s particularly taken delight in.  

Especially when Sarah is going to be the one receiving all of their father’s attention anyway. Not that he cares (he does) but he would appreciate it, if for once in his life, his old man would show him even an ounce of the care he seems to so easily shower his sisters in.  

“Well, I’d love to wear a ball gown, but mostly for the food,” her feather-light voice brings him back to the moment.  

“I’ll make sure to bring you a plate ‘n you can eat it in my room then, yeah?” he promises as he runs his fingers through Jupiter’s black main.  

“You would do that?”  

“If you promise not to tell the other maids or they’re gonna accuse you of gettin’ special treatment,” his tone is playful. 

“They already do that,” she points out. “They think we spend too much time together.” 

“And what do you think?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“I don’t mind. I quite enjoy your company,” she answers truthfully. After all, she has grown quite fond of Rafe throughout the years. Sometimes she just wishes he wasn’t so overwhelming, in every sense of the word. 

“Yeah?” a smirk pulls at the side of his mouth, seemingly pleased with her answer. 

She’s certain he’s well aware of the effect he has on her— the effect he has on everyone. And she thinks that he enjoys it; relishes in toying with her for his own amusement simply because he can. He can practically do anything he wants since his father is oftentimes gone for long periods of time; fulfilling his duties for the kingdom and whatnot.  

And she knows Rafe doesn’t particularly mind the fact that his father is rarely home because he’s always been hard on him, much harder than on his sisters because whether he likes it or not, he’s set off to be the new king one day. And his reputation of having female guests over more often than not whenever his father is away doesn’t necessarily help with gaining his approval.

After all, rumor travels fast around the palace.  

Rafe once admitted to her that he often felt like a disappointment, and that the pressure of everyone’s expectations sometimes made him wish he was nothing more than a stableman. After all, he does get along with horses better than he ever has with his family— it’s not exactly a secret amongst the royal court.  

“Would you wanna go for a ride with me? Think Jupiter’s gettin’ bored,” he suddenly asks.  

“Oh, I would love to but I’ve never, um, ridden a horse before,” she timidly admits. 

“No? You wanna know how it feels? You could jus’ sit behind me, don’t need to do anythin’, yeah?” he coaxes her to say yes with a seemingly sincere smile; already walking Jupiter out of its stable and leaving her no choice but to follow them outside.   

“Really?” the frosty air causes a shiver to crawl up her spine when she eyes him, hesitant.  

“Mhm. Promise nothing’s gonna happen, I’ll take care of you. ‘N I know you’ll like it, s’very freeing,” he assures her as he’s already saddling up the horse, seemingly aware that she could never refuse him of anything.  

“Okay...if you insist,” she tentatively agrees with a nod that he rewards with a beaming grin; the icy snowflakes sticking to his hair making him look like something straight out of a fairy tale.  

Then, he’s lifting her up to straddle the entirely too big of an animal that sort of still scares her— strong hands gripping onto her hips and leaving her momentarily starstruck at how effortlessly he does it; as if she weighs nothing more than the carrot Jupiter was just chewing on.  

He follows soon after, settling down in front of her with ease before looking at her over his shoulder. “Need you to hold onto me unless you wanna fall,” he instructs, seemingly reveling in the fact that he gets to be the one teaching her something new.  

“Oh, yeah, of course,” she says, gingerly setting her hands on his waist, movements uncertain.  

“Gonna need you to hold on tighter, promise I won’t bite,” he huffs out a laugh before he’s grabbing her arms and wrapping them around his middle more firmly— forcing her to fully lean against his back when the sudden clip-clopping of Jupiter’s hooves against the snow-covered cobblestone causes her to let out a surprised shriek.   

“Good?” he asks, seemingly amused at the way she’s practically clutching onto him as the cottony snow prances around them. 

She manages out a hum, wondering if he can hear her poor heart loudly thumping in her ribcage when he decides to pick up the speed some more, as if she wasn’t already terrified.  

“Rafe! Can you slow down?” she squeaks out when Jupiter seems to only accelerate further underneath them.  

“Where’s the fun in that?” he lets out a hearty chuckle in response, apparently finding amusement in her utterly frightened state while she wonders why she let herself think for even one second that he had pure intentions.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“Y/N? Will you go look for my son? I fear he’s once again escaped his responsibilities to God knows where,” the king requests with an exasperated sigh while she’s crouching down and helping a servant clean up the sharp pieces of a shattered wine glass— the sound of laughter and dancing flourishing around them. 

And she could swear she saw Rafe conversing with a guest only a few short moments ago. However, as she looks around in an attempt to locate the missing prince, he’s nowhere to be found.  

“Right away, Your Majesty,” she’s quick to answer with a polite smile.  

“Thank you,” he nods gratefully, seemingly fed up with his son already.  

She ensures that the poor girl who accidentally cut her finger on the broken shards is not going to faint before tiptoeing up the broad flight of stairs in order to reach the higher levels of the palace— the loud music and blooming celebrations echoing around the halls. 

“Your Highness? Are you in there?” she knocks softly on the mahogany door leading to his bedroom.  

However, she isn’t granted a response. 

“Rafe?” she tries once more before pressing her ear against the wood separating her from the muffled sounds she can now hear from the other side— brows furrowing when something akin to a whimper reaches her ears.

It sounds nothing like Rafe; it has a higher pitch, something more feminine than his usual drawl. And as she stands there, contemplating whether something is wrong or if she should just leave, the volume only amplifies.

And in a moment of cloudy judgement, she finds herself pushing down on the handle.

However, she curses her curiosity the moment the door cracks open and she’s faced with the view of some woman’s naked back. Her long, beautiful hair reminds her of lady Lydia (a daughter of one of the dukes invited to the ball) with none other than the prince himself underneath her sweaty form.  

The sheets that she changed this morning are crumpled and creased around them and without the barrier of the door, she can now hear Rafe’s low grunts as well— can see how his big hands guide her movements. And they’re both panting heavily, seemingly lost in some haze— maybe the same one that forces her to stay rooted to her spot in the doorway.  

With her eyes as wide as saucers and mouth parted, she’s not entirely sure how long she stands there for. Until out of the blue, she notices Rafe’s eyes flickering over to her— a smirk tugging at his mouth when he catches her staring. 

She tries to move her legs but they won’t listen; making his lazy grin only grow in tandem with his strained groans that seem to only increase in volume as he locks his eyes with her.  

And she can’t breathe; the air clogging her lungs instead of flowing through as her dazed mind tries to get her to do something, anything to get her to leave the room but his heady gaze seems to have hypnotized her— compelled her to stay right where she is.  

All at once, a gravelly noise rumbles from his chest— his head dropping against the cushion of his fluffy pillows, seemingly reaching some sort of a peak in his search for pleasure as the woman above him begins to slow down her movements. And that’s when she’s finally able to step away; shutting the door behind her before scurrying down the stairs with bated breaths and heart pounding in her ears.

When she reaches the bottom, she accidentally stumbles into someone holding a golden serving tray— causing it to topple over to the floor with a loud clatter. 

“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes before her wobbly legs are scrambling off in an attempt to locate the nearest escape route to the garden.  

And once she’s managed to make it outdoors, she feels like she can finally breathe— the crisp December wind granting her heated skin an opportunity to cool down as she sits down on one of the wooden benches with a sigh.

[romanofftherealest]

Winter Solstice

Summary: You reasoned that perhaps some time spent as a bear would be beneficial. Humans, after all, seemed so lacking in magic, so terrible—so disconnected from the world and the elements around them.

Pairings: Hunter Natasha Romanoff x Witch Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

BEWARE OF: small, grizzly, tickly, fluffy, clingy, whiny, snotty, hungry, stinky baby Tasha bear ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔ

Author's Note: Scheduled repost

⧗

During the first snowfall of the season, witches must venture into the forest. This is a sacred tradition, a time for the witches to connect with nature and harness its powers. The trees stand tall, their branches coated in a pristine layer of snow, their tips adorned with shimmering icicles. The forest is silent, the snowfall and wind muffling the usual sounds of wildlife.

You continue your walk through the blizzard-filled forest, the snow falling in a flurry around you. The path is slippery underfoot, the icy terrain making each step precarious.

As you try to maintain your balance, your foot suddenly slips on an unseen sheet of ice, sending you to the ground with a jarring thump. In an instant, you reach out for support, your hand finding a nearby tree trunk. But in that moment, a rush of adrenaline-fueled magic surges out of your fingertips.

The sudden slip sent you sprawling onto the icy ground, knocking the air out of your lungs. As you struggled to recover, a shout echoed through the snowy forest, catching your attention. The sound seemed to come from nearby, and you strained your ears to pinpoint its direction.

As you walked towards where you heard the echoed scream, you saw nothing but some fabrics and some boots on the ground. Who would try to go out during a snowstorm? You asked yourself as you approached the clothes and boots lying on the snowy ground, curiosity piqued, you knelt down to take a closer look. But as your hand is mere inches away from the fabric, something beneath it moves. Your breath hitches and you freeze, watching as a small bear emerges from underneath the discarded attire. Its black eyes regard you with cautious curiosity, its body tense but unthreatening.

You observed the bear with a growing sense of dread, you noticed something peculiar…

For the love of Mephisto, it was your sign, perfectly etched onto its arm.

"Fuck…"

It was a mark, a subtle reminder of the magic you had inadvertently released. This bear, this poor creature, was the result of your magic gone awry because of the stupid slip.

Your first instinct was to run and you did, without hesitation, you sprinted away from the bear, leaving it behind in the midst of the raging snowstorm—you ran away from the consequences of your actions. The sound of your own footsteps and labored breathing filled your ears, drowning out any sense of conscience or remorse.

However, the bear was determined and persistent so it followed you, whining and growling in its attempts to catch up. At first, you had no mercy, slamming the door shut in its face. But as the cold of the night settled in, so did your guilt. You had only planned to allow the bear to warm itself by your fire for the night. You promised yourself that come morning, you would find it a new place to stay.

But the bear quickly made itself comfortable, indulging in your supply of honey and curiously pawing through your spellbooks. It even went so far as to find its way into your bed, seeking to cuddle close. Your initial annoyance nearly compelled you to turn it into a mealworm, but then you found yourself gazing into its pitiful face.

"Just for tonight…again," you muttered to yourself.

Many nights had passed, you decided to head back to the place where you had found the bear, and there you found its abandoned clothes and shoes. You examined the belongings, you noticed a set of bows and arrows, not so far behind along with a collection of knives. This was a hunter, you realized. No ordinary one, judging by the various types of knives at its disposal. And that's when you knew the bear's name, carved in on one of the knives.

"Natasha…" you read, your breath showing in the cold air as you read it.

She was all paws, at first. Her movements are awkward and uncoordinated, clumsily trying to adjust to her new form. You reasoned that perhaps some time spent as a bear would be beneficial. Humans, after all, seemed so lacking in magic, so terrible—so disconnected from the world and the elements around them.

But a number of new moons had passed. Despite your efforts, you were unable to undo the enchantment. The bear, formerly a human who was stuck in the form of a bear cub, now grew into a midsize bear, you cannot carry her around like a baby anymore. She had adapted to her new form, displaying a surprising level of intelligence and cooperation as you continued your attempts to unravel the magic you had inadvertently invoked.

Today, you had decided to ask the assistance of another witch who might be able to help you reverse the magic you had inflicted upon Natasha.

"Stinky! Come here!" you called out, beckoning for the bear to come closer. To your surprise, she actually started walking towards you, moving with a grace that didn't exactly scream "clumsy bear."

You leaned down to level her, "We're going to Asgard and I want you to behave, alright?" you instructed the bear, who simply tilted its head to the side in a cute manner. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, finding her antics endearing despite the situation.

"No swimming in the puddle, no biting anyone's shoe or cloak," you said sternly, listing off your rules for Natasha's behavior while visiting your friend. However, as you started listing her next instruction, you stopped when she dashed towards the window, growling at something outside.

When you followed her gaze, you noticed an owl perched outside the window, watching the two of you with its piercing eyes. You couldn't help but smile recognizing the owl, then in a blink of an eye the owl transformed into a human, revealing Loki himself.

"Loki, what are you doing here? I was supposed to come to your realm..."

Before you could even approach Loki for a hug, Natasha had already lunged forward and clamped her jaws onto the hem of your friend's cloak.

"Stinky! Hey! What did I tell you about biting!" you scolded, trying to get Natasha to release Loki's cloak. Your friend just simply laughed and gently dislodged the bear's jaw from the fabric.

"It's alright, my cloak can handle a little tug," he assured you, a smile playing on her lips. "You've got some territorial thing right there, huh?"

But your friend grew impatient, he smirked as he observed the bear's unwavering bite to his cloak before channeling his magic. With a flick of his wrist, he casted a spell that sent Natasha flying away to the side of the room. Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched Natasha land on the wooden floor with a loud thud. However, before you could rush to her aid, Loki stepped in and enveloped you in a warm embrace.

"It's been so long since I saw you little one."

Natasha who was still dazed from being thrown onto the ground, began to whine in pain. She attempted to move towards you, but before she could take a single step, Loki casted another spell. In a fraction of a second, Natasha's eyes drooped shut, and she succumbed to sleep, leaving you somewhat dumbfounded.

"Wow, that's uhm…" your voice was trailing off awkwardly as you stared at Natasha's knocked out form while Loki was still so busy embracing you.

"So what you need me for, little one?" your friend asked as he finally, finally pulled away.

You breathed, smoothing your dress. You finally eyed your friend who was looking at you questioningly and patiently.

"This…" you pointed at the bear, "this is what I need you for?" you smiled at her awkwardly before scratching the back of your head.

"That thing?" Loki asked, laughing out loud that for sure made the birds and small animals nearby your cottage scurried away.

"W-well, yes…I mean she's not a thing Loki, she…she was a human," your head was low and you looked at him, his arms crossing as he listened. Your fingers fidgeted with the laces of the corset, trying to discreetly adjust the garment that felt oddly constricting—you feel suffocated.

"You...a witch...has a human in yo—"

"I slipped during the first moon of winter and I accidentally turned her into…that." You bit your lip in embarrassment, not letting him finish his words, you know he will scold you. "Please help me?"

You knew Loki was far more experienced and knowledgeable than you when it came to magic, having lived for centuries. Compared to her, you were just a fledgling, "the little one" they call you. The thought made you feel somewhat inadequate, but you knew he was your best chance at reversing the enchantment you had cast upon Natasha.

"Sure, little one."

A thorn was picked out of your heart when Loki agreed to help. In your eagerness to get started, you quickly knelt down beside the sleeping bear, gently guiding its head onto your lap, its soil colored soft fur against your skin.

"Alright, let's get to work," he said, "First, I need to understand exactly what happened. Can you walk me through the spell you used that led to this...situation?"

Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to recall the exact details of the event.

"I honestly don't know," you confessed, a note of helplessness in your voice. "It was an accident, truly. I slipped on some snow, and...it just happened. A spell slipped out, and the next thing I knew, there was a bear where a human was supposed to be."

Loki listened intently and nodded to your explanation. Then, with a determined look in her eyes, he stepped closer to the bear and knelt in front of you both, he raised his hands in a gesture of summoning her magic. Then a green glow enveloped Natasha's sleeping form.

However, as he attempted to cast the spell to reverse the enchantment, it didn't work at first. A frown crossed his face as he tried again, his frustration growing as the spell remained unsuccessful.

As each enchantment failed, Natasha continued to writhe in pain, you could no longer bear the sight and shut your eyes tightly, trying to block out the scene. But you couldn't block out the sound of Natasha's whimpers, the soft, pitiful noises that tore at your heart and filled the room with a sense of helplessness.

"I might have to take her heart."

But yours dropped at what he just said.

"What? No!" you protested pulling the bear's unconscious body who's still whimpering in pain.

"That's the only way littl—"

"No…" you insisted, looking at Natasha who was curled like a ball on your lap, you gently caressed her fur—no magic, hoping that it would lessen the pain that she's feeling.

"If that's the only way then no, it could kill her Loki."

"Little one, no it won't—"

"But it will hurt her." Your voice almost cracked as you said it. "Goodbye, Loki. I'm sorry for wasting your time." You said with a finality, you will not have her take Natasha's heart.

Your friend's face softened as she realized that you were adamant in your decision and he respected it. He now stood and patted your head.

"I'll see you, little one." With that, he transformed back into being an owl. Her wings fluttered as he took flight and disappeared out the open window, leaving you alone with a bear that was supposed to be back to its human form now.

"I'm so sorry Stinky, I promise I won't stop until we get you back. Alright?"

⧗

You decided it was time to venture into town. The supplies in the cottage were running low, and a fresh batch of ingredients would allow you to continue concocting more potent potions in your pursuit to restore your companion to her human form. Also, for some food restocking especially that you had ten human stomachs living in your place.

As a bear, Natasha was a bit less picky with her food. She pretty much devoured whatever she could find, and one evening, you nearly panicked when she bit into a bird she had found pecking at some berries. You had to quickly and harshly open her mouth to spit the poor bird out, and she did so, albeit reluctantly, looking at you defiantly with bird feathers stuck in her teeth. And there was another afternoon, when you had been out gathering firewood, you burst into the cottage with an armful of it. And there she was, standing in your living room particularly proud of herself as she held up the snake in her grotesque teeth, waiting for your reaction. But you dropped the firewoods and let out a shrill scream as you saw the large snake still moving from her mouth.

She looked at you with all innocence and confusion in her eyes, tilting her head as if to ask, why were you freaking out? You swear you had to remove the thought of having her in a cage because being trapped in a bear's body is too much already.

As you strolled through town ready to go back to the forest after picking some things, you noticed some papers scattered on the plaza. You frowned and reached one.

"Missing…" you whispered to yourself, you examined the drawing of the missing person with great care. It was a woman, you studied her appearance described within. The image was black and white but conveyed the distinctive attributes; she had her hair in braids, and she boasted massive arms, pointed eyes, and a prominent nose.

"Natasha Romanoff?" The name felt like a curse in your mouth as you read the ink printed on the paper and you almost choked.

"A witch hunter…"

You immediately crumpled it and put it in your basket before walking away from the town, not even daring to turn back.

As you walked the trail on your way home with unease, you noticed footprints marking the ground. You reached the ground touching the dirt.

Horses.

You also smelled a faint smell of fresh tobacco lingering in the air. Someone had been here recently, and they must be nearby.

And your cottage is nearby.

You immediately run and as you approach your secluded cottage, nestled in the hills, and the sight of two horses grazing in the meadow sets your heart racing. They stand abandoned, their saddles empty, and there's no sign of their riders. The silence of the hills suddenly feels oppressive, and you can't help but wonder who has been here, and what they could want with your humble home.

You were so startled by the sudden voice that you dropped everything you had just bought from the town—a fresh loaf of bread, a jar of honey for Natasha, and a few ingredients for the next potion you're going to work on with her as well as the crumpled paper you picked from the plaza. You whirled around to see a man with an eye patch approaching you.

"Do you live here?" he asked, his one good eye locking onto yours.

"Y-Yes," you stammered, your mouth going dry as you took in the sight of the man. "I live here. Can I help you with something?" you tried to steady your voice as you spoke, hoping the stranger didn't notice your nerves. He seemed to be assessing you, his one eye scanning you up and down. He stopped when he saw the scar burn in your arm and you instinctively pulled down your sleeves to cover it.

It was a burn you got from one of the items Natasha left, a cold iron. And it is one of your weaknesses—witches' weaknesses.

He continued his questions, his eye narrowed. "You live here, alone, in this forest?" he paused for a moment. You remained silent, not wanting to reveal too much, especially not your secret as a witch.

He seemed to take your silence as an answer, and continued. "Aren't you afraid?"

You shook your head side by side.

As the stranger spoke, he began to explain that he and his friend were nearby looking for someone—a woman who had gone missing months ago. He described her with the same features you saw on the paper you found in a plaza that is now crumpled in the dirt in front of you. You simply stepped at the paper wishing he wouldn't see it.

"She was last seen around here. Have you seen anyone here in the past weeks? Months?" you felt your throat go dry, the words getting caught in your throat.

Well, you didn't. All you have seen around in the past months was a small brown bear.

Then all of a sudden a shout emitted in the air, and the bear as you speak, charging after a man. Instinctively, you reacted and kneeled down, stopping the bear in its tracks. You carried her in a hip hold, feeling her fur and her trembling body as she tried to catch her breath. The stranger stood there in shock.

"Stinky? What did I tell you? Hm?" you groaned, adjusting her from your hip, she's becoming a little too heavy now.

"That's a monster!" he shouted, making the one-eyed man palm his face.

"She's just a bear." You hissed that made the wonky man shake even more.

They had absolutely no idea that this bear could be the same woman they were looking for. Even though you knew that they could be her family, and you were the one who caused her to be in this bear form, you couldn't help but feel selfish. You felt a fierce desire to keep her with you. You knew it was wrong, but the feeling of possessiveness was getting the best of you.

"We're going to leave you now," the one-eyed man spoke, his friend beside him still shaking as they walked to their horses.

As you put the bear on the ground, the man called again.

"Young lady, be careful."

It should bring you comfort as they were intended to offer, but the tone of his voice made it feel like a threat, as if he knew more than you wanted him to know.

⧗

You huffed as a nose nudged your elbow. "What?"

Natasha, despite her animalistic state, still exhibited human-like behaviors. She grabbed a hold of your cloak with her teeth, whining softly at you.

You sighed heavily, accepting the cloak from her. Even though Natasha's actions were those of a bear, you could sense the familiar gesture, and your heart ached at the thought.

"Thank you," you whispered, wrapping the cloak around your shoulders, the fabric feeling both comforting and melancholic.

The bear moaned before lumbering across the fire from you. She sat patiently, knowing how this worked by now.

You continued to rack your brain, trying to think of any possible solution to the enchantment. This was far from being the first attempt you had made to turn her back into a human, yet all your efforts seemed fruitless.

Despite your growing frustration, you refused to give up. You were determined to find a way to restore Natasha's human form, even if it meant exhausting all possible avenues and risking failure again.

You knew that the situation wasn't as simple as casting a basic spell, because spells could easily wear off or become dependent on the subject's current condition. And it wasn't a curse either, because you hadn't experienced any negative effects yourself. Nothing tethered your life to hers.

But she is your responsibility, it was your fault she's being like this—you were the reason why she's suffering. Even as she had grown much larger, no longer able to fit comfortably on your bed, she still loyally slept on the hearth beside you every night. You continued to share your meals with her and worked on spells and potions together, despite knowing that each attempt was a gamble and could potentially fail.

"This might be it," you whispered, watching as the steam from the potion began to recede. The potion's color shifted, and when you looked at the viscous liquid, you could almost see your reflection.

With a shaky hand, you carefully picked up a ladleful of the potion and offered the bowl to Natasha.

The bear wrinkled her nose at the smell of the potion, sticking out her tongue in distaste.

"Come on, it can't be that bad." You said, holding the bowl out persistently.

After a moment's hesitation, Natasha accepted the bowl in her oversized paws. She sniffed at the potion once more, her nose twitching as she took in the scent. Then, after a brief moment, she dared to take a small lick of the liquid.

You couldn't help but smile at the bear's reaction to the steaming hot potion.

"You silly stinky, it's a bit hot," you warned, chuckling lightly as you watched her expression.

She let out a series of sounds, and you couldn't help but wonder what her human voice would sound like. She went to fetch a mouthful of snow to cool her mouth and then ate the remaining potion with her sharp, bear-like teeth.

You held your breath, your knuckles turning white as you clenched the edges of your cloak tightly. The cold mountain breeze swept around you, but you barely felt it as you waited anxiously for a reaction from the bear.

It was no longer feasible to conduct experiments with Natasha inside the cottage; her size had become too large to contain within the four walls—almost thrice the size of you. After the messy fiasco that resulted from the previous indoor spell, you had decided to avoid any further incidents inside your dwelling. The memory of the hours spent cleaning the aftermath was still fresh in your mind.

You studied the bear as she looked around her surroundings and then down at her paws.

It didn't work.

It was clear that the spell had no effect, not a bit, causing her to deflate and slump down in the snow.

You averted your gaze to your own feet, your boots sinking into the snow. Disappointment coursed through you, the familiar sense of failure settling in your chest. You had hoped that this time, the spell might have been the solution, but once again, you were met with another dead end. It wasn't just the failed potion that weighed heavily on your mind, but the profound sadness evident on Natasha. Perhaps she missed her old life, or maybe there was a significant event coming up in her human existence. You also hadn't had the chance to inquire if she had family or friends waiting for her. How could you? You literally turned her into a bear?

Natasha, still in her bear form sat up again despite her weary demeanor, her ears drooping sadly. She let out a faint moan, her breath visible as it left her muzzle in the cold air.

Your heart ached as you watched her reaction. Every failed attempt weighed heavily on your soul, but this one felt particularly disheartening. Your hopes had been soaring high, and you truly believed that you had concocted the correct formula this time.

You had even gotten her hopes up about this latest attempt. You had scrutinized the spell book together, acquired the necessary ingredients and confidently told her that maybe this time, the spell would work for sure. The potion was meant to reverse the development of cells, typically used on vegetables to undo being pickled. However, you had delved deeper into research and believed that it could potentially work on a living subject.

In preparation, you had even tested the spell on fish, which you had generously offered to Natasha as a tasty reward. Indeed, the spell had functioned perfectly.

"I'm so sorry."

With a mournful expression, the bear raised its head, looking directly at you. Even while seated, she stood tall enough to meet your gaze.

"I thought—" your voice caught in your throat as tears threatened to escape and you swiftly pressed your lips shut. You didn't have the right to weep; it was her life who had endured the more profound suffering.

Your hand reached out to gently caress her head, your fingers threading through the soft, brown fur. Your thoughts drifted to those moments when she would sneak into your bed for warmth and you would idly toy with her ears while she slept.

The bear emitted a soft bellow, leaning forward to tenderly nuzzle her snout against your tear-streaked cheek. She then placed her head on your shoulder and encircled you with her embrace, her large paw draped around you carefully so as not to harm you with her sharp claws.

Bears possessed remarkably warm bodies, and when she pulled you so close, her heat enveloped your body, a comforting presence amidst the disappointment and yet another failure.

You pressed your nose against the fur of her neck and took a deep breath, appreciating the improvement in her scent compared to the days when she was smaller and clumsier. She had grown out of her messy phase, no longer getting her food everywhere, which meant fewer baths.

You gave her chest a firm pat, "Come on." you said gently, signaling her to follow as you led her back towards the safety and warmth of the cottage.

In solemn silence, the bear followed behind you, her large paws kicking up plumes of snow to smother the lingering flames of disappointment from the failed spell.

It was a disheartening moment, and you both knew that the abandoned cauldron would remain behind, its contents and the memories of your hopes extinguished by the snow's cold embrace.

You did your best to restrain your tears as you stepped inside the cottage, hanging up your cloak beside the door. Your bear companion waddled straight to the fireplace and collapsed heavily onto the rug you had woven for her, groaning faintly as her weight fell heavily on the woven fibers.

When Natasha felt you against her back, she stirred, and the ache in your heart intensified once again, knowing that the solution still eluded you.

"I'm sorry, Stinky." Your voice choked with tears as you pressed your face against her fur, letting the hot liquid from your eyes soak into the thick hairs. She responded with a deep sigh, her muzzle lifting slightly to ruffle your hair. Your heart ached.

"I never meant to alter your life like this." You murmured, the weight of guilt heavy on your conscience.

She didn't exactly have a reply for you.

You leaned heavily on her chest, the weight of disappointment and exhaustion taking its toll. "But I won't stop. I won't give up until I change you back."

The guilt from being partially responsible for her current state continued to gnaw at you. You couldn't help but contemplate the possible scenario of her going back to her human form.

But you will take it, everything.

Even if she harbors resentment towards you, even if she yelled and screamed at you in fury, even if she arrived brandishing a pitchfork with the town's folk with the intent to burn down your cottage.

Or perharps she would torture you herself and bring you to the town where the people would decide how you'll die in their hand.

She was missing, she was declared missing by her people and it was your fault.

You know damn well she will kill you. Oh she will.

A witch hunter, turned into a bear by a witch…supposedly you should've just kicked her out or killed her like any other witches would do the day you found the paper in the town or the day you found out that she's a witch hunter or maybe the same day you saw her.

A witch hunter and a witch, you're dead—not if you kill her first though.

But still you had offered a sanctuary within your cottage and you still couldn't disregard the fact that this was all just temporary respite against the cold for her. She was probably longing for the familiarity of her own home, her own family. What if those old creeps who were looking for her were her family? What if she had a partner who whispered tender words to her in the soft darkness of night? And what if she had children who questioned each twilight about the whereabouts of their mother? Were her children's bedtime tales whispered by a grandmother about wicked witches who abducted huntsmen, ensnaring them as their eternal slaves?

You would give the potion another try, but this time you would be more meticulous in your tests. You would extend your research to include larger specimens, more varied species. As a witch, your life was committed to the magic and pursuit of its limitless knowledge, and this Natasha's transformation back to her human form had become your new mission. Despite knowing that she would likely loathe you and curse your name across the annals of time.

You couldn't fathom how you'd manage to rest with such thoughts haunting your mind. Nevertheless, before you had drifted off to sleep, you reached to kiss Natasha's cheek before burying your face into the comforting softness of her fur, still carrying a hint of the fire's smoke. The alluring warmth radiating from her enveloped you, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your face in her fur once more, your fingers tenderly combing through the silky strands—to the mark you etched in her skin.

You groggily opened your eyes, sensing a different sensation the next morning. The bear's fur didn't feel quite the same as it had the night before, and when you attempted to rouse yourself further, a wince escaped your lips. You knew that crafting a new potion or casting a spell each evening drew heavily on your magical reserves, and you were rapidly approaching your limit.

"You okay?"

"Hm…" you moaned lazily as sunlight touched your slumbering eyes, gradually awakening to your surroundings. It dawned on you that you were still on the floor, gazing up at the now extinguished fireplace. Given the absence of warmth, you anticipated being chilled. However, you noted an unexpected comfort, realizing you weren't in your bed but rather resting upon something solid and warm...a chest, perhaps?

Your head snapped upright, the sudden realization hitting you like a wave. It wasn't your bear with her massive black eyes, nor the damp, cold nose. It is a human, a strong pair of muscular arms wrapping you close, with a body and her auburn hair almost covering half her face but you didn't miss the pleasant smile that graced her lips, and the sound of her deep soft hum reaching your ears.

"S-stinky?"

[alyslittlehaven]

In What We Keep Chapter 1 - A Fires Warmth.

DragonBorne!Reader X Azriel Shadowsinger.

One fateful night after a mission, the three bat brothers need to seek refuge from the cruel winds past the mountains of Illyria, after a little debating, Azriel decides to take his brothers to the slice of life he took for himself

Warnings: Self Made Fae Race, swearing, talks of sex/sexual interactions, lewd jokes and or conversations, Pregnancy, Pre-established Relationship, mates, fated, Soft Azriel, secret relationships and more ACOTAR IS NOT MY BOOK, NEITHER ARE THE CHARACTERS

(This is short due to my writer's block hitting hard, also- ignore my horrible writing in this I don't have the greatest imagination right now lol.)

“This storm isn’t going anywhere, Az.”

Cassian’s voice strained as he squinted through the heavy snowfall. Their footsteps behind them quickly being covered up as they continued on through the cold. Cassian groaned, his body shivering harshly.

 Azriel grunted as he tightened the fur that hung around his body. The black dire wolf pelt kept out the wind just for a little longer as the snow picked up around them all. Azriel looked over his shoulder, his hair swaying lightly in the wind as his brothers stopped behind him. There was no way they could continue on like this. Flying in this weather would be a death wish and the creatures that they were hunting were extremely sensitive to magic. Their noses picked up the slightest bit of arcane and followed it like it was food. 

The snow continued to whip around them. Azriels wings shifting as the wind blew in between the membrane and his back. The cold slowly seeps into his bones as the three of them pick up the pace once again. Rhysand let out a huff, looking around slowly and yelling over the blizzard. “There is no way we can get to RoseHall like this, let alone the camps! We need to find shelter!” Cassian nodded, looking at Azriel with a pleading look. Rhysand was right, there was no way the storm was going to let up, and if anything was just getting worse the longer they walked. Rosehall was nowhere on the other side of the mountain and the winds of Illyria were unforgiving to travellers during the summer months. What would happen to the three of them if they continued to trudge through the snow?

Cassian crossed his arms, his lips turning blue as they stood still huddled together. His wings spanned out and fluttered to get the snow off of them. The weight on his shoulders now dispersed as her shook himself off. Azriel looked around, looking for any kind of landmark that could tell him where they stood on the mountain. His eyes locked into a bundle of lights in the distance. A relieved breath left him as he saw the small, broken sign with a carved dragon egg on it. 

His brows furrowed as he thought, his arms wrapping around himself as he took a couple of steps. Dread slowly made its way to his stomach as he realized where they were heading.

He could bring them into his home. The small cabin he had built with his own hands inside of the heart of the hearth. The home that his mate was in while he stood out in the cold with his brothers. Her body probably curled up on the couch with that ugly knitted blanket she made draped over her as a book remained under her nose. The fire probably roaring in the fireplace and leaving the room in a nice orange glow.

Azriel sighed, quickly pulling up his hood before beginning to move in the direction of the light,. His voice hoarse as he spoke. "I have somewhere we can stay. if you don't mind walking for a bit more, that is." Cassian rolled his eyes, his feet moving without him having to think about saying yes or no as he followed his brothers closely. 

“Azriel…where are we going?” Rhysands teeth chatters, his breaths coming out as fog due to the cold. His whole body nearly froze at the question. He had worked so hard to keep this part of his life a secret from his family. The relaxing life he came to every night and woke up the day after next to. The happy cabin he filled with love and work that he made sure he separated his work life from his mate. His wonderful, beautiful mate pressed kisses to his hand when he came home from work and tried out new Illyrian recipes so he would feel at home in the hearth. The best woman he had met, and the calmest. They had spoken about it a few times, introducing her to his family and the inner circle, and despite her wanting to meet them he just didn’t want to yet. Wanting to keep her to himself just for a little longer.

“To…a friend's house. She lives right up here in this cabin.”

Rhysand and Cassian looked at each other, a small shrug was all Cassian responded with as they walked up the stairs of the porch. Azriel quickly opened the door, the wood creaking under his weight as he ushered the two in. A frown on his face as he shut the door behind them. “Y/n?” Azriels voice carried through the small cabin, some shuffling in the distance going dead silent.

“I’ll be there in a second love!” A couple of pans knocked together before she walked into the hallway, a small pep in her step now that she saw who was in her home. Cassian, ever the gossip, repeatedly hit Rhysands arm like a teenage girl. A smirk on his face as he raised an eyebrow at Azriel.

Rhysands jaw dropped as she untied her apron, the large and evident bump now on full display as she put down the fabric and pressed a hand to her stomach. Her eyes raked over the two unfamiliar men with a gentle smile. "You must be Azriels brothers...welcome to the Hearth. Come- Sit down, please."

[adragonprinceswhore]

You’re Nothing But A Beast

Osferth x Reader

Summary: After falling into a river in the middle of winter, Osferth needs to warm up his lady companion.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, depictions of hypothermia, temperature play, water being too hot for comfort, yearning, religious guilt, fingering, praise

A/N: I dug this one up and re-read it today, feeling festive so thought I’d share it 🩵

Word count: 2600

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

It happened too quickly for Osferth to react.

Under his lord's request, he had been trusted with the important task of delivering a noble lady to her betrothed only two days' journey away.

But the sudden snowfall that met them after a mere half day's travel left the ground slippery, causing his companion's horse to panic and throw her off and into the river lining their path.

Osferth hadn’t hesitated when he jumped off his horse and reached into the river to aid her, swiftly dragging her to land as she coughed up the water she’d swallowed in shock.

He’d pulled the furs adorning his saddle loose and wrapped her in them in a futile attempt at keeping her warm, but to little avail. Shivers continuously erupted from her body so aggressively she could hardly stand still.

Now, dread makes Osferths chest tighten as he considers their situation.

Only half-way to the inn where they’re set to spend the night, one horse short and snow falling onto their cold bodies, freezing them further.

He glances at the Lady he’s meant to protect as he ponders their next move.

Her shaking form leaves him on high alert. She looks like prey; ready to be captured by any ravenous predator lurking behind the trees.

He knows how quickly the chill can claim a person.

I have failed her.

“My lady, we need to find heat”, he speaks rapidly, eyes blown wide in panic as one of his hands tenderly rests on her arm. She only shivers in response, mouth unable to utter words as her teeth chatter loudly together.

Lord Uthred had tasked him with this, a simple delivery, and he is failing him.

I have failed my lord.

Osferth tries to chase the defeatist thoughts rattling in his brain away. He cannot let this blunder best him, this might be one of God’s trials; a chance for him to prove to the Lord that he is still a good man, despite the depraved acts he’s indulged in as of late.

He places her in the saddle of his horse, continuing their tracking as he leads them on the narrow path lined with snowclad trees. He cannot help it when his eyes flicker to her. In the corner of his eye, he sees the strange shade her lips have shifted into; the drain of colour on her face.

When Lord Uthred had informed his men that one of them needed to escort a noble lady on a short trip, he hadn’t even bothered to look Osferths way. Fighting alongside them, offering his loyalty and by consequence, his life, to their cause still did not reflect on how they viewed him; always just a Baby Monk.

Osferth’s insistent advocating had finally worn his lord down. Uthred’s tone was laced with irritation when he reluctantly agreed to grant the young man his first expedition unaccompanied.

Looking around the sparse trees next to the path they were trailing, Osferth felt shame consume him like never before. He shouldn’t have been trusted with this; it was as they thought.

Still just a Baby Monk.

He sighs in resignation, moving to walk infront of where the lady’s shiver form is sitting so she won’t be able to see his face as the corners of his lips pull down.

Walking with his head cast down, shoulders tensing up with each step, he suddenly realises that he’s trailed this path before.

In summer, which could explain why he hadn’t recognised the scenery quicker, as it’s now coated in a layer of snow.

The Lord must be on my side.

“My lady, I know a place nearby that will warm you”, he speaks over his shoulder before he steers his horse towards where he is sure they discovered a natural spring spewing out hot water from the underground last time he walked this wood.

From the saddle of his horse, she let out a weak hum in reply.

Osferth’s estimations were correct. There is a source of hot water here; a blessing that God himself had carved out of the side of a rocky hill. Despite the harsh winter chill, it is still warm, judging by the steam oozing from it.

Could this be witchcraft?

They come to a halt before the water. “Lady, the spring here will warm you”, he explains, turning around to face her.

She’s stopped shivering, her body now seems stuck in rigidity. Osferth swallows thickly before reaching out to grab her waist to help her down from the horse. His fingers sink into the material of her coat with an unpleasant squelch; her clothes are soaked and freezing cold.

“You’ll need to remove this before entering”, he mumbles without looking into her eyes. The redness on his cheeks and ears are no longer solely from the harsh cold biting at his skin.

Before he joined Uthred, Finan and Sithric, he was a god-fearing monk devoted to a life in the service of God.

But his time with them had led him down a path of deviance; a life filled with swords, fighting and women.

The latter happened to be Osferth’s favourite of his new-found interests.

If he did not know of the pleasures of the flesh, he might not have found the lady he’s guarding so enchanting. He’d had eyes for her since he first saw her, admiring her soft skin and sparkling eyes. But only from afar.

Always from a distance.

A pious lady like her should not be sullied by my impurity, even in thought.

She moves unsteadily, hands stiff and rigid as she unsuccessfully tries to undo the buckles of her winter coat.

“Allow me”, Osferth offers as he quickly helps her get the coat off. Her thick wool dress underneath is just as soaked as her outer layer and Osferth helps her shed that too.

Soon, she is left in nothing but her undergarments; a thin, crem-coloured smock. It sticks to her curves like a second skin, giving Osferth a clear view of her perky nipples and the soft curls nestled between her thighs.

He does not know what to say, afraid his voice will betray his tainted intentions, and chooses to remain silent when he grabs her hand to lead her towards the heated water. He’s determined to help her get in, make sure she does not slip on any icy rocks, and then leave her to bathe herself warm.

Her cold hand holds on to him tightly as she steps into the water, a cry escapes her lips at the contact.

“I-, I cannot enter. It’s too hot”, she whines, stepping back. Osferth moves his hands to hold on to her elbows as he searches for her eyes.

“You must warm up, my lady. The chill could kill you”, he speaks softly. She nods in understanding, again moving her feet back into the scorching water. She hisses at the sting as she brings her second foot in, eyes growing glassy at the sensation.

“Osferth, it burns”, she meekly complains.

“Please, try to relax”, he instructs her. He cannot help but take pity on her, she still looks so weak, the familiar glint in her eyes no longer there.

She takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself before experimentally lowering her body a bit further. The hot water feels like a thousand needles piercing her skin and she quickly stands to her full height again.

The grip she has on Osferths coat tightens as she stiffly stands in the warm spring, “I cannot-, i- it’s too painful”, she says in a defeated tone.

Osferth feels how cold her body is through her thin smock. He sees the odd colouring of her face. She needs to warm her body, even if it’s painful.

The brief but instructive experience with the women he’d indulged in had earned him some new skills. Perhaps he could utilise that to make her more pliable?

“If I help you overcome the sting, will you stay in the water?”, he inquires with uncertainty, already ashamed of his lewd proposal.

She looks up at him curiously, nodding in response.

“I know of a way to relax you, if you trust me?”

“I trust you with my life, Osferth”, she gently replies, giving him the courage he needs to show her his debauchery.

He smiles nervously, allowing his hand to move from her elbow down to her hip. He cannot find the words to explain what he’ll do to her, and decides that it would be better to simply show her.

His palm travels from her hip, to her thigh, and then towards her centre. She shivers slightly under his touch, but does not stop him, eyes watching him in peculiarity.

He moves to gently cup her mound, long fingers reaching down to stroke her core over her garment.

The fabric will shield her from my impurity, if only slightly.

His face feels hot, his eyes flicker from her face to the snowy setting surrounding them. He tries his best to remain indifferent, but the sweet gasp she releases as he carefully strokes her stirs something awake within him.

“Focus on the pleasure, my lady”, he instructs her as he moves his fingers to circle her pearl through the wet fabric of her smock. He wonders if she’s ever done this to herself; ever allowed herself to engage in sinful pleasure.

Her fists are still holding onto the fabric of his coat, her breath heavy as she tries to forget the burning water her feets are submerged in.

Osferth grows bolder, pressing down a bit harder as his fingers work in steady circles. Her body squirms before him.

He instantly stops the movements of his hand, eyes filled with worry as he asks, “Am I hurting you?”

“No”, she says with a slight shake of her head.

“Then let me”, he pleads, picking up the pace of his hand once more, “Please”

She closes her eyes, tiny gasps leaving her stiff mouth.

“I-, If you.. also touch..”, he cannot finish the sentence, still ashamed of his depravity; the depravity he’s inflicting upon her.

She must know that he does not mean to besmirch her, his only wish is to help her.

She surely knows how sullied I am by now. Will she still allow me to guard her as our journey continues for another day?

“Osferth?”, her voice, close to a moan, brings his thoughts to a halt.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Is it a sin to kiss?”

Her inquiry leaves his mouth dry, yet he swallows and answers, “I-, I do not know”

“Oh”, she sighs, not in pleasure but more akin to disappointment.

“I-, I cannot imagine it is!”, he blurts out when he sees her eyes cast down, “Simply an expression of affection. Like between a mother and her babe”, he reasons, voice slightly breathless at the implication.

“Do you feel affection for me?”, she asks, gaze trailing up to meet his.

How could he resist her now, when she’s looking at him like that? When the shimmer in her eye has returned? When he can think of nothing else but to swallow the sweet moans that leave her lips?

He ducks his head down to kiss her in reply, the hand not between her thighs coming up to engulf the entirety of her cheek.

She moans into his mouth when his thumb circles her pearl, and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into her mouth. Her face and lips are so cold, but her kiss is just as sweet as he’d imagined.

He comes up for air, still revelling in the feeling of her, “Does it feel more bearable?”

“Yes”, she moans again, the colour now back on her cheeks.

Despite the depraved method, Osferth takes pride in knowing that he’s helping her; warming her up again.

“Kneel”, he instructs, allowing her to grab onto him as he lowers himself with her, standing on his knees in the snow as she sinks further into the scorching water.

She hisses at the stinging sensation and Osferth soothes her with another kiss, quietly murmuring, “I’ll make you comfortable, my lady”.

He can feel how cold the smock is against her skin, and without pondering upon it for too long, he moves to rid her of the garment. A voice inside of him tells him it’s to allow the steam from the water to reach her skin. Another voice tells him it’s for his own pleasure, so he may admire her fully.

Has the devil consumed my senses?

She is still shivering; from the cold air, the heat of the water, or Osferth’s touch, she does not know.

He brings one of his hands down into the water, large palm gently scooping up some of the scorching water and letting it slide down the side of her arm.

“You’re doing so well”, Osferth compliments her, eyes kind and inviting as they seem unable to stray away from hers.

His hand comes up to cradle the side of her face. She leans into his touch and closes her eyes, focusing on the pleasure, not her stinging flesh.

His other hand moves between her thighs again, but this time he makes contact with her pearl without hindrance and she whimpers at his touch, eyebrows scrunched together in bliss.

Divine.

His fingers travel down further. Feeling the wetness he created with his touch has his head spinning.

As he slips a finger inside her tight heat, she grabs onto his shoulders, rocking her hips in tandem with his movements, throwing her head back. He searches for that spot inside her that he knows will make her collapse into his embrace, and when he finds it she rewards his pursuit with another pleasure-thick cry.

“Use me, my lady. Find your pleasure”, Osferth urges as he places his hand so that the finger inside of her tightness presses at her sweet spot while the heel of his palm pushes down on her pearl.

Her fists hold onto his shoulders tightly as she rides his hand, mouth gasping as it searches for his to indulge in another sin. He lets her use him; he knows he’s the one responsible for her wanton ways.

I’ll pray to the Lord for her salvation later.

Another finger slips inside her, and he feels her tighten harshly as she peaks, falling forward into his embrace. He carefully moves his hand away from her warmth, allowing her a moment to steady her breathing as she rests her head against his chest.

Though she has found peace and comfort, Osferths body is still on high alert, painfully aware of the closeness between him and her naked form.

He’s been able to keep his gaze away from her, to offer her the slightest decency, but when she leans back his eyes unabashedly flicker down to watch the steady rise and fall of her breasts.

She finally sinks into the water, breathing heavily from the intense peak he drew from her. Osferth’s panting as well; cheeks tinted pink and eyes dark with lust. His mouth appears to be salivating as his gaze stays on her.

She lets out a breathless giggle as she allows the hot water to graze over her skin.

“You’re nothing but a beast, Osferth”

Her words wound him, but the playful smile on her face leaves him intrigued.

“Has the devil got his claws in you?”, she continues to taunt him, though he senses that her intent is not malicious.

“Consume me too. Show me the depths of your depravity”

[roanofarcc]

OPPOSITES

pairing: trevor lefkowitz x shy!reader

summary: the tale of you and trevor, opposites who found each other in the afterlife.

warnings: none!

masterlist || Tag list: @youngdumbamericanteen

The idea of opposites attracting had been lost on Trevor during his life. He had once thought that his perfect match would not be too dissimilar from himself. Yet, as he chased and flirted with people during his life with the same outspoken nature and who told him exactly how it was, Trevor never found a match. Granted, he wasn’t given much time to.

Then, he died and hung up the towel on the idea of finding something real. Flirting with ghosts and living alike with no real chance of making a lasting connection romantically seemed like all he’d do until he moved on, or got “sucked off” to whatever waited for them after ghosthood. 

But then he met you. 

You were discovered after Sam and Jay began renovating the mansion, having been awakened in the commotion. Unlike Stephine, you didn’t fall into a pattern of mostly slumber with periods of being awake, but rather you joined them. 

At first, he’d been skeptical, having been the newest ghost himself, he was unsure of you. His skepticism melted mere minutes after meeting you. You were quiet, much quieter than the other ghosts. One would have thought that would have turned Trevor away, but he found your quiet nature drawing him in. Curled into yourself, observing from arm's length, you occupied his mind. 

Slowly, pebble by pebble, he formed his own path into your life, always wondering what you were thinking about at any given moment or asking for your opinion on everything under the sun he could think of to simply strike up a conversation. 

While you remained reserved and shy, Trevor slotted himself into your routine, becoming a welcome companion. You found yourself searching for him when you found some rare alone time, longing for his bright conversation and non-stop flow of questions or comments. Even in the moments of quiet, you enjoyed his presence, silently sitting beside you.

You two grew together, rarely seen without the other. Sometimes Trevor pushed your quiet nature with not so quiet, flirtaous jokes to test the waters. Much to his supirse, and despite you being utterly flustered, you enjoyed that too. 

He knew you wouldn’t be the one to make a move, even if you did like him. Your hints of affection came through in inviting him to join you on walks or in the quiet library after everyone else had fallen asleep but you couldn’t seem to. You’d sit side by side on the couch, limbs pressed against each other with the occasional shared glances and smiles. He knew you rather well, though, and considered that to be a green light for him to be a little more forward without the dreaded fear of rejection. 

When he had confided in the other ghosts of his crush and plans to ask you out, they couldn’t have been more thrilled. You were simply the sweetest thing in Woodstone, pretty and starkly different from Trevor. It made no little sense that it, in turn, made perfect sense. They helped him go through with his plan, which was a bit different than his other romantic endeavors of the past. 

Trevor had once prided himself on being showy or easy. He either asked someone out in a grand, borderline embarrassing gesture, or a simple drunk smile from across the bar that led to making out in the back of a cab. Neither of those were how he wanted to approach you. He wanted to be delicate, more heartfelt but not flashy. 

He had settled on asking you on a walk as the first snowfall of the season blanketed the yard. The wintery scene was beautiful, the sunlight reflecting in your eyes as snowflakes caught in your lashes. Perphas it was cheesy, but to Trevor, it all felt magical before he had even proposed taking your budding friendship a step beyond. 

Once he did, you were elated, wrapping your arms around his neck to envelop him in a hug. The ghosts watched from the window, cheering amongst themselves at the unlikely but perfect pairing of you and Trevor.

[prismatica-the-strange]

Can I get asks for any of these idiots?

I wanna talk about them or write about them or just make incoherent noises and hand motions at them (The order is nothing of importance)

Hayden is for both Ani and Donovan. and Parker is for both Felix and Emmett.

[tbyfandoms]

I Smell Snow | Joe Burrow x Reader

Pairing: joe burrow x f!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: the first cincinnati snowfall of the season leads to a night full of magic and love

Warnings: literally a single swear word if you can even call it that

Masterlist/Request Form | Ask/Tell/Request

A/N: my first ever published joe fic! this is literally such a self indulgent fic, I won’t lie. it spawned after I was standing outside and it started snowing and then the next day I watched ‘love actually’. plus couple that with my love for ‘gilmore girls’ quotes and needless to say, this is a big ball of fluff. even if it’s not the best fic, I love it, and I hope you all do as well :) <3

When you step outside into the crisp air, a smile breaks out across your face. The sky is a soft grey, a color you'd otherwise dread if not for the time of year, and the sight alone causes excitement to stir within you.

You've been waiting for this since the moment the temperatures started dropping. The weather is of course unpredictable and you can never truly trust what the weatherman says on the news, but you're sure of it this time. You'd swear up and down you could feel it coming.

It's going to snow.

The click of the handle turning on the patio door tears your eyes away from the sky, and instead of soft grey, your eyes are now met with a soft blue color. The color of your boyfriend's eyes. A color you could get lost in if given the opportunity.

"Hey," you say softly as Joe steps outside and tries to piece together in his head what it is that has your undivided attention out here. He got the pool covered months ago and all the furniture is tucked away into different corners of the patio. He doesn't see any deer or other animals out in the yard either. There's nothing of interest and yet Joe understands that knowing you, it's gotta be something, and the thought alone has him amused.

"Hey, baby. Whatcha doin' out here?" You shrug your shoulders a bit, a tinge of pink coating your cheeks due to something else entirely than the cold.

"I smell snow," you whisper. A phrase you've come to love and use religiously when it is that time of year. You know it might seem stupid to some people, but you genuinely feel like you can always tell when it's going to snow. Weather reporting it or not. It's s silly thing between you and your friends, but somehow you're never wrong.

When you first started dating Joe it was during the spring. The snow had long since melted and the chill in the air was long gone. You've mentioned in passing before your little inside joke, but never once have you said it to him before. Saying it out loud to him has you feeling a little silly, but the look on his face quickly extinguishes it.

Joe's eyes are crinkled at the corners, his smile taking up half his face, and his perfect white teeth are on full display as a deep chuckle escapes him.

"Do you now?" The Bengals quarterback teases as he takes a few more steps towards you. As he does so, you bask in the sight of him. Your boyfriend looks so cute and cosy in his hoodie, sweatpants, and beanie. All Bengals branded, of course. Joe Burrow is nothing if not proud of his city and his team. You feel the same about him and all he's accomplished.

"I do, Burrow. And the minute that first snowflake hits the ground, I'll be telling you I told you so." You nod your head in finality before lightly giggling and turning your head back up to the sky.

Joe gazes fondly at you as he takes in every inch of your body. There you are, this beautiful girl standing before him, not having a care in the world besides knowing whether or not it's going to snow. He thinks you're ridiculous in the most loving way possible, and that's when it hits him. That's what this is; love.

The two of you have only been dating for just under a year, but the Cincinnati resident has never been more sure about anything else in his life (besides maybe football) than he is about how he feels for you. About how seriously he cares for you and wants you in his life for years to come.

Joe Burrow is completely and utterly in love with you.

A sharp intake of breath leaves the man's lips, but it's mixed in with yours as you gasp up at the sky and watch as a single snowflake drifts slowly towards your face. At first it's just one and then suddenly it's dozens of little flakes flurrying around you.

A bemused laugh shakes your body and you nearly squeal at the sight. There's always been something so magical about snow to you. You don't know whether it's the nostalgic child-like wonder and excitement of it all or if it's something else entirely, but you've never quite been able to shake it. You're not sure you'd ever want to, really.

"Joe," you start, awe completely evident in your tone as you lightly flit your eyes to your boyfriend and then back to the sky. "Look at this! It's so pretty, I can't believe I was—"

"I love you." The blonde's confession slices through the air and suddenly it feels like nothing else matters in this moment, not even the snow you were so desperate to see because—

"What?" You question, wondering if you just imagined what Joe had said. Surely you misheard him, but part of you hopes to God you didn't.

"I love the way you care so deeply for everyone. I love the way you support me and my career completely and yet still keep that fierce independence and confidence in yourself and your own career. I love that you don't let anyone or anything get in the way of your dreams, but yet you still stay kind through it all. I love the way you've accepted me and all my stubbornness no matter how irritating it may be at times. I love how smart, funny, beautiful, and a million other adjectives I could continue to list, you are." A laugh slips past your lips and it's in this moment you realize tears have begun to trickle down your cheeks, mingling with the soft snowflakes that have landed there. "But most importantly, I love you, Y/N. Completely and unconditionally, I am in love with you. And I know we haven't been together for that long, but I'm hoping that just maybe you feel the same."

Wasting no time, you practically jump the few feet it takes you to reach your boyfriend and immediately wrap your arms around his neck, his warmth engulfing you instantly as he holds onto you.

"I love you too, Joey," you smile as you pull back and lock eyes with those pale blues from earlier. As the sky begins to darken, you revel in the way his eyes shine as they reflect the patio lights. You'd debate with anyone that Joe's eyes rival the stars themselves. He'd definitely say the same about yours.

A beat passes, the two of you so wrapped in each other's presence and revelations that most definitely have now altered the courses of your lives. The thought of falling so deeply in love with someone the way you have with Joe both terrifies and excites you, and all you know for sure is that you're in this for as long as he'll have you. Something tells you though that that's going to be a very long time, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

Joe reaches up and cups your cheek in his palm, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone and brushing away a few snowflakes that have settled there. It doesn't take long for him to lean in. Dying to connect his lips with yours and craving the way you taste.

His lips mold perfectly with yours, the way they have for all these months and the way you're sure they will for months to come. As the first Cincinnati snow of the season continues to fall, you smile into Joe's mouth as you feel the flakes begin to melt between you. The warmth of your lips fighting off any of the cold trying to reach you.

You're sure you'll feel the effects of ice cold water seeping into your skin later, but right now all you can focus on is the man before you and how happy you are to have found him.

Joe pulls back and you nearly giggle at the sight of him. The tip of his nose and his cheeks are a bright pink, and you're sure if he wasn't wearing his hat that his ears would appear the same. Even though he looks like the happiest man alive right now, you can tell he's cold. Although you can admire the snow for how it looks and how it makes you feel inside, it doesn't always make you feel the greatest on the outside, especially after a long period of time.

You decide now is a good a time as any to head back inside. You're confident the first fall of snow lived up to all the hype and then some.

"C'mon, let's go inside and warm up. I think I've had enough of the snow...for now," you chuckle.

"Thank God," Joe breathes out before bringing his hands up and rubbing them together, trying to create some warmth between them. "I know you love this stuff, but I won't lie, I'm freezing my ass off."

The two of you laugh as Joe leads you back inside through the patio door. The familiar click of the door handle echoes behind you and you hum in satisfaction as the cold gets shut out and the warmth of Joe's house welcomes you with open arms.

"Hey, freezing or not, you have to admit the snow is pretty magical." Joe watches as you begin to take off your jacket, a bit of snow that clung to you falling to the ground. Some of it is still in your hair, slowly melting away, but the sight of it makes his heart swell. The snow glistens, almost sparkles, and all it does is add to your beauty in his eyes. You're so blissfully unaware of it all too, and it only makes Joe fall for you that much more.

"I think I'm gonna have to agree with you on that one, sweetheart," he replies, genuinely believing it.

Magic snow powers or not, Joe adored seeing you in awe like that tonight. He can't wait for many more instances like it, and who knows? Maybe during next year's first snowfall, he might be on one knee, confessing his love for you in a different way.

[orimuraa]

⋆⁺₊❅. The first snow - Park Sunghoon

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆when the days got cold, sunghoon was the one to warm your heart ⨾

۶ৎ non idol!park sunghoon x fem!reader ┆angst, hurt/comfort┆crying, reader has family issues, a kiss at the end, petnames┆please dont read this if you are sensitive to toxic parental behavior┆wc 851

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this if for @cupidhoons winter event! the prompt is “028 standing under falling snow, feeling it melt on your cheeks, but it’s just the tears” happy birthday to our beloved hoonie!

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

the air got crisper and the wind got colder as winter rolled around.

that meant one thing for you. it’ll be a long winter.

your parents never actually cared for you, always leaving you to fend for yourself.

however, you were able to find your escape from the harsh world at home.

his name was park sunghoon.

you and sunghoon had gotten close in elementary school and have been inseparable since.

sunghoon was a shy but very well mannered boy. he looked out for you, making sure you were doing okay.

he knew your relationship with your parents was rough, so he made a promise to you that when the two of you turned 18, he would start a new life for you.

his parents were like the parents you never had. they cared for you, fed you, and even bought you new things.

on the nights you would sleep over, they made sure to contact your parents even though they wouldn’t give a damn about your wellbeing.

when you were at the park’s house, you actually felt like you mattered and you loved it there.

but as the years went on, your parents started arguments with you about stupid things. it was their excuse to just yell at you.

sunghoon knew something had to be done sooner than later. the number of nights he would open his front door, just to be greeted with your red, puffy eyes hurt him immensely.

at first, he thought it was because he has known you since childhood and that it was because he cared so much for you as a friend. but overtime, he couldn’t help but feel the hurt in his heart on nights like these. the urge to wrap you in his arms and protect you from the cruel world.

you were such a sweet girl and you never deserved an ounce of hate that your parents gave you.

₊˚｡ ❆

the first day of snowfall. the seasonal reminder of how lonely and cold your life really was.

the snow for a lot of people was a happy memory. family and friends getting together and playing in the snow.

but for you, you dreaded every snowflake that fell.

the night of the first snowfall, you and your parents got into a big argument. they told you that you were worthless and taking up space in the house. so they kicked you out.

they threw you out with your small amount of belongings and told you to never come back.

you didn’t bother to tell sunghoon, knowing that he would probably lash out and do something stupid.

so here you were, walking in the snow, the lamps illuminating the streets just enough to see.

the snow was falling at and blurring your vision. or maybe that was just the tears.

walking to a stop, you wanted to just give up. what was the point of all this when you didn’t feel loved?

standing under falling snow, feeling it melt on your cheeks, but it’s just the tears. you didn’t even realize you were crying until a sob raked out of your chest.

you don’t really know what happened from after that, but you remember setting down your phone and slumping onto one of the nearby park benches, your knees curling up to your chest protectively.

the next thing you knew, the sound of footsteps rushing towards you were heard and a pair of arms thrown around you, holding you close.

you would’ve been terrified if you didn’t recognize the smell of a familiar cologne. sunghoon.

“y/n? ynnie? are you alright? what happened pretty?” his voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

“hoonie?” your voice was so small and barely over a whisper, and sunghoon felt his heart break for you.

"yeah, i'm here baby, don't worry. i'm right here," he held you close, not caring that his shoulder was getting soaked from your tears.

the two of you stayed like that under the snow for a while. the comforting warmth of sunghoon melted the ice around your heart.

"ynnie? i know this is awful timing but i just need to say it," sunghoon finally breaks the comfortable silence. "i-...i like you, y/n. i didn't realize it but now i do. i want to be able to protect you from the harsh world and i'm so sorry i was too late to protect you from your parents."

it took you a minute to realize what sunghoon had just said to you. he liked you too. he cared so much for you and now it all made sense.

"hoonie...i like you too..i'm just..scarred i guess. i don't wanna feel the way i've felt with my parents but i know you wouldn't do that to me," your eyes brimmed with tears once again.

"can i kiss you?" was all he said, and with a small nod, he leaned in, connecting your lips together.

despite the freezing snow falling around you guys, the kiss felt warm. warm with love and desire. it was sunghoon's promise to you.

a promise that he would always stick with you.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

⚘. Perm taglist: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy

[neosero]

“So, my child, what will it be?”

<< prev. | main masterlist | next >>

oo. PROLOGUE ❆ THE FIRST SIGNS OF SNOW —

chapter description | For a Snezhnyan, the cold is home. However with the recent weather you fear the worst for your small village, that is until an unexpected guest brings forth a much needed blessing and a dreadful bargain.

word count | 3.4k words

noteworthy mentions | none of this is canon; obvious ooc things; gn!reader; canon typical violence;

Ever since the day La Signora’s remains were brought to the capital, Snezhnaya’s climate has not known peace.

The blizzard came in with a fury just after her funeral ceremony concluded and the storm still rages on without any signs of dissolving. For those who live in the city it was a blessing. All work would conclude an hour earlier until the storm subsided as signed off by Mayor Pulcinella, and there was even a relief fund distributed to the masses from the Northland Bank as a way to help get through these troubled times. However, to those who live outside the high walls the storm is nothing but the wrath of the Archon.

“We cannot go any further!”

White. No matter which way you turn, all that can be seen is the pure raging white of snowfall. The ground is buried by it, the trees are smothered in it and anything worth hunting is either frozen or has long since left for shelter. Even the sky is like a forgotten canvas. It weaves its way into layers of snow below, perfectly leaving the way forward a long landscape of just white. You scoff into your scarf fighting to lift your nearly frozen foot out of the snow to keep moving forward.

“Captain!”

The winds are heavy and loud. So heavy that the three feet of solid snow on the ground is your only stabilizer to fight its aggressive push, and so loud you cannot even hear the sounds of your own heartbeat in your ears. If it weren’t for Lev — the craftsman of your town and one of the few people well enough to accompany you, physically forcing you to look back you might have left your party behind. He removes his scarf from his mouth, yelling with all his might to be heard.

“The hunt is over. We have been out here for hours with no signs of life other than ourselves and the storm is getting worse. Maksim won’t make it any longer in this weather!” You look past Lev and see the sorry state of your party: a few of the volunteers still stagger behind fighting to move against the snow as the quiver in the cold, Maksim is the worst of them shaking violently within Katerina’s hold as she tries her best to provide him warmth with power of her pyro vision to no avail. She catches your gaze and meets you with desperate eyes likely seeking the same thing as Lev. You turn back to the snow one last time. They are right of course, this plan wasn’t going to be a successful one from the start. It’s far too cold and the routes too perilous for any untrained man to keep going.

Your sigh is heavy and defeated, “Let's go back.”

Lomas. A small village due west of the city within Gopeysk Forest. Its population is small, population consisting mostly of refugees that needed an escape from the city or mercenaries trying to get that second chance. The village isn’t much with no high walls or generators to provide warmth but it is the closest thing to home you have ever had in your lifetime…and it pains you to come back to it with nothing to give it thanks.

When your expedition returns with less supplies than when you left, you expect to see the people more disheartened. Maybe a few curses, sobbing, anything but the open arms and smiles you are met with. There are a few people awaiting your arrival: among them Lev’s wife and daughter who greet him with a warm embrace the moment he reaches them; the Innkeep Maria, gently takes Maksim, Katerina and a few of the others back to her establishment with a promise of a fire and warm food; the last of them take to their own family and friends as they are all surrounded with heartfelt welcomes. You take it all in for what it is: they knew you would be unsuccessful. None of them expected you to return with any good news because it has been like this for weeks, with the food preserves running low and the water still frozen over. The best anyone can do is be there for one another.

With the times as is, it’s all they have left. 

You catch eyes with Chief Igor behind the masses. Just as he is noticed, he smiles at you before stalking back into his home. The implication is there for you to follow, so you place your sword back at the armory and head over.

When you enter you’re engulfed in the warmth of a fire you can hear burning in the living space. The house is more like a hut with only this hallway separating each room. You can hear the sound of a tea kettle steaming on your left and follow the noise. The Chief sits in a large fur chair in front of a fireplace, in his hands is the kettle you heard. He pours two cups full of the hot liquid as you move to remove some of your layers before joining him by the fire. You sit in an identical chair adjacent to him and he motions for you to take the other cup as he sips from his own. You do it out of respect but don’t drink it, your eyes locked on the fire.

“If you don’t drink it, it will get cold.” 

“We won’t last through this storm, Igor.” You speak finally, eyes jumping to meet his old and tired ones. “I’ve seen our supply — it's the only reason we left — and it isn’t good. We have to do something.”

“And what do you think we should do? Go back into the storm and freeze or ask the capital for help?” You sit silently.

“You worry too much. That’s my job.”

Shakily, he reaches for the kettle again. Slowly he pours a little more into your cup bringing back the steam of heat it once lost. “It is difficult now, I know but we will get through this. Lomas was not born in a day, she has survived worse before you came along.”

He is right; the elders take pride in bringing up past endeavors with bandits and blizzards alike over a drink and this place has had its ups and downs. “If we ration well, we’ll last a month. Maybe even a few extra days at best but this storm will pass as they always do.”

You try to relax, drinking down the tea and feeling the heat sooth over your senses. m It's clear worrying won’t do anyone any good so you bottle up whatever else you have to say and offer the Chief a smile as best you can. You sit in idle chatter for a while until the sun dies past the trees. You thank him for the drink and retreat back to the coat hanger for your things, bracing yourself for the outside once again. It is a lot more peaceful at night, the snowfall.

It’s almost as if the archon herself is at rest and yet still subconsciously mourning her loss, the snowflake like tears gently falling down her cheeks falling into our own world.

With heavy steps, you trek over to the inn. As you draw near, the sounds of laughter and music grow in volume and when you get to the doors they are thrust open before you. Instantly you are engulfed in the arms of men as they chant and carry you off to the dance floor.  You’re spun in circles, whisked away from partner to partner and given a drink from the hands of a child. It takes too long to escape their merriment but luckily a change in tune has them calm down enough for you to sneak away. “So the great warrior hasn’t lost their fight I see.”

As you drink down your cup for all its worth, you throw your gaze to the side to catch sight of the voice. To your left sits your party all enjoying a fine meal and drink. Lev offers a seat to you and you take it gladly. “Finally decided to join us!” Maksim, clearly having traded in his frostbite for drunkenness, refills your cup with some of the hard booze from his own glass. The glare you throw him sends a laugh through the table.

“Listen, listen… for what it's worth I lost ten mora on a bet that I would be the one to send us home so cut me some slack alright.” His words slur and he nearly tips over his own stool trying to chase the cup in his own hands. You shake your head at him and take a sip from your no longer empty cup. Soon a bowl of hot potato soup is placed in front of you and you look up to see Katerina. Her flaming red hair is in a bun and with the apron to match she perfectly fits into the inn staff. She places one more bowl down for your table off her tray before sitting next to you. “How did it go with the chief?”

“Let's just say we are in for the winter. How has the inn been holding?” You both talk loudly amongst yourselves as the music has once again picked up along with the chatter. “Nothing can break their spirits really!”

“Not even the archon herself. Bless her ever cold heart!” The exclamation comes from somewhere over your shoulder you don’t see but it was loud enough to earn a cheer and a toast. Almost every glass is raised to the air and in unison they are all emptied like there will be no tomorrow. You have half a mind to speak for it, but as Igor said this storm will pass. So you finish your own cup slamming it back on the table and pulling Katerina by the arms to the dance floor. She fights back poorly and another cheer is brought out into the night as you both join the group. You spend the rest of the late hours in the comfort of friends and family, letting the faux embrace of hard liquors and music lull you into a sense of peace. It makes you think of a brighter tomorrow, offers you hope you have yet to know will be crushed.

When morning breaks through, you’re shaken awake. It startles you, flinching in your own bed and reaching for the dagger under your pillow before you realize its Katerina. “What’s going on-?”

“You have to see this.” She cuts you off before moving to your curtains and thrusting them open. The light is blinding but still you walk over to the window. You're still a little delirious and getting up so quickly isn't helping but at first glance everything seems fine. The snow storm has passed overnight it seems and a good chunk of snow has already been shoveled clear from the food reserve and the armory which is now lit with a fire. You almost question Katerina’s hysteria until you catch sight of a man leaving the reserve. A mask covers most of his face and the rest of him is covered head to toe in black winter gear. He stands out like a sore thumb in the snow but that isn’t what catches your eye. No, it's the etchings of an emblem that stirs a sour pit in your stomach and brings new found vigor to your body.

“Move.” It is all you give her as a warning before you launch your nightstand through the window. The glass shatters open and while she is still surprised you grasp her sword and jump through. Thankfully you land on snow instead of glass but that is the least of your worries as you bolt for the man ahead. He sees you coming and he panics, hands raising in surrender but you pay it no mind. Of course you wouldn’t jab an unarmed man, so you flip the sword in your hand to thrust the hilt into his stomach and deliver a kick to the back of his knee. He falls over in pain and you bring the tip of the sword to the back of his neck as soon as he hits the floor. He wails and you press the blade closer to silence him, by now you have drawn the eyes of a crowd but still you don’t care. Not now, not when they are involved. Through greeted teeth and anger you ask, “What are you doing here?! Where is your commanding officer!?”

The man does nothing but breath heavily into the snow shoved in his face. You almost let the anger get the best of you in his silence, almost breaking flesh but the head of a rifle stops you short. Your head whips over coming eye to eye with the barrel of a pyroslingers gun. The man with the rifle looks as calm as his covered face could show, “Why don’t you put the sword down and we could talk?”

“As if I’d listen to your kind!” The man below tries to inch away but you bring your foot down on his right calf - not enough to break but enough to keep him still. The gunman flinches closer at his partner’s scream of pain.”You all have no power here so why-?”

“By the archons, what is happening here?” Igor leaves his hut in a hurry probably having heard the screams. 

“Igor! Quickly get the others we need to…”

“No, you will put the sword down now and stop this foolishness!” Igor looks at you as if you’re insane and you stare back just as puzzled. “What?”

“They’ve come to help us.”

“Help? Help!” The word dives your foot harder into the man's calf. “I’m sorry, have I missed something. What could these people possibly do to help us?” The anger rises exponentially within you so much so if you had a pyro vision you're sure you would have caught fire by now. 

“I know it is hard to believe and I will explain it all, but please release him.” Igor begs, eyes showing nothing but sincerity however your guard remains held. “Not until he loses the gun.”

“Fat chance.” The gunman cocks his weapon, eyes challenging you to be the first to break. By now the commotion has brought everyone to watch; Lev holds his family close, Katerina stands in suspense and many other onlookers wait to see how it unfolds.

It is his voice that stuns you both into submission. 

“Lower your weapon and return to your post.”

You look past Igor to the man behind him. He stands tall in a white cloak encrusted in a deep sea blue, half of his face is encased by the decay of a mask molted to his skin but it does not hinder his piercing gaze as locking eyes with him. Your breathing quickens and you can’t move; whether it be from the cold finally catching up to you or him you don’t know. What you do know is that your body complies without you willing it; you drop the sword and the gunman lowers his weapon all the same. He bows deep before leaving and so does the man you injured as he hobbles off. Igor moves past you to try and disperse the crowd.

It only leaves you to stare him down.

The head of the fatui and the Harbingers.

The Jester, Pierro.

Igor returns sighing deeply, uncaring of the tension present between you two. “Let us return to my hut. We have much to discuss.”

“Indeed.” Pierro says coldly, eyes never leaving your own.

The room is in utter silence.

Igor had explained everything: they had come at dawn, didn’t ask for a thing or want anything except to help. They had brought food and generators for heat and power they would soon install themselves in all homes and businesses. They had brought weapons and materials to give as well as blueprints for expansion if that be the case. A bucket load of gifts with no strings attached that Lomas so conveniently needs. Igor tried to get you to understand, the storm has passed on he said this is the new but you knew better than that. For the entirety of the meeting you never break Pierro’s gaze and neither does he yours. You try to see his angle or true purpose for being here but you come up with nothing. It is all too random.

“I think they need time to process.” Pierro finally speaks, gaze unmoving. 

“Of course, you’re right. Come I'll get Maria to…”

“Process alone.” Pierro cuts Igor off, resting his face on his intertwined fingers. Igor looks between the man and you, he nods knowing that he is not needed in this conversation so he takes his cane and goes. You wait for the door to close fully before you stand and slam your fists on the table, “What are you doing here?”

Pierro doesn’t speak but lets you talk. “It's been years. Years. No search parties, no bounties, no commissions, nothing so why here? Why now when things were just getting good. I don’t understand!”

“La Signora is dead.” He waves his hand using the power of cryo to move the tea kettle and pour himself a glass. “The Fatui is losing influence as our numbers decline. Only whispers but whispers soon turn to challenges and challenges turn to trouble.” He takes a long sip then.

“Her majesty, The Tsaritsa, beckons us all home to fill the void the Fair Lady has left behind. She wants to advance forward and with the plan moving in such succession it is crucial we keep our ranks in line. Her judgment is always best and this is no exception.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” You make the mistake of asking. He stands then himself, finally breaking away from your staring contest to move over to a window. Just as before, he uses some power of cryo and the window swings open on its own. He beckons you over and reluctantly you approach. Pierro then speaks, “Each Harbinger is tasked with bringing in their own disciples and through a collection of trials they will each compete for the honor to close the void and restore the order that was lost.” 

It clicks then for you, his purpose for being here but still he continues. “You will compete in the Harbinger trials as my chosen and fight for the honor of her majesty.”

“I will never help or go back to that life.” You spit on his shoes. The life you had with the fatui is gone, long gone and you can't go back to that. You won't go back. 

“Hm.”

Pierro stares at the spit stain until it freezes over and blows away like dust. “Lomas is beautiful isn’t it.”

The implication drops your heart into your chest, a sudden pressure to your shoulders. “You won’t lay a hand on these people!”

“Their safety is my guarantee, if you return. Lest you continue to fight then by morning a blizzard will be your last concern and you will beg for her majesty’s mercy.” Pierro threat isn’t a threat, with the way his pale grey eye pours into you it only speaks of a promise. Anger fuels you and your fist rises to punch in frustration but your body yet doesn’t listen to you. Just like the kettle and the window, Pierro uses some kind of power to freeze you in place. 

“Join me willingly and become the Harbinger by my side as you were raised to be, or let these people die for your selfish theatrics and I bring you by force over their graves.”

Again he means business, his words a guarantee and you know Lomas wouldn’t stand a chance against the might of the Fatui let alone Pierro’s regime. Your gaze shifts outside, you can see his workers moving and placing various mechanics around the village but you can also see the ones you love. Katerina and Maksim both stand watch over the men working, Lev holds his daughter close as she clings to his neck and Maria refuses to let the men in her Inn. If anything were to happen to them you don’t know what you would do but this is…

Slowly your gaze is shifted back to him, Pierro doesn’t smile at your struggle or show any real sign of concern. Just that same old straight face you remember in your nightmares.

“So, my child, what will it be?”

The question is raised and there is only one answer.

You give your response hushed and with the utmost anger you could muster through your defeat, “I accept the invitation, master.”

author's note | here is the opening chapter to a Ballad of Winter's Embrace! Thanks to everyone's patience with me, university is weird at the moment but now I have the free time to actually keep moving forward with my wips! heavy filler chapter this is but i did want to give a bit of something before just jumping into everything I have planned out.

[lov3lybarista]

ᴄʜ. 12 ʙᴜʀɴ ɪᴛ.

Wattpad:lov3lybarista Pairing: Thomas Shelby x OC Warnings: VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER WOOOO violence, mental illness, psychotic episode Word Count:5.7k+ Masterlist. ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ Song: The Love Me or Die by C.W. Stoneking

August 7th, 1923, Arrow House, Birmingham, United Kingdom.

It was the first break of dusk when the message came through. It wasn't a call or a telegram, not really a letter, no. Just a courier in a dark coat and white gloves—silent, professional yet still very nervous. He handed the envelope to Francis as if it might burn his hand.

Francis had brought it in while Thomas was in the middle of a meeting with Arthur and John, something boring about delays on shipments in the canal gypsy routes. Thomas knew it was from her the instant he smelled the faint trace of fig and rose on the paper.

I need to meet with you in person at your estate. This evening if possible. Please clear the house. —D.H.

He read it twice, first with the eyes of a man used to control, then again with something colder curling in his chest. He didn't even apologize as he stood and left the meeting with the card clenched in his hand.

Arthur exchanged a look with John, "That from her, the doctor?"

John just shook his head, letting out a low whistle, "She's got him by the throat."

He had told them to leave. They didn't listen though, of course. Loitering somewhere in the halls like beggars for spare change, pretending to be adjusting their collars or inspecting a horse painting. But they were listening.

Because Dalia Hassan did not ask for any favors.

Until now.

Dalia had arrived at the estate just past eight in the evening, where the sun set the horizon ablaze, and the wind seemed to blow more cautiously as if it too sensed the impending dread.

He was at her door before the driver could even stop the car properly, opening it for her and holding her hand as she stepped down. She was dressed in a deep gray that looked like steel beneath the sheen of the spreading night, something fluid that moved like ash when she walked.

"I need your help."

He held her hand tighter, helping her into the threshold, "Just say the word, darling. Anything."

The scent of her filled his air as she passed, clean jasmine—crushed tulips underneath a chilly night—something that made him breathe in, that made his eyes flutter and open.

She paused just in the drawing room as if she were listening for the air to speak back.

She asked softly, "Are we alone?"

Thomas let out a deep sigh. "Arthur. John. Out, now."

From the left hallway: "Just making sure she's not poisoning you, Tommy lad—"

"Wanted to see her beauty before we—"

"Out."

Their footsteps echoed, and a door creaked. Silence settled like heavy snowfall. But they never left, not really. Somewhere behind a thick wooden door Arthur already had his body leaned against it, John emptying a flower vase to use it to press against the wood and listen.

Thomas watched her closely. She didn't sit, didn't even look at him properly. She paced for a moment, moving like some beautiful cursed fog in his house.

"Do you believe in hauntings?"

He stilled, his eyes sharpening, he didn't answer. Not directly. Instead: "Something's happened."

She nodded once, moving her hair off one shoulder like it bore the weight of the world. "My house—" she tried to breathe right, "it's wrong."

He waited in dreadful silence.

She continued:

"Yusif brought his wife to stay with me. Not for a break. For containment, for monitoring."

His lips parted, "Adam's father. Your brother I met."

She nodded.

"What's wrong with her?"

She laughed—no, not really. She scoffed. In disbelief, in anger, in pure, dazed confusion. Her eyes were glossed, staring far away.

"I wish I fucking knew," she dragged a hand down her face, her teeth gritted, "She speaks to people who aren't even there. She screams—at corners, at mirrors, at her fucking son. Adam's terrified. And then—" she dropped her head, trying to hold herself up against his couch, "when she wakes she speaks in languages no one recognizes. Tongues, old, lost. She only knows English."

Thomas said nothing, but he moved to help her stand.

She continued, "I thought maybe it had to do with postpartum delusion, she just had a child. But then—" she grabbed onto his arm, her dazed eyes meeting his, "I started waking up with the sound of my father's voice calling my name in my bedroom."

She licked her lips, "He's been dead for over a decade."

Thomas felt the breath leave all of his lungs.

"Thomas I'm not crazy, I'm not some damn lunatic. My family—we don't do dramatics. We bury and move on, we honor their memory and sit in peace. It's natural but this?"

"This?" he whispered, searching her eyes.

"I can't breathe in that house. I feel like there are eyes where there's no one. I see my mother's reflection in mirrors behind me. And now Adam's been telling me about a woman who visits him at night with long black fingers and red teeth," her grip tightened on his arm, "and when he speaks of her he uses words he doesn't—shouldn't know."

Her voice cracked with rage, now fully holding onto him with both hands.

"My nephew only knows Arabic and English—what the fuck does he know about Romani?"

Thomas had to hold her fully upright now. Not to just steady her, but to ground him too. He knew his language, he knew what Romani meant when it was spoken of in dread, in fear.

Then she whispered, like a confession she hated to give: "I want to set it all on fire. I want to walk away from it and never look back."

Thomas's jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

"But I can't," she croaked, "because they're in there."

Thomas cups her face, turning her to look into his eyes, "What do you need me to do, darling."

She swallowed, her eyes sharp, "You know your people. The old ones. The ones who see things no one else can or wants to."

"You want Gypsy help."

She pursed her lips, "I want the truth," she whispered, "I want someone who doesn't tell me it's my stress or job or my blood pressure. I want someone who won't prescribe me to an asylum for saying the air in my house tastes like ash and bloodied dirt."

He held her closer, "Tonight. Right now, I'll send for Esmerelda. She's the one we call when our men go mad because of things that aren't dreams."

She nodded, "I don't care how much she costs."

"It will be done for free."

He stopped her before she could ask why.

"Because I will ask her."

Outside of the room, against the heavy door, Arthur lifted his ear from his cupped hands, sharing a weary look with John.

"What's she mean?"

John shook his head, a somber look on his face, "Means she's bloody cursed. The type Polly has nightmares about."

Thomas ignored them. He just held her closer, his strong hands rubbing her sides, circling her back the way one might soothe a child who woke from a night terror. He kissed her temple, closing his eyes as he pressed her to his chest.

"I'll help you. Whatever this is...it won't be able to touch you again."

Dalia said nothing. She didn't cry, didn't tremble. She just simply stared at the gold clip on his tie, her eyes dazed in a land filled with shadows and hauntings written by grief.

Her estate held them all by the time they arrived just before midnight. Thomas hadn't asked them to come, but they did. Because when they saw the look in his eyes when he led her to the car, they knew this didn't need to be questioned.

Arthur drove John and Polly in silence, following the car that held Dalia and Thomas. Just beyond them, Johnny Dogs steered the caravan that held Esmeralda inside, as if the wagon itself held the cure for whatever madness raptured her peace.

The estate was lit enough to look alive. Not brightly, but occupied. Inside, the chandeliers still glowed in gold but the warmth had vanished. The floors remained clean. The air still smelled of lavender and musk, but something—something lurked beneath it. Like the creeping of black mold behind an elegant painting. There, not on the walls or the skin. On the soul. Even the staff were more silent than usual, their eyes averted not out of respect, but out of caution. They bowed their head too quickly, and stepped carefully on each tile, like even the air shifting might stir something none were brave enough to name.

Dalia led Thomas into the drawing room where they found Adam sitting on the couch, his small form engulfed by the cushions, a brown stuffed bear clutched between his arms for comfort. The peaky cap Thomas had gifted him rested on his soft curls, his wide eyes blinking up as Thomas went to grab him and set him down between them. Dalia said nothing, just stroked Adam's hair who nestled between the two for comfort as they waited for the others to arrive.

Polly frowned when she walked in, Arthur tried to give the boy a smile to cheer him up, but John seemed too nervous to even sit.

Then Johnny Dogs brought in Esmeralda.

Her skirt consisted of patchwork, foreign and vibrant—not with color, but with history. With dread, with ancient knowledge passed by tongue and not pen. Her scarf jingled as she walked, pausing in the middle of the room. Her eyes narrowed instantly. Not out of suspicion, no, recognition. At Dalia.

"The house does not carry this sickness. You do."

The room hushed.

Polly lit a cigarette with trembling fingers, she was watching Esmeralda too closely. John had begun to pace by the mantel like a wolf in a cage, Arthur leaned forward, his hands rubbing his knees as he bounced his leg. Johnny Dogs looked away like it hurt him to hear.

Dalia's mind processed the words slowly. "Excuse you?"

Thomas drew them both closer to him, Adam shielded by both of their arms. He rubbed her back as if trying to say with his touch to relax, to not react just yet.

Esmeralda looked her over slowly as if she was seeing layers of her skin the rest could not imagine.

"You have managed to walk through the fire, " she began, her voice grim, "but something followed you out. Something that refuses to go back to where it came from."

Dalia's jaw tightened, "I asked you here to help, not to diagnose me."

"You called me here to name it."

The silence that followed made the room grow even colder despite the burning fire in the mantel. Esmeralda began to move, reaching into her satchel to spread out what she had brought onto the low coffee table—worn-out cards, a lock with a singular burn mark and jagged key, a dish of salt with burnt herbs in the middle, two vermin skulls.

Adam shifted between Thomas and Dalia, clutching his bear tighter as his bottom lip trembled. He turned his face into Dalia's side, and Thomas reached down to smooth the boy's back.

"Didi I want to go home," Adam whispered.

"You are home, my love," she whispered back, her voice tightening.

Then—

a scream from upstairs. Loud, shrieking. The type that made blood curdle and didn't sound human, as if a fox was luring a hunter into the woods. A woman's voice but ragged, torn. Dalia was ready to move, standing—

Thomas held her down, shaking his head firmly. "No, you stay here."

"Thomas I have to see her—"

"No, Dalia. Not now, not for this."

His grip tightened on her, his eyes pleading that for once, she please not go for others and stay for herself instead. She looked at him for a long moment, her lips drawn into a tense line but nodded, settling down to soothe Adam from hearing his mother scream bloody murder.

Esmeralda now lit one single candle, instructing Johnny Dogs to cut out the rest of the lights in the room. He hesitated but moved when Thomas gave him a nod to go ahead. Only the singular glow carried now, across Dalia's cheekbones, hiding in the coils of Adam's hair.

Then calmly Esmeralda began again, each word she spoke worse than the last:

"He brought it with him."

No one spoke except for Thomas, "Who?"

"You."

Thomas's blood went cold. She turned now to face him fully, her eyes finally leaving Dalia. They were rimmed dark, almost gray from the candlelight.

"Thomas Shelby you carry something that clings to you like a bloodied cloth. It had followed you from the depths of war, it feeds on your grief, it lives in the hollow of your bones."

He didn't look away from her, his throat too dry now. "I know what I am. What does it want from her?"

Esmeralda slammed a hand down on the table, Adam startled in their arms, and Dalia held him tighter.

"When you touched her!" she yelled, her eyes burning through him, "It saw her, Shelby," she spat, "It remembered something about the depth of her blood that it once knew and it moved!"

Thomas had gone still as stone now, Dalia stared at the flame of the candle like it would ignite her flesh.

"You didn't curse her," Esmeralda continued. "You awakened what had already lived in her. Now what curses you is entangled with her. Your darkness shadows with hers. Your dead grieves with her own."

Dalia rubbed her hands down her eyes, hard enough to cause her vision to prickle white like she was trying to wake herself from some horrible nightmare that kept looping every night. "What the fuck does that even mean? What do I do?"

Esmeralda didn't smile, but something in her eyes softened. "You must stay close to each other. Or you run, child. But you do not—DO NOT try to heal it."

"Why?"

"Because it does not want to heal," she said grimly, "It wants witnesses. It wants fire, it wants to watch it all burn."

Another scream pierced through the air. It was louder but shorter, like something being yanked back. Adam covered his ears, tears dripping down his little face. Thomas moved instantly, bringing the boy to his arms, and cradling him. His small cap slid off, the bear fell to the floor. Dalia reached for both of them, holding back tears as she rubbed Adam's back and clung to Thomas's coat. They stayed like that.

The gangster, the doctor, the child.

Esmeralda began to lay out the cards. Three only.

First was a tower struck down by lightning.

The second was blank.

Third was two figures, both bound at the wrist. One was gagged but weeping. The other was blindfolded but screaming.

Arthur whispered a curse under his breath. John reached for Polly's hand when he noticed the tears begin to drip from her eyes. Johnny Dogs breathed out like he had been under water.

She pulled one more card out. A woman with her mouth sewn shut.

Another scream. Now it was cracked, the voice torn raw from the vocal cords. Dalia went to move again.

"Thomas she's my family—"

"And you are mine!" he yelled through his gritted teeth, his voice low and pained.

Adam now wept fully in Thomas's arms. Esmeralda stood, whispering something under her breath in a tongue so old that not even Polly could recognize it.

"This isn't fucking normal," Arthur muttered.

"It's not meant to be," Polly spat back, her leg bouncing uncontrollably. John rubbed his eyes over and over again, trying to keep himself from losing it.

Then—CRACK!

A sharp strike of thunder carried the glow of lightning, and the chandelier above them began to shake. Outside the sky turned white and violent, illuminating everything for a split second...

And in that second, Dalia had lifted her eyes to the window towering over the gardens and she froze.

Her breathing ceased.

There—

Etched in the fog of the glass like it had been bred by something in the walls:

Malik. Mariam.

Her father's and her mother's names are written in perfect Arabic script, the names that she has refused to see in years—clean-cut, deliberate.

Written straight from the inside of the house.

Dalia shot up from her seat, standing with no warning. She left Adam in Thomas's arms and crossed the room in two long strides, her eyes wide, her skin so pale now that it seemed translucent, her hands shaking with the quiet recognition of too much.

She went straight for Esmeralda, and the storm light surged again, lighting the ghost-written grief behind them. Dalia reached for her, gripped the shawls at her collar hard, and pulled—

"EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON???"

Her voice shook, it echoed off the walls, not with fear, but with complete, guttural rage. Thomas stood, holding Adam tighter as he moved towards them, Polly following like a shadow at his feet, her eyes locked on the window like it might bleed and flood the floors with the names.

Dalia shook Esmeralda once as if trying to wake her, to explain, to help, to do anything—

'What is it? Tell me! Is it the house? Is it me? Is it him?" she pointed to Thomas, her face pained. "Is it my blood they want? What do they want?"

Esmeralda breathed out very slowly. Her voice came low, flat. "They want to be remembered."

Dalia let go of her like she had been burned, her voice a fragile whisper. "Remembered?"

Esmeralda nodded solemnly. "You buried them too quick, too clean. You moved past with your grief folded neatly into the drawers of your heart. You refused to scream, to let out the sob in the throat of a child who never got to cry when burned."

Silence followed for a long moment. Then Dalia whispered: "I was never burned."

That only made Esmeralda tilt her head. "Are you sure?"

She parted her mouth, but no words came.

Behind them, Adam lifted his head from Thomas's arms, his wide brown eyes fixated on the window where the names were written. Then so softly, only loud enough for Dalia and Thomas to hear:

"She writes the names every night."

They all turned to the boy. Thomas looked down, his brows drawn in worry. "Who?"

Adam frowned, then whispered again: "The shadow woman."

The words lingered in the air like smoke from an alarm fire. No one moved. Adam nestled back into Thomas's chest, his small fingers gripping the lapel of his coat. His eyes were glossy, not from tears. From knowing something he was never supposed to know.

Dalia then turned, her movements precise as she picked up his dropped bear and tucked it into his arms, making sure Adam was tightly held in Thomas's embrace. She turned, staring at his brothers, at Polly, at Esmeralda, at Johnny Dogs. Then she turned again, staring at the staff who peered from the doorway—maids, butlers, footman whose hands trembled slightly as he held the edge of the door.

She stared at all of them and then her voice echoed out, low and lethal:

"Get out."

When no one moved she screamed the words.

"GET OUT!"

Her voice wasn't hysterical. It was commanding, it was certain.

"Everyone leave, now. This is my home, my fucking curse, my bloodline written into that window—" she spat, her eyes wide as she pointed at them all, "If something wants me, then it will get ONLY ME!"

Thomas stepped forward, his hand already out but she yelled again, "I said go, Thomas. Take them and go, now."

He didn't move right away, but he understood, he knew that this was her facing something alone, that this wasn't pushing them away. She turned to her staff again, her hands trembling as she pointed and seethed.

"Out!" she yelled, "Get out, now. You've done well, you have served enough. There's nothing left worth saving. Collect all the bags and get your items. You aren't coming back."

None of her staff argued. They had already moved to the foyer where bags were set out, large trunks and suitcases packed already as if she knew what this night would come down to. The scatter of their shoes and the hushed panic of their voices filled the marbled walls as doors began to creak and stairs were climbed.

Arthur turned to Thomas, "She's not serious."

Johnny Dogs looked like he was about to pass out, "Tommy we—"

"She is serious," Thomas murmured, still rocking the boy in his arms.

"Bloody hell," John panted, "she's going to burn this place down, Tom we have to—"

"Let her," Polly said, staring at Dalia like she was seeing her for the first time again.

Now Dalia had left, storming down the hall with her heels echoing like gunfire, her voice booming against the walls.

"Every single damned ghost—" she shouted as she moved like a mad woman, tearing down heavy drapes and kicking doors open, "every single name written in blood-stained glass, every single thing you touched with my name on it— GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Thomas could barely control his breathing as he followed her out, the boy now almost half-asleep in his arms, lulled by the strange events dazing his mind. He watched her silhouette blur like a raging storm through what was her once beautiful house, now torn to shreds by her own hands, like some ethereal phantom of vengeance and rage.

"You want a fucking witness??" Her voice screamed through the polished walls, "I'm right here! I REMEMBER EVERYTHING!"

And the house, for the first time since the shadow had taken root, groaned back.

They all stood outside now. The rain had since vanished, the clouds cracking open to reveal the large white coin hung in the sky that didn't even look like the moon anymore. The gravel crunched with soaked dirt underneath their shoes, fog settling from the bushes like the garden itself was sighing in release. Even the wind had stilled.

The house was too quiet. The staff now gathered by the driveway, holding luggage, hers and theirs, intentionally packed and ready to flee. Dalia always had known this night would come.

Thomas stood in the grass, his coat wrapped around Adam's sleeping form, though his hold on the stuffed bear never relented. Arthur stood behind him, his arms crossed, his expression grim. Polly had lit her fourth cigarette.

"She's still in there," John whispered.

Then the doors flung open.

Dalia emerged from the house but she wasn't alone. She was dragging someone across the stone steps.

Yusif's wife.

Her body was limp, her dress torn and soaked, her face twisted in some gruesome state of horror and unconscious terror conjured from vivid dreams that bled into hallucinations. The whites of her eyes were yellow, her mouth hung open like she was dead.

Dalia dragged her onto the lawn, all gentleness gone from her hands. Her posture was high, and regal even as she dragged the madwoman through mud. When she reached where they stood she let go. And she screamed.

"You're scaring your child!" Dalia's voice cut through the silence like a knife, sharp and raged.

The woman wailed in response, her body seizing as she clawed senselessly at nothing. Dalia grabbed her by both shoulders and shook her.

"Do you see what you've become? You are a fucking mess do you hear me?"

The woman's eyes twitched open and closed and then—

Dalia smacked her. Hard.

The sound was like the crack of a whip, Adam stirred in his sleep, but Thomas didn't flinch. Dalia threw the woman back against Polly's feet, her chest heaving as she straightened herself.

And then without a word she reached into her coat and pulled out a small glass bottle.

Brown, corked with a rag.

Oil.

And before anyone could register how fast she moved—she yanked Arthur's flask from his belt before he even felt it missing.

Unscrewked, poured over the bottle,

over the grass,

over her hands.

"NO DALIA—" Arthur shouted.

But Dalia had already struck a match, right against her bare teeth like she had discovered fire for the first time and lit the bottle ablaze. She held the bottle up for wind to be conjured like it knew what to do, for the flame to ignite bright and hot and angry.

Then she threw it.

The glass shattered like the final scream of release. The white house bloomed into red.

Not with a roar, not with an explosion. It spread, spread like a match dropped onto a puddle of fuel. Elegantly, gracefully, cruelly beautiful in its strength, like it had been waiting for eternity to show its ability to burn.

The ivy caught first, then it was the torn curtains. Then it was the wood in the furniture. The estate groaned like it was releasing its first real breath in years.

On the grass, Yusif's wife stirred. She sat up with a groan, her eyes suddenly wide, and clear, looking around like she didn't know where she was at.

And Dalia...

she dropped to her knees. She didn't collapse. She didn't break.

Instead, she brought her forehead to the grass, her hands palmed down before her. She prostrated right there, in relief, in release, in thanks.

Polly stopped Thomas from stepping any further with a firm hand on his chest.

The flames breathed deeper into the house, with each exhale the fire lapped at the bones of the estate like it was devouring its final meal. But Dalia had already turned her back on it. She stood now, her gray dress damp at the edges, blades of grass coating her hands but she paid it no mind. The tears that stained her face had dried with no shame. Her posture returned regal, her breathing even. It was as if the woman who had struck and screamed and destroyed had been someone else entirely. She looked down at Yusif's wife who was now dazed in her consciousness, blinking at the fire like she had just been awoken from another world. Dalia helped her up with no malice or any tenderness.

Now she was just a woman doing what needed to be done.

"Stand, Sarah," she said, her voice firm but hoarse. "Everything is alright now."

The woman nodded, tears of relief sliding down her cheeks as she clung onto the staff who moved her towards the waiting cars.

Dalia turned to Thomas then, not even looking at him entirely, her eyes not in the same moment. She reached for Adam, and even in sleep the boy knew her. She cradled him in her arms, adjusting his cap, smoothing his hair as if nothing had happened at all. Around them the staff continued to load, quiet and obedient, each motorcar filling one by one. They were just as efficient as her.

She stepped again to Thomas, this time she wrapped her arm around his waist, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. He held her back immediately, his breath catching against her hair as his hands spread against her spine.

Then she spoke the words only for him to hear:

"We bear the same curse, Thomas," her voice was steady, low, tender even, "but that won't stop me from fixing you."

His hands held her tighter but before he could even speak she pulled away. Her face was calm again, not cold, not emotionless, but resolved. She moved away from him and headed straight to the waiting car where the driver stood with shaking hands.

"I'll be at the Ritz in London," she spoke into the quiet of the night, "My brother will collect his family and he will take them far away from me, where they will be safe."

The cars were fully ready now, Adam was taken from her arms and nestled into his sobbing mother's embrace. The staff loaded the last trunk, exhausted but still loyal to the end. They didn't need a second order after what they had just seen.

Now she stood at the edge of the open car door, one foot hovering above the ground. Her hands were stained with dried mud, her dress torn at the bottom, yet she never strayed once from her elegance. Nothing could take away from her beauty.

She turned to stare back at all of them, her long black hair had begun to catch on the wind. Every single person had stopped, they all stood still, waiting for—

Her voice.

Clear, precise, unbothered. Like cold silk wrapped around a wound.

"None of this happened."

A pause. She looked directly at every single one of them.

"You will now go home. You will rest. You will speak of this to no one. And you will forget."

Polly dropped her cigarette. John blinked like he had missed some words. Arthur whispered that she couldn't be serious. And Thomas,

he said nothing. He just watched. Because his darling Dalia had never needed his help to begin with. She had lit ablaze to whatever had been hunting them both, and now he stood here, watching her slip away like nothing had occurred at all.

The door shut behind her with a final thud, and just like that—

She was gone.

And through every single muttered question and curse and thought that his family spilled out, Thomas said nothing. Because he knew one thing:

He would follow her. Wherever their silence leads.

August 10th, 1923, The Ritz, London, United Kingdom.

That silence didn't take long. Thomas couldn't even wait for the weekend. He hadn't even waited for dawn to break.

Thomas Shelby left Birmingham the moment the petrol had filled the entire tank, his cigarette dangling from his lips and his eyes set hard on the road ahead.

Now he stood in the grand marble lobby of the Ritz.

The doorman recognized him without a doubt. But the receptionist at the front desk had trembled. Not just because he feared Thomas Shelby, but because he also recognized the name he was asking for.

"She's...in 313, sir," the man stammered out, his eyes flickering towards the elevator like she might appear to spite him at any moment. "Sir...she said not to be disturbed unless—"

"She will want to see me."

And Thomas was right.

He stood outside her door, his eyes locked onto the gold plate number before he brought his hand down to knock once, only once. She opened it instantly.

And there she was, his darling Dalia.

Alone. Just like she said. Her family long gone, safely gone. No little peaky cap or stuffed bear or any haunting in her eyes. Those beautiful, honeyed eyes. They stared up at him with that spark he always loved, though now it was dimmed even more with weight.

She wore deep purple, a gown soft as silk, that melted into the golden light of the hallway and her room. It fell off the shoulder with elegance. At her neck were matching toned jewels, paired with their earrings and a gleaming singular ring. Deep as bruises, older than war. She wore her hair loose like he always loved it, flowing down one shoulder as if it was ink poured down her ivory skin.

And she smiled at him. Softly, tenderly. Her hands were moving slowly as she rubbed the remaining lotion into her skin, the scent of rose and tulips rising into the air. She didn't ask why he was here, she didn't invite him in.

She just stepped into his open arms, letting him cradle her like he had just come home from war, and began to walk when he did, down the quiet hallway towards the hotel cafe. Like they had already spoken of this and it was just a continuation of a promise he didn't remember beginning.

The cafe was as elegant as the rest of the hotel, dimly lit and warm. The piano was occupied by a hired hand, playing softly in the back as pastries were rolled by on silver carts and served on porcelain dishes.

He sat her down by the window. He ordered her tea, whiskey for himself.

They spoke none of what had passed days ago. There was no curse, no fire, no ancient tongues. Here there was only them. She asked how his chest was feeling. He told her the truth of how it hadn't ached since she set them both free.

She smiled at that. Faint, sad.

Thomas knew that this was her way of protecting him. From all of it, from the weight, from the memory, from the rage still buried under her skin like shards of broken glass. She was giving him the moments untouched by shadows, the light found in the sliver of a locked door. Here she was simply just a woman in purple silk that he could sit across from without wondering if she would vanish from his grasp again.

So he didn't pry.

Instead, he reached across, intertwining her fingers with his. Her hands were still the softest thing he'd ever touched, her skin cool against his heat. Then he finally offered it.

"Come back with me," he said.

She tilted her head.

"Come back with me to my estate Dalia. I want you there—" he kissed her hand gently, "I want you with me at the Derby. Just for that, please darling. I'll have the maids help you dress. I'll buy you any dress you want."

She looked away for a moment, but he continued because now he was aching.

"I need you," he whispered, "I need you back in my arms. I need us to be how we were. You're my only hope for this to all go right."

And when he finished pouring his heart out, he brought both of her hands together and kissed them over and over again while he allowed her silence to stretch, to let her think.

Then, soft and barely there, she mumbled her little "Yes."

And Thomas Shelby finally allowed himself to breathe. Because the woman that he loved had said yes. She would come back to him, and she would be there for his most important day. And, oh, how easy it was to love the woman who smiled like she had never burned her whole world down before.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

taglist: @moonbeamott @mrsnms @meadowshelby @chaimaarouaine11 @goblinjnr @lorely788 @outlanderuniverse @clementine111002 @jbrownta @dear--queen

author's note: AAAAHHHHH I AM BACK SORRY FOR THE DELAY GUYS!!! Let me know how you thought about this chapter I missed you all mwahmwahmwah!! taglist and dms are open :) also I know derby day isn't this late in august but just pretend for the plot.

[careyakane]

How does the memory of you find its way into that which you had no part in?

My mind is on winter and Upstate New York as I sit a thousand miles to the west. It must be the smell of coffee and the temperature of my body, which is so similar to that of shedding layers in the mudroom after a long walk through a new snowfall down to where the white pine saplings stand. A hoodie thrown over my bare chest, a jacket over that. The quiet of that crystallized world rests under the mountain I named as a boy, under Turtle Mountain. If my father is with me, we will make a game of the walk. He will give me a five-minute head start before he attempts to track me down. The snow reveals my path, and through the naked trees, cover is scarce. I learned young to find the deer trails, or better, a stream. The running water has not yet frozen over, and I walk through its murmuring vein, past the beaver ponds and musclewood groves as it conceals my steps. If the deer have found cover, so will I.

Another stick placed on the old white pine trunk, my offering to my gods.

Then we are home, and I try to fight away the emptiness that seems to ride sidecar to those great simple moments that make life so rich. Sitting by the woodstove with my hands wrapped around clay, it’s less that she isn’t there and more the thought of the voice that would meet me if I called her—that is, if she even answered. There’s not a single person I would feel that kind of disdain and anger toward if they attempted to speak to me. But I am, to her, a stain and a bitter reminder of something taken. Something lost. It covers the years of love. It covers the memories I keep so close to my heart. That thought eats away at me in my pleasant idle moments, where for a time all is right in my world. I am growing better at noticing and awaiting the departure of these feelings of dread. But see, I’ve done it again. This wasn’t meant to involve you. I was simply reminded of winter and began to write of it, and now somehow the words and thoughts have spilled into you. When did you lay such claim over all that I am? How does the memory of you find its way into that which you had no part in?

[alyslittlehaven]

In What We Keep

DragonBorne!Reader X Azriel.

One fateful night after a mission, the three bat brothers need to seek refuge from the cruel winds past the mountains of Illyria, after a little debating, Azriel decides to take his brothers to the slice of life he took for himself

Warnings: Self Made Fae Race, swearing, talks of sex/sexual interactions, lewd jokes and or conversations, Pregnancy, Pre-established Relationship, mates, fated, Soft Azriel, secret relationships and more ACOTAR IS NOT MY BOOK, NEITHER ARE THE CHARACTERS

(Due to my motivation being messed up and me not knowing how to genuinely continue this story, I have made it into a singular shot story. Both parts are still available separately on my profile. If you want more on this series please, put in requests and help me love this story as much as you lol)

“This storm isn’t going anywhere, Az.”

Cassian’s voice strained as he squinted through the heavy snowfall. Their footsteps behind them quickly being covered up as they continued on through the cold. Cassian groaned, his body shivering harshly.

 Azriel grunted as he tightened the fur that hung around his body. The black dire wolf pelt kept out the wind just for a little longer as the snow picked up around them all. Azriel looked over his shoulder, his hair swaying lightly in the wind as his brothers stopped behind him. There was no way they could continue on like this. Flying in this weather would be a death wish and the creatures that they were hunting were extremely sensitive to magic. Their noses picked up the slightest bit of arcane and followed it like it was food. 

The snow continued to whip around them. Azriels wings shifting as the wind blew in between the membrane and his back. The cold slowly seeps into his bones as the three of them pick up the pace once again. Rhysand let out a huff, looking around slowly and yelling over the blizzard. “There is no way we can get to RoseHall like this, let alone the camps! We need to find shelter!” Cassian nodded, looking at Azriel with a pleading look. Rhysand was right, there was no way the storm was going to let up, and if anything was just getting worse the longer they walked. Rosehall was nowhere on the other side of the mountain and the winds of Illyria were unforgiving to travellers during the summer months. What would happen to the three of them if they continued to trudge through the snow?

Cassian crossed his arms, his lips turning blue as they stood still huddled together. His wings spanned out and fluttered to get the snow off of them. The weight on his shoulders now dispersed as her shook himself off. Azriel looked around, looking for any kind of landmark that could tell him where they stood on the mountain. His eyes locked into a bundle of lights in the distance. A relieved breath left him as he saw the small, broken sign with a carved dragon egg on it. 

His brows furrowed as he thought, his arms wrapping around himself as he took a couple of steps. Dread slowly made its way to his stomach as he realized where they were heading.

He could bring them into his home. The small cabin he had built with his own hands inside of the heart of the hearth. The home that his mate was in while he stood out in the cold with his brothers. Her body probably curled up on the couch with that ugly knitted blanket she made draped over her as a book remained under her nose. The fire probably roaring in the fireplace and leaving the room in a nice orange glow.

Azriel sighed, quickly pulling up his hood before beginning to move in the direction of the light,. His voice hoarse as he spoke. "I have somewhere we can stay. if you don't mind walking for a bit more, that is." Cassian rolled his eyes, his feet moving without him having to think about saying yes or no as he followed his brothers closely. 

“Azriel…where are we going?” Rhysands teeth chatters, his breaths coming out as fog due to the cold. His whole body nearly froze at the question. He had worked so hard to keep this part of his life a secret from his family. The relaxing life he came to every night and woke up the day after next to. The happy cabin he filled with love and work that he made sure he separated his work life from his mate. His wonderful, beautiful mate pressed kisses to his hand when he came home from work and tried out new Illyrian recipes so he would feel at home in the hearth. The best woman he had met, and the calmest. They had spoken about it a few times, introducing her to his family and the inner circle, and despite her wanting to meet them he just didn’t want to yet. Wanting to keep her to himself just for a little longer.

“To…a friend's house. She lives right up here in this cabin.”

Rhysand and Cassian looked at each other, a small shrug was all Cassian responded with as they walked up the stairs of the porch. Azriel quickly opened the door, the wood creaking under his weight as he ushered the two in. A frown on his face as he shut the door behind them. “Y/n?” Azriels voice carried through the small cabin, some shuffling in the distance going dead silent.

“I’ll be there in a second love!” A couple of pans knocked together before she walked into the hallway, a small pep in her step now that she saw who was in her home. Cassian, ever the gossip, repeatedly hit Rhysands arm like a teenage girl. A smirk on his face as he raised an eyebrow at Azriel.

Rhysands jaw dropped as she untied her apron, the large and evident bump now on full display as she put down the fabric and pressed a hand to her stomach. Her eyes raked over the two unfamiliar men with a gentle smile. "You must be Azriels brothers...welcome to the Hearth. Come- Sit down, please."

If there was one thing they weren't expecting, it was exactly this.

Cassian and Rhysand expected their brother to bring them to a rundown shack he retreated to occasionally, holes in the couch, a dusty old couch, and maybe even a fireplace; but not this.

The cabin was cozy, with three dragons crawling around the floors of the abode like it was theirs as well. Dragons had been long unheard of, their presence in the world no longer scaring children but creating more theories of what was before. The fireplace blazed as the woman gently escorted them to the main area. The couch was littered with pillows and blankets of what seemed to be all kinds. Cassian chuckled, gently running a hand along the fluffiest blanket he saw. A satisfied smile on his face at the feeling.

"Make yourselves at home. Any friend of Az's is a friend of mine, I just finished soup too." Azriel smiled at the woman before beginning to try and undo his leathers. The heat getting to him now that the wind was no longer harsh on his skin. His wings - thankfully- thawing out by now, basically icicles on his back previously. The woman slowly left through a doorway, somewhere that seemed to relate to a kitchen in the room off to the side. Cassian turned to Azriel, a smirk on his face as he spoke. "A lady friend of yours?" Azriel huffed, rolling his eyes with a small smile. A small groan left him as he pulled his hand away, the small knick on his thumb irritated already from the leathers.

"I've known her for a bit, sweet lady." Cassian nodded, mumbling some remark under his breath as he sat down on the couch. A sigh left his large form as he melted into the cushions.

"She seems wonderful." Rhysand shook his head, sitting down on a chair next to the fireplace. The two others not even bothering to try and take off their soaked leathers.

They cared about the warmth tho.

"Azriel, let me help you with that." Azriel jumped slightly as the voice cut through the air, his frame quickly softening as she placed down some soup for all of them on the coffee table. Giggling as Rhysand and Cassian jumped to get the food. The woman waddled over to Azriel, a huff of laughter leaving her as she managed to get one side of the leathers off. The two of them sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Azriel spoke up.

"How are you?" She looked up, smiling.

"Could be better, the dragons have been very insistent in feeding me rats they found." Azriel chuckled, nodding slowly as she managed to get the other clasp. His leathers fall to the floor. "There, that's better." Azriel looked down at her bump. Tilting his head slightly as a finger brushed up against her stomach. "'Been giving you trouble lately?" Samantha laughed lightly, nodding as she gently grabbed his hand and put his palm on her swollen belly.

"Movin' a lot, the healers say that they are excited to come out. I think I'm nearly cooking the poor thing with how hot the house is nowadays." She smiled up at him, a small sigh leaving her as she hugged him.

"That's good at least- not the boiling the baby part though." He pressed a chaste kiss to her head. Pulling away to help her to the couch.

"So, Rhysand and Cassian. It's nice to meet you." She gently picked the bowl up with her two hands, the heat not affecting her like it did them. The two of them finally looked at the two of them, now getting comfortable on the couch. Azriel was tucked into the corner of the furniture, his wings gently stretched out behind him as his arm rested on the back of the board. The woman was neatly tucked into his side, her legs up and folded to get her comfortable.

Not that much was comfortable nowadays.

Cassian raised a brow, quickly swallowing his food. "It's nice to meet you..uh.-"

"Samantha, my name is Samantha." Cassian nodded, picking up another spoonful of soup as Rhysand spoke up. His violet eyes no longer scanning around the house they sat in. Now staring straight at her and Azriel. "This is your home? What's with the dragons?" As if they heard him, the purplish-colored dragon in the fireplace screeched, its wings flaring behind it as it got comfortable, now lying down on the burning wood like it was nothing. Rhysand flinched lightly, his eyes remaining on the odd creature next to him with a weary feeling building in his gut.

"Think of them as my babies, I've raised them since they were in their eggs. " Rhysand nodded, smiling at the little thing before adjusting himself in the chair. "Do you only have three?" Samantha shook her head quickly, swallowing her food before speaking.

"These were just the youngest, they couldn't fly when winter came so me and the village thought it would be best if I kept them for the cold season. Their mother and brothers are out in daycourt somewhere" Rhysand nodded, a small oh left his mouth as he took a bite of the warm food. A hum leaving him. "It took a while for Azriel to get used to them, I don't expect them to come flocking to you now since you're new." Azriel leaned back, his eyes closing for a moment as he basked in the orange light the fire sprayed on him and Samantha. The fire seemingly calling to her now that she relaxed.

"Samantha has a way with wayward beasts." Samantha gently smacked azriels arm, a smile on her face as she let out a huff. Cassian's eyes darted over to the two. "So you two are...Friends?" Samantha perked up, a hand on her stomach as she thought for a moment. Thinking about whether or not Azriel would be okay with them even knowing. "I mean we are, but the official term is mates if you didn't know." Azriel looked at the two of them. No guilt swirling in those hazel eyes of his. Rhysands eyes widened, nearly spitting out his food out the information with Cassian choked on his own words.

"Mates?" Azriel nodded. His wings shifted behind him as one of the dragons swayed under them. Attempting to get warm.

"Been mated for a year, that a problem?" Cassian quickly shook his head no. His eyes still widened compared to his usual look. His wings tense behind him. "-mates? As in True mates? You're his pregnant mate?" Samantha nodded, tilting her head at Cassian. "Have been for about 7 months. Afraid I'm stuck with the pregnant title for a couple more weeks." Rhysand laughed, putting his empty bowl of soup down before speaking.

"Azriel- how have you hidden this from us?" Azriel shrugged, his hand moving to gently rub against his mate's shoulder. "Not too sure, Maybe I'm good at keeping secrets." Cassian leaned back, Eyes furrowed as he pouted over the implications of missing out on so much of his brother's mating.

"Did you have a ceremony?" Cassian's voice broke through the cackling from the fire, Samantha's eyebrows shooting up before answering. Thinking back to the day and attempting to get as much information as she could. "We did, it was my village present- I don't think anyone was there from azriels side though." Azriel shook his head no.

"Well...I guess we have a lot to catch up on then?" Rhysand spoke once more, his eyes filled with a bit of betrayal as he looked at everyone in the room. Cassian nodded, putting his own bowl down.